The Lilac Code

by Becki Willis

  Brash nodded. “Like Granny Bert always says, to pull any weed, you have to get down to the root.”

  Chapter 9

  Madison and Granny Bert returned to the inn and went straight to their room, more than a bit rattled. Madison didn’t even fuss at her grandmother for creating such a scene. While she returned a missed call from Derron, she heard her grandmother calling the mall to apologize for her clumsiness. Although she offered to pay for damages, the owner assured her it wasn’t necessary, especially when they heard about her upcoming operation.

  “Granny!” Maddy hissed, just as Derron answered.

  “Dollface, you’ll be happy to know our ad is already paying off! We have two new clients.”

  “Did we get the maternity leave job? What kind of business is it?”

  “We don’t have that one yet. But we are filling in a sales position at a store in Brenham, after the owner broke her foot. That should be good for at least a month.”

  “What about the other job?”

  “That’s the one I’m calling about. I want to know how I should proceed with it.”

  “You’ll have to tell me more about it.”

  “It’s… rather delicate,” her employee hedged.

  “Derron. I don’t like the sound of your voice. What have you gotten us into?”

  “It’s a worthy cause, I swear. I’m just not sure what to do. It’s a surveillance case, more or less.”

  Madison didn’t bother holding back a groan. “Derron, you know I’m not a fan of surveillance.” Her first surveillance case had concluded with his mother’s death. “These never seem to end well.”

  “But this is a father, and he’s desperate.”

  “Is his child missing? If so, call Brash.”

  “She’s not missing, but he is afraid of losing her. He thinks she’s mixed up with the wrong friends.”

  Madison’s sigh was weary. “All parents worry about that, Derron. It’s one of the requirements of our job.”

  “You don’t understand. He’s a single father and he’s worried about his only child. He wants us to start immediately. He even paid the priority fee.”

  “What priority fee?”

  “The one I invented for the ad. Pay the fee, and you jump to the front of our heavy case load.”

  “You mean in front of Miss Sybil’s weekly pharmacy runs and walking Glitter Thompson’s dogs,” Madison broke in dryly. “Heavy only if we carry the dogs, rather than use the leashes.”

  “You know we aren’t at liberty to discuss our other clients and the specifics of their needs.” He sounded like a prim and proper rule follower, not the flamboyant color-outside-the-lines character Maddy knew him to be. “Our new customers are loving it. If they mention the ad, we offer a 25% discount.”

  “And it worked?”

  “Two new clients so far, both priority,” Derron beamed.

  “So what’s the problem, other than the fact there’s only one of you, I’m fifteen hundred miles away, and we now have two priority cases?”

  “I can handle the double booking, girlfriend. The problem is that I’m a man. I can’t very well follow a sixteen-year-old girl around, now can I?”

  “Hmm. I see your point. Does she go to The Sisters High?”

  “No, Riverton.”

  “Okay, let’s do this. Ask the kids if they happen to know her. Get Bethani to look her up on social media and see if they have any mutual friends or interests. I’ll be back by the weekend, so it’s only a few more days. In the meantime, have the twins dig up as much as they can about this girl.”

  “Great. Sounds like a plan.”

  “Perfect. Call me if you have anything else pop up.”

  “Will do, dollface. Oh, any word on your luggage?”

  “Don’t even get me started,” she warned. “I can’t believe how cavalier the airport has been about this. It’s not like my luggage wasn’t clearly identifiable, inside and out. It’s hard to believe someone just kept it, knowing they could return it to the right person.”

  “I’ve seen your wardrobe. Maybe they thought they were doing you a favor.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Maybe now you’ll let me take you shopping.”

  “Genny took me last night.”

  “Stay and shop all you like,” he suggested. “Don’t bother rushing home. I’m more than happy to keep your hunky boyfriends occupied while you two are gone.”

  Madison chuckled, as he knew she would. “I just bet you are. But remember. Hands off.”

  His sigh carried over the miles. “The good ones are always taken.”

  Still worked up over her missing luggage, Madison decided to look through the piece she had in the closet. Perhaps she had overlooked a clue.

  Dragging the suitcase onto the bed, she removed its contents, piece by piece. Out of common courtesy and a respect for the other person’s privacy, she had avoided rifling through it too thoroughly, but this was ridiculous. If the airport couldn’t find a solution to her dilemma, she would find one herself.

  She pulled out three folders, all stuffed with random papers. Granny Bert was right; most of this was gibberish. Some of the papers had row after row of computer-generated letters, sorted in neat order by the length sequence. Some rows had a string of only six letters; others stretched into two dozen or more characters. None formed coherent words. Other papers were handwritten, again in seemingly random words, letters, and even shapes. Had they not been written in such a neat hand, she would think it the work of a child. One of the folders contained nothing but numbers, sorted in chronological order by the length of the digit string, which again ranged from six to a dozen or more characters.

  Madison shrugged and set the folders aside, still clueless as to their purpose.

  Two books lay beneath the folders, and both were heavy. Living near communities back home with heavy Czech populations, Madison was familiar with some of their native language. She saw very few words she recognized, but enough to feel the book was Slavic in nature. Polish, perhaps? Bulgarian? Maybe even Russian, if those backward letters were any indication. The other book was filled with the symbol-like characters of the Japanese or Chinese language. It also portrayed several pages of colorful, if not simplistic, artwork.

