The World's Finest Mystery Part 40

"Boss, somebody's been puttin' the nab on our doughnuts."

It was Elrod, the manager of Continental Donuts, the small business he owned in the Crenshaw District. Elrod's ba.s.s was an indication of the size of a man who'd give Jesse Ventura palpitations.

"You mean, some cat broke in and took our doughnuts but not cash?" he breathed into the handset. Why wouldn't they let him sleep?

"No," the manager boomed, irritated. "For the last week, glazes, fancy twists, maple and chocolate crullers and jelly-filled have been gettin' filched while the shop's been open. Sixty-seven, I counted. Sixty-seven doughnuts have been taken."

Monk was going to question just how the big man could be so exact in his count, but he didn't want to encourage a long discussion. He coughed, clearing his throat and rolling onto his back. "You have suspects?" He scratched himself.

"Well," Elrod rumbled on the other end, "I hate to say it, but it has to be one of the staff. The inventory has been gettin' filched off the racks as the goods cool in the back."

"You mean the new guy, Moises, right?"

"Aw, see, I don't want to say that for sure." Elrod, like Monk, had been born and raised in the 'hood. Unlike Monk, he was also an ex-con, and was sensitive to the notion he should disparage someone trying to be responsible.

The new guy was a young man from the area where the shop was located. For the last two months since he'd begun, there had been no suggestion of problems with him. If anything, Monk had noticed the young man had looked more harried and thinner the last week or so as he'd been diligently working with Elrod in learning how to perfect his doughnut making.

"It ain't mutant rats, is it?"

Elrod didn't deign to answer such a ridiculous remark.

"Okay, how about you see if you can correlate the times you've noticed doughnuts missing with Moises' s.h.i.+fts. If the times are the same, then I'll have a talk with him. You haven't said anything to him yet, have you?"

"No, you're the private detective. I was kinda figuring you'd want to take over this investigation."

"Carry on, my swarthy cohort."

"I'll let you know."

Monk hung up and lay on his stomach. Of course, now the missing doughnuts intrigued him, and he had to concentrate to stop himself from thinking about them. He put on the radio, the volume low. If nothing else, he'd get filled in on a few current events, and hopefully the drone of voices would be an electronic lullaby to put him back to slumber land.

He switched from FM and National Public Radio to AM and KNX, the all-news station. He settled under the covers once more, tamping down deep whatever angst he might be developing about missing doughnuts. There was a report about a tie-up on the 101 in both directions. Monk smiled inwardly, feeling superior that he didn't have to be out there with those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds today.

Tom Hatten, the entertainment reporter, came on after a commercial. "I'm saddened to report today the pa.s.sing of Jack Denning, one-time fifties and sixties leading man of such neocla.s.sic tough-guy films as Prison Cell 99 and Desperation Alley. Younger listeners attuned to TV Land reruns will no doubt remember Mr. Denning in later years as the mysterious reclusive millionaire Raxton Gault in the cult seventies TV show The Midas Memorandum."

Monk began to drift off, an image of Denning in snap brim hat and trench coat punching out some crook slipping past his eyelids. Hatten went on, his voice seeming to come to him as if though thick gla.s.s. "And, of course, the older crowd out there, like yours truly, have fond memories of Jack Denning as half of that sleuthing man-and-wife team the Easterlys, a late fifties, early sixties TV show that..."

Alex Easterly was walking Sergei, the silver-tan Afghan hound, through the park. The gra.s.s in the park was awfully green, more like carpet than real blades, it occurred to him. There were places where the gra.s.s bulged, and it was as if it wasn't somehow lying flat upon the earth. And the park bench where the man waited for him, what of those bushes behind him? Wasn't that glint a jiggling wire leading from the greenery, shaking the limbs as if there was a slight wind?

"Mr. Easterly?" The man looked off, past Easterly's shoulder. He stood and they shook hands.

"Yes, he said, sitting next to him. Sergei rested on his haunches, his head regally erect. What kind of dog didn't pant? "You said over the phone there was a matter you could only talk to me in person about, Mr. Jones. Or should I say, Mr. Masters." He took out a cigarette case inlaid with whitish jade tinged with green. When the h.e.l.l had he started smoking those? "Care for one?" he said, snapping the case open as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

Nolan Masters declined, showing the flat of his hand. "I guess you're as sharp as they say you are."

"You're not exactly unknown, Mr. Masters." He lit the cigarette and placed it in his mouth. In doing so, his fingers brushed against his chin- where was his goatee? But d.a.m.ned if that cigarette wasn't smooth as he didn't know what. "I peruse a number of publications, Mr. Masters, including Business Today."

"Yes, well," the other man began, uncrossing his legs. "It's my business that I need help with, unfortunately. Someone has been stealing some of our, well, let's call them plans, shall we? This is hush-hush stuff we've been keeping under wraps until the right moment to introduce them on the market, you see."

He was about to reply but turned his head at a sound. Was that someone watching them over there, beyond the ring of light from the street lamp next to the bench? "You know I'm retired now, Mr. Masters?" The d.a.m.ned dog hadn't looked their way once. He just stared off in the direction he heard the sound coming from. "Any of this have to do with the s.p.a.ce race, Mr. Masters?"

