"Right. But I had a feeling that whatever had happened had a purpose. The new mileage on the car was just 158 kilometers. Divide that in half and you have 79 kilometers. No matter how you look at it, it didn't take 5 days to put that may kilometers on a car.
“I drew a circle with a 79-kilometer radius and began looking for places where she could have been held prisoner. It took time and a lot of men but finally I had eliminated all but one place which was an old house just outside the village of Little Finborough in Suffolk."
"It's a good thing this boyfriend had a lot of money because that part of the investigation, alone, took almost 15,000 pounds." Peter shook his head, thinking about that much money.
Mark nodded. "It was a very expensive investigation. Anyway, I talked to the realtor who had rented the house. The man who rented it said he was a London artist. The realtor gave me a very generalized description of the man. Then I visited the house. There was a rickety garage that could have hidden her car.”
He cracked his knuckles. “After I examined the house, I talked to the neighbors. They weren't very helpful. None of them admitted to seeing or hearing anything except for an eight-year-old boy. His mother thought he was making up stories when he insisted on telling me what he had seen when he looked through the window."
"He saw Hilary?" Debbie guessed.
"Yes. She was lying on a sofa in a downstairs room. He said that there was a doctor that kept giving her shots. He said she would get up and bang into things, almost like she was blind."
"Could he identify the man?"
Mark laughed. "No, not a chance. The man wore a grey wig."
"How did the boy know it was a wig?" Courtney's eyes were wide.
"Because the idiot must have pulled it on when he went into the room. The boy said that once it even fell off."
"Then what happened?" Tabitha leaned forward; her interest intense.
"I started looking at each person who had a motive, the means and the opportunity. It didn't take long to narrow the field down to 5 men but I couldn't tell which of the five had done it."
"How did you figure which of the five it was?" Tabitha demanded.
"It wasn't any of the five. It was his business manager who had an unbreakable alibi. I never trust unbreakable alibis. Too often they are fabricated."
"But why kill him?"
"He had embezzled over a hundred thousand pounds. Jason had discovered it the evening his wife left. Tony had faked the information that made Jason think his wife had done it. When she denied that she had done anything wrong, he didn't believe her.”
Mark shook his head. “She was so crushed that she ran away. She was going to visit her old nanny who lived in Debenham, Suffolk. Everyone knew that's who she went to see when she got upset. The house where she was held was on the way. Tony had forced her off the road just a few miles from the house where she was prisoner.
Mark took a drink of water. “He took her to the house in his car, then walked back across the fields to her car. He kept her drugged while he was in London playing the bereaved friend of the family but she kept having some sort of reaction to the drug which was why she was so bruised and battered when she came back."
Tabitha laughed. "You did an incredible job especially when you had so little to go
on. I'm really impressed, but I do have a question."
"What is it?"
"Why wouldn't she tell you where she was?"
"It was very simple once the doctor started analyzing the drugs in her system. She didn't know. She woke up in her car the day she drove home. She couldn't remember anything because the kind of drug she was on, not only made her sleep, it took her memories.
Mark looked embarrassed as everyone clapped. "What would you say was the key to this case?" Tabitha questioned.
"I'd say when things don't make sense, go with your gut feeling, first, then try to be logical."
Tabitha felt a shiver climb her spine. "Interesting! I'll remember that, if I'm ever involved in another murder case. Not that that will ever happen. Two is two too many."
Chapter 2—Ghost Haven
The next evening after replenishing the trays of turkey, ham, roast beef and other sandwich fixings for what seemed like 50 hours instead of just 5, Tabitha slipped outside to sit on the rough, grey stone wall that encircled the large patio.
The weather had cleared. The wind that had bellowed all day had dropped to a gentle breeze. It had warmed up to seasonal temperatures. The moon, the biggest she thought she had ever seen, was rising over the rolling outline of the moors. She could smell the wet heather.
From her perch, she could see over the moors to the horizon. Even though the evening was exceptionally warm for England in May, she pulled her white sequined sweater tightly around her. The cool air felt good after the overheated rooms she'd been working in, but it also made her feel chilled.
She leaned back against the rock of the house, swung her feet up on the wall,
and closed her eyes, letting the tiredness wash over her in waves.
After what seemed like seconds, someone shook her arm. "Tabitha, wake up." Debbie shook her arm again. "Tab, you've got to wake up."
Jerked awake, Tabitha swung her legs off the wall. "What's wrong? Is the place on fire?"
Debbie laughed, "No, thank heavens. Mr. Cabot is here. He insists on talking to you."
"Okay, where is he?"
"Right here." He was standing behind Debbie, dwarfing her five-foot six-inch frame. "I didn't know you were asleep or I would have waited."
"That's okay. It was just a little cat nap. Today has been rather busy." She motioned for him to sit beside her on the wall.
Debbie shivered in the cool breeze. "I'd better get back inside before I turn into an ice cube.
Cabot sat down, taking a moment to look at the view. He looked up at the stars that seemed to glow against the blackness of the sky. “We don’t see the stars like this in Chicago. Too much light, I guess.”
