Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold (21 page)

“
REALLY
?” H
ENRY SAID
.

“I need to ask you some questions.”

“Sh-Sure.”

“Maybe we should step outside,” Agent Willers said.

Henry held the door for the agent, garnering inquiring looks from pretty much everyone in the café. “This is so cool,” he said. “The FBI.”

“We’ve been watching your mother for several days now. We know she got tangled up with that Winslow Jump person, and we also know that you know he’s a con artist.”

Henry smiled from ear to ear, holding the scooter helmet under his arm. “We’re just finding out the facts. But, yeah, how do you—”

“We don’t think your mother is in any danger. We’ve had her under surveillance.”

“If you’ve seen her with this guy, this con artist, why haven’t you arrested him?”

“We were hoping your mother would lead us to Crickets.”

Henry burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. It sounded funny. But why? How could my mother lead you to Crickets? And why should she?”

“He’s the ringleader, so to speak,” Agent Willers said. “Jump is his roper.”

“Ah, Mr. Big. The Brains. The Inside Man. This is so cool.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Beamer.” Agent Willers looked into Henry’s eyes. “We need your help.”

“Me? What can I do?”

Agent Willers waited until a passerby moved on. “Get your mother to meet Lily at the café again.”

“Lily?”

“Jump’s daughter.”

“Oh, the girl the cashier mentioned.” Henry couldn’t help it. As worried as he was for his mother, he was having a blast.

“That’s right. Try to get Lily to talk about Crickets. We want him, Mr. Beamer. Fraudulent gold mines are just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Really. There’s more? Is it drugs? Counterfeiting?”

“You are way too happy about this.”

“It’s just so interesting.”

“Right. You’re a writer.”

Henry laughed. “Man, you guys know everything.”

“Look, Mr. Beamer. Just see if you can get your mother to meet Lily here. We’ll take it from there.”

Henry plopped the helmet on his head. “Okay. Okay. Should we synchronize watches or anything?”

Agent Willers shook her head. “This is serious FBI business, Mr. Beamer.”

“I know. Sorry. But you’re sure my mother isn’t in any danger?”

“We don’t believe so. These guys are not known for violence.”

“They just like taking advantage of rich old women.”

“That pretty much sums it up.” Agent Willers put her hand on Henry’s shoulder and gave him her card with the number to reach her. “Don’t worry. I’ll have my eye on her the whole time.
The first sign of trouble and I can have three agents in the café in seconds.”

All Henry could say was, “Wow.”

“That’s the place, over there,” Lily said. “The place with the yellow awning and the tables outside.”

“The Why Not Diner?” Harriet said.

“Yeah, pretty stupid,” Lily said. “But Pop likes it. And they’re pretty nice in there. We’ve been eating here a lot.”

“When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” Martha asked.

“Don’t remember.”

“Maybe one of these days Harriet will have you to her house for a real meal.”

“Oh,” Lily said, “I … I don’t think my pop would go for it. He … he’d rather eat here.”

“Okay,” Harriet said. “You tell him we at least got to see some specks.”

Lily pushed open the car door. “Bye.”

“Bye, sweetie,” Martha said.

Harriet watched the way Lily smiled at Martha.

“You two have certainly bonded quickly,” Harriet said when Lily had closed the door.

“I like her. It breaks my heart to think she might be tangled up in some scam. Or that her father forces her to do his dirty work.”

Harriet pulled away from the curb after Lily was safely inside the diner. “I wish you would stop it,” she said. “I don’t have any reason to believe it’s not for real. You saw the gold.”

“How do you know for certain it’s gold? Have you had it tested? Have you ever heard of fool’s gold?” Martha’s voice had gotten a little high.

“Now you’re angry,” Harriet said. “Your voice squeaks when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Martha said. “I just wish you would tell Prudence and Henry. If it’s not a scam, then terrific. If it is, then you won’t lose any more money.”

Harriet harrumphed. “You sound like a broken record. I said I have it under control.”

Henry parked the Vespa in the garage and set the helmet on the seat. “The FBI,” he said. “This is so cool.”

He went to the kitchen where Humphrey met him in apparent hopeful anticipation of donuts.

“Sorry, old chum,” Henry said. “Not this time.” He patted the dog’s head, sat down at the kitchen table, and said, “We have a caper to pull off.”

