They all stood looking at Everett, who tapped an index finger to his lips. After a moment, he spoke. “I’d like some time alone in the vault.”
“What for, Klein?” Franklyn said. “It’s obviously impregnable.”
“Obviously,” was all Everett said.
Gus gave the nod. The security guard punched a code in the blank screen, whispered something, and pressed his palm flat. Again, the metallic clang sounded. The guard spun the wheel and hauled the door back open.
“Okay, right there,” Everett stopped the man when there was just enough space to slip through. He angled his head at Ivy. They reentered the vault.
Everett set his briefcase on the island. “Something’s on your mind.”
“Yeah,” Ivy said. “Learning that Gus Beranger sells guns is like finding out that Walt Disney worked on the Manhattan Project.”
“The theft,” he said. Ivy expected him to take out some files, but instead, he took what looked like a big gray pencil case from under the elastic pocket.
Ivy thought it over. In the meanwhile, Everett popped open the box; produced small vials of powder and a puffy makeup brush. He was dusting for fingerprints, she realized.
“Well, given the security, I’d say on the one hand, it has to be an inside job.”
He walked to the inside of the heavy vault door and spun the brush against it. “Uh huh.”
“But there are cameras in here, a guard outside, and if there’s a computer keeping track of it, Beranger would know if anyone opened that particular safe.” Ivy watched him, fascinated.
“Which leads us where?”
“It could be that whoever took the tiara also had access to erase the information from the security computer,” Ivy said. “I mean, I guess. I don’t know about security stuff.”
Everett peeled some clear tape from a white backing. He pressed it against the inner side of the door. “That’s a pretty good assumption.”
Considering he was still collecting fingerprints from the door, Ivy thought her answer wasn’t all that compelling. “Still, the tiara hasn’t been seen since a year ago, at the last exhibition. There would be lots of data over a full year, entrances, exits, all those biometrics and passwords. With that much information to comb through, the thief would have plenty of time to make an escape.”
Everett re-stuck the tape to the backing. He put it in an envelope. After squinting and leaning close, he pulled another strip of tape. “That’s how you would do it.”
“What?”
“Think like a thief for a second,” Everett said.
“I’d find something easier to steal,” Ivy said. “Like gold from Fort Knox.”
He pulled another print and stuck it in another envelope. “Pretend. You’re an agent for the Spanish monarchy. They commissioned the thing, and they want it back. You get it how.”
“Is there still a Spanish monarchy?”
Everett gave her a withering stare.
Yeek! Okay, okay, she thought. “Well, I wouldn’t try to steal it from here. I mean, you’d have to get a job here, and work long enough to be trusted with the security. I guess an agent of the crown might have the time, but it seems like a lot of work. Really boring work if that poor security guard outside the door is any indication.”
“You learn to deal with boredom in the military,” Everett said. “Trust me. But the guards are only on the door for two hour shifts. The other one is patrolling the property.”
Ivy shrugged. “Which is weird, considering that this is a residential neighborhood.”
“Granted. You have another plan.”
“We broke into the Odditorium easily enough.” Ivy sighed, realizing she would always feel the sting of guilt. “I’m sure they have actual security during the True Treasures event. But it might be easier to get close to the tiara there.”
“A less controlled environment,” Everett agreed. “That’s where I’d do it, too.”
Chapter 6
Despite this statement, Klein took several more fingerprints. “Okay, let’s talk to some staff.”
“You’re going to leave all that black dust on the safe door?”
He shrugged. “There are cameras in here. The butler, Tanner, has access. Let him do his job.”
“Why take fingerprints at all?” Ivy asked. “The people who can get into the safes must be on file anyway.”
“Think about it. If you were doing something illegal in here, you’d close the door.”
Even with the cameras and all that security, Ivy nodded. She would. “Psychological.”
“Right. Given the weight of the door, unless you were up to something, you’d let the guard open and close it. So these prints belong to someone or someones who were likely doing something in secret.”
“And if they match the staff with access?”