Fl.u.s.tered, he blurted, "How- why did you ask that? My company makes tubes and transistors for radios and TVs."

"As I said" -he dropped the cigarette- "I read various publications." He ground out the b.u.t.t, a black area appearing in the supposed gra.s.s beneath his toe. "Our new President Kennedy in his last speech made it clear we need to be doing more to reach the stars for the U.S.A. This Sputnik satellite the Russians put up caught a lot of us sleeping." He winked at the man, but he wasn't sure why.

"And your company has done work for the State Department before." Finally the dog looked at him, panting. There was the snap of a finger and the dog stopped, then resumed his previous rigid stance.

Masters leaned forward as if a great weight were upon him. He stared at the ground, his hands pressed together. "As per your reputation, Mr. Easterly, I knew you to be the man for the job."

He then stared intently at Easterly. Oddly, he seemed to be suppressing a smile as he did so. "An experienced sleuth, and someone from outside who could easily go undercover in my company to ferret out what may be spies in my organization. Because of the press to get our work done, I've made several new hires. And Mr. Easterly, in under three days- sixty-seven hours, to be precise- I need to deliver a top-secret device to the government. I must know if I've been compromised or not. Of course, you can name your price."

"This is for my country, sir." Yeah, but didn't he have a mortgage he had to help pay? "How will you introduce me?"

"As the new accountant."

"What happened to the previous one?"

"He was murdered."

Kettle drums suddenly boomed, and a guitar and horn joined in. Easterly frowned as the camera came in tight on his face. Things went black, and when the lights came up again, he was dancing with his wife, Jill Easterly, in their posh living room. Now a swinging jazz number played on the stereo unit: a lot of vibes and strings. Ice melted in two tumblers amid amber liquid on the wet bar.

She murmured in his ear. "I thought you said walking Sergei was excitement enough, Alex?"

"I'm just helping out an old friend, dear. Nolan and I were in the army together. And he's asked me to look into how to better the security at his company, that's all." He spun her around. She was a gorgeous woman.

"Uh-huh, how come you've never mentioned him before?" She came back into his arms. She smelled like flowers.

"I don't talk about everybody from my past." They danced real slow, his face near hers. He turned to kiss her.

Her lips were on his. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact Masters Electronics is rumored to be aiding our s.p.a.ce effort, does it, darling?"

Alex Easterly frowned, pulling his face back from hers. "Yes, well, that's so, only-"

She put her arms around his neck. "Do you think I while away my days reading Jane Austen and getting my hair done? Not that you noticed my new hairstyle." She lightly touched the ends of her coiffured locks.

Alex Easterly suddenly didn't feel like romancing his wife. As if someone were reading his mind, the music abruptly ceased too. But he was so fl.u.s.tered, he didn't notice that it had happened. "It's not that, dear, really. It's simply I didn't want you to be concerned, that's all."

She walked to the bar and shook a cigarette loose from his pack of Lucky Strikes lying there. She shook two loose and lit one, inserting the thing in his mouth. "Don't you think I might want to know if my husband is facing danger, going up against what may be a spy ring?" She'd lit the other cigarette for herself, talking over it as it dangled from her lipsticked mouth.

Jill Easterly then sipped from her drink. "Did you think I'd sit home and weep and be hysterical?"

"No, I know you're an independent woman." He felt as if he was in the dock and she was cross-examining him. This must come from reading that new magazine Cosmopolitan and what not.

"And didn't you think I might be of some help in this matter, considering some of my investments have been made in Masters Electronics?"

"I didn't know that," he reluctantly admitted.

"Of course you didn't, honey." She blew smoke at the ceiling and belted down more alcohol. "You seem to believe that because I inherited money, I just trot down to the bank now and then and draw out some and not think about where it comes from."

She sat down and crossed her legs, her foot bobbing up and down. "I admit, when Daddy died, I was befuddled as to the whys and wherefores of his steel and s.h.i.+pping empire. Of course, his law firm was very solicitous, helping the little woman figure out all those complex contracts and business relations.h.i.+ps." She fluttered her eyes dramatically.

Alex Easterly sagged against the bar, his hand blindly seeking his own drink. "It's as if I'm seeing you for the first time," he muttered. He drank deeply.

"Sweetie," she said, "I haven't been hiding anything from you. But you work so hard solving cases- the gaunt woman matter as a good example- and trying to keep me from helping you, you haven't noticed that I've focused my inquisitiveness on other things too."

Easterly came over to his wife. "And how was it that Masters came to call on me?"

Jill Easterly inclined her head and puckered her lips. "A word to a friend of a friend. That's how business is done, you know that."

He had to smile. He sank to one knee beside her chair. "I may be getting long in the tooth, but maybe I can learn a few new tricks, huh, partner?"

Her fingers played with the nape of his neck. "Yes, that is so, Mr. Easterly." She kissed him tenderly. Then, "I think your going undercover is a good idea. While that takes place, I'll use my entre from the financial end to investigate some of the board members."

