The Goddaughter's Revenge (4 page)

“Just don't move anything,” I ordered.

“Probably isn't anything worth moving, except to the trash,” Nico muttered.

I walked up to the front door, Nico following reluctantly. The key worked like a charm. I opened the door and stepped in.

No dogs to worry about. I'd checked that out too.

The living room was directly ahead, and the drapes were closed.“They're away in Vegas, according to Maids-a-Go-Go. Chances are she didn't take the ring. Most people don't take their best stuff when they travel.” I felt it my duty to educate Nico, since he was younger than me.

The kitchen was to the left. The bedrooms were down a dark hallway to my right. The master bedroom was at the end.

“You wait here while I search the master bedroom. DON'T MOVE ANYTHING!”

Nico stared mournfully at the living room. He moaned as if truly in pain.

“It's too awful. Look at that flower brocade from the eighties.”

I was already moving down the hall. The door to the master was ajar. The blinds were closed, so I slipped through the doorway and fumbled for the light switch with my right hand.

Flick.

“What the hell?”

My eyes followed the voice. A figure turned over on the bed.

I stared.

“EEEK!” shrieked a female voice. “Eddie?”

Oops. It appeared not everyone who lived in this house was on vacation. One rather well-endowed male was vaulting off the bed. He didn't have any clothes on. And he wasn't Mr. Wilson. Worse, I knew him. Worse, so did Nico.

“Uncle Manny?” I squeaked.

“DAD?” Nico had raced up behind me.

The man in question froze like a statue. His head whipped around. He squinted.

“Gina? NICO? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“More to the point, what are YOU doing here?” Actually, it was pretty clear what he had been doing here, but I left out the operative word.

“Dad! Oh. My. God. I can't look.” Nico brought up his right hand dramatically to cover his eyes.

“Ah, Nico. Ah, crap.” Manny grabbed for the sheets to cover his boy bits. The woman on the bed grabbed them back. I watched the two of them pull back and forth. I thought about turning the lights off. There were far too many things wobbling.

“Manny, if you set me up for blackmail, I will parboil your pecker!” Mrs. Wilson was sitting up now. She had caramel hair, and her do was pretty messed up. Even angry, she was pretty, like Ginger from
Gilligan's Island
. I tried to ignore the swinging bazoombas.

“Babe, I didn't set up nothing. Gina, what the fuck is going on?”

My eyes swung back to my uncle, who is about fifty years old with a full head of curly salt-and-pepper hair. His handsome face was twitching.

Nico said, “I can't take this, Gina. I'm going to throw myself on that disgusting couch in the living room until you're done. Maybe I'll get the plague from it and die. That would be better than WHAT I SEE HERE!”

He marched out of the room, his head held high.

I felt sorry for Nico, I really did. But this was actually a piece of luck. True, I had no right to be in that room. But since the party in front of me had even less right to be there…Time to improvise. The ring was in my pocket. I reached in with one hand.

I shrugged and smiled. “Just doing a bit of reverse burglary.”

I turned to Ginger. “Mrs. Wilson, here's your emerald ring back. Somebody stole it. Switched it with a fake. They tried to sell the real one to me at the store, and I recognized it. I'm returning it.”

Okay, so that was a big fat lie. I'm going to hell, just like the nuns said. But so are Uncle Manny and most of my family, so we should have a good time there.

I walked over to the bed and handed it to her.

“Here's the real one. You can keep the fake too.”

Her manicured hand reached out and snatched it.

“Why, aren't you sweet! Look at that, Manny! I didn't even know it had been stolen. Talk about service.” Manny squinted at me. He didn't buy a word of it. Tough. I had one up on him.

“Aunt Grizelda know you're here?” I said sweetly.

His face went white. “Don't you dare.”

He was right. I wouldn't dare. I was plum scared of Aunt Griz. If you think the men in our family are dangerous, wait till you meet the women.

But I still had the upper hand.

“This is simple, really.” I walked back to the doorway. “I mean, we're family and all. Let's make a deal. I don't tell anyone you were here, and you don't tell anyone I was here.”