Klein put the fingerprint box back in the briefcase. “Back to the inside job.”
“Do you have access to a fingerprint database or something?”
“I have some friends who owe me some favors.” He angled his head at the door. “C’mon, let’s do some interviews.”
“Who are we talking to?” Ivy followed him out. She smiled at the guard. He kept on his thousand yard stare.
“Everyone,” Everett said.
Gus Beranger and J. Benjamin Franklyn remained in the hall. The head of security smirked at Everett. “You solve this yet, Detective Klein?”
“Yeah, I did.” Everett waited for the man’s double take. Then he said, “I just need evidence to take it to court.”
“Personally, I could give a rat’s ass about prosecution,” Gus said. “I just want the damned tiara back.”
“Your company didn’t install the vault, Franklyn.” Everett didn’t ask.
“Nope. Private construction firm, back in 1972 I believe. Eagle updated a few security features.”
Ivy jumped in. “Is there a way to know who opened the safe with the tiara? Does that data get saved?”
Franklyn gave her an assessing scowl. “It does. For one year. Then it gets archived. For the past three hundred sixty-six days, no one has opened the tiara safe. When we accessed the archive, we found the opening of the box consistent with the removal for exhibition, and replacement following.”
An inside inside job, she thought to herself.
Everett nodded at the guard standing at parade rest. “Your men.”
“Vetted fully, all ex-military,” Franklyn said. “At least two years on staff before being placed in high risk or high value sites. Eagle Security aren’t your average rent-a-cops.”
Was that a dig at Everett? Ivy wondered.
Klein pulled a notebook from his suit coat pocket. “Okay, I’m going to talk with your staff, Gus.”
“You keep me in the loop, y’hear?”
“Not unless I have something loop-worthy.” Everett walked away, leaving Ivy to stumble along behind him. He strode down the short hall, around the corner, and into the office. The staff looked up from their desks as he strode by, straight to Susan Miller-Day’s door. He knocked hard and entered before she had time to respond.
Feeling awkward, but not wanting to show it, Ivy could only follow behind.
“Where were you when the tiara was stolen, Miss Miller-Day?”
This elicited a slow smile from the woman. “That’s almost a trick question, Detective. On the one hand, we don’t know when the theft occurred. On the other, I’m in the office all the time. Have a seat.”
Ivy sat down.
“I’ll stand,” Everett said, making her feel like a goof.
Susan’s eyes ticked between the two. It seemed as if she were trying to work out if this was some kind of psychological trick.
“You’ve been working for Beranger for a while.”
“Long enough,” Susan said. “I started just like the girls in the office, facilitating sales, taking buyer’s requests. But it takes a special kind of personality to wrangle decommissioned military surplus. Persistence, persuasion, and
paperwork are only half the job. I proved myself, and now I run Beranger Imports. Gus gets to do what he’s best at—driving tanks, shooting machine guns, and entertaining clients. I get the work done.”
“Connections,” Everett said.
“Plenty.” She angled her head. “However, as I said before, I don’t have any part of the Odditorium. It’s far too low-profit for me to have a hand in.”
“Someone has a hand in it,” Everett said. Why was it so hard for the man to ask a straight question?
“Mostly, it’s Gus. The man loves his toys, his collections. Really, he leaves the running of the Grand Odditorium to the museum staff, except during the True Treasures exhibition, and when he’s hot to add a new item to the collection.”
Ivy and Everett had a run-in with two of the museum staffers. All of a sudden, she put anyone working at the Grand Odditorium high up on the suspect list. Susan’s phone rang. She made a face and excused herself. The conversation was brief.
“That was Tanner,” she said. “He’s complaining about a mess you made in the vault.”
“Tell me about Tanner,” Everett said.
Susan shrugged. “I run the business, he runs the house. The Berangers highly prize their free time.”
Everett prompted her. “The butler has been with Beranger a while, too.”
“Hired by Gus’ grandfather, Robert. Tanner is technically a majordomo, not a butler, and came highly trained in the European butlering tradition. I see him daily, but that’s all I know about him.”
