CASE OF THE GUILTY GROCER - EPISODE 4

THE CASE OF THE GUILTY GROCER


EPISODE 4

The Puzzle

The morning after the night before with Colleen, I’m up an’ out before dawn. Gettin’ up early is easy when you ain’t spent the night drinkin’. She’s still sleepin’ when I tiptoe out the door. I’m goin’ over the case in my head walkin’ the three blocks back to my jalopy. When I turns the corner, I sees the red flag on the parkin’ meter and a ticket on the windshield. I picks it up.

“Aw fer cryin’ out loud … seventy-five clams? This is highway robbery! I ain’t got that kinda dough!”

Then I sees a couple o’ shopkeeps starin’ at me. I unlocks the car an’ gets in. I toss the ticket on the seat and heads home for a shower and a set of fresh duds. I figures I’ll get O’Riley to put in the fix. It’s the least she can do after last night.


After I spends an hour at home, I heads to the office tryin’ to fit the pieces together. The phony reports, the claims and the numbered accounts add up to a con like O’Riley says, but I still can’t figure the cereal angle, or who made the call luring me to that dive. And it ain’t that baby grand behind the bar who gave me the bum’s rush out the door. If it was, he’da busted me up good. Naw, he’s workin’ for somebody. He was just deliverin’ a message. But somebody wanted me to find that business card, see? Now I gotta figure somebody’s got a beef with that guy Smythson. His signature’s all over those insurance claims for millions. Claims Wexler didn’t tell me about. Maybe Smythson opened those accounts and cooked up those phony police reports, too. And maybe … he double-crossed somebody.


I’m still ponderin’ all this when I unlocks the door to the office. Arlene ain’t in yet and I gotta figure she’s still all steamed up about Beulah’s call yesterday. I ain’t never heard her with her panties in a twist like that. She’ll give me an earful when she gets in, that’s for sure. I guess I oughta be nice to her. I don’t wanna hafta get another secretary.

I toss my fedora on the rack and start a pot of joe when the blower rings. I figure its Arlene tellin’ me she’s quittin’. So I get myself ready to do some serious groveling and offer her a raise, but it wasn’t Arlene.

“Greyson?” I recognized O’Riley’s voice.

“Yeah, Doll. What’s shakin’?”

“Why?” she says. “Why do you talk like that?”

“How come people keep askin’ me that?”

“Maybe because that style of slang went out in the forties.”

“It did?”

“Unbelievable…. Listen, Greyson. What was that insurance adjuster’s name? The one you told me about. The one on the case you’re working.”

“Smythson? You talkin’ ‘bout him? Why ya wanna know?”

“Because homicide pulled him from the Patapsco last night. A couple of beat cops found him floating face down … two shots in the heart from close range. .25 caliber rounds. I wanted to make sure it was the same guy. Seems you’re on to something here.”

“Oh, that’s just ducky. I get the goods on this bozo and you’re tellin’ me somebody bumped him off? You sure it’s him?”

“Positive ID. Looks like I’m going to have to take over your case.”

“What? Whadda ya talkin’ about? That’s all wet, Colleen.”

“Sorry, Greyson. It’s out of my hands.”

“C’mon, Colleen. I can wrap this up in a day.”

“Ain’t happening.”

“Twenty-four hours. That’s all I ask. You ain’t gettin’ the autopsy report before that an’ you know it.”

“I can’t swing it, Greyson. Sorry.”

“Look. All I’m askin’ is you drag your feet a little, see?” I figure it’s gonna take a little sweet-talkin’ to convince her. “Colleen, you had a good time last night, didn’t ya?”

“Well … yessss. A very good time.”

“And you know I did, too. And you know I want to have another good time real soon. And if you give me twenty-four hours, I’ll wrap this caper, hand you the goods and you get the collar. You know I can’t arrest anybody, so I know, you know, I need you. I ain’t gonna call some palooka before I call you. You know that, right?”

There was a pause on her end of the line and I hear her breathin’ getting’ kinda heavy. She was thinkin’ about last night. And she was thinkin’ ‘bout givin’ me the time I wanted. All I needed to do now was give her a little nudge.

