Guinevere sighed and gave up. Zac was right. It was beginning to look as though she didn’t have a case. She got off the phone after telling Zac to call his accountant about the pension plan forms, and she went back down the hall, ignoring Rick Overstreet as she passed him lounging in an office doorway.
“You think that’s going to work forever?” Rick asked softly as she swept by. “You can’t pretend I don’t exist, Gwen, and you know it.”
Damned if she would give him the benefit of an answer or let him know how much she resented his predatory gaze. With a woman’s intuition, she sensed that she was rapidly becoming a challenge for him. If they had never run into each other again, Guinevere was certain Rick Overstreet wouldn’t have thought twice about her. But now fate had thrown her back into his path, and all of his egotistical machismo was aroused. Once he’d been able to charm her with ease. Apparently it annoyed him that he’d lost his touch.
All things considered, it seemed time to throw in the towel on this assignment. It was getting hard to avoid Rick Overstreet, and her big case seemed to have disintegrated. Guinevere decided she would send Sally Evenson back to Gage and Watson in the morning.
“A wise decision,” Zac said that afternoon when she told him. “I’ve been saying all along that you were wasting your time.”
“I know,” Guinevere admitted, “but it’s all very disappointing. My big case has disappeared.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you,” Zac promised with a wicked grin. “By tomorrow morning you’ll have forgotten the whole thing.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Trust me,” said Zac.
***
Guinevere went back to business as usual at Camelot Services for the remainder of the week, but she kept tabs on Sally Evenson. By Friday Sally seemed much happier.
“At first I was worried about what I would do without Madame Zoltana’s guidance,” she confided to Guinevere. “But now I feel much better. It’s a relief not to have to go for those appointments. I’m not worrying the way I did when she was always telling me things that made me nervous. I talked to my friend Ruth today, and she says she’s feeling better, too.”
“Keep that in mind if Zoltana ever turns up again,” Guinevere advised her. “You’re much happier without her guidance. Did Francine Bates ever come back to work?”
“No, and it’s very strange, really. No one can figure out what’s happened to her. Miss Malcolm says she had personnel make some inquiries, and they can’t find her , either.”
Guinevere thought about that. She was grateful for the fact that Sally, at least, seemed to be much more cheerful.
Sally Evenson’s cheerfulness vanished on the following Monday. She showed up at Camelot Services during her lunch hour, looking stricken. After one startled glance Guinevere and Trina rushed to her and urged her into a chair.
“Sally, what is it?” Guinevere demanded. “What’s happened?”
Sally burst into tears and handed Guinevere a sheet of crumpled paper.
“Well, hell,” Guinevere said as she read the message. “Looks like Zoltana is back in action.”
The message was simple and to the point:
THE PRICE FOR KEEPING YOUR PAST FROM HAUNTING YOU HAS JUST GONE UP. IF YOU WANT MY CONTINUED PROTECTION, YOU MUST LEAVE ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS IN CASH AT A PLACE THAT WILL BE MADE KNOWN TO YOU IN THE NEAR FUTURE. DO NOT HESITATE WHEN YOU GET MY NEXT MESSAGE. ALREADY I HEAR THE CHILD CRYING.
Guinevere’s mouth tightened at the sheer cruelty of the words. With unsteady hands she refolded the piece of paper. “Did Ruth get one of these, too?”
“I don’t know.” Sally sniffed. “I haven’t talked to her. I haven’t talked to anyone but you.”
Guinevere sat down beside her and took her hand. “Sally, you know what this is, don’t you? It’s blackmail.”
“But, Miss Jones, she was going to protect me.”
“She has no power to protect you from the past. Only you can do that, by handling that past in a mature, adult fashion. Zoltana can’t do anything except take your money.”
“Oh, Miss Jones, I don’t have a thousand dollars. I’ll have to get a loan, and who would loan me money to pay Madame Zoltana?”
“Even if you did come up with the cash, you couldn’t give it to a blackmailer. You know that, don’t you, Sally? You must understand that it wouldn’t stop with the first thousand. It would just keep going on forever.”
Sally drew a deep breath. “I knew when I got that note that I had to do something, Miss Jones. At first I was just paying for her psychic services. But it’s gone beyond that now. I’m frightened.”
“That’s the only hold she has on you, Sally. As long as she thinks she can frighten you, she’ll assume she can manipulate you. I’ll bet she’s not sending these notes to people like Mary and me, people who don’t believe in her powers.”
“It’s different for you, Miss Jones,” Sally said sounding defeated. “You’re strong.”
“So are you, Sally. Not many young women could have pulled themselves together the way you have after all you went through. You’re one of the strong ones, too. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”
Sally looked up at her with a faint glimmer of hope. “Do you really think so, Miss Jones?”
“I really think so, Sally.”
There was a short pause while Sally turned that over in her mind. “But what do I do now?”
“You will ignore this message, for one thing. For another, you and I are going to get some professional assistance in this matter. Madame Zoltana has gone too far this time. We amateur sleuths are going to call in the big guns.”
“Guns?” Sally looked alarmed.
“A figure of speech,” Guinevere assured her. She looked up at Trina. “Get Zac on the phone for me.”
