“Fenced it? No one! I’m a one-man operation. A businessman with a reputation as esteemed as mine can’t afford to confide in a middleman. Loose lips sink ships.”
“So how did you convert your stash to cash? Or do you have it all locked away in a safety deposit box someplace?”
“It wasn’t very difficult,” explained Woody. “Pawn shops. Antique dealers. Online auctions. When e-Bay started up, I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven.” Woody bobbed his head at me. “A little undertaker humor.”
“There’s not a pawn shop within fifty miles of where we live,” challenged Cal. “So where are these pawn shops you’re talking about?”
“How many conferences do I attend every year, Cal? Six? Seven? Las Vegas. Boston. LA. Chicago. Believe me, it’s not hard to liquidate hard assets. Everyone’s buying.”
“Jeeeez,” groaned Cal. “So what now, hunh? I just find out my father’s a criminal. What do I do? Turn him in? Keep it under my hat and become an accessory to the crime by withholding information? Did you ever once—in the decades you’ve been committing grand larceny—stop to think what would happen to me, or Mom, or the rest of the family if your secret career as a felon was found out?”
He shook his head. “I thought about it once, a long time ago, but it made me so nervous I never thought about it again.”
“The idea of spending the rest of your life in jail too intense for you?”
“Jail I could handle. What scared me was the thought of having to tangle with the IRS. They’d probably want to do an audit.”
Cal snorted. “You’re guilty of grand theft larceny, and all you’re worried about is an audit?”
“You would be, too, if you never saved receipts.”
“Well, I hope you made lots of money as a thief because you’re going to need every red cent to pay your legal fees … if they don’t freeze your accounts and shut down the business. Our business. My business. You’ve ruined everyone’s life, Dad. Are you happy now?”
“I poured every penny I made back into the business,” defended Woody. “A state-of-the-art computer system. Additional viewing rooms. New vehicles. Top-of-the-line caskets and vaults. That’s where the money is, Cal. Hardware! But what do you do? Encourage everyone who walks through the door to be cremated. I’m surprised you’re not encouraging clients to go coffin free with some kind of cockamamie green burial. I’ve sunk a million dollars into this business only to be sabotaged by you at every turn!”
“Million dollars?” Cal looked stunned. “Where did you get a million dollars?”
“The economic boom in the nineties. People were paying top dollar for gold and gemstones, so I was pulling in money by the bucket loads.” He shrugged. “I’m not proud of it, but the truth is, I’m a damn fine thief.”
Cal groaned as he buried his face in his hands again.
“Could we return to the discussion about your ring?” I asked during the lull.
Woody looked me square in the eye. “Just so you and I are on the same page, I might be a thief, but I’m no Nazi. I fought hammer and tong against the Nazis, for crying out loud.”
“I believe you.”
“I’m glad someone does,” droned Cal.
“I realize it was decades ago,” I continued, “but do you remember anything about the man who owned the ring?”
Woody nodded. “He was dead.”