“He has access to the vault, but the housekeeper doesn’t,” Klein said.
Susan pooched out her lower lip. “I believe that’s correct. Why else would he complain?”
“Why else indeed. Thank you for your time, Miss Miller-Day.”
“Susan.” She took a card from her desk and handed it to him. “Call anytime you need something.”
Everett tried to take the card, but she held it firmly for a moment.
“Anytime you need something,” she repeated.
Ivy felt a little flush. Embarrassment? Jealousy? She stood up and did her best to cover. “Is there a ladies’ room I can use?”
Susan typed at her computer. She didn’t even look at Ivy. “The door on the side opposite the vault hall.”
They walked out, and Ivy felt the three women at their desks eyeing them. Everett folded his arms and leaned against the wall as she entered the restroom. She had to come up with some better cover than always fleeing to the bathroom.
But when they were searching for Abigail, a spell had altered video footage outside the Odditorium. It was simple, but powerful, like a bar across a door. Even the Bitty Committee and Blanche together couldn’t batter it down. But the simplest way to open a door like that was to lift the bar. Ivy had done just that.
She tried something similar here. Ivy took out her cellphone and scrolled to the mirror app. She fished out a packet of fast food salt from the corner of the purse and spread it across the reflective surface.
Harken to my commanding sound
Magic around, magic abound
Magic hidden, now magic found
Magic hidden, now magic found!
“And… nothing.” Moira appeared in the bathroom. Ivy nearly dropped the phone.
“Jeeze Louise, I’m-a have to hang a bell around your neck,” Ivy gasped.
Moira wore a suit exactly like Susan’s, stilettos traded for gold Roman sandals. She folded her arms and cocked her head. “Don’t you think Detective Lover-Boy gets a little curious about your mental state with you always running to the ladies’ and talking to yourself?”
“Yeah, I kinda do,” Ivy admitted.
“You should’ve called me when you got out of here,” Moira floated to sit on top of the sink. “I could’ve reconnoitered. Even that dreadful vault.”
“Reconnoitered? You’ve been watching too much SWAT on TV.” Ivy made a face. “I’m sorta trying to work this out myself.”
Moira gave her a face back and pointed at the salt-covered phone.
“All right, with a little magic help. It was just a thought.” Ivy blew salt off the phone and put it back in her purse. In the mirror over the sink, she inspected. Untamable honey blonde waves in a bun, a touch of lipstick—this was not working here. She rummaged around, did a quick mascara swipe and touched up the lipstick. Concealer? Brow pencil? Eye shadow? She didn’t have time. “I gotta go. Everett’s already giving me the evil eye, I’m sure.”
“I’ve got your back,” Moira’s expression narrowed in seriousness. “Call me if you need anything. Especially call me if your detective starts wearing tight jeans.”
Ivy forced herself not to comment. Everett un-leaned himself as she exited, and they headed back to the west wing. For a moment, they got lost. A hall that was not the butler’s pantry led them to a sitting room that faced the pool. Tanner and a tall woman were having a conversation.
“The children are making their regular visit before summering God-knows-where in the Caribbean.” The woman pulled a wrap off her head and shook out damp, auburn locks. She wore a crocheted wrap over a dark bikini.
Tanner gave a slight bow. “I’ll make sure we’re stocked with spicy snacks and prepare their rooms. Is there anything else, Miz Bronwyn?”
Bronwyn? Ivy thought. As in Bronwyn Beranger, Gus’ wife? She couldn’t be older than Ivy, and stood nearly as tall as the butler. Even from here, Ivy could tell her boobs were fake, but the tan on her long, slender legs was not.
The butler, or majordomo or whatever, caught sight of them and scowled. Everett dragged Ivy along into the room. If Ivy felt underdressed and outclassed before, she now felt squat and plain in Bronwyn Beranger’s presence.
“I believe you’ve been marring up the inside of the vault, Detective. Mr. Beranger will hear of it.”
Everett nodded. “Good. He wants me to keep him in the loop. Tell him I found fingerprints there. I guess whoever cleans that place isn’t doing a good job.”
