Laced

by Carol Higgins Clark

  “Call Margaret and tell her we’ll be late,” Sheila suggested as she rushed around the room.

  “I’m afraid she might tell us to forget the whole thing.”

  They threw on clothes, brushed their teeth, and were out the door in a flash. In his frenzy Brian pulled the door so hard that it sounded as if it had been slammed shut.

  Down the hall Regan woke up, startled by the loud noise. She heard a woman’s voice admonishing, “Be careful!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  Sheila and Brian, she thought. Regan looked at the clock. It was 5:07. What in the world are they up to now?

  46

  After Keith got the call that Hortense Hager was home, he raced to La Guardia Airport and caught a ten o’clock flight to Rochester. A patrol car picked him up at the airport, and by midnight he was ringing Mrs. Hager’s doorbell.

  “I hope she’s still up,” Keith said to the young patrolman.

  The patrolman laughed. “You don’t have to worry. Hortense drives her snowmobile at all hours. We get complaints about the noise.”

  The door was pulled open by a wild-haired woman in her seventies wearing ratty snow pants and a sweatshirt. But her makeup was perfect.

  Love the makeup, Keith thought. Please let this be a case of like mother, like daughter.

  “Hello, Phil,” the woman said. “I know I still have my snow pants on, but I put the snowmobile away a couple of hours ago. The neighbors shouldn’t be complaining.”

  “No, Mrs. Hager, that’s not what we’re here about. This gentleman needs to speak to you.”

  “Was there an accident?” she asked nervously. “I just spoke to my daughter a few hours ago…and my son sent me an e-mail this afternoon.”

  “No,” Keith answered. “I’m with the NYPD,” he said and showed her his badge. “I would like to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

  “About Anna?”

  “Yes. May we come in?”

  “I suppose I have to say yes,” she said, her tone now feisty.

  She knows this isn’t a social call, Keith thought as they followed her inside to her den where a big-screen television was tuned to a cable news station. The embers of a fire were burning in the fireplace. The furniture was well worn but comfortable. The room had the feeling of a homey ski lodge.

  “This is where I spend most of my time,” she said as she pushed the remote button and turned off the television. “Have a seat and tell me what you want to know.”

  Keith and Phil sat on the afghan-covered couch. “Could you tell me where your daughter lives now and what she does for a living?”

  Hortense sat on an overstuffed chair. “Anna lives all over. She is married and doesn’t have to work.”

  Keith raised his eyebrows. “Sounds nice.”

  “I suppose. Her husband is a consultant. His job requires them to be on the go constantly.”

  You’re not kidding, Keith thought. “Where is Anna now?” he asked.

  Hortense paused. “I don’t know.”

  “But didn’t you say you just talked to her?”

  “I did. But his job is—I know it sounds silly, but he doesn’t like to disclose where they are. Someone could be tapping my phone, you know.”

  “It sounds as if his job could be dangerous,” Keith suggested.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  “Do you have a cell phone number where we could reach her?”

  “No.”

  “So if there was an emergency, you couldn’t get in touch with your own daughter?”

  “She calls every week. Listen, if something happens to me or her brother, she’ll know soon enough.”

  “Do you have an e-mail address for Anna?”

  “No, I don’t. If I need to leave her a message, I blog onto Sweetsville’s message boards and make a comment. Anna knows that if I’ve left a message, she should call me. It’s very easy.”

  “Could you tell me her husband’s name?

  “Bobby.”

  “And his last name?”

  “Marston.”

  “Where did they meet?”

  “In New York City. He moved into an apartment across the street from her in Greenwich Village. They bumped into each other in the corner deli, and the rest is history.”

  That’s for sure, Keith thought. “So I guess he wasn’t doing any of his top-secret consulting at that time?” he asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I mean, he had an apartment then but he doesn’t now?”

  “What can I say?” Hortense spat. “They met, fell in love, and got married. He changed jobs. People do.”

  “What did he do then?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “What about Anna?”

  “She was a make-up artist. And a very good one!”

  Keith’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Mrs. Hager, are you telling me that you can’t get in touch with your daughter at this moment? You have no idea where in the world she is?”

  “Listen to me! I’m not happy about it. She could be in the Witness Protection Program for all I know! I hardly get to see her. But she’s still my daughter.”

  “What did she say on the phone tonight?” Keith asked.

