Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 01 - A Brilliant Plan (2 page)

Detective Garcia gave a small chuckle from her corner and walked out to find a phone.

Showtime for Mundy.

For a minute, Detective McCloseky and I sat looking at each other and the garden.
 

“You know, this is a special house,” he offered to start a conversation.

“I know,” I stated the obvious. Cops and their urges to talk.

“Pretty wild.”

“Wild. That describes Mom and Dad,” I nodded.
 

He rolled his nice eyes, very nice eyes. “I see I can’t land here with small talk.”

“Nope.”

“You know what makes you suspicious in my opinion?” He tried the direct approach.

“Yes.”

“Is that an answer?”

“Semantically it is. But probably not the one you were expecting.”

He studied me for a moment. “You do it intentionally, I mean, playing it cool, not asking why we are here.”

“I already know why you’re here,” I offered.

“You do?” He raised an eyebrow.

“In your eyes, I am suspicious because I am not asking questions. Why are you here? Why are you suspecting me?”

He nodded.
 

“But, I already know. You are here about a murder; you said so in the beginning.”

“What a gift of deduction!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands once.

“Your partner is from ‘B and E,’” I imitated Detective Garcia, “so that makes it a murder in conjunction with another crime. A burglary?” I dazzled him.

“I am impressed.”
 

“It’s all over the news on the radio. There was a break-in at a Downtown San Diego art gallery. The night watchman died.” I gave him my dumb puppy look once more.

He bowed his head in mock-admiration. “Very good.”

“But I am cool because last night I was in bed with my boyfriend.”
 

Detective Garcia came back in, closing the door behind her. She looked at McCloseky and gave a small shake of the head. He looked at me and shrugged.

I looked back and forth between them. “Hey, what’s going on? I told you, I was home with my boyfriend. What did he tell you?”

She raised an eyebrow; I think she was pleased that she had me in a corner. “He told me nothing, he wasn’t in. I asked his answering machine to call me back.”

I slumped back in my sofa. “Ouch! Will you arrest me now?”

“We have to wait a little longer to scratch you off our list, that’s all.” Detective McCloseky offered helpfully, not meaning it.

“I know, you know,” I mocked his matter of speech.

“We know you know now.” He even played along. Such a cutie.

Detective Garcia played with her jacket pocket where you could make out a pack of cigarettes. Or a tape recorder.
 

“Why did you come to me in the first place? There must be a million better suspects in San Diego and L.A. both?”

Garcia gave me a hard stare. “Wonderful computer age. We have our own criminal Google search system—enter jewels, crime, San Diego—and the database doesn’t show too many names. And yours was among them.”

“I have never had anything to do with the police before, you must be mistaken.” I lifted my voice.

“No Ma’am, you are mistaken.” Detective Garcia’s voice was like a razor blade, the switch between bad cop and bitch cop was effortless. I bet she scared the shit out of other suspects. “There was an incident report three years. An insurance company accused you of reworking some stolen gems.”

“That was not even an accusation, it was simply reported to the police, anonymously, or so I was told at the time. The police investigated and found nothing.”

McCloseky shrugged apologetically, “But it left your name in the database.”

“This is ridiculous. Had I not had my boyfriend over, I would have been booked for murder? Civil rights here we go.”

“Let us say, we would have looked a little harder. But if your friend supports your story, you have nothing to fear.” Garcia smoothed her notebook on the table.

Where the hell was Mundy? I sighed, “Don’t tell me that I am not allowed to leave town.”

Detective McCloseky stood up and gave me a professional smile. “Don’t leave town, be available, Miss Moonstone.”

Garcia didn’t give a smile, she just handed me her card. I showed them to the front door, through the kitchen, where Mom made a little fuss about them leaving already.
 

Detective McCloseky opened the front door and with perfect stage timing, fake boyfriend Mundy was standing in the doorframe, hand balled to a fist in midair, ready to knock.
 

So he had been on the road following his ‘girlfriend.’ Mundy was my age. We studied for our master’s together at Berkeley University. And although it frequently came up for discussion from Mundy’s end—to state it clearly—once and for all—we never had been an item and we never would be.
 

