The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(46)

Every time Elliott answered that he was certain it was, then he’d launch into some lengthy tale of how treasured that particular thing was and how meaningful it would be to have it back. Several times he took a quick sidestep from the item in question and bounced back to whatever money might be in my bank accounts. I watched the way Detective Nichols was scrutinizing Elliott’s face as he listened to the answers. It’s a funny thing about lies, they stand out on a person’s face like hives; anybody with a sharp eye can spot them.

After Detective Nichols finished reading the list, he jotted a comment in the margin of his pad. It read: Complainant’s concern is missing goods/money. Homicide doubtful. He then turned the page and made note of where he could get in touch with Elliott. “I suppose that about wraps it up,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Is Destiny Fairchild gonna be arrested?” Elliott said fighting back a smirk.

“We don’t just arrest people,” Tom Nichols answered. “First we investigate to find out whether or not a crime has actually been committed.”

Right away Elliott started swearing up and down that it was not only a crime, but a crime of the very worst kind. “Swindling the elderly, what’s worse than that?” He looked the detective square in the eye and said this with the most earnest face imaginable.

Detective Nichols nodded and said, “You’re right. Taking advantage of the elderly is a terrible crime and one that is dealt with severely, but until we conduct our investigation we don’t know that any crime has been committed.” He pushed the chair back from his desk and stood in a way that signified the conversation was over.



Up until that point, I could have sworn Tom Nichols saw right through Elliott’s lies. I thought the detective would stuff those notes into the back of some file drawer and forget all about them the minute Elliott walked out the door, but unfortunately that’s not how it happened.



The following Monday, the detective showed up on Destiny’s doorstep unannounced. He stood there for a few moments, looking around like he was taking the measure of things, then he rang the bell. Nobody answered because by that time Destiny had gone back to work at the restaurant and she was working the day shift. He waited on the front steps for a few minutes, then walked around back of the house, which is where he spotted Mary Beth McGurke, a woman who could talk the ear off a deaf dog.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “Do you know when Miss Fairchild will be home?”

“No telling,” Mary Beth answered, “That one keeps strange hours.”

“Oh?” he said and turned to listen.

I can’t say for certain that Mary Beth disliked Destiny, but she liked to gossip more than she liked anything or anybody, so it didn’t take much to get her started. She walked over to the detective and started talking real low, like a person confiding something of the greatest secrecy. “She supposedly works at a restaurant downtown, but, no one knows for sure if that’s what she really does. Back awhile she moved in with old Missus Lannigan and didn’t bother about going to work. I ask you, would a real job let a person show up for work just whenever they feel like it?”

“Lived with Missus Lannigan? How long?”

“No telling. But even before that, I saw her hauling pieces of furniture over into her own house. Big things. A lamp, a table, a huge overstuffed chair! Cartons – way more than I could keep track of! Many a time I wondered if Abigail Anne knew the girl was doing such a thing.”

“Did you ever ask about it?”

“Heavens, no. I’m not one to pry into other people’s business!”

“Hmm.” Detective Nichols took a pad from his pocket and started to make notes. “Missus Lannigan, did she have any other friends?”

“Not a soul! I think that girl ran them all off. Abigail used to be friendly with me, not real close, mind you, but close enough that she’d stop and pass the time of day every now and again. After she got hooked up with that one,” Mary Beth waggled a finger toward Destiny’s house, “then, Abigail didn’t bother with other folks.”

Well, if that don’t beat all, I thought. Mary Beth McGurke knew exactly why I stopped bothering with her – for the same reason everyone else on the block avoided her – she’d get hold of a person’s ear and chew on it ‘till they were about ready to scream. Of course, Detective Nichols didn’t know that so he started writing down those awful things she was saying.

“By that one, you mean Destiny Fairchild?” he asked.

“I certainly do! Mark my words, she’s some sort of gypsy. Pops up out of nowhere and moves in without a single stick of furniture, cinder blocks for a table – then all of a sudden she’s living it up with poor Abigail’s things!”

“Things? What things?”

“Whatever she could lay her hands on! Why, she even snatched hold of Abigail Anne’s car and left the poor woman with no way to get around!”

“When was that?”

“Three or four years ago. Maybe more.”

“So this has been going on for some time?”

“Yes indeed. Abigail used to drive all over the place, but after Destiny Fairchild took the car, Abigail couldn’t go anywhere. She’d have to beg that girl for a ride to the market. Don’t take my word; ask down at The Bountiful Basket, they’ll tell you!”