Chapter 8

Velma was the queen of sleepless nights. She had suffered through stress dreams, vivid dreams, nightmares, and insomnia for years. At times she had used exercise to drive herself to exhaustion and force her body to collapse. But sleep still eluded her.

But today, after another sleepless night, she felt really good. She had gotten to bed late last night because she was working on a case for the agency and she had gotten up early this morning to make it to class in pursuit of the college degrees of which she had so long dreamed. Her day had been spent going from class to class, listening to many things she already knew. Honestly, most of the things she heard in freshman lectures she already knew but every so often she would hear something that she had not thought about in so long, it seemed fresh. Tonight, she would be up late again surveilling a target and then working through ideas and thoughts with the gang. If she was needed to get up early in the morning, she would do it. Her life was off hold and moving forward. She was tired and loving it.

Her classes were done and she had time to get home, change clothes, and head back down to the bank to start her tail for the night. Friday rush hour was a little busier than Thursday, so she allowed herself some extra time. She got in the car, synced her phone, and spoke aloud, "Call Shaggy."

Her car answered, "Calling Shaggy."

The ringing sounds were followed by a click and he answered, "Hey."

"Hey."

"Done with class?"

"Yeah."

"Learn anything interesting?"

"I learned that the Café Latte in the school coffee shop is an instant mix and that teaching assistants get really confused if you try and ask them about how the EPR Paradox exemplified quantum entanglement during a period when we were supposed to be going over a statics homework assignment."

"I understood the latte part. The rest sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. Now, read me your mechanics textbook table of contents. You know it gets me all hot and bothered."

She smiled, he had happened across the textbook and entertained himself reading double-entendres into the chapter headings. She put on her sexiest voice (which wasn't great), "Oh, you mean like Free-Body Diagrams, Moments of a Couple, Equilibrium of a Rigid Body…"

"I love it when you talk dirty."

She laughed, "What were you and Daphne up to today."

"Oh, nothing much. Saving humanity. Making millions. Toasting Pop Tarts. Average day. I manned the phones until I had to go to the restaurant. It gave Daphne a chance to get a nap in before her shift at the mall."

"Did you talk to Fred and Scooby about the lawyer meeting."

"Yup, they came back with a contract and the lawyers are going to pay us $1,000 a month just to use our name on their advertising. Also, they've got a meeting with an insurance company set up next week which could mean some steady work."

"This all just might work."

"It just might. I'll be back from the restaurant between 10:00 and 11:00. Do you want to come by here and we'll drive over to Fred and Daphne's together?"

"If I'm done with my stake-out, I'll be there. If not, I'll meet you at Daphne's."

"Sounds good. The restaurant has the banquet room booked for a large group tonight, so I better get back to cooking."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

"Later."

The conversation had lasted three minutes and they had said nothing of particular import. And it was the best three minutes of her day. Velma had always wondered what happiness would feel like. It felt pretty good.

She got home with plenty of time to shower and change into clean blue jeans and a clean t-shirt which just made life a little better. Having gone through it once, she was in position to start the tail early and had a few minutes to kill so she checked her e-mails. Sandra Redding still had not sent in the signed contract. That was going to haunt her, and she called her client.

The phone rang several times before it was answered, "My goodness, Ms. Dinkley, is Christopher at it already? He's getting quite the jump on the week-end."

"No ma'am, I'm still waiting for him to leave the bank. I noticed that you haven't sent in the signed contract, yet."

"I'm sure I did. But I'll send it again. Can it wait until Monday? I'm heading home and trying to use the week-end to recover from finding out what Christopher has done to me and to our marriage. I'm terrified of confrontation, but I may have to get up my nerve and speak with him about it tonight. Or tomorrow. Or Sunday. I really won't be able to think about anything else until I do that. This has all had more of an emotional impact on me than I thought it would. I'm sorry. You understand don't you? I promise that I'll do it first thing Monday."

"Well, I guess…" There was a quick noise in the background of the call which Velma couldn't place. It was so quick that she didn't hear enough to be able to identify it, like trying to name a song from a single note. But it just didn't seem right, and it distracted her as her agile mind immediately began trying to figure out why the noise was striking a discordant tone. But it was not germane to the call, so she shelved it and finished her sentence, "… that is the best you can do. But please remember to send it in on Monday. I have no problem coming by your office or your house to pick it up."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. I'll make sure to get it to you."

At that moment, the BMW appeared at the garage exit, "I'm sorry. There's your husband, I have to go."

She pulled out and found out that tailing someone is really easy if you already know where he's going. He threw a hiccup into the works when he pulled off at a grocery store and came out with a bottle of wine and some flowers. Grocery story flowers and wine for the mistress. Hopefully, the wife got the real deal.

The code for the gate had not been changed so she passed right through, went to the same parking spot, and made her way back to the same house and was poised at the same window, camera ready, as the sun was setting.

And they were off. The wandering husband and his mistress arrived in the bedroom with him carrying the wine bottle and two glasses. He unscrewed the cap (seriously, a BMW, a wife, a mistress, and screwcap wine?), poured them two glasses, there was a toast, and then clothes were flying. Velma shook her head as she began clicking away with pictures and video.

As she was taking her pictures, her mind was poking around with the noise she had heard in the background of the call with Sandra Redding. She knew that, if she could identify what the noise was, it would provide a piece to some puzzle which her subconscious was struggling with. When the bedroom Olympics ceased, she breathed a silent sigh of relief and packed up to head for home. She would probably go over to Shaggy's again and wait for him to get back from the restaurant. But she stopped. Whatever was in her subconscious was focused on the two people in this house. She had plenty of time and there was no reason to rush, so she decided to listen to her subconscious and stay in place, observe some more, and let her thoughts gel.