  Madison set the books aside, as well.

  There were only a handful of other items in the suitcase. A standard ledger book, filled with the usual notations and numbers. At last, something that made sense, although the figures were meaningless out of context. A small handheld device, with some sort of light bar attached to it. It reminded Madison of a mini version of the black light Blake had received for Christmas. A stack of construction paper, cut into squares and bound with a rubber band. Three fountain pens in expensive cases. A roll of mints.

  Absolutely nothing memorable or obviously valuable. It almost looked like the forgotten dregs of someone’s work locker.

  Perhaps that’s it. Someone had changed jobs or been fired. This was the last of their personal items, random as they seemed. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to claim them. The ledger, however, might be important, but she couldn’t worry about it. Perhaps the company folded and the books no longer mattered.

  She searched the lining one last time, looking for some tucked-in piece of identification. All she uncovered was a narrow slip of paper, most likely one left by the manufacturer as part of quality control. LILAC most likely identified a particular inspector. The random numbers beneath it were factory related.

  With a defeated sigh of resignation, she stuffed the items back into the luggage and stashed it in the closet. So much for that idea. All she could hope for was an honest individual on the other end. Hopefully, whoever had her luggage would do the right thing and return it to the airport, if not directly to her.

  “Find anything?” her grandmother asked, returning from the other room.

  “Nada.”

  “Maybe yours will still show up. It’s only been one day.”

  “Maybe,” sh
e agreed, but she sounded skeptical. “I wonder how Genny’s doing with her judging? Stuffing her face with all sorts of delicious desserts, I’ll bet.”

  “She may not be hungry tonight.”

  “We’ll drag her along, anyway. Like you said, this is not only a girl trip, it’s her bachelorette trip.”

  Granny Bert pumped her hands above her head and wiggled her hips. “Par-tay.”

  “Granny, you crack me up!” Madison laughed, grabbing her grandmother and smothering her in a bear hug. “I’m glad you changed your mind and came along with us.”

  The older woman pretended to sputter and spout. “Someone had to show the bride-to-be a good time.”

  “If anyone can, it will be you.” Madison released her grandmother and consulted her watch. “We have a couple of hours still before Genny gets back. What would you like to do?”

  “I hear there’s a jigsaw puzzle table down in the basement. You know I’m a master of the craft.” Her eyes twinkled as she rubbed her wrinkled hands together.

  “Then let’s find this table and let you get to work. Can I just call the airport, one more time?”

  “Go on with your calls. I’ll be down in the basement when you’re done.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll have my cell phone on me, and I’ll ask that nice Percy to personally escort me down. I’ll be good for a few hours, at least.”

  “Maybe I should go down with you…”

  Granny Bert hoisted her hands onto her hips and gave her an evil eye. “Now you’re just insulting me.”

  Madison backed off, her palms in the air. “Sorry. My mistake. Go enjoy yourself, and I’ll be down shortly.”

  Her grandmother had one last remark before going out the door. “Don’t go getting yourself into any trouble, you hear?”

  “That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black,” Madison laughed, “but okay. Like you said, what could go wrong?”

  Chapter 10

  Madison called the airport, patiently making her rounds through a half-dozen departments, but after an hour, the results were the same. Her luggage was nowhere to be found.

  She took her time winding down to the basement, exploring along the way. Where better to start, she decided, than their own suite? The night before, she had been too upset about her suitcase to care, but her curiosity had finally kicked in.

  In the adjacent area off the hallway, Madison found long, angular spaces and numerous nooks and crannies. She discovered a private deck and what she supposed was the fire escape. It looked more like a stylish exterior staircase, blending well into the architecture of the house turned hotel. Back inside, a steep and narrow set of steps led to the loft and Genny’s would-be sleeping accommodations. Skylights kept the space light and airy.

  Sophie said any unlocked door was fair game, so Madison helped herself. She found utility closets and attic access, a generous half bath and the sitting room with its wall of windows. Overhead was the most interesting feature of all: the cupola that towered above the very top of the mansion.

  Madison peeked down from the windows, finding that the lower level offered a more panoramic and specific view than this smaller, higher height. The angle made it difficult to see well, but she thought she recognized the arm of a familiar black jacket, far below.

  Suddenly uncomfortable in the rambling space, Madison left the room, firmly shutting the door behind her. She hurried down the narrow steps and crossed the suite to the more spy-friendly windows.

  Madison bit her lip, regretting the choice of words rambling through her head. She wasn’t spying. She was observing.

  She parted the curtains, all the same.

  There were only two people below. A maid swept up some shattered glass on the floor, while a guest stood aside, apologetic chagrin coloring her face. Either Mr. Black Jacket left the room, or she had been mistaken.

  “Enough of this cloak and dagger stuff,” Madison said aloud. She grabbed her sweater, tucked her key card in one pocket and her phone in the other, and headed out the door.

