servants,” Ceese had sighed, tossing Sydney a chew bone. A perfect little lady, the dog’s one blue eye and one brown eye had gazed adoringly at her mistress.
“Sydney will stay with Bill,” Cee-Cee replied. “She tolerates him. I’m leaving tomorrow, Ingrid, so I’ll give you my Aspen phone number. Don’t hesitate to call. Promise?”
“Yup. Hold on.” I retrieved my Visa bill from the mail stacked atop the table, found a pen, turned over the envelope, and jotted down the number. “Please don’t worry, Ceese. I’ve already outwitted Tonto, Kim’s no threat, and Tad says things like eat shit and die. If she bopped Wylie over the head, she’d claim Workers’ Comp for a broken fingernail.”
“Did you decipher Wylie’s painting?”
“Maybe.” I told Cee-Cee about the virgin bit. “I feel as though I’ve been taken advantage of. If Wylie had a premonition, why didn’t he simply say so-and-so wants me dead? I prefer a treasure hunt that leads to some treasure. I mean, the prize at the end of this one is a killer, not money or a vacation or even tickets to a Broncos play-off game.”
“Oops. Bill’s awake, raiding the refrigerator. Sex gives him the munchies. Gotta go. Good luck, sweetie.”
Hanging up the receiver, I felt stern eyes, and my reaction was not unlike Hitchcock’s when he senses a baddog coming.
“What the hell was that all about?” Ben’s body language suggested I might consider slinking toward fireplace tiles with my tail between my legs.
“The thief swears Wylie was already dead.”
“The thief’s name is Cee-Cee?”
“Of course not. It’s really quite simple. My good friend, Cee-Cee Sinclair, has an ex-husband named Bill Lewis. Bill’s retired, but he was once a big-shot homicide detective. His protégé is Lieutenant Peter Miller, the cop who’s investigating Wylie’s murder. I met Cee-Cee for breakfast this morning and she said she’d query Bill.”
“I don’t call that simple, Ingrid. I call it amateurish snooping, chitchatting over toast.”
“Bagels, you rat!”
“Why are you so angry?”
“You must be kidding! Chitchatting?” I counted to ten and reached eight. “Why don’t you want me to find Wylie’s killer?”
“It’s not your job. That’s why God invented cops.”
“I suppose God invented the Dallas police department?”
“What?”
“Police sometimes screw up.”
“Are you comparing Wylie’s murder to Kennedy’s assassination and the subsequent elimination of Oswald?”
“Yes. No. I’m comparing police bureaucracy to riddles.”
“Ingrid, I’m trying to follow your logic, and I apologize for the chitchat remark, but—”
“Do you honestly believe our Colorado Springs homicide division has the time or even the inclination to decipher elephant jokes? Wylie used to spout them at the drop of a hat. How does an elephant charge or how do you make an elephant float or—pillows! Maybe the painting has nothing to do with Rock and Doris. How do you get down off an elephant, Ben?”
“A ladder? Parachute?”
“I never realized you were so literal.”
His craggy jaw jutted. “I’m not good at riddles.”
“You don’t get down off an elephant. You get down off a goose.”
“Right. Now everything’s perfectly clear. A goose killed Wylie.”
“You said Wylie dubbed Tad Mallard ‘The Vampire.’”
“Okay, vampires killed Wylie.”
“Ben! Shut up and listen! Wylie used to call Alice ‘Mother Goose.’ ”
“You weren’t inside our locker room, Ingrid. He called her Mother-effing Goose.’”
“Why?”
“He said that Mother Goose, the old lady not the bonnet-clad waterfowl, looked like she needed to get laid.”
“Well, of course she did. The nursery rhymes were composed during Puritan times.” I scowled at my coagulating eggs. “I wonder why Wylie got engaged to Alice.”
“He didn’t. She got engaged to him.”
“What does that mean?”
“Wylie had to scratch for a living and Alice had plenty of
“Sydney will stay with Bill,” Cee-Cee replied. “She tolerates him. I’m leaving tomorrow, Ingrid, so I’ll give you my Aspen phone number. Don’t hesitate to call. Promise?”
“Yup. Hold on.” I retrieved my Visa bill from the mail stacked atop the table, found a pen, turned over the envelope, and jotted down the number. “Please don’t worry, Ceese. I’ve already outwitted Tonto, Kim’s no threat, and Tad says things like eat shit and die. If she bopped Wylie over the head, she’d claim Workers’ Comp for a broken fingernail.”
“Did you decipher Wylie’s painting?”
“Maybe.” I told Cee-Cee about the virgin bit. “I feel as though I’ve been taken advantage of. If Wylie had a premonition, why didn’t he simply say so-and-so wants me dead? I prefer a treasure hunt that leads to some treasure. I mean, the prize at the end of this one is a killer, not money or a vacation or even tickets to a Broncos play-off game.”
“Oops. Bill’s awake, raiding the refrigerator. Sex gives him the munchies. Gotta go. Good luck, sweetie.”
Hanging up the receiver, I felt stern eyes, and my reaction was not unlike Hitchcock’s when he senses a baddog coming.
“What the hell was that all about?” Ben’s body language suggested I might consider slinking toward fireplace tiles with my tail between my legs.
“The thief swears Wylie was already dead.”
“The thief’s name is Cee-Cee?”
“Of course not. It’s really quite simple. My good friend, Cee-Cee Sinclair, has an ex-husband named Bill Lewis. Bill’s retired, but he was once a big-shot homicide detective. His protégé is Lieutenant Peter Miller, the cop who’s investigating Wylie’s murder. I met Cee-Cee for breakfast this morning and she said she’d query Bill.”
“I don’t call that simple, Ingrid. I call it amateurish snooping, chitchatting over toast.”
“Bagels, you rat!”
“Why are you so angry?”
“You must be kidding! Chitchatting?” I counted to ten and reached eight. “Why don’t you want me to find Wylie’s killer?”
“It’s not your job. That’s why God invented cops.”
“I suppose God invented the Dallas police department?”
“What?”
“Police sometimes screw up.”
“Are you comparing Wylie’s murder to Kennedy’s assassination and the subsequent elimination of Oswald?”
“Yes. No. I’m comparing police bureaucracy to riddles.”
“Ingrid, I’m trying to follow your logic, and I apologize for the chitchat remark, but—”
“Do you honestly believe our Colorado Springs homicide division has the time or even the inclination to decipher elephant jokes? Wylie used to spout them at the drop of a hat. How does an elephant charge or how do you make an elephant float or—pillows! Maybe the painting has nothing to do with Rock and Doris. How do you get down off an elephant, Ben?”
“A ladder? Parachute?”
“I never realized you were so literal.”
His craggy jaw jutted. “I’m not good at riddles.”
“You don’t get down off an elephant. You get down off a goose.”
“Right. Now everything’s perfectly clear. A goose killed Wylie.”
“You said Wylie dubbed Tad Mallard ‘The Vampire.’”
“Okay, vampires killed Wylie.”
“Ben! Shut up and listen! Wylie used to call Alice ‘Mother Goose.’ ”
“You weren’t inside our locker room, Ingrid. He called her Mother-effing Goose.’”
“Why?”
“He said that Mother Goose, the old lady not the bonnet-clad waterfowl, looked like she needed to get laid.”
“Well, of course she did. The nursery rhymes were composed during Puritan times.” I scowled at my coagulating eggs. “I wonder why Wylie got engaged to Alice.”
“He didn’t. She got engaged to him.”
“What does that mean?”
“Wylie had to scratch for a living and Alice had plenty of
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