  “We didn’t talk long. She told me that Bobby wasn’t feeling well. The cap on his front tooth fell out—the kind of thing that normal people talk about. Nothing high drama. Then my doorbell rang, and I hung up. It was a policeman asking about my snowmobile. I now realize the visit was nothing but a phony excuse to see if I was here so they could bring you around.”

  “Mrs. Hager,” Keith said, “we’re interested in locating Anna, and I’m sure you are, too. If you had a picture of Anna and Bobby, it would help. I understand she called to cancel her visit last Christmas. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

  Hortense Hager’s eyes bore holes in Keith’s. “Are you saying I wasn’t a good mother? That she’s acting this way because I didn’t raise her right?”

  “What? Not at all.”

  “If Anna’s up to no good, it isn’t my fault. I did my best. Now get out of my house! Get out! Out! I’m not giving you any pictures! If you’re such a great detective, scout them out yourself, you Sherlock Holmes you!”

  As Keith and Phil walked back to the patrol car, Keith was frustrated but satisfied. We’ll get them, he thought. It’s only a matter of time.

  47

  When Brian and Sheila came huffing and puffing on the road toward Margaret’s house, they suddenly saw her car roaring down the driveway at a great rate of speed, kicking up dust and gravel. The car made a left turn and popped and stalled briefly before picking up speed again.

  “Margaret!” Brian screamed, waving his arms and racing toward the disappearing jalopy.

  “Margaret!” Sheila shrieked. “Margaretttttttttt! Stop!”

  Their efforts to capture Margaret’s attention were obviously successful. Her car skidded to a halt. A moment later it started chugging backward.

  When the whining vehicle came to a halt next to Brian and Sheila, who were both holding their aching sides, sweating, and gasping for breath, Margaret rolled down her window and smiled. “Top of the morning to ya, lazybones.”

  The cap of her front tooth was gone.

  Brian tried not to stare at the gaping hole in her mouth.

  “You two look as if you modeled for my Fun Run decal, but you don’t look like you’re having much fun.” Margaret started to cackle. “Get in the car before I take off without you again.”

  Brian and Sheila were not only amazed by the missing cap, which obviously didn’t bother her, but by this new Margaret. Her lighthearted banter made Brian nervous. Better the devil you know, he thought. “Would you like me to drive?”

  “No. You don’t look as if you’re in any shape to operate a vehicle at the moment. Now shake a leg! Punctuality obviously isn’t your strong suit.”

  “We didn’t get much sleep last night—” Brian started to explain as he hurried aroun
d the car and into the front seat. Sheila climbed in the back.

  “You sounded dead to the world when I called you,” Margaret retorted. “How much sleep do you need?”

  “Oh, I was in a stupor,” Brian insisted, realizing his gaffe. He wanted Margaret to think that he and Sheila were both unconscious while she was having a ghostly visit from May Reilly. “After your call I was just so worried that we wouldn’t wake up in time.”

  “And you didn’t,” Margaret sniped as they tooled down the road. “Wait a minute—where’s your car?”

  “It broke down,” Brian said sadly.

  “When?”

  “Last night in the very early evening.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that on the phone? I could have picked you up near Hennessy Castle.”

  “We figured that we’d take a nice early morning walk to your place. Exercise is so good for you,” Brian said and then laughed. “We never knew we’d be getting such a workout, though. We had to run all the way over.”

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive, Sheila thought as she rubbed her eyes and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She leaned forward. “Margaret, is there anywhere we could stop and get a bottle of water? I think I’m going to pass out.”

  Margaret turned her attention from the road briefly and glanced at Sheila. “What is that black smudge around your eyebrows?” she asked. “It’s all over your forehead, too.”

  Sheila’s heart almost stopped. “I don’t know,” she answered, thinking it was a good thing Margaret hadn’t laid eyes on her last night in her ghost-of-May-Reilly getup.

  Brian laughed, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and lovingly started to wipe his bride’s forehead. “I know what that is. It’s just a little black ink from our portable printer. Last night before we went to bed, Sheila changed the cartridge. That memorabilia business keeps us so busy! The ink must have gotten on her fingers, and then this morning we were in such a rush—”

  “No matter how much of a rush you’re in, you should always take the time to wash your hands,” Margaret admonished. “Otherwise you spread your germs to other people.”

  Thanks, Brian, Sheila thought. Now Margaret thinks my personal hygiene habits are seriously lacking. “I did wash my hands this morning,” Sheila insisted, “but once you get this ink on your hands, it is so hard to get off.”

