The Babbling Brook Naked Poker Club - Book One (15 page)

I opened the Amazon site on my computer and
searched the book category for “grapho.” I scrolled through several
screens before hitting on a possible match:
Graphoanalysis: The
Art and Science of Handwriting Analysis
.

I read the book description and then sat
back staring at the screen, shaking my head, both amused and
appalled. No question, Josephine must have crossed her fingers when
Mac asked her to refrain from any further investigations, because
clearly that’s what she and Lillian were doing. Investigating.

On the pretense of putting together an
inspirational book, they were collecting handwriting samples to
analyze. I wondered who would be doing the analyzing, and if either
of them had any idea what they were doing.

There was a knock on the doorframe. I looked
up to find Mac standing there, which made my heart do an absurd
skippy thing. I closed my Internet browser, took a breath to steady
myself, and smiled at him.

“Is this a good time for you?” he said.

“Yes, of course. It’s fine. Please, have a
seat.”

He sat, turning his notebook in his hands.
“We’ve been interviewing the senior staff, and it would have looked
odd if we left you out.”

“You’re investigating the thefts, then?”

“Yes, although I’m afraid we haven’t been
able to make much progress. We have our IT guy searching the web,
and we located the jeweler who designed the necklace. She provided
us with a picture.” He leaned forward and laid a photo on the desk.
“I’m wondering if you ever saw Mrs. Turpin wearing this?”

The necklace was a thick braid of gold, and
hanging from it was a heart-shaped pendant inset with five
diamonds. “Oh yes. I have seen this. Gladys always wore it whenever
she went out to dinner with the group.”

“Good. At least, that’s proof she had it
with her here at Brookside.” He reclaimed the photo, sat back, and
opened his notebook.

“Wasn’t it on her inventory list?”

“She listed jewelry with an overall value of
$5,000, but the necklace alone is worth seven. As for the stamp and
the baseball card, they were also listed as part of collections,
not as specific items. Souter did say the lists are manually
entered into a computer program, and the original forms are then
shredded. Maybe the specifics were lost at that point.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, thinking about
the possibilities that opened up for a potential thief.

“Do you have access to the forms?” he
asked.

I shook my head. “Not the originals. And I
doubt I have access to the computer forms either. At least, I don’t
think I do. Do you want me to check the staff database?”

He nodded, and I turned to the computer and
logged into the Brookside site. Since I use it so rarely, I had to
look up my password.

Mac came around the desk and stood behind me
as I scrolled through the various menu choices. His nearness made
my fingers skip over the keys as I tried to type in a search term.
I deleted the mistyped word and tried again, discovering I had
limited access to information, something I’d never noticed
before.

“I’ll have to check and see who does have
access,” Mac said, sitting back down. “Would you have any ideas
about that?”

“Aside from Mr. Souter and Candace, possibly
their assistant. Did he tell you who transfers the data from the
forms?”

“He says he does that. For security
reasons.”

“And then he shreds the forms?”

“Now that’s the interesting thing. He
doesn’t do it right away. He leaves the forms along with other
papers to be shredded, and they’re picked up periodically by a
shredding company.”

“That means anyone with access to his office
could help themselves to the forms before they’re shredded.” I
immediately thought of Eddie.

“We’re thinking one person is doing this,
but it’s also possible it’s two people, one with access to the
lists and a second with routine access to apartments.”

“That sounds plausible,” I said. “Eddie has
both, you know. He’s frequently alone in Souter’s office, and he
has access to the apartments as well.”

Mac made a final note and then put his
notebook away, signaling the end of our meeting.

I debated whether to mention what Josephine
and Lillian were up to, but since it was unlikely anyone would
suspect an ulterior motive in their book project, it would be a
shame to spoil their fun. I doubted they’d find out anything
useful, though.

“What about my appointment with Detective
Dillingham?” I said.

Mac frowned.

“He said he was coming at three to interview
me?”