“Done.” Manny dropped the sheet and bent over to reach for his pants on the floor. I turned away but not quick enough.
Eeeyuuu
.

“And can I recommend that you don't come here ever again? For Nico's sake. I can probably keep him from spilling this time, but if you keep it up…”

“Done and done,” said Manny. He sat down on the bed and stuck one leg in his pants. Then the other. He swept an arm across his forehead. He looked relieved—strangely relieved. I had to wonder if it was because I had promised not to tell or because he wouldn't have to come here again.

Mrs. Wilson had obviously missed this last exchange. She was still staring at her ring. “Wow, this is a nice emerald,” she said. “I'd forgotten how big it was.”

No kidding, it was nice. The original had been one carat. I didn't have anything in the store exactly that size, so I'd had to replace it with a bigger one. Yet another loss for the business. I was going to murder Carmine.

But first I had to get the rocks back.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In
Burglary for Dummies
, I'm going to have a chapter on chickens. Basically, on not counting them before they hatch. Otherwise known as overconfidence.

Nico had a college class on Tuesday, so I recruited Tiffany to be my wingman. Or wing-goth. She certainly dressed the part without trying. Black on black, with a side order of chains.

“The simplest ways are the best,” I explained patiently to Tiff. We were parked in front of a long, low bungalow not far off Plains Road. “The best way to get in is to be invited.”

“You're kidding,” said Tiff. She didn't try to mask her disappointment. No Robin Hood tricks today.

“Not at all,” I said smugly. “Piece of cake. It's always easier returning jewelry than stealing it in the first place.” The fake stone had been replaced, and I was merely escorting it home, in a manner of speaking.

“How did you manage to lift the ring?”

I grinned. “Maids-a-Go-Go. I got Aunt Pinky to invite Mrs. Harmon over for coffee while they were cleaning her house. All of Pinky's friends use our cleaning service because we give them a deal. I nipped over here when she was out.”

“Awesome.”

I liked hearing that respect in her voice.

“Just watch me,” I said, “and keep your cell phone on.” I grabbed my black business case and swung open the car door.

“Then what do you do? Once you're in?” she asked.

“Ask to use the washroom. Pretend to leave, but instead find a place to hide. Then I just wait until she goes to another part of the house. I leave the ring somewhere in a place she might take it off. Like by the kitchen sink. Then I get out. I'll be quick.”

I slammed the car door and headed up the drive.

“Hello, Mrs. Harmon,” I said. The door had opened to a short fifty-something woman with petrified blond hair. “I'm from Ricci Jewelers. I believe you were there for a ring cleaning a few weeks ago? We forgot to give you this thank-you gift.” I handed her a small brown box wrapped tightly with packing tape.

“Why, thank you, dear! This is a nice surprise.” Her little pig eyes stared greedily at the box.

“Excuse me,” I whispered, “but would you mind if I used the powder room before I go?”

“Not at all. It's right that way,” she said, pointing. “I'll just run down to the kitchen for scissors to open this.” And she scurried off down the hall.

I opened and closed the washroom door for the right sound effect, then looked for my favorite place to hide—don't ask me where; I plan to use it again.

I heard Mrs. Harmon padding back to the marble foyer.

“Thank you very much, dear—oh!” She realized she was talking to an empty room. I imagined her peering in the washroom. I waited. There was a moment's silence, then a few shuffles and the sound of jingling keys. Four electronic beeps and a clunk. A door opened and closed. Then came the unmistakable sound of a garage-door opener, and a car firing up.

Crap! I thought. Crap, crap, double crap.

I flipped open my cell.

“I have a slight problem,” I whispered to Tiff. “She set the alarm and left by the garage door. It's one of those inside sensor things. I can see a little box over the bay window. I'm afraid to move. If I try to leave, the sensors will catch me, and the alarm will go off!”

A pause. “Can you see any sensors behind you?” Tiff said.

“Doesn't matter,” I explained bitterly.

“If I try to open any door or window, it will trip. That's how these things work.”

Another pause.

“She wasn't supposed to leave,” I wailed.

“Don't panic,” she said finally. “I know just who to call. Back in a sec.”
Click
.

