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“Well, I only took it out for cleaning. And that was on a strict schedule—I never missed a date.”

“And that was how often?” Gentle prodding but the old gal was eighty-five. She'd earned the right to have some lapses.

“Oh my, I forgot to say…let me get the calendar then I won't be telling fibs.” Gertie walked to another room, an office Dan thought, and brought back a wall calendar showing various costumed poses of the Taco Bell Chihuahua. She backtracked to August and placed an index finger on the tenth.

“There. Notation reads…‘removed from vault for cleaning.'”

“How long did you keep it out for these periodic cleanings?”

“Not long. Two days usually. This time I was running low on the ammonia mixture and had to order a bottle. I hadn't realized this when I'd gotten the necklace out.”

“So, it was here longer than usual?”

“Yes.”

Dan made a few notes in a forced shorthand he hoped he'd be able to figure out later. It would have been much easier if his left hand had gotten mangled instead of the right.

“Did you wear it anywhere while it was here?”

“Oh, my goodness, no. Why I'd be so nervous that I wouldn't enjoy doing anything. I wouldn't even wear it around the house.”

“When it was here, where did you keep it?”

He thought for a minute she wasn't going to answer. A frail, veined hand flew to her mouth, fingers brushing her lips. She sought Penelope's okay before answering. At her daughter's nod, she began, “Well, it's deceptively simple really. We'd thought of putting it in a safe but, you know, that only advertises that you have something to put in it.”

That's one interpretation, Dan thought. But under the circumstances probably a wise choice.

“So, we put it in the Barbasol can.”

“I'm not following.”

“Just give me a minute.” Gertie pushed back from the table again and was gone longer this time. Dan slipped another lemon tart onto his plate and picked it up with his fingers—forks and left hands were a dangerous mix.

“Here we go.” Gertie reentered the room, walked to the table and placed a black- and-red striped can of Barbasol in front of him. “Remember when these were so popular? Penny and I couldn't decide whether to get the Comet cleanser or the Barbasol.” With that, she twisted off the top to reveal an empty can—someone's idea of the perfect hiding place.

Keep it under the sink in the bathroom and no one will ever suspect…yeah, right. Two little old ladies with a can of Barbasol—did they even make the stuff anymore? He was saved having to comment by Gertie continuing, “…you understand, of course, that this was just an overnight fix, so to speak. And I can't think of a time when either one of us was away from the house overnight.”

Like burglaries didn't happen during the day. Dan sighed and decided not to enlighten them—no point doing it now.

“Do you remember when you returned the necklace to the bank?”

“Let's see.” More checking the calendar. “This time—because of needing extra cleaner—I kept it out a full week.”

“And the date you returned it?”

“August seventeenth. Oh dear, let me see…That's not quite right. I took the necklace down to the bank but the door to the safe deposit box room had been removed. Some problem with the hinges not releasing when the combination was entered. I had to bring the necklace back home and didn't put it back in the bank until the following morning. The bank called to let me know when the vault was ready.” Gertie looked at the calendar. “Oh my, look here, I forgot to note the corrected date. But it would have been August eighteenth.”

Dan made a notation and slipped the notebook back in his shirt pocket. “Anything else you can remember? Anything that you'd like to add?”

“I can't think of a thing. This is a very quiet town, Mr. Mahoney, very quiet and safe. What happened is such a shock. Why, never in a million years would I have guessed something like this would happen in Wagon Mound.”

They said their good-byes. Elaine made over Bitsy and the small dog seemed to relish the new attention. Dan couldn't bring himself to perform another doggy handshake.

“I'd like to find that boardinghouse before it gets too late.” Elaine pulled away from the curb and took a right at the next corner.

“What do you think?”

“About the Kennedys? There's absolutely no doubt that they're being truthful. I really feel sorry for Gertie. Eighty-five and something so precious is stolen. Certainly isn't fair.”

Dan passed on making any comments about fairness, and yes, he felt badly for Gertie, too. Life at eighty-five shouldn't be complicated.