All was quiet and still in the bedroom for several minutes, and she was thinking the couple had fallen asleep when there was a commotion and Mr. Redding got out of bed. She had recorded enough evidence for the night, so she averted her eyes until enough time had passed for him to get dressed. When she turned her head back, he was in flannel pajamas and the mistress was naked as a jaybird.

Darn it!

She averted her eyes again. When she looked back this time, they were both leaving the bedroom which required her to take some risk. She had to enter the backyard in order to follow them from the bedroom into the living portions of the house. There was a gate into the fenced backyard which contained a small pool and she passed the other bedroom window, then a darkened window, and then there were several brightly lit windows in a row. Getting to the edge of the nearest one, she was looking in as Redding turned on the television and followed his mistress into the kitchen. They started cooking dinner in their pajamas.

He was in his pajamas and had turned on the television to cook dinner. Velma had, of course, never been anyone's mistress but this wasn't how she had pictured it. And Redding looked settled in for the night and…

And…

And…

The sound was a squeak toy.

And the pieces fell into place.

Velma froze while her brain put everything together which took about thirty seconds. Then she leaned back against the wall and mentally probed at her theory. There were gaps to be filled but no actual holes. That gave her a working hypothesis upon which to begin testing. And the first test would be done right here and right now.

She put all of her things into her backpack, made her way around to the front door, and knocked. It took several minutes before the door opened and she was face-to-face with Christopher Redding who was now wearing a bathrobe and who she had now seen nude twice. She tried to control her blushing and failed miserably. But the sun had set and maybe he wouldn't notice.

"Mr. Redding? My name is Velma Dinkley…"

"Wait. Weren't you from that television show? Is this some kind of hidden camera thing because…"

"No sir. We are all still the same team from the show but we now operate a licensed private detective agency."

His facial expression changed from confused to wary to preparing to be angry, "What is a private detective doing at my door?"

This question did nothing to help with her blushing especially when her mind answered the question with you should be more worried about what one was doing at your window. But uncontrollable blushing notwithstanding, she maintained her poise, "I will be glad to explain everything, sir, but would you mind answering some questions?"

"That would depend on the questions."

"What is your wife's name?"

His answer was tentative, "It's Sandra."

"And where is she now?"

"She's in the kitchen cooking dinner."

"May I speak with her, please. It will only take a moment."

He looked even more tentative and then he called over his shoulder, "Sandra. Could you come to the front door for a minute. A private detective wants to speak with you."

Within seconds the mistress popped her head around the door and Velma was now faced with two people who she had just seen naked and the blushing intensified further, if that was even possible.

"Mrs. Redding, I'm Velma Dinkley from the…"

"Velma Dinkley? From the Scooby Doo show? You're not…" She leaned closer and took a good look at Velma's face and actually pulled the bill of Velma's baseball cap up to get a better look. This was pretty rude but given what she had just been doing to them, Velma let it slide.

The mistress or wife exclaimed, "Oh my gosh. It is you."

"Yes ma'am. Can you confirm your name please?"

"Certainly I'm Sandra Bea… Sandra Redding. Sorry, we've only been married a couple of weeks and I still slip up every now and then."

"Would it be too much of an imposition for me to see some ID?"

Christopher Redding stepped in, "I tell you what. We'll trade. You show me your PI license and she'll show you her driver's license."

This was actually kind of cool. The license had shown up in the mail three days before and she had been hoping someone would ask to see it, "Deal." And she pulled it out. After a careful review, Sandra Redding went inside and came back with a brand new driver's license which confirmed her name and photograph.

Test 1 complete. Results positive.

Daphne was tired and grumpy. Of course, the customers at the store couldn't tell it from the bright smile with which she greeted them. And the cheery banter with which she interacted. She had a 7:30 appointment for a make-over who showed up to find the same beaming smile as everyone else without knowing that the thought behind the smile was Lady, there's not enough make-up in the world. Without breaking the smiling visage, Daphne immediately and strongly chastised herself on two points. First, what she had thought was mean and she would not allow herself to become a mean person. And second, it was wrong. She was Daphne Blake Jones, the Michaelangelo of the cosmetics world. When this woman left Daphne's station, she would be a goddess.

Unless of course. The phone rang. It was Velma.

Daphne looked at her appointment who was still going through the color charts and holding them up against her face in the mirror, "Pardon me, a moment. I'm afraid that I need to take this."

Her counter was actually a circular island of counters in the middle of the showroom floor. The chair she used for appointments was within the counters and could be seen from all sides. Having Daphne Jones doing makeovers was a big draw for the store and they wanted audience space. The negative side of this was that the best she could do for privacy was to step over into the far corner of her little arena in plain view of anyone.

She answered in a whisper, "Hi Velma. What's up?"

Velma went through what she had deduced at her end of the mystery. She glossed over the part where she had explained to the Reddings that they had been a victim of identity theft which had gotten her invited into their home. She especially glossed over the part about explaining to them that she had been standing outside of their bedroom window and taking pictures of them making love which had gotten her unceremoniously kicked out. There really is no good way to explain that. They were polite enough that they did not physically shove her in the back as they escorted her through the front door.

Velma finished up her update, "So, I think everything fits and I have all of the unimportant stuff worked out. But I don't have enough information to answer the really important question."

Daphne's mind was also putting puzzle pieces together, "I think I do." She looked at her phone and checked the time, "And we've got a lot to get done in the next 87 minutes. Could you call the gang and tell them we need to push up the meeting from midnight to right now? Everybody drops what they are doing and heads to the house immediately. I've got a lot of calls to make and people to convince."

"Okay."

"Wait. I'll call Fred. I need him to do something else rather than attend the meeting."

"Gotcha. I'll meet you at your house. I'll be the one deleting lots of photographs and videos off of our server."