Chapter 22
22
1:32 p.m. Saturday, November 2
“ W hat’s the plan?” Josie asked, poking her head up between the front seats of Jasmine’s car when Riley disconnected her call with Nick.
Burt squeezed his head in next to Josie’s.
“Nick’s going to handle Fred and Claudia Mendoza’s building security. Which means we’re going after Mrs. Penny and Mr. Willicott,” Riley said.
She was making an executive decision. Nick could handle the underpaid security guard who had detained Fred after he couldn’t produce a building key card, but his PI license couldn’t handle a potential breaking and entering that would be required to save two under-the-table employees from a trespassing situation that would likely end in a Code Cold Burrito.
“Where does suspect number two live?” Jasmine asked from behind the wheel.
“Mechanicsburg,” Riley said, reaching for Jasmine’s phone to program Ingram Theodoric III’s address into the GPS.
Jasmine slid on a supercool pair of sunglasses that made her look like a spy, then shifted into drive and stomped on the accelerator. The sporty tires chirped, then bit as they flew out of the drugstore parking lot.
“Woo-hoo!” Josie cheered from the back seat.
Burt braced himself by flopping down in Josie’s lap.
Gripping the handle above the door, Riley tried to plot how not to get arrested.
For a day that had begun with a shootout, the Saturday afternoon weather was shaping up quite nicely with sunny skies and temperatures in the fifties.
“So what’s the situation?” Jasmine asked as she careened into the left lane, barely eking past the back end of a city bus as it chugged along.
Riley pumped the imaginary brake beneath her foot. “Mrs. Penny and Mr. Willicott went rogue, and instead of watching Theodoric’s house, they wandered inside when the housekeeper took out the trash. Why would they do that when we explicitly told them not to do anything illegal or suspicious? Great question. We’ll have to ask them when we’re all crammed in the back seat of a police cruiser heading to jail.” She was winded by the time she hit the end of her explanation.
“This is why you don’t work with amateurs,” Josie commented.
“Offended,” Jasmine said, punching the gas.
“Getaway driver excluded,” Josie conceded.
“Yeah, well, when the list of suspects is longer than Santa’s naughty list, you use whatever resources you have available,” Riley said.
“We need better resources,” Josie muttered.
Riley’s phone buzzed.
Mrs. Penny : Code Cold Burrito update. Continuing surveillance from inside kitchen pantry. Suspect does not have any good snacks.
“I hate to say it, but can you drive faster, Jas? They’re eating their way through Theodoric’s pantry,” Riley reported.
Ingram Theodoric III lived in a sprawling development where the five-acre lawns were manicured and the houses were the size of high schools.
Mrs. Penny’s minivan was parked in front of a clump of fancy-looking evergreens at the foot of the winding driveway. The house was an imposing dark stone and stucco home with steep rooflines and a wrought-iron balcony over the front door. A pair of concrete lions flanked the porch stairs between ruthlessly trimmed topiaries.
“How are we supposed to sneak up on them with all this stupid open space?” Josie complained, eyeing the expanse of front yard.
“Mrs. Penny figured out a way,” Riley pointed out. She wiped her palms on the thighs of her jeans. “Okay. Let me think.”
“Why don’t we just ring the bell and say we’re looking for two confused elderly people?” Jasmine asked. “It’s at least partly true.”
Riley sighed. “Because Mrs. Penny said it’s ageist and an offensive stereotype.”
“Three days ago, she pretended she couldn’t remember where she was when the deli guy caught her ripping open containers of roast beef because she goes by smell, not expiration dates,” Josie said.
“Apparently it’s different when the elder in question uses it as an excuse,” Riley explained.
“So what do we do? Break in? Drive over the mailbox? Set fire to the lawn?” Jasmine asked.
“No more fires. Remember what happened last time? As in last week?” Riley said. What should have been a simple surveillance had turned into arson. Granted, the “victims” were terrible people, and the neighborhood was still celebrating the arrest of their horrible son. But still.
“The fire part wasn’t our fault,” Jasmine insisted.
Riley glanced into the back seat. Burt’s tail thumped against the leather. “I think I have an idea.”
“You know what to do, buddy?” Riley asked, unhooking Burt’s leash from his collar.
He danced in a circle, lifting his huge feet like a show pony.
“Good boy! Go get in position!”
Burt let out a happy bark and raced up Theodoric’s driveway.
“You know I love Burt like I would a fake human nephew,” Jasmine began. “But how do you know he’s going to do what you want him to do?”