  She descended to the library on the second floor, deciding to continue her exploration. The hallway across the library led to a handful of locked suites and another downward staircase. Madison followed the steps down to the West Wing, where a whole other world of suites appeared.

  By the time she returned to the library to get her bearings, she agreed with Genny; this house was a maze! She wondered how long it took new employees to find their way around the intricate halls and intersections.

  They should consider putting in traffic signs, she snickered to herself.

  She looked up, into the partial open ceiling of the library, and saw something even better. Smoke signals.

  Not literally, of course, but the chandelier on the third floor threw a random pattern of shadows onto the soaring ceilings, reminding Madison of smoke signals. The pattern of oddly shaped loops and swirls reminded her of something else, too, but she couldn’t quite place it. Besides, she liked the idea of smoke signals better.

  As she took to the stairs, she realized the museum hadn’t covered smoke signals. There was a section dedicated to Native Americans—primarily the Navajo and Comanche so-called ‘Code Talkers,’ who sent vital messages past the enemy by using their native tongue—but nothing on smoke signals. She was surprised Granny Bert hadn’t picked up on the oversight. She boasted of having Native American ancestors, but so far, genealogy records were a bit fuzzy on any direct bloodlines.

  After her round-about path to the basement, Madison found her grandmother holding court with two men, engaged in a lively game of poker. All three chewed on unlit cigars and nursed glasses of whiskey and Coke.

  “Ah, there she is now!” Granny Bert said, seeing her granddaughter descend the stairs. “Maddy, these fine gentlemen are fans of Home Again. Maury here wants your autograph.”

  “Oh, I don’t really do autographs,” she hedged. She had been burned on that front once before, when a restaurant patron asked her for her autograph and left Madison footing her bill.

  “Please?” the man said, flashing his best smile. “It’s for my daughter. She’s a huge fan.”

  “I don’t have any paper on me.” She made a show of patting her pockets, ignoring the telltale crinkle she heard in one.

  “You could use that piece stuck to the bottom of your shoe,” her grandmother scoffed dryly.

  Embarrassed, Maddy swooped down to retrieve the unwanted tag-along and stuffed it in her pocket.

  Maury watched with eyes that seemed to laugh at her. “Here. I just happen to have some right here.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a square of blue paper. The vibrant color wasn’t a normal shade for notepads. He offered a sheepish smile along with a one-word explanation. “Grandkids.”

  “Do you have a pen?”

  The other man produced a stylish pen, leaving her no excuse not to scrawl her name across the paper. “Shall I address it to anyone in particular?” she asked.

  “Just your name is fine.”

  As Madison handed him the square with her name scribbled across the middle, Granny Bert cackled with glee. “See there! I’m all paid up!” She laid her cards down with a flourish, revealing a royal flush. “Read ‘em and weep boys, read ‘em and weep.”

  “Granny! You used my autograph as your ante?”

  “Sure did.” Her grandmother smirked, raking in the pile of cash on the table. “And to show my appreciation, I’ll buy dinner tonight for you and Genny. Fellas, where do you suggest I take them?”

  “I always eat at Royal Taj when I’m in the area,” Maury said. “Great atmosphere, personal attention, and delicious Indian cuisine.”

  Her grandmother perked up. “Native Indian? My great granddaddy was a Cherokee Chief, you know.”

  “Not that kind of Indian food, Granny,” Madison corrected her.

  “Oh. Not sure I like any other kind.”

  “If you go, I suggest you try the Shrimp Tikka Masala and garlic naan bread,” Maur
y said.

  Granny Bert tucked her winnings into her purse. “Well, fellas, I guess this is my cue to exit. Sorry to take your money and leave, but we’ve got a big evening ahead.”

  “Promise us a chance to win it back,” the second man said. “Tomorrow afternoon, same place, same time?” He stabbed at his pocket with his pen, not bothering to see if he hit his target. When taking the pen from her hand, he automatically clicked the end to close it, not realizing Madison had already done so. She watched in amusement as the open tip now left fine markings along his pocket’s rim.

  Her eye snagged on the unusual color of the pen. Crafted in gleaming orange-stained wood, she knew she had recently seen a similar one. But where?

  It nibbled on her mind, creating a vague sense of unease as she and her grandmother took the stairs to the first floor. “I wish I would quit doing this,” she muttered in aggravation.

  “You’re the one who came down,” Granny Bert shot back. “I told you, I was fine on my own.”

  “I’m not talking about the stairs. But seeing as you used my autograph to cover your bets, I’d say it’s a good thing I showed up when I did.”

  The older woman conveniently ignored the truth. “Then what are you complaining about?”

  “I keep seeing something and I think it reminds me of something else, but I can’t ever quite put my finger on it.”

  “What do you keep seeing?”

  “That’s just it, it’s always something different.”

  “Your mind is obviously distracted.”

  “I guess losing my luggage has me unsettled. I’ve never heard of anyone losing their carry-on luggage. That normally only happens to checked baggage.”

  “If something strange is going to happen, it’s going to happen to you,” Granny Bert acknowledged.

  Maddy wrinkled her nose in protest but found the claim impossible to refute. Her grandmother had a point.

  “So, what brings your poker buddies to Peralynna?” Madison asked.