“I’ll let him know I took care of it.” He
paused, looking down at his hands, then he gave me a direct look.
“Any more trouble with Eddie?”

“No. I’ve followed your advice. I always
call Josephine when I’m ready to leave, and she watches until I get
in my car. I’ve also been leaving a little earlier so I can walk
out with one of the aides.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Be sure you keep
doing that.”

“Yes, I will.”

He stood and reached out a hand. To shake, I
realized after a moment. His hand was large and warm, and touching
him, I felt once again the quiet force of his personality I’d
noticed the first time I met him and every time I’d seen him
since.

The temptation to ask him to stay so I could
confess my secret and ask for his help was, briefly,
overwhelming.

All in all a good thing then that he chose
that moment to let go of my hand and walk out of my office.

Josephine

The inspirational messages and quotes were coming in quickly. As I
delivered them to Lill, I divided them into two piles: residents
and staff. Then I subdivided the staff pages into those who had
ready access to residents’ apartments and those who did not.

We discussed whose writing should be
examined as a priority, and Lill suggested I find out who was
assigned to clean the apartments that had missing items. Leaving
her examining the writing sample from the head of housekeeping, I
went to talk to Gladys and Glenn’s neighbors and discovered, as
they were in different wings, they had different housekeepers.

Last, I spoke to Dot Todhoffer, the woman
missing the stamp. She added a third housekeeper to my list. Not
surprising, but it was disappointing. Each analysis took a lot of
time, so narrowing down possible suspects would be invaluable to
Lill’s efforts.

When I returned to her apartment, I found
Lill bent over a portable writing desk, peering through a
magnifying glass and brandishing a protractor.

“This is most interesting, Josephine,” she
said, glancing at me.

“Who are you analyzing now?” I asked.

“The handyman. You know, the one who
replaces our light bulbs and unstops toilets, things like
that.”

“I’ve never met him.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Lill said without
looking up. “You probably unstop your own toilet.”

“And I’ll change my own light bulbs. I’m not
doddering yet. But I haven’t asked any of the maintenance staff for
a handwriting sample yet.” Then I noticed the paper Lill was
examining wasn’t one of the ones I’d been handing out. It appeared
to be a work order, or something similar.

“Where did you get that?” I pointed at the
paper.

“I’ve been collecting samples for some time.
Just for fun, you know.”

“You mean I didn’t need to go around talking
to everyone?” I was finding it a chore, to tell the truth.

“Not at all. I only have a few scraps. The
samples you’re getting are so much better. Still, this one is most
interesting.”

“In what way?”

“He has double-looped circle letters and
curled-under arches. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover Bob
is having an affair.”

Most of what Lill said about the writing
samples was in a code I’d yet to break. “But is he capable of
theft?”

“I’d certainly consider him a suspect.” She
paused and took off the glasses. “You know what would help?”

“What?”

“To know what Mac has found out. It might
narrow things down. Otherwise, it may take weeks for me to get
through all this.” Her hand swept over the piles of papers, and she
sat back with a sigh.

“We could invite him for another evening of
poker and Scotch.”

“You think he’ll come?”

“I suspect the Scotch will be more than
enough temptation.”

Mac

On a Friday in mid-October, I got a call from Josephine inviting me
to come over that evening. Erdradour was mentioned, making my mouth
water, and since I had nothing else planned, I accepted the
invitation. My sister would say that my looking forward to spending
an evening with two elderly women was proof positive I needed an
intervention.

Despite that thought, I hung up, smiling. Of
course it occurred to me the two might have an ulterior motive. In
return for a shot of exceptional Scotch, I expected to have my
brain picked on any progress Dillingham and I had made with the
thefts.

Since we’d finished interviewing, I
suspected rumors were flying among the staff, and I was equally
sure Souter would be keeping residents in the dark, or trying to.
But given what little we’d learned so far, talking to residents,
especially these two, would fit nicely into the investigation. It
meant I could sip Josephine’s whiskey without feeling
compromised.