***

Elaine found the boardinghouse—huge compared to the buildings around it—situated on a corner maybe two blocks up from Railroad Avenue. Slick, tan stuccoed walls and tiny windows gave some hint of its age, but again, it was one of the town's better kept relics.

“Be back in a minute.”

He handed her his travel plastic. United Life & Casualty was a good company to work for—all things considered. They didn't scrimp on travel expenses and he couldn't think of a time that an expenditure had been questioned. Some good things come with seniority.

Dan watched as Elaine turned halfway up the walk to wave. He was a lucky man. Beautiful woman, great companion. And he hoped that one of these days the vertigo he suffered from just bending over would go away. Wouldn't impress anyone if he swooned in the middle of sex. He continued to watch until she disappeared inside. Then it was back to business. He took out the notebook and began a list by writing
Gertie—interview, completed
, followed by the date and time.

Item two was another interview, this time scheduled with the bank president—he'd try for Monday maybe ten in the morning. He'd also need to tour the robbery site. Not sure how long all that would take. Then tentatively either Tuesday or Wednesday, he'd interview the other safe deposit box holders who had also lost items in the robbery. And he'd stop by the chop shop and talk with Jeeter…Ferris? Sounded right but he'd check the last name.

He was purposefully leaving the FBI until last. Dan wanted to form a picture of events on his own. It was always better to compare notes with these guys than to sit there taking them. Usually they were pretty helpful—he hoped that hadn't changed. The mutual back-scratching was important in his business and had worked to his advantage before.

Then there were other things maybe less in importance…such as a talk with Chet's grandson, a call to the Hobbs office to see who knew when he was heading out that morning after the meeting and what route he would be taking…and maybe a look around Roy. Tough to check on cut hoses at this late date, but you never knew. If there was one thing thirty years in the business had taught him—never, never second-guess. And to drop the word
assume
from your vocabulary.

He looked up as Elaine opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat.

“Here we are.” She dangled an old-fashioned actual door key from an index finger and handed him his card and a receipt. “Three weeks, five hundred dollars a week paid in advance—I think four hundred of that is because of Simon—a kitchenette, queen-sized bed, all linens, private bath…it's really not half bad.”

“Sounds great. Actually, United Life will think they're getting off cheap.”

“And there it is.” She leaned forward to point out the windshield. “On the front corner, private outside stairs, and a side yard for Simon.”

Dan didn't say anything but outside stairs translated to easy entry…of course, with Simon the warning system was no fail. And he'd just make sure he took his computer with him when he wasn't in the room. “Looks great. Where do we park?”

“Over there on the street. Our landlady's name is Mrs. Patrick. Ina Patrick. But she's not one you'd call by her first name. Nice enough but really no nonsense. I had to tell her about Simon's heroics just to get him in.”

Simon's humans seemed to be milking his one good deed for all it was worth. Dan glanced at the dog who was sitting up watching their every move. Well, there had been other good deeds. Dan wasn't being fair and if this one got them in the door, then it was worth it. Simon needed a little praise.

“So what do you think, boy? Think you can be quiet and not spill your food?” At this Simon scooted forward to put his head between them.

“Let me get the car parked and get our bags upstairs. Then I'll run back to the convenience store and pick up something to eat.”

***

“I hate to tell you this, but the choices were pizza, frozen hoagies, ham and cheese frozen pockets, egg biscuit and sausage sans and…oh yes, corn dogs.”

“And the winner is?” Pretend drum roll—Dan doing a staccato series of taps on the counter ending in a flourish before realizing how much his right wrist ached.

“Pizza, and which hand do you want?” Elaine was holding something behind her back.

“Right.”

“Wrong.” But she brought out her left hand holding a DVD.
The Bridesmaid.

