Dusted (12 page)

I adored it and didn’t mind that one adornment.

Tiny burst into my office and stood in front of the picture “The wedding planner called, she said everything’s set, but I can’t help but worry—” she started.

“As long as Sal shows up, it’s going to be a perfect wedding. Remember that, Tiny. And speaking of Sal, do you and Sal want to go to dinner on Friday?” It was a ploy to change the topic.

Unfortunately, it was harder and harder to get Tiny to think about anything but the wedding day. “It’ll only be a week until the wedding. I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat.”

“Tiny, you didn’t want a bachelorette party or even a big deal for a rehearsal dinner. So, what about you and Sal, joining us for dinner? I’m inviting Julian and Cassandra, too. It’ll just be dinner. No one from work. No family. Nothing weddingish. Just three couples enjoying a meal.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll pass out as you walk up the aisle, and that would be a wedding faux pas you can’t come back from.”

She laughed. “You just want someone else there while you try to hook up Cassandra and Julian.”

“Maybe. But still, there will be food.”

“What about Big G? Are you going to set him up, too? Are all single men in danger?”

“Let’s see if Cassandra hits it off with Julian, and then we’ll decide if I’m hanging out my shingle. I just think after Mr. Banning, Cassandra deserves to date a nice man, and Julian is that.”

“And if he’s dating a friend, you can hang out with him and talk about your weird obsession with television detective shows without making Cal mad.”

“There is that.” I laughed. There was something comforting about having someone know you so well you can’t get anything past them. “But you don’t really enjoy watching them, and all Cal does is pick apart the police procedures. He claims they’re unrealistic.” I harrumphed. “They’re entertaining and educational. I wouldn’t have solved Mr. Banning’s murder if I hadn’t learned a lot from the shows.”

“You wouldn’t have solved it without a lot of dumb luck,” Tiny said with honesty.

“Yeah, there is that.”

“Let’s hope your luck holds out with this one. Did you get any further?”

I told her about my discussion with Dick, about maybe a connection to a gallery, and about our wondering why Miriam, the supposed art expert didn’t notice that her paintings were forgeries. “I’ve made some calls. Mrs. Neilson is asking her husband, and Mrs. Graham said she was pretty sure they’d bought a couple at the gallery, but not all of them. So, I guess that eliminates that theory.”

It had been a good theory.

“So, what about the fact that Miriam works at a gallery but didn’t notice that four of her paintings had been stolen and replaced with forgeries?”

“I’m heading over there this afternoon to find out,” I told her.

“Want me to help?”

I loved that Tiny offered, but right now, her only worry should be about her wedding, not that she had any legitimate worries. Everything was done.

“No,” I told her. “I’ll be fine. I do want you to say yes to dinner on Friday night.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a nag?” Tiny asked.

“No, no one’s ever said that to me. You’ve mistaken me for my mom. She’s the nag.” I felt bad as soon as the words left my mouth because our last visits had been…better. And definitely unnnaggish. “Or at least, that’s how it felt when I was a kid.”

I wondered how much of my childhood recollections were colored with time.

“So about Friday?”

“Yes. If you’ll stop nagging.”

“Want to go to Psst? Honey’s got this new rice dish that’s to die for.” I thought of Mr. Banning and vowed to never use that phrase again.

“That sounds great. You know, if you start matchmaking, you’ll have to find someone for Honey, too. She deserves a nice man.”

Honey’s ex had been a clod, but he’d given her Trixie, a sweet girl, even if her mother’s nickname for her always reminded me of the fictional amateur sleuth, Trixie Belden.

“You’re right, Honey does deserve a nice guy. But like I said, let’s see how my first set-up goes before hanging out my yenta shingle.”

After Tiny left, I went back to working on next week’s schedule, when my office door flew open. Theresa looked at me, wild-eyed. “Please, please, please, don’t ever make me go there again.”

“Where?” I asked as innocently as I could manage.

“That new guy. Robert Williams. Quincy, it was awful. I spent the entire three hours in his kitchen. You couldn’t see the floor when I walked in.”

“That dirty?”

“No, that many pizza boxes. He just threw them in a pile and when the pile fell, he walked on them, then he started a new pile and when it fell… Well, you get the picture. I took out bags of pizza boxes and found a very nice slate floor underneath them. It was hardly dirty because the boxes had covered it for so long.”

“Well, see, that’s a bonus.”

“Quincy, you should have seen the refrigerator.” She shuddered. Actually shuddered. “He told me to limit each visit to one room.
Each visit
, he said. I assume that means there are more?”

“There are. He’s done some work for us, and we’re bartering cleaning services with him. He’s very expensive otherwise.”

“Quincy, please, send someone else.”

“He liked you, Theresa. He requested you.” Now, this was a bit of an exaggeration. When I asked how it went, he said,
She cleaned the kitchen, and it looks better. She can come back
.

I know, that’s not exactly a request, but hey, even Robert William’s kitchen didn’t equal my finding a dead body in the bedroom of a house she was supposed to clean. And it certainly didn’t equal risking my business because she ripped a painting.