Humphrey whimpered.

“Don’t worry, we just have to get Mom to the café with Lily and get her talking about Mr. Big.”

It was at that moment Henry felt a tingle of anxiety. It seemed the excitement of the whole matter had receded into concern. “Agent Willers said we were in no danger, but … but what if they have guns and stuff? She said they weren’t violent, but still, they could always start.”

Henry looked at the clock. It was nearly four o’clock. The builders would be leaving for the day, which was good, and Prudence should be walking through the door at any minute. He had no idea when Harriet and Martha would mosey in, and this made him nervous as his somewhat enlarged imagination had a tendency to cook up the worst-case scenario in most situations. Perhaps it would be best to act like nothing was wrong until later, when Prudence was home and everyone had had dinner, and then they could discuss the whole gold mine scam.

“That’s the ticket,” he told Humphrey. “I’ll cook.”

Cooking had a way of relaxing his mind. He would sometimes cook when he felt stuck with a book. Using a different part of his brain somehow made the words flow more easily. Maybe cooking would have a similar effect on helping him to devise a plan, a way to tell Harriet the jig is up and that she had to lure Lily to the café so the FBI could essentially move in and arrest everybody who needed arresting. “Sometimes, Humphrey, you have to be deliberate about not imagining the worst.”

Humphrey didn’t have an opinion. He sat near his bowl watching and maybe waiting for Henry to drop a tasty morsel. Sandra Day was nowhere in sight. She was probably hard at work sleeping. That is, after all, what cats did best and Humphrey knew this.

Henry thought a moment. What to make for dinner.

“Mom has been hinting about wanting strawberry shortcake.”

So Henry assembled the necessary shortcake ingredients. “It just might make the bad news go down a little easier. And besides, there is just something so comforting about strawberry shortcake, does a soul a lot of good.”

Henry patted his stomach. “Our waistlines? Now, that’s a different story. Except, of course, for Prudence. She can eat all she wants.”

Humphrey whimpered. “I know, I know, within reason. But she is going to love this cake. And she can have three slices—one for her, and one each for Chip and Dale.”

Henry couldn’t be certain, but he was fairly sure he saw Humphrey raise his eyebrows and roll his eyes.

“What? You don’t like Chip and Dale?”

Henry cut the butter into his dry ingredients using a special tool he bought just for making shortbread. “The proper tools make the job easier.”

He could hear the workers outside banging and hammering, and sometimes a bit of laughter would drift through the open
kitchen window, and he was ever so happy it was not him with a nail gun in his holster.

He spread the shortcake mixture into two round cake pans, nicely greased and floured, making sure to create a small lip around the sides. “Now, to let these bake.” He set the timer and then heard a car pull into the driveway. “That sounds like Pru’s car.”

He rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. “Come on, boy.”

“Pru,” Henry called walking into the living room. “I am so glad you’re home.”

Prudence didn’t look so good. She dropped her briefcase, looked into Henry’s eyes, and darted right past him, making a beeline for the bathroom.

Henry followed close behind and stood in the hallway.

“Are you okay in there?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” She seemed to be catching her breath. “Morning sickness has become afternoon sickness. I just lost my Kung Pao. Remind me never to eat Kung Pao again.”

Henry winced at the thought. “Sure. Why don’t you lie down?”

“I don’t want to lie down, Henry. You are always telling me to lie down. I’m sick of lying down. Maybe I don’t want to lie down.”

Henry backed away. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”

Prudence came out of the bathroom. She patted his cheek. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just a little testy.”

“It’s okay, honey. Do you have any more news? Because I do. You won’t believe what happened to me today.”

Henry took Pru’s hand and led her into the kitchen. “I need to watch my shortcake,” he said. “Doesn’t take long to bake.”

Prudence sat down at the table. “Do we have any ginger ale?”

“Sure.” Henry twisted open a bottle and sat it in front of her.

“I don’t need the whole liter,” Prudence said.

“Oh, sorry.” Henry sat a glass near her on the table. “I have to tell you what happened.”

Prudence poured ginger ale into the glass.

“Okay, but I hope you didn’t do anything to give it away.”

“No, no. So, I went into town to find Mom, to that café. I couldn’t stand the thought of her talking to this creep anymore. But she wasn’t there.”