“He’s my soulmate. We speak the same language…except when it comes to people food,” Riley said, looping the leash around her neck and pulling out her phone.
Riley : We’re here and we have a plan. Get ready to run when the diversion happens.
Mrs. Penny : Speaking of the runs, hurry the hell up because these seaweed snacks aren’t sitting well with my intestines.
Riley rolled her eyes. “We better get up there. Mrs. Penny got into the seaweed snacks.”
“Are you sure she’s not Burt’s soulmate?” Josie quipped as they started the hike up the driveway.
“Keep an eye out for security cameras,” Riley ordered. “Try to look unsuspicious.”
“That means put the knife away,” Jasmine translated for Josie.
“How’s a girl supposed to be prepared to stab someone or cut up some charcuterie if she doesn’t have a blade handy?”
“You will be doing neither of those things because stabbing is illegal and charcuterie is off-limits while you’re pregnant,” Riley reminded her.
“Damn it,” Josie muttered.
“The goal is to get Mrs. Penny and Mr. Willicott out of here without getting arrested,” Riley said.
“Fine, but didn’t you meet this guy before? What if he recognizes you?” Josie asked.
“I was wearing a mask and showing a lot more cleavage then.”
“Well, just in case,” Jasmine said, fumbling around in the slim backpack she was carrying. “Here.” She handed Riley a ball cap and a pair of oversize sunglasses.
“Thanks,” she said, putting the items on.
As they approached the house, Riley gave the nod, and they began to pan the yard. “Quick. Give me a fake dog name.”
“Pork Rind,” Josie offered.
Riley didn’t want to waste time thinking of a better one, so she went with it. “Pork Rind! Here, boy!” she called.
“Why are you calling him Pork Rind?” Jasmine asked out of the corner of her mouth.
“Because I don’t want him to actually come running,” Riley responded from the corner of hers.
“Oh, right.”
Josie whistled, and Jasmine clapped her hands.
They made their way up the imposing stone steps to the heavy oak front door. The doorbell, when pressed, set off an impressive symphony of gongs inside.
“Somebody thinks he’s fancy,” Jasmine noted.
“You know what they say. Loud doorbell, small penis,” Josie said. “On the bright side, there’s no cameras out here.”
“Help a girl out, spirit guides,” Riley murmured under her breath. Mentally, she rolled up her psychic garage doors to welcome in any messages from the beyond. A warm shiver rolled up her spine, and she felt reasonably sure her spirit guides were ready to help should the need arise.
The door opened to reveal a short roundish woman in a drab gray maid’s uniform. She had brassy red hair and held a mop in one hand. “Yes?” she asked, sounding both bored and inconvenienced as she peered down her perky nose at them.
“Uh, hi. We’re looking for a…um…missing dog,” Riley announced quickly. She remembered the leash on her shoulder and held it up as proof. Riley heard Josie’s groan at her lackluster performance.
“There are no dogs here,” the maid said with a sniff over the distinct sound of barking. A dachshund and a dog that looked like a mini Ewok trotted into the hallway on the gleaming Italian tile. They stopped halfway, turned around, and, still barking, disappeared into a room.
“I told you to quit barking at the pantry. You’re not getting early treats,” the housekeeper yelled after the dogs.
“What are those?” Josie asked, pointing at the tiny yapping welcome committee.
“Those are what’s commonly referred to as none of your business,” the housekeeper said, making a move to slam the heavy front door in their faces.
Riley decided to borrow from the ol’ Santiago school of charm. “We’re really so sorry to bother you. But it’s an emergency. Pork Rind is the sweetest dog. He belongs to my aunt who lives just down the road.”
“She’s kind of a horrible snob. You know, one of those vaguely racist old ladies. But she’s on her death bed, so we walk her dog for her,” Jasmine cut in.
“Uh, yes. My aunt is terrible and dying,” Riley agreed. “Anyway, we were playing fetch with him in the yard?—”
“And then explosive gunfire scared him,” Josie added.
“Gunfire?” the housekeeper repeated.
“It was probably just a lawn mower backfiring,” Riley said, elbowing Josie. “It looked like he ran this way. He has to have his dewclaw medicine in the next twenty minutes, or he could get seriously sick.”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” the housekeeper huffed.
“We just want your permission to look around the yard. We didn’t want to go traipsing around uninvited. You could come with us.” Riley gave the woman her best puppy dog eyes.
The housekeeper harrumphed and put down the mop. “Fine. But only to make sure you don’t steal anything.”
