“I was terrified in the beginning, but then nothing happened. I wasn’t attacked or anything. And on top of that I’m real brave.”
“Is it possible that you’re imagining all this?” Connie asked.
“It occurred to me,” Lula said. “Like maybe it was a dream. Or maybe it was too much tequila before bedtime.”
“And?” Connie asked.
“And I’m pretty sure it’s Grendel. There’s the brown hair on my carpet. I think it must have come off his hairy foot.”
“Grendel doesn’t wear shoes?” Connie asked.
“I’ve never seen his feet but it’s possible. Hobbits don’t wear shoes and they have hairy feet, so maybe ogres are like that too,” Lula said.
I’m used to Grandma Mazur talking about people getting beamed up into alien spaceships, getting chased by Bigfoot, and seeing ghosts march across the Morgan Street cemetery every May 23. So Lula believing in Grendel and hobbits didn’t seem all that odd to me. Okay, I had my doubts about Grendel. It would be more believable if it was Grendel’s American cousin. And it would be totally believable if it was some whack job dressing up in an ogre suit and creeping around in the dark.
“I’m still going with the big dog theory,” Connie said. “A dog would shed on your carpet and make scratches in your door.”
“The scratches were at six feet,” Lula said. “And they were deep. I shouldn’t be talking about this because now I’m getting a little terrified, and I decided I was going to stay calm.”
“We should head out,” I said. “I want to drive around the neighborhoods by the button factory.”
“Are you thinking Duncan Dugan might have gone home?” Lula asked.
“No, but he might be in the area. And his pal Nutsy might be with him.”
“I’m in favor of doing a ride-around,” Lula said. “You got a Rangeman car, and they always smell good. Like new-car smell and testosterone.”
I’d have bet money that by the end of the day the car was going to smell like Bob.
I buckled myself in behind the wheel and Plover called.
“I have to talk to you,” Plover said. “I’m at the store. Is it possible for you to meet me here?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Small change of plans,” I said to Lula. “This shouldn’t take long.”
* * *
King Street was quiet at this time of the morning. Stores were just beginning to open. Not a lot of foot traffic. Plover’s doors were still locked. He saw me approach and he opened the door. Lula and Bob trooped in after me.
“I brought my assistant and security dog,” I said to Plover. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure,” Plover said. “I just want to know how it’s going.”
“I’m making some progress,” I said.
“What kind of progress? What does that mean? I don’t want to sound cranky, but I thought you might have found him by now.”
“It hasn’t even been a week.”
“I guess that’s true. It seems longer. I just want this to be done. I want some closure. I want to know what happened to my diamonds. And why did he do this? I gave him a job. I trusted him.”
“There’s the possibility that Andrew Manley didn’t take the diamonds,” I said. “Did anyone else know your security code? Did anyone else know the combination to your safe?”
“My father and my brother. They’ve both passed.”
“Anyone else? A former or current employee?”
“This is a small family business,” Plover said. “My wife helps out during high-traffic times. Weekends and holidays. Over Christmas I have a salesclerk, Mindy Spurling. She’s been with me for years, working part-time. She’s never had access to the safe or had a need to know the security code. I can’t think of anyone else.”
“How about a cleaning crew?”
“This store doesn’t require a lot. My wife and Mindy and I do daily dusting and polishing. Every Thursday night I have Tidy Cleaners come in and do floors and the bathroom. I’m always here so they don’t need to know the security code.”
Ranger was responsible for the security system. I knew there wouldn’t be a leak there.
“Did you hear about Andy’s parents’ car?” Plover asked. “Someone planted a bomb. It’s unbelievable. Why would someone want to blow up the Manleys? Are they part of a crime family? Is that why their son took my diamonds? I don’t like being mixed up in this. I run a family business. I’m boring. I like being boring. My socks always match. I’ve been married for forty-two years. I have a ten-pound dog and five grandchildren. In all the years the Plovers have been in business in this very same location, we’ve never been robbed. We’ve never lost a single stone. And now this!”
“I can see it’s all been a traumatic experience for you,” Lula said to Plover, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re closing in on the suspect. We’ve got him in our crosshairs. It won’t be long now.”
“That’s good to hear,” Plover said. “What do you know? Is he in the area? Do you have an address? Does he have an accomplice? Has he tried to fence my merchandise?”
“That’s all classified information right now,” Lula said. “We’ll give you a full report as soon as our suspicions are verified.”
“Is there anything else?” I asked Plover. “Do you have any new information?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“There’s a show on the animal channel that you should watch,” Lula said to Plover. “It’s about anxiety issues and how to control them. It’s mostly about dogs and cats and it was about a chicken once, but you might find it helpful until we can get your problem resolved.”
Plover was at a loss for words. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t have known how to respond to that either.
“I need to get back to work,” I said to Plover. “I’ll be in touch when I know more.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lula, Bob, and I piled into the Explorer. I pulled into traffic and headed across town.
“Are we doing our ride-around now?” Lula asked.
“Yep,” I said. “We’re on the hunt for the Yamaha.”
“I can understand how Plover has a problem with Nutsy,” Lula said. “He put his trust in him and now he feels betrayed. You don’t suppose what he said about the Manleys being part of the mob is true, do you?”
“No.”
At least I hadn’t until Plover mentioned it. There was a time when everyone knew everyone who was mob in Trenton. Things are different now. The mob has been marginalized by the gangs. The mob still exists but it’s gone low profile. The thing is, even at low profile, Celia Manley, the cat lady, wouldn’t have made the cut for Mob Housewives of Trenton, New Jersey. For starters, her hair was all wrong. I’d ask Grandma about it. And Connie. Grandma knew everything about everybody, and Connie’s family was connected. Connie’s uncle had done wet work before someone whacked him.