“Don't call! Tiff—don't call anyone! Do you hear me? Tiff ? Crap.”

I stood with my cell phone on Standby and tried not to breathe.

It's a funny thing about time. Minutes slow right down when you can't move. Seconds take twice as long as they should. They just meander about, enjoying the scenery and lazing along as if nothing matters at all.

Try standing still for several minutes without moving. It's not easy. Everything itches. Molecules you didn't even know you had itch. My head itched. The instep of my left foot itched. I tried to distract myself by naming all the itchy parts of my body in French. No doubt about it—ten years of public-school core language down the drain. Then the phone rang.

“Where are you?” I yelled into it.

“At the office. Am I supposed to be somewhere?” It was Pete, and he sounded puzzled. Crap!

“Oh hi!” I recovered quickly and far too cheerfully. “Sorry—I was expecting Nico to phone.” Just add that lie to my collection of sins. “Can I call you back? I'm sort of stuck at the moment.” At least that part was true.

He hung up, and I stopped hyperventilating. A short while later, the front door swung open and Tiff walked in.

“Yo there,” she said cheerfully. “A-team to the rescue. Everything's cool. My friend Stoner fixed the alarm.”

“Who's Stoner?” I said.

This became apparent the moment I said it. In trailed a tall thin guy with long stringy hair and glazed eyes. In came also the unmistakable aroma of freshly smoked something. Oh, and a dog. A very big black dog.

“Is that a black standard poodle with a mohawk?” I said, staring.

“Yeah, man,” Stoner drawled. He grinned slowly. “Toker's such a cool dude dog, real smart, ya know, and he needed an image that kinda reflects, ya know…uh…him.”

I reached down to scratch the black beast—not far, because his head came up to my waist—and he waggled appreciatively. His mohawk felt like velvet, and it balanced the long floppy ears in a zany way. I love all dogs, but big soft shaggy ones are impossible to resist.

“Suits him,” I said with a chuckle. “Can't imagine why more poodle owners don't go in for punk.” Good grief. What would they say at the Westminster? “What did you call him?”

“Toke,” Stoner said slowly, drawing out the vowel. He seemed to do everything in slow motion. “Toker, for short.”

That figures, I thought to myself.

“Tiff, you weren't supposed to tell anyone.” I started out the back door and signaled for them to follow.

“Had to,” said Tiff. “But don't worry about Stoner. He's cool. Nico and Stoner used to hang out in high school. He knows everything about alarm systems.”

“I won't tell anyone,” Stoner said dreamily.

“But I can't speak for Toker.”

“Woof!” barked the dog happily.

We made an amusing entourage, creeping down the sidewalk and out to the road like a pack of high-school kids taking a shortcut through the houses en route to school.

I stopped dead in panic. There was a white panel van marked
Stonehouse Security
parked right across the road. Damn! And the kids were with me. Could this day get any worse?

Tiff walked to the van and opened the back door for Toke to jump in. “Stoner's Dad owns a security company. That's how he knows about alarm systems and everything.”

“Yeah,” said Stoner happily. “Pretty neat, huh?”

“Pretty neat,” I echoed.

Unbelievable, I thought to myself. I want what he smokes.

* * *

That night, the phone rang a lot.

First it was Pete. “Got a game tonight and tomorrow. I'll stay at my apartment. Can you live without me?”

God, his voice did something nice to my insides.

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound sultry. “I'll just call up my B list.”

“Do that and I'll have to commit murder,” he said.

I laughed nervously. That word again. It kept creeping up.

Next, Sammy called.

“I made some rather interesting connections in New York,” he said. “Re our mutual rat friend. Looks like I could have something for you soon.”

“Great,” I said. “I'll be ready.”

CHAPTER NINE

Fourth time lucky, right? Wrong.

Another tip in the future bestseller
Burglary for Dummies
will be “Always case the place to make sure it's empty before you break in.”

It was a good thing Pete had a game to watch the next evening, because I had a job to do.

I picked Nico up at seven. The sun was just setting. Nice thing about October—the sun sets earlier. It's easier for cat burglars to get around in the dark without being noticed.