He dropped down to sit on the wall beside her. Even sitting he towered over her.
He was wearing what Tabitha estimated to be a $5,000 dollar suit. His shirt was a light blue brushed silk, his tie and pocket handkerchief, a rich, royal blue satin. When he had shaken her hand, she couldn’t feel any callouses. This man hadn’t ever had to do physical labor. It seemed like he got what he wanted without having to work physically for it.
"When I was here a few months ago, Debbie gave me a tour of the house. I was very impressed with your paintings. I like the way they capture the light and the feeling of the subject.”
He smiled, a gold tooth flashing in the moonlight. “I saw your one man show the first night. In fact, I bought several of your paintings. I had planned on visiting with you then but you were so busy that I didn't have a chance. I have a proposal for you, but I would like to give you some background first, if that's okay."
"Sure. I'm listening."
"I own a ballet company--The Cabot International Ballet. It has been headquartered in Chicago, Illinois, but I am moving the ballet company to London. I purchased what was left of the Marylebone Theatre.”
Tabitha voice was sad. “I loved that theatre. I’d attended a performance the night before it burned. It was gorgeous. It broke my heart to see what was left of it.”
Cabot didn’t respond but he seemed to be filing the information somewhere in his brain. He continued, “The building will house the ballet but there will be other performances there as well as a museum of art which will be housed in a separate wing.”
He paused, looking out the window at the ruins behind the house. “Most of the building is finished. I had it built to the same plan as the original Marylebone Theatre. Like you, I loved that theatre. I saw my very first ballet there when I was a teen.”
He chuckled. “My mother made me go because my father refused. I couldn’t tell anyone but I was captivated by everything about the ballet except for the tights the lead man wore. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t tell
any of my friends what I had done that night. “
He punched his fist into his other hand. “I had such hopes for that theatre. I want my ballet company to help others feel the way I did but--I hate it. My wife hates it. Everything about it is wrong. The outside is identical to the original outside, but the architect and designer thought modern would attract more people. It really looks good on paper but it doesn’t feel right. I’m not artistic so I can’t tell you what’s wrong.”
He looked at her helplessly. “My wife isn’t fond of the interior either, but she won’t tell me why.”
“I’m not an interior designer.” Tabitha frown emphasized her protest.
He nodded. “I know. I have something else in mind that I think might help the interior.”
He paused for a moment. “I would like to commission you to paint six, life-sized paintings of my dancers in the different poses and costumes that made them famous. They would be hung in the foyer of the building. Three on either side of the main doors."
Tabitha looked thoughtful. “I can see some problems.”
“What?”
“When I paint on commission, I know where the painting is going to hang.”
“He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand?”
“It’s easy really. If the portrait is going to hang on a crimson colored wall, I wouldn’t
paint the background orange. To paint a picture this big, I would need to know what the background would look like and what type of frame you were going to use.”
“I was thinking of a heavy, gold frame like the one Ms. Spencer has in the dining room.”
"How could the dancers pose for the length of time it would take to paint a life size picture? If someone did a Jete, they couldn’t stay in the air for that length of time. Paintings that size would take a lot of time to paint."
"I was thinking, perhaps you could work from photographs to get the poses. Then when you actually needed the dancers they could pose for you."
"I don't like working from photographs. I don't know if I could capture the essence of the dancer."
"I know of a man who is a superb videographer. We could have each dancer runthrough their solo. He could take videos, then create the photo you want. You could work with him as he takes the video. He could make the pictures any size you needed.”
He slowly ran his finger around the top of a small stone vase holding heather. “Once the painting takes form then you could use the real dancers for the faces. Some of the poses I have in mind would be very difficult for the dancer to hold for a long time especially the ones where they are en pointe."
Tabitha thought about it for a few minutes. "I think that might work."
Her smile was mischievous. "I don't know if you considered this pose but I've always wanted to paint a ballerina in that marvelous leap where both legs are out straight and the arms
are lifted overhead. Maybe with a video I could make that work."
"Ah, yes, the grand jete is also a favorite of mine. I'm sure that your input would be helpful but I do have definite ideas about who I want painted and the poses they will do. I want to showcase my stars and the moves that made them famous."
Mentally, Tabitha shrugged. Cabot sounded like he would be hard to work for, but if the fee was right, she could work with Satan himself.
Before she could say anything else, he said, "The fee would be $500,000 plus expenses and supplies." This was said in a flat, blunt, no-nonsense voice.
Tabitha had to put her fist under her chin to keep her mouth from dropping open. That was nearly $100,000 dollars a painting and she wouldn’t have to pay her expenses. Wow!
He looked out over the moors. "If my wife likes the paintings, I will have you do a portrait of her which, of course, would command its own fee. I can also put you in touch with others who would be interested in commissioning paintings."
"That is a large fee for someone who isn't very well known, internationally, that is,"
Tabitha pushed back the cuticles on her fingernails, something she did when she was really nervous.
"I'm a little curious why it is so large. What is it that you aren't telling me?"