“You know? … I was thinkin’ ‘bout last year when I took you to Ocean City for the weekend. Remember we sneaks into the hot tub in the middle of the night? We takes off our bathing sui…”

“Oh all right! You win! Twenty-four hours. But you owe me big time, Sloane … and I fully expect to collect—very, very, soon.”


I was just hangin’ up the blower when Arlene walks in. She ain’t lookin’ at me. She had this long face I ain’t never seen before, see? Then she sits down at her desk. She starts with these deep sighs and shiftin’ in the chair and rustlin’ through papers; but she was just goin’ through the motions. I think I really hurt her feelin’s.

“Wanna cup of joe?” I says.

“No thanks.”

“It’s fresh. I just made it.”

“No. No thank you.”

“It ain’t what you think, Arlene. I’m on a case, remember?” I hate lyin’ to the kid, but O’Riley is right. She’s too young for me. She could be my kid sister.

“No need to explain, Greyson. I know I’m just your secretary and it’s none of my business what you do or who you do it with. I’m fine. Really.”

She looks up at me with those sad brown eyes. They tells me she’s lyin’, too. She ain’t fine. She may as well have jammed a shive in my ticker. Talk about guilt. But what can I do? I ain’t the kinda guy she needs to get hooked up with. She deserves better. She needs somebody her own age; somebody settled; not a drugstore cowboy like me. I wanna make her feel better, but the only way I know to do that is hug her, and that’s the last thing I oughtta do. It’ll send the wrong message. Better to let her work through this on her own.

“Alright, Arlene. So whatcha find out about the off-shore accounts?”

She takes a deep breath and pulls up a file on her computer. “I did manage to get the amounts yesterday using a hacker package. Between the two accounts numbers you gave me, the combined total is over seventy-five million. That’s a whole lot of cereal.”

“Damn! I was thinkin’ the statements I saw at Wexler’s were bogus. You sure?”

“See for yourself.”

I walks behind her and leans in, careful not to touch her or brush my arm against her’s or nothin’. She’s on her way back to normal and I ain’t gonna slow her down. She opens up one of those browser things and points to the balance in the first account. Thirty-seven million dollars.

“And there’s three other accounts I couldn’t see the numbers for,” I says. “Beulah walked back in too soo…”

… Rhatz! Why did I say that?

Arlene’s shoulders drooped, but then she perked up again shakin’ it off.

“Sorry, Arlene.”

“For what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She’s a good kid. She pulls up the other account and shows me the balance. Together, they’re over seventy-five million simoleans. I needs to see those statements at Wexler’s again. All of them, see? And the only way I was gonna do that was to see Beulah again. But what if they ain’t there no more? What if the drawer’s locked this time? I grabs my lock picks from the drawer, and then I picks up the blower.

“Mister Wexler’s office. May I help you?”

“Hi, Doll. It’s Sloane.”

“Hi, Grey-son. What a nice surprise. What can you do for me, today?” The giggle in her voice said it all.

“I was thinkin’ ‘maybe I might drop by later. Arlene says you found my cufflink.”

“I was hoping to see you again. But I have to put together a report for Mister Wexler. I should be finished in a couple of hours. Do … you want to come by here? I’ll make you another one of my special drinks … just like the last time.”

I feels my blood pressure startin’ to rise along with somethin’ else. “I was kinda thinkin’ that, yeah.”

“Eight o’clock?”


I knocks on the door at eight o'clock sharp, and Beulah opens it lookin' better than the last time I saw her with clothes on. The slit in the side of her skirt went almost all the way to her hip, and the plunging scoop in her blouse drags my eyes to it and ain’t lettin’ go. I hadda take a deep breath and close my peepers just to be able to look up at her face, see? Then, I can’t take my eyes off that either. Her lips had this wet pout to them and that blonde hair of hers was fallin’ across her left eye. It took everything I had to speak.

"What's shakin', Beulah?"