When I arrived and discovered it would be
only the three of us, I realized I’d also been pleased by the
invitation because I thought Devi might be joining us. But if
that’s what I hoped, why wasn’t I giving Devi a call myself? It was
spineless for me to expect Josephine and Lillian to set me up. On
the other hand, I had no business pursuing a relationship with a
woman like Devi. She was young enough to want children, and she
deserved better than me.

Josephine ushered me over to the sofa. The
Erdradour bottle and three crystal glasses were sitting on the
coffee table.

“If you’d do the honors?” She took a seat
across from me. “But only a tiny drop for me, if you please.”

I poured single fingers of Scotch into two
of the glasses and a half finger in the third, and the three of us
saluted each other and then lifted our glasses to our lips. While
Lillian and I savored the Scotch, Josephine took only a sip, then
set her glass down with a click.

“Actually, we didn’t invite you here just
for Scotch, Mac. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Fine by me.”

She smiled, then picked up her glass and
peered at its contents, as if searching for words. “Lill and I have
a confession, you see.”

I set my glass down and gave her my full
attention.

“There are things we can do that might be
more difficult for you.” She shook her head. “Sorry. That didn’t
come out quite right.”

The Scotch in her glass sloshed, and I was
tempted to reach out and take the glass out of her hand. It would
be a terrible waste if any of it spilled.

“We think it will be difficult for anyone to
find out who’s doing this,” Lillian said. “But it’s important to
stop them.”

I took a sip of whiskey and left them
dangling. This was the kind of poker I did know how to play.

“Lill is a Graphoanalyst.” Josephine sat
back with a satisfied expression, as if everything should now make
perfect sense. Which it did. Sort of.

“She’s worked with the police.”

I struggled not to smile.

“We’re collecting handwriting samples from
the staff, and I’ve been analyzing them,” Lillian said. She stood
and walked over to the table to pick up a pile of papers.

“Wait. How did you get people to
cooperate?”

“We told them we’re putting together an
inspirational book for children with cancer,” Josephine said, her
tone offhand. “It’s part of a fund-raising effort another resident,
Myrtle Grabinowitz, is doing.”

“You’re right,” I said. “That’s not an
approach I could pull off.” It might even be illegal.

“We thought if we combined forces
. . .” Josephine gestured with her glass before letting
the words trail off. She gave me a hopeful look.

I reached over and eased the glass out of
her hand. “How do you propose we do that?”

“We thought we’d tell you our conclusions,
and you’d tell us who to look at next.” Lillian sat back down, the
papers in one hand. “We have a number of possibilities.” She waved
the pages. “If we can narrow it down, it would be a huge help.”

I thought about it while taking another
smoky mouthful of Scotch, and decided I couldn’t see a downside to
their plan. Especially since they’d offered to share what they knew
first. I nodded at Lillian.

“We think it’s unlikely Mr. Souter is
involved,” she said, pulling a paper off the pile and setting it
aside. “Neither is Candace. Or Bob, the maintenance man, or Margo,
who’s head of housekeeping.” As she spoke, she added sheets to the
smaller pile. But that still left a lot of possibilities.

“They were your main suspects?” I said.

“They seemed the most obvious ones to rule
out,” Josephine said.

“What about Eddie?” I said.

“I looked at his writing some time ago, and
he’s definitely a suspect. But I’m not convinced he’s smart enough
to have done this. At least, not on his own. So we’re looking for a
possible accomplice.”

“I see. So you put together a bogus
fund-raiser as a cover for what you’re really doing? That about
right?”

Josephine shrugged.

“What happens to the money that’s
raised?”

“That’s all taken care of. It goes to
Children’s Hospital.”

“And this book? Is it a scam?”

“Of course not,” Josephine said. “We’ll take
everything people write and make a book out of it. We’re planning
to make copies available at no charge through the hospital.”