Mundy and I lost contact after I went to New York to begin my jewelry apprenticeship with Uncle Mortimer. But after the move to Redondo to open my own shop, it turned out that Mundy was living nearby, working as a reporter for the local paper after he had worked some jobs on the East Coast as well. Mundy wasn’t much of a man. Well, he was a man—of course, just not my type of man. Come to think of it, he wasn’t anyone’s type of man. He was lanky and he always wore thin flannel shirts, Levis and sneakers. Depending on his state of absenteeism, he sported beard stubbles and a brown uncombed mop of hair, Rubber Soul Beatles style 1965.
 

Mundy looked at the detectives, his reporter mind had probably just told him, ‘Cops! Get nervous’ and he stammered the obvious, “I… I was about to knock.”

Detective McCloseky looked at him skeptically. On the verge of amusement, he was obviously close to offering a spontaneous repartee, but instead kept it neutral, “We were just leaving.” He said.

Time to step in; otherwise, I would never leave this town again. “Stop! No one leaves!” I shouted. “Time to clear things up.” My voice echoed from the pots and pans on the walls.

With all eyes on me, I pointed at the detectives. “Mundy, tell them where we were last night and what we did!”
 

Mundy’s mouth opened. Torn between truth, lies, embarrassment and loyalty, he looked desperately between the detectives, my mom and me.
 

I pointed at Mundy. “Please meet Mr. Mundy Millar. He can confirm… ”

Garcia gave a sharp cat-like growl and McCloseky lifted his hand to stop me.
 

“Mr. Millar?” Detective Closeky’s tone made it clear that he meant business. I love it when men talk that way. Does that make me a bad person?

Mundy swallowed and only managed a nod. I gave a small prayer to the god of the trees that he didn’t mess up our plan.
 

McCloseky asked Mundy for his credentials and then he studied them.
 

Garcia asked, “Where were you last night, Mr. Mundy?”

Again, Mundy’s haunted look between Mom and me. “I was home,” he squeaked, cleared his throat to make it sound more truthful and repeated, “I was home.” Fail!

“Your own home?”

“I mean home in Redondo.”
 

“In your apartment or house or whatever?”
 

“No, I was with Calendar, Miss Moonstone here.” Growing beet-red in the face. Good, his earnest embarrassment covered his bad lying.

“You were at Miss Moonstone’s home, with her?”

“Yes, I mean no. I was with Calendar at my home.”

“The whole night?”

“Sure, we… eh… we spent the night… ”

“All evening, all night?” Caging him.

“Yeah, I think Calendar left early.”

“You think?”

“I know… I mean… I think she did.” Again that helpless, very believable look. Atta boy. “I mean, I was asleep when she left.”

“You slept. Soundly?”

“All right. I slept all right. We were up until late, two or so.”

“You can vouch for her until two.”

“Yeah, then we slept and I got up around eight. Cal was already gone.”

The detectives simultaneously gave me a quick look, as if to corroborate the story with me—or it could have been pity that I had such a fried brain ball for a lover. I felt all chances dwindling with Detective Ron.

“You agree with his story, Miss Moonstone?”

“Yup. Up until about two, went to bed, I left around 7:30, took the laundry with me and drove here. To spend the holidays with the police.”
 

As Detective Garcia picked up her notepad, she prompted, “You didn’t mention the laundry part before. You got a name and number for the laundry service?”

“The place,” Mundy prompted, “on Pacific Coast Highway, PCH, near Torrance Boulevard.”

Garcia nodded and closed her notepad. “You are in the clear if this checks out. Are there any other people who would have called last night? Friends, family, customers?”
 

“No,” I shook my head.
 

Mundy followed my lead. “Just us two,” he piped, suddenly turning red again.

The detectives exchanged glances to see if the other one still had some question for Mundy or me.
 

“Consider yourself off the hook, Ma’am,” Garcia stated in my direction. I was under the distinct impression that they both knew more about me than they pretended. With that, the detectives said ‘Good-bye’ again—and they left, finally.

Mundy closed the door behind them. I went over and gave him a welcome kiss—I bet he had waited years for that one. I managed to touch his lips without exchanging too many body fluids.

“Hi, Mum-bun. What brings you here?”

