Chris Grabenstein - Ring Toss

“Ryan was in Connie’s room!” I say. “202!”

“Precisely,” says Ceepak.

“Jim was with me when I asked Mr. Ryan to change rooms,” says Becca.

“Come again?”

“Jim. Officer Riggs.”

“He’d come by for coffee,” I add, wiggling my eyebrows up and down to let Becca know that I know what was really on the menu first thing Saturday morning.

She, of course, ignores my eyebrow waggles.

“Jim was in his police uniform,” she says, “because, well, later he had to go to work. With you guys. On the night shift.”

“Roger that,” says Ceepak.

“But, it was only like eleven in the morning, so he had a ton of time to kill. He hung out with me while I made my rounds.”

“Eleven o’clock is check-out time,” I say.

“Jim and I went up to 202 because Mr. Ryan hadn’t come down to the office. When he checked in, he originally told me he only needed the room for one night.”

Ceepak nods. “Then he apparently changed his mind.”

“Right. Said he had to meet some friends who had been delayed. So I offered him the room downstairs.”

“And when you made this request, you, more or less, had a police escort.”

“Yeah. Jim was right there. Looking big and tough in his uniform.”

Scary is probably a better adjective. The Gigantor body builder usually wears these wrap around sunglasses that hug the sides of his shaved scalp.

“Maybe that’s why Mr. Ryan didn’t give me any guff,” says Becca. “He just grabbed his bag and followed me down to the first floor.”

“One bag?”

“Yeah. A small one, too. Like a gym bag, you know?”

“Curious,” says Ceepak.

“Yeah. Usually, I have to help people lug all sorts of suitcases and ice chests up and down those steps.”

“Suggesting that Mr. Ryan was not here for the purposes of vacationing.”

“Guess not. Oh, this is weird: When he was checking out, he told me he needed to go back up to Room 202 to look for his electric razor which he forgot to pack when Jim and I ‘gave him the bum’s rush.’”

“Did you let him?”

“Of course not. The DePinna girl was in that room Sunday morning. I told him if the maids found his razor when they were cleaning, we’d work out a way to ship it to him. We always do that. You’d be surprised what people leave behind in motels. One time, I was cleaning rooms, found somebody’s dentures in a plastic party cup.”

“We need to talk to Connie DePinna again,” says Ceepak.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“We need her permission to search her room.”

“You think we can find her ring?”

“Perhaps. That or whatever Mr. Ryan left behind.”

“We’re looking for his electric shaver?”

“No, Danny. I suspect it was something much more valuable.”

We march out of the motel office.

Connie and Mrs. DePinna have joined the other females of their family poolside.

“Miss DePinna?”

“Yes?” says Connie.

“We’d like your permission to search your room.”

“Go ahead. I already tore the place apart.”

“Do you have the pass key, Becca?”

“Yeah.” She reaches into her pocket. Hands us the cardkey.

Then she gasps.

“What. Is. That?” She’s pointing at the pool and what looks like a bloated jelly fish made out of bright blue plastic decorated with cute yellow fish, red seashells, and green dolphins.

It’s floating on the surface of the water.

“Looks like little Joey’s swimming diaper,” says Mrs. DePinna, very nonchalantly. “You should probably get it out of the pool, Ms. Adkinson.”

Donna agrees. “It’s not very sanitary. Do you have a net or something?”

“It’s disgusting,” adds Jackie.

I can tell: Becca so wants the DePinnas to leave. But, she doesn’t say anything. She simply sighs and stomps off to retrieve the aluminum pole-and-net deal from the tool shed.

“We’re sending a letter,” says Mrs. DePinna. “To the BBB. This motel is repulsive.”

“The rooms smell,” adds Jackie.

“They were all out of chocolate-covered doughnuts in the lobby at ten.” This from Donna.

“And,” says Connie, “they really shouldn’t hire Mexican maids who steal diamond rings out of people’s rooms. I mean it.”

Mercifully, that’s when Ceepak’s cell phone rings.

“This is Ceepak. Go.”

He nods a few times. “Roger that. Thank you, Officer Diego.” He snaps his clamshell shut. Turns to Connie, who is slathering her skin with some kind of cocoa butter.

“Miss DePinna? We’re going upstairs to search your room now.”

“Whatever.” She’s too busy rubbing oil on her thighs to care.

We bound up the steps.

“What did Denise dig up?” I ask.

“Sean Ryan is a known alias for one John ‘The Jeweler’ Reynolds. He has major underworld connections and is often called in to verify the value of stolen gems prior to their resale.”

“He stole Connie’s ring?

“Doubtful, as he checked out several days ago and the ring only went missing this morning.”

“Oh. So what are we looking for?”

“Whatever else Mr. Reynolds left behind.”

We use the keycard Becca gave us and enter room 202.

“I’ll check the dresser and closet,” says Ceepak.

“I’ll check the air ducts,” I say because in the movies, that’s where the bad guys always hide stuff.

“Danny? There are no air ducts in this room. All the HVAC functions are supplied by that single unit under the window.”

The rattling air conditioner.

Ceepak and I both stare at it for a second.

“Well done, Danny!”

We rush over to it. Lift off the front panel.

There’s a small Nike duffel jammed in under the fan motor.

Ceepak pulls it out. Works open the top.

The black bag is filled with jewelry. Diamonds, emeralds, necklaces, rings, watches, brooches, bracelets — an entire display window full of sparkly stuff.

“That’s who was banging on the door at night,” says Ceepak. “Other members of Mr. Ryan’s crime ring. He told them he had to abandon the stash they had hired him to evaluate. They came here attempting to retrieve it. Most likely, this is from that string of robberies the FBI is investigating in Philadelphia.”

“The YACS?”

“Roger that.”

Geeze-o man. “They could’ve busted in and killed Connie!”

Ceepak nods. “Or Becca. When she came up with her flashlight and scared them off. Our friend was extremely lucky.”

“But, who stole Connie’s ring? You think one of the thugs casing the motel saw her flashing it around the pool, decided to steal it instead of picking up the drop bag?”

“It’s a possibility, Danny. We need to ask the DePinna women a few more questions. Try to determine if they noticed an unknown individual or individuals lurking around the motel this week.”

We head out the door.

That’s when Becca gets lucky again.

“I found it!” she shouts. She’s kneeling near the edge of the pool, her arm in the water, burrowing into one of the overflow drains. “I found it!”

Mrs. DePinna and her three daughters are up out of their lounge chairs. The kids swarm over, too.

When Becca’s hand comes out of the water, Ceepak and I are both nearly blinded by a laser-like glint — even though we’re still up on the second floor, leaning against the railing.

“This is the missing ring, right?” we hear Becca say to Mrs. DePinna.

“Yes!”

Connie grabs it. Slides it onto her finger.

“It must’ve slipped off this morning when I went swimming!”

Possible. The girl slathers on a lot of sun tail oil.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Connie hugs Becca.

“You’re welcome.”