Before the butler could retort, Bronwyn Beranger interjected herself. “A real private dick in the flesh. I don’t believe I’ve ever met one.”
Tanner refrained from rolling his eyes. “Detective Klein. And associate. Bronwyn Beranger.”
Bronwyn offered her hand, as if to be kissed. Ivy smelled chlorine and money. Everett shook the hand. “Mrs. Beranger.”
“Bronwyn, please! ‘Mrs. Beranger’ makes me feel so old. Everyone calls me Bronwyn.” The woman had great teeth, a long neck, emerald eyes, a swimsuit model’s figure, and even wet, her hair looked glossy—Ivy hated her on principle.
“We’re here about the missing tiara,” Everett said.
She waved a hand with long, perfectly manicured nails. “That dusty old thing? I received a better one for my sweet sixteen. Frankly, I don’t know why Gus is making such a fuss over the thing. It is insured. Although I must say he hired a fine man for the job.”
Bronwyn gave Everett a long, assessing look from hooded eyes. Apparently Everett Klein was immune to flirtation. Either that or utterly oblivious. “You don’t know anything about it?”
“Other than it’s missing? No, not a thing. I’ve never stepped foot in Gus’ creepy little museum. I don’t intend to break that streak. And while I do admire fine jewelry, that hand-made crown with the gaudy pink stone is a little rustic, and très gauche, in my opinion. My hubby should just take the insurance money and be done with it.”
“Interesting thought,” Everett said.
“Well, I’m off to tea with the ladies, and I must get ready. I’m simply a mess.” Bronwyn blinked twice at Ivy. “Lovely meeting you, Detective.”
Bronwyn flounced away. Ivy expected Klein to turn and watch the sway of her hips beneath the wrap. Instead, he stared out at the pool, lost in thought.
Tanner cleared his throat. It took Everett a moment to stir from his thoughts. The butler made a palm-up gesture toward the back of the house. “Please allow me to escort you out.”
They followed ye
t another route to the business end of the house. Somehow, they bypassed the offices and vault. Tanner opened a door onto the loading dock.
“What a confusing layout,” Ivy said. The heat and humidity of a late Florida morning washed over her. Birdsong and traffic sounds were almost startling to hear after the silence of the house.
“You know everything that goes on here,” Everett said to Tanner. “What’s your theory about the tiara?”
“It wouldn’t be my place to speculate, Detective.”
“Humor me, or I’ll come in the front door next time I’m here.”
Tanner might have sighed. The butler was so polished, it was hard to tell. “I will say this: No one ever paid the slightest attention to that bauble before it went missing, save one person. If you want to know anything about the tiara, you’ll have to ask Mrs. Beranger.”
Chapter 7
They rolled back south toward August Botanica. The Biddy Committee was running the shop, and Ivy wanted to get there as soon as possible. She still had to grouse.
“We did talk to Mrs. Beranger.” Ivy made her voice nasal and low-pitched. It was not a good impersonation, but it made her feel better. “‘That tiara is a little rustic, and très gauche, in my opinion. I got a better one for my sweet sixteen.’ I mean, who gets a tiara for their sixteenth birthday?”
“Rich girls,” Everett said. “I reckon.”
“Probably a car, too. Maybe a little rustic and très gauche Porsche roadster or something.”
“You like her for the theft.” Everett glanced over at her.
“I don’t like her in any fashion, thank you very much.”
His eyes went back to the road. “Apparently. Susan Miller-Day.”
“I don’t like her, either.” Ivy folded her arms. “The thing is, if money is the motive, and what else would it be? None of those people have motive. They have great jobs, nice cars, boob jobs, fancy clothes, and apparently the opportunity to drive tanks and fly fighter jets. I can’t see risking it. Not when the tiara is so famous. You’d have trouble fencing it, right? And it’s so delicate, I can’t imagine the gold and silver or the padparadscha sapphire are worth that much anyway.”
Brewing the Midnight Oil Page 4