Here’s the thing, as a mother, I don’t use physical punishment. Well, let’s face it, the boys are all bigger than me now, but back when they were little, I wasn’t a spanker or slapper.

No, I was worse. I was a lecturer and creative punisher.

When they fought, my favorite punishment was to make them sit in the middle of the floor and touch noses for five minutes.

It had the desired effect because it turned out, boys don’t like touching their noses to other boys’ noses, and also, it’s hard to stay mad at someone if you’ve got your nose pressed to theirs for five minutes.

When they tried temper tantrums, I’d simply pick them up, put them in their room and set the timer, then I’d demand that they scream and kick for five minutes.

Try it some time. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

As they got older, I did more lecturing than creative punishments. They frequently begged me to just smack them around and shut up.

I lectured all the more.

I take that back. Two years ago, I had a wonderfully creative parenting moment.

They’d all gotten very lax about chores. They’d sweep, but not clean up the pile of dust, or they’d wipe part of a counter or… Well, my grandmother called jobs like that half-assed jobs.

So, in retribution, I had a half-assed day of my own.

They had an activity at school.

I drove halfway, told them I was turning around to go home. They had to walk the other half.

I made tacos for dinner, by which I mean that I put out frozen ground turkey, a head of lettuce, a block of cheese, and a tomato. But the crowning glory of my meal was the jar of cornmeal, to represent the taco shells.

Things got much better at chore time after that.

This was my creative punishment for Theresa.

We’d tried having her tag along with other staff.

We’d tried lecturing her on using sick-days so frequently.

We’d written her formal letters outlining her faults as an employee.

We’d tried praising the few things she did well.

Nothing worked.

I was pretty sure Robert Williams might.

“Quincy,” she moaned. “His place could make a hoarder uncomfortable. Remember Mrs. Pierce with all the cats? Even she wouldn’t want to visit him.”

“You’ll be visiting him again next week, and remember the warning last time you called in sick…in order to go to the beach was it?”

“Yes, the beach. And I do remember the warning.”

I’d told her that if she called in sick again and wasn’t on death’s door, she would be after I got a hold of her. Yes, I know, it’s a threat, but no matter how scary I try to be my boys never bought it, and I don’t think Theresa really did either, but she hadn’t known me long enough to be sure.

“You’re positive that I have to go?” she asked.

“Positive.”

She sighed and walked to the door. She opened it and called back over her shoulder, “Someone’s here for you.”

A man walked in. He wasn’t all that much taller than Theresa, who sent me one last pleading look. I shook my head and she left me with my mysterious stranger.

The man had on a pair of khakis and dark shirt and a leather jacket, which seemed a bit too warm for LA’s September weather. He had on a pair of black boots, too.

The outfit in theory should work, but on him it didn’t. Everything seemed a bit…askew. Part of his shirt was tucked in, part wasn’t. The jacket sat a bit too far back on his shoulder, so it road higher in the front than in the back. Even his average looking brown hair had fly-away wisps.

“Quincy Mac?” he asked.

He had a nice enough voice, but not nearly as nice as Cal’s was.

“Yes.”

“I’m Detective Roman.”

“Oh, you’re Mickey.” I was going to say that Cal had mentioned him and spoke highly of him, but he interrupted me.

“No. I’m Detective Roman, Quincy,” he corrected me.

“And I’m Ms. Mac, Detective,” I corrected him.

Normally I’d get up and extend my hand, greeting someone in my office. I didn’t. I also didn’t offer him a seat.

He just took that on his own.

I was glad I was sitting at my desk, not at the couch. At least I had a position of authority. “What did you need, DICtective?” I put purposefully added an extra ‘C’ sound to my pronunciation of detective. It came out more like dick-tective.

I saw that good ol’ Mickey noticed. He cocked his had to one side as if trying to understand how I could possibly have said that.

I immediately felt a bit bad. Maybe he hadn’t meant to sound so off-putting.

I offered him a real smile, that I hoped he was detective enough to read as
I’m sorry
.

“You can stop butting into my investigation. I know that Cal—”

Oh, yeah, my dander was back up, so I interrupted him again and asked, “You mean Detective Parker?”

“Yes. I know he allowed you a long leash on the Banning homicide. But he didn’t do you any favors. You almost got killed.

“I didn’t though because I saved myself,” I pointed out with pride.

“You didn’t because you got lucky.”

“Sir, I’m going to point out I have in no way compromised your investigation. I asked questions, and the insurance company asked questions.” Now this was true, the insurance company had asked questions, just not while their representative was with me. I wasn’t going to mention Dick and his little ruse.

“I checked with the insurance company. They didn’t send you around with one of their insurance investigators. So who was the guy?”

Oops. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. “Sir, I think we’re done. You obviously found your way into my office, and now I welcome you to find your way out of my office.”

“This was a warning because I like Cal. Most people would be on their way to the station right now. So take this warning to heart…stay out of my investigation.”