She gives me a peck on the kisser and pulls me inside. Then she locks the door behind me, takes my hand and leads me into Wexler’s private office. The lights are low and there’s light jazz comin’ from everywhere. She locks the door behind us, wraps her arms around my neck, and presses her body and lips to mine. Her bubs found my chest before her lips found my mouth. Now I ‘m havin’ trouble rememberin’ the real reason I’m here.

“Make yourself comfortable, Greyson.” She walks to the bar and makes me a drink without askin’ what to make. She brings me the scotch—neat,—gently takes my fedora off, kisses me again and hangs it on the rack. “I’ll be right back, Darling. Don’t leave.”

Leave? What … she kiddin’?

She’s gone maybe five minutes before I can stand back up. I strolls to Wexler’s desk and tries the drawer. It’s still unlocked. Everything is there. I have to force myself to concentrate, but I get everything—every number—and memorize them. Beulah’s takin’ longer than she did the last time so I do a little more snooping.

Way in the back of the drawer, I find a piece. I use my hankie and pulls it out for a gander. It’s a .25 caliber revolver. I gives the barrel a sniff and can tell somebody used it not too long ago. Then a button on the phone lights up and the phone rings. I freeze. A minute later, the light goes out. I puts the .25 back and hurries to the couch. Beulah walks in buttonin' up her blouse.

“I’m sorry, Darling. That was my brother. He has an emergency and I have to leave. Can I give you a rain check? Say, tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, Doll, That’ll be fine. Do you need any help? Can I drive you?”

“Oh, yes … tomorrow night.” She giggled like she always does when she makes a joke. “You’re sweet, but no. I have a company car in the garage. Walk me?”

After tasting her lips one last time, I watches her drive away. I hate using her like this, but I’m running out of time. Maybe, when this is all over….


I ain't got time to wait for morning to check these accounts, see? And I can’t do it myself. I pulls over to a pay phone and dials Arlene’s number.

“Hello?”

“Arlene … its Sloane. I need you to come in.”

“At this hour? Are you crazy? And why don’t you get a cell phone? I almost didn’t answer.”

“Don’t get in a lather, Arlene. This is important. I’m coming by to pick you up. You need to check the rest of those accounts.”

“Greyson, I don’t have to go to the office to do that. I can do it here, on my laptop.”

“Your what?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Just come here, okay?”


I ain’t even gotta knock on the door. Arlene calls from the kitchen to come in. Says she’s makin’ coffee. I steps inside and closes the door. I ain’t never been inside her flop before. It’s on the second floor of a private home and has a private entrance on the side. It's nicer than mine, see? Inviting—with a dame’s touch. The lights are soft and the place smells like a florist shop. The rugs are plush and the furniture modern. I could sleep on either. The small portable TV's playin’ the news and they was talkin’ about the stiff the cops pulled from the river.

“Here you are, Greyson. Now, what’s this all about?” Arlene said from behind me.

I turns to take the joe. Arlene’s got her hair down and it’s radiatin’ this kinda warm auburn glow cause o’ the backlightin' comin’ from the kitchen. She ain't wearin' nothin' on her feet, but she's got this beige, flannel night-shirt on that looks like one o’ mine—tails and all, and it’s too big for her. Her hair’s longer than I thought—since she always wears it up at work—reachin’ all the way to the small of her back. I just stares at her. Then I hears her repeatin’ the question.

“Oh … yeah. Right.” I says. “I need you to check these other accounts … three of ‘em. Get the amounts. I want to know how much money they got all together. Then I’m going to Wexler and confront him. That guy they pulled from the harbor today is the insurance adjuster involved in this, and I think Wexler killed him to keep him quiet.”

Arlene sits down at her machine and for some reason, I can’t take my eyes off her. I ain’t never seen her like this before. So mature, so grown up, so—beautiful. I gotta shake the thoughts outta my noggin’.

“Let me have those numbers, one at a time.”

I says ‘em again. A few minutes later, she says:

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Give me the first two again. The ones from yesterday.”

She types in the numbers, scratches her head and sits back in the chair.

“What?” I says.

“The money. It’s gone.”

***

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