“Where was she?” Prudence sipped.

“According to the cashier, Downieville, but I had the stupid scooter so I couldn’t go after her.”

“That’s good.”

“So anyway, I was leaving the café when, get this, I was approached by the FBI.” Henry said this like a nine-year-old boy who had just caught his first trout.

“What? I really wish you hadn’t gone into town. I told you to let the authorities handle it.”

“I know, I know,” Henry said. The dinger dinged. He slipped on his oven mitts and opened the oven door. “But I was so worried about Mom and Martha.” He tested his cakes by lightly pushing the centers. “Perfect.”

“You could have put them in danger. I told you the FBI was on it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Pru.” He slipped off the mitts and dropped them on the counter. “Agent Willers approached me. She gave me an assignment.”

Prudence smiled. “Henry Beamer, you are like a kid. This is serious business. That Crickets guy is trouble. They say he has underworld connections.”

“Really?” Henry’s heart sped. “This is getting better and better. Mr. Big is in the Mafia.”

And they both knew they’d be talking to Harriet as soon as she and Martha got home.

“Hey, look,” Harriet said as she parked the BMW in the driveway. “The scooter’s been moved. I bet Henry had to use it for
something.” She laughed. “Henry hates to drive the scooter. I can just see him tooling down the street all wobbly with his long legs and big feet.”

“It looks like the builders have left,” Martha said.

“Yeah, I didn’t realize how late it was getting, and Prudence is home already. Now, that’s weird.”

Harriet pushed open the front door and saw Henry and Prudence sitting on the couch like two bookends. She dropped her tote bag on the floor with a thud.

“Uh oh,” Martha whispered. “They look upset.”

“What’s up?” Harriet said. “Did Humphrey eat your Little Debbies?”

“Mom,” Henry said. “We have to talk to you.”

Harriet sat in the recliner. Martha pulled the rocker next to Harriet and sat. Her eyes met Henry’s for just a moment, but she knew he wouldn’t give her away if this was about the gold mine.

“The jig is up, Mom,” Henry said. “I know all about the gold mine. What in the world were you thinking?”

“Who told you?” Harriet asked.

“That’s not important,” Henry said.

“I was only thinking of you … and Prudence, and … the babies.”

“But a gold mine?” Prudence said. “You leased a gold mine from a man you met in a café. In what world does that make sense?”

Florence. Harriet figured it just had to be Florence. Martha wouldn’t have told.

“But he seemed so nice,” Harriet said. “And … and he showed me the gold. In the stream. Lots of it.”

“I saw it too,” Martha said. “Well, a little, anyway.”

“It’s called salting the mine,” Prudence said. She sounded a bit angry, like Harriet and Martha should have known this.

“Pru,” Henry said, “no need to take that tone.”

“What tone?”

“Your lawyer tone. We’re not in court.”

“Sorry,” Prudence said. “This Winslow Jump guy was probably busy tossing gold flakes and fool’s gold into the stream while his daughter kept you busy at the café.”

Martha snapped her fingers. “That makes sense. I bet you that’s why Win supposedly had a business meeting earlier. He was salting the stream while Lily ate French fries. Geeze. That poor young girl, doing her father’s bidding like that.”

“He’s a crook,” Henry said. “Crickets is too—a big, fat crook wanted all over the country for fraud and other charges. He’s wanted by the FBI.”

Harriet folded her hands on her lap. Humphrey ambled by and laid his head on her feet. He whimpered. Harriet’s heart sank so low and so hard she figured it could have fallen through the floor and reached China. “I … I don’t believe it. He seemed so nice.”

“The hallmark of a good con artist,” Prudence said.

Harriet let go a heavy sigh. “I should have known when I never even got copies of the papers I signed. I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” Prudence said. “Thousands of people get scammed every year. And from what I hear this guy Crickets is a consummate pro.”

Harriet looked at Martha. “You were right.”

“I really wish I wasn’t,” Martha said. “I really wish you had struck gold.”

“Okay,” Prudence, who was still obviously stuck in lawyer mode, said. “I spoke with the FBI and they’ve been following Winslow Jump for weeks. Winslow and—I forgot to tell you this part, Henry—his daughter.”

“Really?” Harriet said. “But why Lily? She’s a minor, and I … I think she really believes her father is for real.”