“Great. Thanks. Also, would you mind if I used the restroom?” Riley said, trying to look full of urine.
“Yes, I would mind. I just cleaned the powder rooms. You’ll just have to hold it,” the housekeeper snapped. She stepped out on the porch and shut the door behind her. “Let’s get this over with.”
Josie and Jasmine sent Riley pointed looks.
“Okay,” Riley said with a fake smile. “Jasmine and I’ll go this way, and you two go that way. We’ll meet in the backyard.”
“Hurry up. I haven’t got all day,” the housekeeper said, stomping off the porch. Josie trailed after her.
Riley and Jasmine pretended to head in the opposite direction, but as soon as the housekeeper was out of sight, Riley raced back to the front door. “Damn it! It must be one of those automatic locks,” she said, trying the knob.
“Want me to break a window?” Jasmine offered.
Riley turned and found her best friend hefting a decorative rock from the flower bed.
“Let’s hang on to that as plan B. We’ll find another way in.”
They jogged off the porch and around the opposite side of the house.
“This place is huge,” Riley said, fighting her way through a thorny bush to test one of the first-floor windows. It was locked.
“Ouch! This tree just pulled my hair,” Jasmine complained, batting at a prickly blue spruce.
“How do we keep ending up in landscaping together?” Riley wondered out loud.
“Some friends do spa days. We do breaking and entering.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a nice manicure next time,” Riley panted as they fought their way along the stone wall.
“Look! A patio,” Jasmine said, pushing her way through a holly bush and pointing at the stone terrace jutting out from the side of the house.
Riley took a branch to the face. “Ow.”
“Oh shit. Duck!” Jasmine hissed, turning around and tackling Riley to the ground just as the glass patio door opened.
Just beyond a row of squat dwarf spruces, Ingram Theodoric stepped out onto the stone. With his phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, he held a lit cigar in one hand and a glass of booze in the other.
Puffing clouds of smelly smoke into the overcast November air, he strolled to the edge of the patio, a rich guy surveying his kingdom.
“ Go ,” Riley’s spirit guides whispered.
Riley signaled for Jasmine to stay hidden, took a deep breath, and crawled on her hands and knees between the spruce and the wall.
“Don’t bore me with your foreclosure guilt,” Ingram slurred into the phone. “People shouldn’t borrow more than they can afford to pay back once the balloon payment comes due. I have more important things to worry about.”
Riley eased onto the patio and tiptoed toward the door, keeping one eye on Ingram. He ended the call with an aggressive stab of his pointer finger.
“Things like ruining Griffin Gentry,” he said to the smoky air.
She froze when she heard Griffin’s name, but her spirit guides were insistent. “ Go. Go. Go. ”
Her sneakers slipped on the wet stone as she ran as quietly as she could through the open door, leaving Ingram laughing diabolically behind her. She found herself in a stately office full of leather furniture, carved wood, and old books she bet no one had read. There was a lion head midroar mounted above the fireplace. A taxidermied polar bear stood proudly in the corner. Behind it, a cabinet held more than a dozen rifles.
Riley jogged through the set of double doors and found herself in a long hallway. “Shit. Why is this house so big? Okay, spirit guides. Which way to the kitchen?”
She felt a nudge toward the back of the house and headed in that direction. It guided her through a moody sitting room with the kind of furniture that looked as if it had never hosted a single butt. On the other side was another hallway wallpapered in linen with framed photos of Ingram hunting, Ingram accepting awards, Ingram shaking hands with a safari guide, both holding aggressive-looking automatic weapons and a nauseating pile of zebra carcasses at their feet.
Riley heard a loud yipping noise. It grew louder the closer to the back of the house she went. She followed the noise through a swinging door and found a kitchen the size of a city block. It smelled divinely of meat from the juicy roast resting on the counter beside triple wall ovens.
Lily would have had a field day checking out every single cabinet and appliance. But Riley only had time to zero in on the frosted glass door with the word Pantry painted across it.
In front of the door sat the two little dogs, still yapping incessantly.
A quick scan of the cavernous space told Riley there was no team of chefs ready to jump out at her with knives. But there was a pot simmering on the stove and a cutting board of half-chopped herbs on one of the three islands.
“Sorry, doggies. I need you to scoot out of the way,” Riley said, nudging them out of her path and flinging the pantry door open.
Mrs. Penny was perched on a step stool with her hand in a bag of gluten-free pretzels. Mr. Willicott had his shirt pulled up over his nose and was brushing granulated sugar off his pants.