Sally looked startled. “Oh, please, I don’t want anyone else to know about this!”
“Don’t worry, Sally,” Trina said gently. “Mr. Justis is very discreet. It’s his business to be discreet. He’s a confidential security consultant. He helps people who are being taken advantage of the way you are.”
Sally didn’t look convinced, but she waited in tense silence while Trina dialed Zac’s number. Guinevere took the phone as soon as Zac came on the line. Quickly she spelled out what had happened to Sally.
“Tell her to call the Better Business Bureau and the cops,” Zac said bluntly.
Guinevere smiled at Sally. “He says he’ll help.”
“Gwen!” Zac’s protest came through the line with enough force to hurt her ear. “I did not say that. Don’t you dare drag me into this. I’ve got enough on my hands as it is.”
Confident that Sally couldn’t overhear, Guinevere kept her smile firmly in place as she talked to Zac in soothing tones. “That’s wonderful, Zac. Now, I figure the first thing we have to do is take a look around the premises.”
“What premises?”
“Madame Zoltana’s.”
“Are you nuts?”
“I’ll be glad to go by myself if you’d rather not accompany me,” she said aloofly.
“Guinevere Jones,” he began menacingly, “one of these days I swear, I’m going to . . .”
“Going to what?”
“We will discuss this after work,” he informed her and hung up in her ear.
Guinevere replaced the receiver and kept smiling confidently at Sally Evenson. “Don’t worry,” she announced. “Zac’s going to help us. He’ll handle everything.”
Chapter Five
“I can’t believe I let myself get talked into this.” Zac glanced over his shoulder once again to make sure the night-dark backyard of Madame Zoltana’s house was still empty. “I must be getting soft in the head. This is what comes of indulging women. They get uppity, demanding,
and headstrong.”
“I don’t understand why you’re complaining so much,” Guinevere muttered as Zac used a thin strip of metal to work the back door lock. “You do this sort of thing all the time in your line of work.”
“Rarely do I do this kind of thing in my line of work,” he retorted. “I find that lately I’m doing it chiefly when I’m mixed up in one of your grand schemes.”
The lock surrendered in his hands, and the back door swung open with a faint squeak. Zac stood on the threshold, listening.
“What do you think?” Guinevere asked softly.
“I think no one’s home.”
“Well, we already know that. We knocked on the front door first, remember? And tried the phone. What can you see?” She prodded him forward until they both stood in the silent kitchen. Zac closed the door behind them.
“Did she have any pets?” he asked.
Guinevere shook her head. “None that I saw. Sally hasn’t mentioned any, either.” She wrinkled her nose. “But she does smoke, as you may have noticed.” The stale smoke smell hung in the air, probably absorbed in the drapes and imbedded in the furniture. “I think this place has been closed for several days.”
“I think you’re right. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Zac moved slowly through the kitchen. “Remember what I told you. Don’t touch anything.”
“I heard you.” Guinevere peered around his shoulder into the dark living room, an undeniable sense of excitement running through her veins. She ought to be ashamed of the emotion, but she couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. “I can’t see a thing. She left all the drapes pulled.”
Zac removed a small pencil-size flashlight from the inside of his jacket. “Luckily one of us came prepared.”
“I expected no less from you,” she retorted with mocking admiration. “Now, where do we start?”
“Beats me. I’m a stranger here myself.”
The withering look she shot him was lost in the shadows. “I wish you would take this more seriously. Come on, let’s go down the hall to her contemplation room. That’s where she holds her psychic sessions.”
Zac shrugged and followed obediently. The contemplation room looked very much as Guinevere had last seen it. The crystal bowl was still sitting in the middle of the table.
“When she did her psychic bit in the dark room, I was almost sure the bowl glowed just a little. It was weird.” Guinevere looked down into the crystal object. “I wonder how she did it.”
“It’s an old trick,” Zac said. “There’s a small drawer hidden under the table. Probably got a lightbulb in it. The crystal bowl sits over a cutout on the table surface. The light shines up through it and into the bowl. Small-time stuff. Fell for it, huh?”
Guinevere sensed his grin. “I did not fall for it,” she announced loftily. “I knew it was a trick. I merely wondered how it was done.” She turned away from the table and walked around the room. “I wonder if she keeps any files on her clients?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. From what you’ve told me, she sounds like a real businesswoman.” Zac played the light around the room. “But I don’t see anything in here.”
“Let’s check the rest of the place.”
They walked through the remainder of the small house. All the drapes were pulled, and there was an ashtray in every room, the ashes and butts several days old. Zoltana’s interesting collection of caftans was hung neatly in the bedroom closet. The dresser was full of clothing. There was no evidence of any filing cabinet, and the desk they discovered in the bedroom contained nothing helpful. A manual typewriter sat on top of it.
“There must be something, Zac,” Guinevere said at the end of the short search.
“You mean, you hate to admit you just broke into someone else’s house for no reason.” He was using the flashlight to examine the inside of a closet.
Guinevere ignored that. “You said yourself she’s a businesswoman. She must keep some kind of records. What about a safe?” She led the way back to the living room.