"Any particular suspects?"

"Oh, not exactly the fellow travelers you and Nolan might be thinking about, my love. There's this Shockman on the board who is brilliant in electronics but dreary in human understanding. In fact, during the war years he was a youth member of the German-American Volksbund. And I have it on solid background he's maintained his crypto-fascist ties. The East may be red, but there are plenty of those with brown s.h.i.+rts still in their closets."

"You're full of surprises, Mrs. Easterly."

"Ain't I, though?"

He rose to fill their drinks. In doing so, he happened to catch their reflections in the mirror on the wall. Absently, he noted the gray in his temples that seemed to have increased since breakfast. At the bar he had to look around again, a troubling notion gnawing at him.

"What is it dear?"

"Ah, ruminating on our next steps." In the mirror he blinked at the middle-aged Negro, or was it colored now? He was dressed impeccably: monogrammed sleeves and creased pants. This fellow's arm lifted when Easterly lifted his arm. By George, he was this fellow, and he was mixing drinks for himself and the woman in the chair. And d.a.m.ned if he hadn't paid attention before, but she was Oriental. That was his wife, right?

"Alex, are you okay? You look distracted."

"The case, the enormity of it, I guess." As if he were an automaton, he brought her the drink.

"Umm," she said, taking her gla.s.s. She put it on the floor beside the chair and stood. The mellow jazz score started again.

Hearing the signal, Easterly put his drink down too and began dancing with her again. "He said we had sixty-seven hours," he whispered in her ear.

"As I said, love," she began, "the answer might not be what you think. The missing doughnuts may be missing because the thief is looking for something else."

He looked hard at her as a knock sounded at their door. The knock persisted as the fire alarm also went off. Easterly seemed to be moving through hot tar to reach the door. The bell's ringing drowned out all other sound....

"Elrod," Monk slurred into the receiver.

"Oh, you're still sleeping," he asked innocently. "I called over to the office, and Delilah said you'd probably be taking the day off. I guess she said why, but I guess I wasn't listening. This doughnut thing's got me worked up."

"The times that Moises has been at work don't jibe with the times you've counted doughnuts missing, do they?"

Elrod was quiet on the other end for several moments. "d.a.m.n, that was pretty good, chief."

"Then it doesn't look like he's our man," Monk amplified. "He doesn't have a key, right?"

"No, and he couldn't have had a duplicate made either."

"Then when the probable has been eliminated, my dear colleague, all we have left is the improbable. Or words to that effect."

"Meaning what?"

"Has to be one of the regulars." He yawned.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that."

Through the walls Monk could hear a power motor starting up. He was doomed. "Who's been around?"

"Let's see," the big man rumbled, "Abe Carson, Peter Worthman, and Karen Oh." He snapped his fingers. "And Willie, Willie Brant stopped by too."

Oh was a defense attorney whom Monk had done some work for. "She's not a regular," he pointed out.

"No, but I remember her 'cause she asked about you. This was yesterday and you were still out of town." He got quiet again. "You just drove back this morning, didn't you?"

"Don't sweat it, El D. You've got me curious about the missing doughnuts too."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry, I should have realized," he apologized.

"The game is afoot. Okay, from your list the one that doesn't fit is Karen, but she only showed up yesterday. Yet the doughnuts were gone before she showed up."

"That's right," the big man said on the other end of the line. "She didn't tell me what she wanted, but said she'd try to get a hold of you today."

"That leaves us with the- hey, what the h.e.l.l did Willie want? He hardly ever comes by the doughnut shop. I always see him at Kelvin's." Monk was referring to the Abyssinia Barber Shop and s.h.i.+ne Parlor on Broadway in South Central Los Angeles he and Willie, a retired postman, frequented.

Elrod said, "You know, now that we're talking about it, I'm not sure, but I think Willie was here more than once in the last couple of days."

"Just to hang out?" Monk wondered aloud.

"The first time he came in after Abe showed up. They just seemed to be shootin' the s.h.i.+t and all. Willie broke down with his cheap a.s.s and bought a small coffee and then complained about having to pay for a second refill. And," he added ominously, "that was the night I first noticed some chocolate twists had been taken."

Another power motor joined the first- must be gardener day in Silverlake, he glumly concluded. "Why would Willie steal our goodies, Elrod? He can't be selling them on the side."

"He might. Should I question him on the sly, like?"

He didn't have to activate much of his imagination to see how that might go. "Hold off, all right? How could he be sneaking the doughnuts out? If you're not there, Josette or Donnie or Moises is around, right?"

"Unless one of them is in on it with him." Elrod sounded like Jack Webb drawing in his dragnet.

"I tell you what, before you start hauling everybody in and putting them under the hot lights, let's sleep on this, dig? Let me catch a few hours of Z's, then I'll come over and we can formulate a plan."

"A plan is good," the other man concurred.

Monk, despite his interest in the doughnut caper, could feel the lead weights pulling his eyelids down. "We'll figure it out, Elrod, you'll see."

"Okay. Get some rest."