“About damn time,” Mrs. Penny announced.
“This woman smells like the inside of a septic tank,” Mr. Willicott complained.
“It’s because my intestines are hungry,” Mrs. Penny explained.
The dogs raced inside to bark at the intruders.
Riley spied the glass container labeled Dog Treats and dumped the contents on the floor.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Jasmine : He’s back in the house. Go out the front if you can.
“We have to go. Now,” Riley insisted.
Mrs. Penny threw the pretzels over her shoulder and hopped to her feet. “Let’s go get us some evidence.”
“Forget the evidence. We need to get out of here without being arrested.”
Riley led the way out of the pantry, leaving the door open in hopes that it would look as if the dogs were somehow responsible for the mess.
“Duck.”
She just managed to drag Mrs. Penny and Mr. Willicott to the floor when Josie and the grumpy housekeeper appeared just outside the window above the second sink. Josie spotted them inside, rolled her eyes, then pointed dramatically in the opposite direction, drawing the housekeeper’s attention.
“Let’s go,” Riley hissed and began to crawl for the door to the hallway.
Mrs. Penny followed in a surprisingly flexible duck walk.
Mr. Willicott, who had never gotten around well to Riley’s knowledge, speed crawled around Mrs. Penny’s gas emissions and joined Riley in the mad dash for the door.
Somewhere in the kitchen, a door opened and closed, then a cheerful whistling started. Riley chanced a peek over the marble counter and saw a guy in an apron and chef’s hat turning the water on in the third sink. The dogs were still barking, and the pantry door was wide open. It was only a matter of time before he looked up.
“Go!” she mouthed, pushing her two charges through the swinging door as silently as she could.
They miraculously made it through the door without being spotted and started down the hallway, limping and jogging toward what Riley hoped was the foyer and the freedom of the front door.
“Let’s split up and see if we can find some evidence,” Mrs. Penny said.
“I told you damn dogs to shut the hell up. I refused to give you back to your mother to teach her a lesson, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take you on my next hunting trip. You wouldn’t make it back alive,” Ingram shouted drunkenly from somewhere. The echoing off the walls made it sound like his voice could be coming from anywhere.
But Riley’s spirit guides knew he was close.
“Hide.”
“In a hallway? Seriously?” she muttered.
Panicked, she pushed Mr. Willicott behind a tapestry of a bloody hunting scene. His shoes stuck out, but there wasn’t really anything that could be done about that. “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t talk,” she ordered.
Mrs. Penny snatched a short club off the display of primitive weapons.
“What are you doing?” Riley hissed, grabbing her arm.
“Hide. Now.”
“If we have to fight our way out, I want to be prepared,” Mrs. Penny said.
“Hide. Hide. Hide.”
“Oh my God. We’re not fighting. We’re hiding.” Riley dragged Mrs. Penny to the closest door as footsteps drew nearer. She flung it open, stuffed Mrs. Penny inside, and then followed. She was just pulling the door shut behind her as Ingram stormed into the hall.
It was pitch-black inside. A closet of some sort, she guessed.
“Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.”
Riley held her breath and slapped a hand over Mrs. Penny’s mouth as the footsteps came closer and closer.
“Damn woman can’t even be bothered to close a door. They’re all the same. Useless,” he muttered as he came into view through the open crack. An ugly, angry vibe pushed at Riley’s consciousness.
Damn it. Was this how it was all going to end? Nick was going to be royally pissed if she ended up as a Cold Burrito.
Mrs. Penny wiggled against her grip, but Riley held firm.
Suddenly, there was a cacophony of shouting and then a crash. A deep woof echoed through the house, followed immediately by an excited chorus of yips.
Swearing under his breath, Ingram changed course and stormed off in the direction of the kitchen. “Wash going on in here, and where’s my scotch?” he bellowed.
“Go.”
Riley let out the breath she’d been holding and dragged Mrs. Penny back into the hallway.
“I got a vacuum cleaner up the butt in there,” the woman complained.
“I’ll take you to a proctologist if we can get out of here alive,” Riley said, yanking Mr. Willicott out from behind the tapestry.
She pulled both of them into the foyer and out the front door.
It slammed behind them, but judging from the noise level inside, no one would have heard.
“Come on,” she said to her coconspirators. “Let’s go this way.” They’d just pretend they’d been looking on this side of the house for Burt, she decided. Totally innocent. Definitely not breaking or entering.