“A safe?”
“In the wall, or something. You know, behind a picture.” Impatiently Guinevere went to shift the large, ornately framed painting that hung on the wall behind the sofa. She jumped as Zac snapped at her.
“I told you not to touch anything.”
“Okay, okay.” She pulled her fingers away before they touched the frame. “Sheesh, what a grouch. But let’s look, Zac. There could be something behind that picture.”
He came forward, gingerly using a handkerchief to slide the painting out of the way, and shone the flashlight against the wall. There was no sign of a hidden safe. Thoughtfully, Zac let the painting slip back into place. “Maybe the floor,” he said musingly.
“What about the floor?”
“A lot of people have small home safes installed in the floor. It would be easy enough to do in an old house like this, with wooden floors. Let’s have a look.”
Guinevere smiled to herself. “I’m glad to see you’re finally taking a real interest in this project. Where do we start?”
“By lifting the rugs.” He went down on one knee and eased up the corner of the large, flower-printed area rug on the floor in front of the sofa.
Guinevere got down beside him, and together they rolled up the heavy rug. When they were finished Zac shone the flashlight over every square foot of the wooden surface, looking for a suspicious break in the lines of the boards. Nothing.
“How about the kitchen?” Guinevere suggested.
“I don’t think so. The kitchen floor’s covered with linoleum. You don’t go rolling linoleum up every time you want to put something into your household safe.” Zac got to his feet and started toward the hall. “Let’s try in here.”
There were two small rugs in the hallway. When they were rolled aside nothing was revealed except a discarded cigarette butt that had apparently fallen from one of the ashtrays. Guinevere let the last rug slide back onto the floor and sighed.
“This is depressing,” she complained.
“Your problem is that you have a short attention span. Let’s give the contemplation room a try.” Zac led the way into the small room. “We’ll have to move the table and chairs. Now, for Pete’s sake be careful, and use that handkerchief I gave you.”
“Sometimes you’re extremely bossy, Zac.”
“Women love masterful men.”
She arched her eyebrows as she and Zac lifted the surprisingly heavy table aside. “Where did you hear that?”
“I forget. Ready? Let’s have a look.”
At first Guinevere saw nothing unusual when the carpet was heaved aside, but Zac went down on one knee almost at once, eyeing the line between two boards. “Here we go,” he said softly.
Guinevere’s sense of excitement grew at the soft note of triumph in his words. Zac’s voice often got that way when he was on to something. “What is it?” She crouched down beside him.
“If someone were going to install a floorboard safe, this is the way it would look.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Watch.” Zac pressed heavily on one of the boards. It gave almost at once with only a faint squeak of protest. Then something snapped as hidden hinges responded. A two foot square of floor popped up, revealing a dark hole. Zac aimed the flashlight inside. Metal gleamed. A numbered dial was visible.
“Zac! It’s here. A real safe!” Guinevere was awed by the wonder of it all. “If she kept any useful records, I’ll bet this is where they’d be. Makes sense she’d keep them here in her contemplation room.”
“Mmm.” Zac flashed the light around the interior of the opening. There was another discarded cigarette butt sitting near the safe, but other than that, nothing. Zac reached down and picked up the cigarette end, rotating it between his fingers.
“Put that down, Zac. It’s dirty.”
He gave her an odd look and obediently dropped the butt back into the dark space under the floor. “You know, you can be awfully bossy yourself at times.”
“Men love masterful women. Okay, Zac,” Guinevere announced cheerfully, “this is where you get to really impress me. I can’t wait to watch you crack a safe.”
He shot her a long-suffering glance. “I hate to disillusion you, but I am not much of a safecracker. Picking a few standard door locks is not in the same league as opening a safe, even a small one like this.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “You mean you don’t know how to open this thing?” In the dim reflection of the flashlight, she thought she saw his mouth curve faintly. “Zac?”
“Fortunately for my image, I don’t have to try.”
“What are you talking about?”
Zac leaned down and reached into the hole in the floorboards. He caught hold of the metal door of the safe and flipped it open. “Somebody else has already done the hard part for me.”
Shocked, Guinevere stared down into the open safe. “Zac, it’s empty!”
“Well, what did you expect? That she’d hightail it without first cleaning out any incriminating records?” Zac got to his feet again and let the hinged section of floor drop back into place. “Come on, there’s one more thing I want to check. Did you bring that note Sally received?”
“You told me to bring it, remember?” Guinevere pointed out self-righteously as she dug the note out of her purse.
“And an extra sheet of typing paper?”
“Got it.” She followed him down the hall again to the desk in Zoltana’s bedroom. When Zac held out his hand, she gave him the blank piece of paper and watched with interest as he inserted it into the typewriter. “Do you think we’ll actually be able to tell if Sally’s note was done on this typewriter?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes these old portables are eccentric enough that it’s easy to tell if a letter was typed on a particular machine. Here, you type. I’m not that good at it.”
“I think I detect a little sex discrimination here.” Guinevere stood in front of the machine and quickly duplicated Sally’s note on the fresh sheet of paper.
The Fatal Fortune Page 7