“Hey, great.” Feigned approval. Whatever happened to movies like
Cowboys and Aliens
? That one was filmed in New Mexico somewhere outside Santa Fe—surely it was on DVD by now. But he smiled; he wasn't going to disappoint Elaine who looked absolutely triumphant standing there with a DVD in one hand and a boxed cheese and mushroom pizza in the other. He grabbed her around the waist and was glad the pizza was frozen as it hit the floor. “I feel like we're living in never-ending picnic mode.” She laughed and put both arms around his neck as he leaned in and kissed her…long and longingly.

“That was nice. I should leave you alone more often.”

“No, never.” He pulled her into him but she stepped back.

“I almost forgot. Mrs. Patrick met me in the hall…seems she got a call from the local Gestapo asking her to warn guests about recent auto vandalism in the neighborhood. She thought we'd be fine if we left the dog in the car. Simon's not going to like that.”

The advice to leave Simon in the SUV overnight was probably good. Small towns always seemed to have their share of petty crime—usually cars broken into. He'd bet that the Wagon Mound law enforcement was woefully understaffed.

Still, Dan was uneasy. He was hoping that a case or two of vandalism was all it was. And it could be Ms. Patrick's way of getting a dog out of one of her rooms—at least for overnight. No. Five hundred a week was probably a small gold mine in this town—doubt if she'd rock the boat. But again, he had second thoughts about a room at the back—one that opened onto the street with stairs shadowed by a towering juniper was exactly what it sounded like—an open invitation—burglary under cover. And leaving his alarm system in the car might not be wise. Or was this just part of his overactive imagination? It was taking him a while to get over reacting like everyone who said “hello” was offering him a ride in a rigged truck.

Pizza, beer, and a movie were becoming more than just a Friday night treat—even if it meant popping a DiGiorno Supreme in the oven and watching a movie on his laptop…in bed. If you added the fact that Wagon Mound's sidewalks were rolled up at nine and there wasn't a bar, a restaurant, or a movie theater within forty miles—this kind of home entertainment wasn't so bad. He'd bet they'd do more of it. And actually, the bed part made it pretty good. And maybe
The Bridesmaid
wasn't a thriller, but you had to hand it to the actors—didn't one of them get an Oscar nod? And, he hadn't seen it—that left out most action movies.

***

But their first night in Wagon Mound wasn't exactly without incident and now it was dawn and time for reflection. The kitchenette's window faced east and he was being treated to reds and peaches and golds being broad-brushed across the horizon. Spectacular. He poured his third cup of overly strong Peet's Kenya Auction Lot and sat down at the table. The night was a blur but he forced himself to reconstruct the chain of events. Whether or not he reported them to Sheriff Howard, he needed to sift through what had happened for himself first.

He'd taken Simon down to the SUV after the movie at about 11:30. It was a bright night thanks to an almost full moon and clear skies. If he were still a smoker, the night would have invited a few minutes of reflection and a cigarette or two, just kicking back on the stairs and enjoying the balmy autumn.

But he'd come straight back from locking the car after crating Simon in the back. When he got upstairs, Elaine was asleep so he turned off the lights, undressed in the bathroom, crawled into bed, and almost instantly fell asleep himself.

According to his watch, he was awakened at 2:45 by something—something not right, out of place, making a noise. He wasn't sure but he eased his hand under the pillow and felt the comforting presence of his .38—a nice little weapon, if he did say so himself. Nothing fancy, just accurate. He opened his eyes but didn't move his head.

He was parallel to the door, sleeping on the left side of the queen-sized bed. Next to the bed was a nightstand with lamp against the east wall, like the headboard of the bed, a chair next to it under a window on the south side and the door. The door was the old-fashioned half-glass, half-solid wood with a roller shade pulled down to meet the bottom half of the door but curled at the edges. It was this sliver of moonlight that had been blocked—just for an instant by what was unmistakably the shadow of a human form.

Dan waited and felt rather than saw that the person was still there. What was the person doing? Then he saw it. Inch by inch a piece of paper was being slipped under the door coming to rest halfway across the jamb. Now was the opportunity. He grabbed the gun in his left hand, was momentarily pleased that he'd left his boxers on, hopped up forgetting the bruising and lunged for the door.