It seemed like he blushed or squirmed, but Tabitha couldn't tell because he was silhouetted in the light coming from the windows.
"Dancers are very, very temperamental. The prima ballerinas are very sensitive to anything that might diminish them either in their own eyes or the eyes of their peers. You will have to use much tact and flattery to get them to cooperate with you. They will be paid for posing but that doesn't mean they will do it with kindness and harmony. More than likely, you'll be treated to a series of temper tantrums if they don't like what they see of your work."
"They won't be allowed to see the painting in progress. I never show what I'm
doing to anyone until it is finished."
"Does that prohibition include me?"
"I haven't decided yet. Would you withdraw the commission if it did?"
"No. However, I would hope I could advance sufficient reasons why I should see the paintings at various stages."
Tabitha smiled as she looked out across the moors. Suddenly, a deeply emerald meteor shot across the sky, followed by others in varying shades of green and gold.
Maybe that was one of Debbie's good omens. Tabitha took a deep breath. "How incredible."
She waited until the meteor storm had finished before she spoke. "I've never seen a swarm that large with colors like that before."
"Will you take the commission?" Clearly, Leland Cabot wasn't the man to be diverted by a fabulous meteor shower, no matter how rare.
Tabitha shook her head as the terrible prickly feeling in her hands and feet returned. "I want to think about it. I will tell you tomorrow morning what I decided."
********
Later that night, after all the guests had left except for those who had room reservations, Courtney and Mark tapped on Tabitha's bedroom door.
When Tabitha, in a fuzzy blue robe and pajamas, opened it, Courtney smiled. "I was hoping you weren't already in bed yet. We're dying of curiosity. Did Mr. Cabot offer you a commission?”
"Yes, he did." She twisted her hands together."Tell us about it." Mark demanded. He was wearing a black silk robe with red piping around the collar, cuffs and pockets. His pajamas matched.
Tabitha noticed that Courtney wasn’t wearing her normal T-shirt and flannel PJ bottoms. She was wearing a pale green night gown and matching robe that must have set her back a bundle.
Tabitha sat on the bed while Courtney and Mark walked toward the wing chairs across from the fireplace. "He wants me to paint six of his dancers. The paintings will be life size and the dancers will be in poses and costumes that they made famous. The fee is $500,000 plus expenses and supplies.
Wow! That's a lot of money. How long do you think it would take you to paint that many big paintings?" Courtney sat down in a maroon satin wing chair and put her slippered feet on the matching ottoman. The pale green looked striking against the maroon.
"At least six months, maybe longer. A lot depends on how cooperative the dancers are."
"Are you going to take it?" Mark could see that she wasn’t sure about the offer."I don't know." Tabitha twisted to stretch her shoulders, her eyes on the floor.
"I don't see how you can turn down that much money." Courtney put one leg over the arm of the chair.
"I know, but it's the size of the fee that makes me wonder if I should take the job."
"What?" Mark leaned forward, looking surprised.
"Unknown painters just aren't offered fees that large."
"But you're not unknown. Your one-man shows are hugely popular and sell out in less than a week."
"But I'm not terribly well-known internationally, though this commission could change that."
Courtney reached across the polished table between the two chairs for a tin of biscuits. "You don't mind, do you? I'm starving. I was so nervous that I couldn't eat, then I was so busy that I forg
ot to eat."
"Go ahead. You deserve them."
"What did he say when you said you'd have to think about it?"
"He wasn't too happy. I know he'll be knocking at my door, first thing in the morning, wanting my decision which he won't get until I see if Mark can get a little information on him."
Mark laughed. "What do you want to know?"
"If he's who he says he is, how much money does he really have, does he pay his bills? I'd also like to know just how stable his ballet company is and who the top stars are. I'd like to know a little bit about their temperaments. Are they hell on wheels or just egotists?"
He got to his feet, "I'll call Eugene right now. He can probably get some information before tomorrow morning. I don't know how much he can find out, but he's the genius behind the network that helps me with my cases.
Stopping at the door, he looked back. "If he checks out do you think you'll take the commission?"
"I think so, I'd hate to turn down a chance to become internationally known, although I'll probably regret it. Who in their right mind would want to work with a bunch of stuck-up women who think they are God's gift to this earth?"
"But like you said, think of the fame and the money," Courtney grinned. "They aren't everything," Tabitha’s voice was dry.
"No, but they sure help with the more important things, like food, clothes and a roof over your head."
"True, too true," Tabitha sighed. "Besides, after I complete this commission, I'll be in a better situation to pick and choose who I work for. I may never have to paint pictures of snotty women again."
Chapter 3—Ghost Haven
Manor—Picture Gallery
Later that night, Tabitha tossed and turned, playing her interview with Cabot over and over in her head. Finally, she pulled on her robe, sliding her feet into her slippers. Quietly opening her door, she tiptoed up the staircase to the third floor, her flashlight in her hand.
Without making a sound, she opened the door to the picture gallery. She shown her flashlight around the room. There were several candles and matches on the mantle.
The Ghost Dances the Nutcracker Page 3