They jogged off the front porch and around the side of the house, sticking to the grass this time. Mrs. Penny was huffing and puffing and falling behind. Mr. Willicott gave up and slowed to a walk.
Riley had just cleared Ingram’s office patio when Burt bolted past with what looked like the roast clutched in his jaws. The two tiny yappers raced after him. Josie, Jasmine, the chef, and the disgruntled housekeeper appeared, looking slack-jawed.
“Is that your dog?” the housekeeper demanded as Burt zigged, then zagged into the neighbor’s yard.
“Uh, no,” Riley said wisely. “Pork Rind is smaller and doesn’t break and enter.”
Ingram appeared behind her on the patio of his office with one of the long rifles clutched in his hands. “I’m gonna shoot those dogs and all you intruders, and then I’m firing everyone else,” he shouted.
“Here we go again,” the chef muttered, plugging his ears.
Ingram shouldered the gun and took aim.
The housekeeper covered her eyes.
“Noooo!” Riley, Josie, and Jasmine screamed. They were all in motion with Riley leading the way in a dead sprint toward the man with the gun.
Burt ducked into a copse of trees on the property line a split second before the rifle fired. Ingram was already crumpling to the ground when Riley reached him.
Mrs. Penny appeared behind him, holding the club she’d stolen off the wall. “Told you this would come in handy,” she said, tapping it against her palm.
The housekeeper nudged Ingram with her foot.
“Shit. Is he dead?” the chef asked, lighting a cigarette and looking remarkably not concerned enough given the situation.
“Nope. Knocked out,” the housekeeper reported.
Movement from the trees had Riley sagging with relief. Burt pranced unscathed out of the shadows and spit the roast on the grass. The little dogs joyfully pounced on the meat.
“Oh, thank God. He didn’t shoot them,” Riley breathed.
“He can’t. We replaced all his ammo with blanks after he got drunk and shot out the windshield of the Pritchetts’ golf cart this summer,” the chef said, hooking the unconscious Ingram under the armpits.
The housekeeper grabbed his ankles.
“How can you two stand working for him?” Jasmine asked, looking aghast.
“He’s a drunk. Last year, he told us he was cutting our pay. Turns out he was wasted and accidentally added a zero to both our salaries. The guy’s so rich he never even noticed,” the chef said as they carried Ingram to one of the chairs on the patio.
The housekeeper shrugged and wiped her hands on her apron. “For half a million dollars each, we don’t mind cleaning up after the drunk asshole. At least not for a few more months when I can afford to retire to Italy and Chef here can open his own place at the beach.” The chef held up a hand, and the housekeeper high-fived him. She turned back to Riley and her crew. “Now I’m assuming it would be better for all of you if Mr. Theodoric didn’t remember you when he wakes up.”
Riley bit her lip. “Um, maybe?”
“Yeah, I thought so. Game recognizes game,” the housekeeper prompted.
The chef ducked into Theodoric’s office.
“Okay, yes,” Riley admitted. “It would be great if no one ever mentioned we’d been here.”
“We won’t bother telling him about whatever this was,” she said, gesturing at Riley and her cohorts. “As long as you never encourage him to review his payroll.”
The chef reappeared with a tumbler full of liquor. He splashed most of it on Ingram’s chest and sleeve, then positioned the glass in the unconscious man’s grip.
“We were never here,” Riley agreed.
“Are there any security cameras that we need to worry about?” Josie asked.
The chef shook his head. “Mr. Theodoric prefers not to have his indiscretions recorded.”
“Thank fuck for us,” Josie muttered.
The housekeeper frowned at Mrs. Penny, who was now spinning the club like a baton, and Mr. Willicott, who had taken his shoes off and was walking through the mulch barefoot. “Who are they?” she asked.
“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” Riley said, taking the club from Mrs. Penny and handing it back to the housekeeper.
“We’ll just be getting out of your hair,” Jasmine said.
“Hang on,” Riley said. “I can’t in good conscience leave those dogs here with him.”
“Take ’em with you,” the housekeeper said and shrugged. “They’ve been yapping their little brains out since Mr. Ingram threw his ex out a month ago. They’re her dogs.”
“We’ll tell him he passed out with the door open and they got out,” the chef said.
“Thanks. And good luck with retirement and your restaurant,” Riley said.
“What do you say, Chef? Let’s order some surf and turf DoorDash on Mr. Ingram’s account and call it a day?” the housekeeper asked as Riley and company headed for the front of the house.