Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

I said, “Skillet-chasing lawyers.”

That confused her.

Milo said, “At least someone’s looking out for us.”

She flashed a puzzled smile and left.

He said, “I need to regroup, let’s lay it out. Hoke left Thalia the ruby and maybe other stuff from the heist and she got killed for it decades later.”

“Maybe there wasn’t other stuff,” I said. “The only item noted on Demarest’s report was the ruby. The fact that it was scrawled on the back might mean it wasn’t discovered until after the report was written. Hiding one stone would’ve been easy. Conceal too much of the take and they’d have come looking for it.”

“You’re being therapeutic, right? Telling me there’s only one blingo-o to worry about.”

“No, I mean it.”

“Fine... so the feds got most of the haul and Thalia got to keep the ruby. So, what, she hid it in plain sight, all these years?”

“My guess is she stashed it away, brought it out years later when she felt safe.”

“Something to remind her of Lover Boy.”

“She was a woman with a sense of humor.” Then I thought of something. “Either that or she viewed the ruby as something special. We know she was in charge of Hoke’s burial. On top of his gravestone is a red marble crown. Kind of jewel-like, I saw nothing like it on any other marker. Hoke was a redhead but I’ll bet she was commemorating something else.”

Our drinks came. He drained half his beer. “Goddamn finial on top of a goddamn lamp. ”

I said, “Screwed into the fixture. A custom job that someone had to fashion and install.”

He put his glass down. “So, what, I ask around for a hundred-year-old felonious craftsman?”

I fished out my phone, switched to speaker.

Tatiana at Belinda Wojik’s number said, “Doctor’s office.”

“This is Alex Delaware, I was there with Lieutenant Sturgis—”

“Doctor’s busy.”

“Put her on, anyway.”

“She’s busy—”

“We can come down or she can answer a quick question over the phone.”

“Hmnh.”

Moments later, a flat voice: “Hello, this is Belinda.”

One advantage of her personality quirks: no need for small talk. “It’s Alex Delaware, again. Did your grandfather have any hobbies?”

“You think he did something wrong,” she said. “I guess it would bother me if he did. Or maybe not. He was always wonderful to me.”

I said, “Not at all. Did he have any hobbies?”

“Like stamp collecting or pinning butterflies.” A beat. “I used to catch bugs and pin them on a corkboard. Grampa told me it was cruel so I stopped.”

I said, “So no outside interests.”

“No collections,” she said. “He tinkered with antiques, does that count?”

“What kind of antiques?”

“His father was a furniture refinisher so he knew how to fix up furniture. Does that qualify?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Grampa was very handy,” she said. “He could cane a chair, put patina on metal, fix handles. He had a shop out back. Am I allowed to ask why you’re inquiring?”

“Just what I said, rounding—”

“Things out. I guess that means something to you, it doesn’t to me.”

“Sorry, but until we learn who killed Thalia—”

“You must be careful. Now that I’m remembering, Grampa also worked with leather. He made me a nice belt. A leather hat for himself and he used to bind his own books in leather. He kept pots of glue and hides in his shop, they smelled. Father wasn’t handy at all.”

I thanked her and hung up.

Milo said, “What made you think of Wojik?”

“I figured it would have to be someone Hoke and Thalia trusted. Jack McCandless was an equally good choice but what’s the chance Ricki Sylvester would talk to us?”

“You knew Wojik would.”

“She’s artless and pretty much a pure soul,” I said. “Honest because she doesn’t know any other way. What she said doesn’t help much but it does firm up the picture.”

“Thelma and the others plotting in Hoke’s best interest,” he said. “There’s a charge for you: aiding and abetting, by way of tinkering.”

He pulled out the British Museum photo. “In this it’s a blob. What’s it like in real life?”

“Big, red, shiny. I assumed it was glass so I didn’t pay attention. No one did until recently.”

“Fifty-seven carats in plain sight. So how would the bad guys know where to find it?”

“Knowing what it looked like would’ve made it easier. An inside person would’ve made it a cinch.”

The food arrived. He ate fast, without obvious pleasure, finished his beer, wiped his mouth hard enough to redden his lips, looked at the photo again. “Some Drancy spawn goes looking for revenge plus a mega-payoff, locates Thalia, verifies this thing is in her room through an inside person.”

“Theoretically,” I said, “it could be anyone who’d been in the bungalow.”

“Any hotel staffer but probably DeGraw,” he said. “Bastard verifies the location of the ruby, walks over to Cinco, tips off the bad guys, and gives them a key. They spend a day or two watching Thalia, knowing her schedule. Come back after dark, snuff her, unscrew the damn thing, and check out.”

“Without paying their bill.”

“DeGraw was full of outrage about that. Duplicitous asshole.”

“All that planning,” I said. “If they’d just settled up with DeGraw, they would have attracted less attention. Same for the show they put on in Creech’s car. But that’s psychopathy. Low impulse control and thrill-seeking.”

I took a few bites of hazardous fajita. “DeGraw would’ve been a good source for the key but I’m thinking someone with deeper knowledge from her grandfather. Who got real defensive after you brought him up.”

“Sylvester. Still got my guys on her, nothing.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s got a safe in her office.”

“The ruby’s with her? Good luck getting access to that.”

Several bites later, he said, “The same itch is still bugging me. If we are talking long-standing family lore and mega-bucks, why take so long to act?”

“Could be changing life circumstances,” I said. “Someone got poor. Or was released from prison and decided to go hunting. Lockup can lead you to all sorts of research. The Internet raped privacy a long time ago.”

“Idle hands,” he said. “So who’s the avenging devil, Waters or Bakstrom?”

“Could be either,” I said. “Or neither and the Drancy descendant is someone who knew a con comfortable with violence about to be released.”

“Blondie and Bakstrom,” he said. “Bonded to Bakstrom more than Waters because ol’ Henry’s better-looking and still alive.”

I put my fork down. “Another changing circumstance would be the arrival of a family member actually willing to do something about it. It’s like terrorism. An entire village might nurse a grudge but not everyone’s ready to wear a suicide vest.”

“Blondie, again,” he said. “What I need to do is find an actual connection between her and either of the cons. Problem is our federal pals in Colorado. The latest is there is no visitors list anymore. Nothing goes back further than a month, ye olde computer glitch.”

He finished his beer, called for another. “You know what really bothers me? Thalia, so helpless, thinking all her needs are being taken care of. It’s like the damn hotel is an accomplice.”

We finished, paid, walked back to the unmarked. As he slid behind the wheel, his phone jangled a text.

He shrugged. “Well, this is possibly not futile.” His arm swung, showing me the screen: Could maybe have something on the h.c. Mel.

“Mel Howe,” he said. “She’s one of our sex crimes D’s.”