Mundy needed a second to recover from the unexpected treat. “I had heard… ” He noticed that my mom was still around, trying to make herself as invisible as possible in order to eavesdrop as much as possible.
 

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Stone, how are you?” Beet-red, he could light the kitchen.

Mom buzzed forward, glad to be back in the game again. “Mundy, long time no see. Last time we met was at Berkeley U’s graduation, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. You look great. Your kitchen does, too.” As was every other new visitor to the House of the Moon, he was impressed by what he saw, the eclectic mixture of designer kitchen, witchcraft accessories and the big tree growing in the wall.

“Why, thank you, Mundy.” Then going for the kill, “Calendar never mentioned that you two are an item.”
 

Looking at me and mouthing a silent ‘… like thirty minutes ago.’ Mundy looked back at her and winked. Don’t overdo it. “You know, Mrs. S., she is a grown woman and she lives her own life. It is not that we live together. Though I brought it up just recently, didn’t I, Callie?”
 

I forced a smile. Bet you would. “I invited Mundy for the weekend, if that is all right with you?” Get this, Mundy, for changing the plan.

Mom was delighted and intrigued. This was a first. “Of course it is…. A pleasure. We will have a full house, Calendar’s sister Sunny will get here anytime, with her kids. It will be wonderful to have so much life under our roof again. Where will you be staying, Mundy?”

Obviously, good old Mundy hadn’t thought of this trivial little detail when he hatched his ill-fated plan to join me in San Diego. He stalled and Mom offered, “What I mean is, will you stay in Calendar’s room or do you want a separate room?” Mundy’s head played traffic light again. I rolled my eyes and couldn’t suppress a smile at Mom’s wickedness. She had us made, of course.

We bathed in Mundy’s dilemma for a few seconds, then Mom turned the wicked witch thing on me and said, “Oh, Mundy, don’t be embarrassed, I took part in so many hippie orgies when I was your age. Of course, you can sleep together in one room. We are quite liberal here. Is that all right with you?”

For a good American kid like Mundy, even though a Berkley graduate, this was clearly too much. He stammered a weak agreement while I put on my sweetest smile and placed another kiss on his cheek.

Mom picked up her knife again, made a dangerous swirl with it to remind us who the peace-loving boss was in the house and she continued cutting vegetables.
 

I grabbed Mundy’s arm and we went out of the kitchen into the back-hall and from there into the den. The second I closed the door of the den, I rubbed my sleeve over my mouth to get rid of any Mundy-germs that remained on my lips and then I pushed Mundy violently onto the same sofa that had been occupied by a very kissable police officer just moments earlier.
 

“What, in God’s name, brings you here, you moron? Can’t you do one thing right? What were my instructions? Stay. At. Home. Do nothing. Collaborate with the police.”

Mundy looked scared, but I didn’t know whether it was me or the situation in which I was in that scared him. He stammered, “Wh… when… I heard on the morning news that there had been a murder in an art gallery involving jewelry in San Diego, I knew that day ‘X’ had come.”

“That’s what alibis are for! So why not ride it out in Redondo as planned?”

“I would have, I swear, Callie.”

“You know, the last person who ever called me
Callie
was a football jock in high school? He was able to play without a crotch guard fort the rest of the season after I was through with him.”

Predictably, Mundy started to stutter, “I… I… I made it up on the fly, I swear. It sounded cute.”

“Is that what you call me in your fantasies? You dirty fink!”

Mundy looked trapped. Suddenly, the fun was gone out of Mundy-bashing and I sat down beside him on the sofa and sighed, “Well, so what?”

“I swear to you, I planned to stick to the arrangement. But then, maybe half an hour after you left, around 8 o’clock there was a knock on the door and this guy wanted to see you.”

“Police, in Redondo?” That’s what I needed, the local police on constant vigilance around my shop.
 

“No, not police. It was a guy from a big insurance agency, Limes and Limes, London.” Mundy fished a business card out of his shirt pocket.

“Fowler Wynn!” Slumping back, I was holding my head before he could even produce the card.

Mundy gave me a surprised look. “Exactly. A skilled guy, I couldn’t make up the story as fast as he was asking for details. Fortunately, I could block the more intimate parts but I bet he goes sniffing around. He made a very determined impression on me. He’s out to get you, you know.”