Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

Gwayn fiddled with the tap, and when the water ran, Marge heaved a sigh of relief.

“Funny, huh?” said Gwayn, who made no indication to leave, “If it hadn’t been for your valve to go bust, I would never have had to take out that piece of wall, and Boyd Baker would never have been found. Weird how things can work out like that. Makes you wonder how many other bodies are buried all over the place, waiting to be found by an enterprising plumber.” And with these words he finally took his leave.

“Boyd Baker?” asked Gran. “Is he the dead dude?”

“Yeah, Phyllis Baker’s husband, the woman we bought the house from,” said Marge.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Gran. “I always thought there was something fishy about that couple.”

“Of course you did,” said Tex acerbically. “You think there’s something fishy about every couple. Or every single person you meet.”

“No, I don’t. But the Bakers…” She frowned. “I seem to remember hearing stories about Boyd Baker. Stories about how he wasn’t as honest as he showed himself to be.”

“You mean he was a crook?” asked Marge.

“Yeah, something like that. He was a gardener, right? Used to work for this big landscaping company, and every time he showed up to do a place things would go missing. Jewelry, money, bits and bobs. No one ever accused him of anything, but rumor had it Boyd had a buddy who worked as a fence and could sell whatever Boyd managed to lay his hands on.”

“Like that brooch,” said Marge. “The brooch they found on him.”

“Yeah, but why would whoever killed him leave that brooch? That doesn’t make sense. If he was killed by the person the brooch belonged to, wouldn’t they take it?”

“They could have been in a terrible rush.”

“Or not thinking straight,” said Tex. “Especially if this wasn’t a professional hit they may have panicked and forgotten to search his pockets. And in the fifty-five years he was stuck inside that wall, his clothes may have pretty much turned to dust, but that brooch hasn’t.”

“Food for thought,” said Gran, slapping the table and getting up. “Now are we going to eat, or do I have to order Chinese again?”

“I thought you’d be interested in cracking this case,” said Marge, surprised by her mother’s lack of interest.

“I gave up sleuthing a long time ago,” said Gran. “The world is about to end, Marge, so who cares about a couple of stiffs? We’ll all be dead soon, unless your husband gets his head out of his ass and turns this basement into a bunker so we can survive. Even then it’s gonna be touch and go. I’m not sure any bunker will be able to survive the initial blast, or those three-hundred-foot waves hitting us like sledgehammers, and all of that lava pouring out of those volcanoes, not to mention those volcanic winds. They roll in so hot and fast they’ll burn you to a crisp in nanoseconds. So if after the nukes, and the tsunami, and the lava and the volcanic winds this little bunker of ours is still here, and we’re still alive, it will be a great, big miracle.”

And with these words she got up and started giving her daughter a helping hand.

Chapter 21

‘”We need to act now, Johnny,” said Jerry as he watched the lights in the house go out.

“Now? But it’s not even eight o’clock.”

“Can’t you see what’s going on? They all moved to the house next door, probably for dinner. We need to hit the place now, while there’s nobody there.”

“But I thought we were going to wait until after midnight, when they’ve all gone to bed.”

“That was Plan A,” said Jerry carefully. Long association with his partner had taught him to always move at the speed of Johnny’s intelligence, which was pretty much a snail’s pace. If he tried to rush things Johnny could get mulish: he’d refuse to budge until he had the whole thing laid out to him in minute detail. “Look, I asked around, and this broad is the daughter of the people next door, and I’ll bet they’ve all gone over there for dinner, so if we move fast we have the place to ourselves. If we wait until after midnight, we might bump into the cop that lives there. You know how cops suffer from those night terrors, on account of all the trauma and stuff, so he’ll probably come traipsing into the kitchen just as we’re lifting his nice flatscreen. What?” he asked when he noticed how Johnny sat staring at him with wide eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“A cop!” said Johnny. “You never said anything about a cop!”

“It doesn’t matter! He’s next door, enjoying a nice family dinner. The coast is clear, Johnny, but it won’t be for long. You know how cops eat. They wolf down their meals and before you know it he’ll be flopping down in front of the television to watch ESPN.”

“I’m not going in there,” said Johnny, shaking his head stubbornly. “You never said anything about a cop and I don’t like the idea of burgling a cop’s house.”

“It’s not his house. The place belongs to his girlfriend, some reporter chick.”

“Yeah, but if she’s dating a cop…”

“Look, I’m going in there and I’m going to take whatever loot I can find. You stay here and act like a pussy. I don’t care.”

It was a risky move, but one that had worked in the past.

“Okay, fine,” said Johnny finally. “I’ll go with you. But if we bump into that cop I’ll tell him this was your idea.”

“Oh, so now you’ll rat me out, huh?”

“I didn’t know it was a cop’s place!”

“It’s not a cop’s place—oh, rats.” He climbed out of the car. Sometimes he wondered if he wouldn’t be better off working alone. No endless arguments and no sharing the loot with a partner. But then he figured he’d probably miss the big oaf. Johnny might not have a lot going on up there, but he was basically a happy-go-lucky guy with a sunny personality that complemented Jerry’s sour-grapes character extremely well.

Both crooks quickly crossed the road at a trot, checking left and right as they did, and then disappeared into the shadows between the two houses. Emerging at the back, Jerry couldn’t believe their good fortune when he found the glass sliding door ajar.

“Un-freakin-believable!” he hissed as he put on his leather gloves and pushed the door further open.

“Yeah, this is a good sign,” Johnny agreed, though he still seemed nervous, darting anxious glances to the house next door, where the cop was enjoying his family feast.

They stepped inside and would have made a beeline for the television if Jerry hadn’t suddenly noticed a big, fat, red cat lying on the couch and staring at him with its glassy cat’s eyes. He shivered. He hated cats. They were even worse than dogs. Next to the fat red creature a smaller gray specimen rested, also watching them intently.

“Hey, kitty, kitty,” said Johnny. Though he preferred dogs, he was partial to all creatures great and small.

He reached out a hand to stroke the fat one’s fur when Jerry hissed, “Leave those stupid cats alone, will you? This ain’t a social call. Grab that TV and put it outside. I’ll look upstairs for the jewels and the money.”

From experience he knew that most people kept their valuables in the bedroom where they hoped no one would find them. Why this was he didn’t know. He would never keep anything in the bedroom, knowing that was where fellow crooks looked first.

He took the stairs two at a time, then moved into the bedroom, lighting his progress with the small penlight he kept just for these occasions. He searched around until he found the dresser and he’d only opened two drawers before he hit the jackpot: a small box filled to the brim with jewels. Earrings, bracelets, pendants, you name it, the reporter chick had it. Most of it wasn’t worth much, he could see at first glance, but there were one or two pieces that might fetch them a nice price.