  “I suppose,” Margaret agreed. “It’s like my paints. This morning I had to use turpentine to clean my hands.”

  “You were painting this morning?” Brian asked. “How wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Why should you be proud of me?” Margaret asked as she turned down a road that led to a lone farmhouse in the distance. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I feel as if I know you,” Brian said solicitously. “Like my aunt Eileen always used to say—”

  “Sheila,” Margaret interrupted, “don’t you get sick of hearing about his aunt Eileen?”

  “Margaret, you have no idea.”

  They all shared a laugh over the fictitious Aunt Eileen.

  Margaret stopped and turned off the car in front of the quiet farmhouse. “I’m sure this will be quick,” she said. “Farmer Fitzpatrick isn’t the gabby sort when there’s work to be done.”

  “I’m the same way,” Brian said earnestly, “especially when I’m doing volunteer work. I get such satisfaction out of—”

  “Brian,” Sheila said, “enough!”

  “You’re right, honey. I should let Margaret get her work done. Farmer Fitzpatrick is a friend of yours?”

  “Not really, but I try to be nice to him. His wife worked as a housekeeper at Hennessy Castle years ago. She was arrested for stealing cash from one of the guest rooms. They kept it quiet, but she hasn’t left her house since. She’s gone a little batty from the shame she feels. One unforgettable act of greed ruined her life.”

  Sheila and Brian mumbled their regrets.

  Margaret started to get out of the car and then stopped. She pointed to a hose resting on the soggy ground near the side of the barn. “Help yourself to the water over there.”

  48

  Shortly after the Does arrived home from their disastrous attempt to steal the Claddagh rings, Anna sat down at the computer and started searching for flights to Los Angeles. Bobby was furious. He insisted it was all her fault that now he didn’t even have Dr. Sharkey’s atrocious cap to cover his itty-bitty fang.

  “I look like I belong in a Dracula movie!” he complained. “We should never have tried to break into Magillicuddy’s house. I should never have let you talk me into it. It’s not what we do! And because we wanted to ruin Jack Reilly’s honeymoon, we stayed in Ireland instead of going to the charity event in Glasgow—after all the trouble we went to perfecting our Scottish accents! So what happens? Instead of scoring valuable jewelry, we end up with a tablecloth and a dental disaster. And I almost got killed by an attack dog!”

  “But we did ruin Jack Reilly’s honeymoon,” Anna insisted. “He’s running around Ireland looking for us instead of relaxing with his bride. Ten to one he won’t berate us on the national news ever again.”

  “I don’t care what he says, he’d better not find us,” Bobby spat, grabbing May Reilly’s tablecloth and tossing it across the room.

  “He won’t find us. He won’t,” Anna said as she continued tapping the keys of the computer. “Oh, good!” she finally cried. “Bobby, there are seats available on a flight tonight.”

  “Nothing earlier? I want to leave now. I want to get on a plane, close my eyes, and wake up in Los Angeles.”

  “All the daytime flights are full. I put us on a waiting list.”

  “I wish we could fly first class!” Bobby whined. But they had decided when they embarked on their life of crime that the less attention they received from flight attendants, the better. So they always sat in coach, usually in front of a kid who continually kicked their seats. “I’ll go in and start packing,” he said in a martyred tone.

  Anna watched him disappear into the bedroom and then looked over at May Reilly’s tablecloth that was in a heap on the floor. I should get rid of it, she told herself. If anyone came into the cottage while we’re gone, it would be damning evidence against us. But then again, it could bring us so much money in the underground market. I’ll figure it out later.

  She turned back to her computer, booked their flight, and logged onto the Sweetsville blog to see if there was a posting from her mother. Usually after her mother was scrappy with her, as she was last night, she posted a message before going to bed.

  Anna stared at the screen.

  This time she hadn’t.

  Shrugging, Anna tried to shake off the uneasy feeling that came over her. I’ll call Mom when we get to Los Angeles, she decided. If I call her now, Bobby will think I’m wasting time when I should be packing and closing up the house.

  Anna looked at her watch. I shouldn’t call this late anyway. Stop feeling so anxious, she told herself. There’s enough to worry about—like getting out of Ireland before Jack Reilly finds us. She fought off the urge to pick up the phone.

  Across the Atlantic Ocean, Hortense was lying on the couch in her den. She had turned out all the lights after she threw out the cops. I should never have mentioned the Sweetsville blog to them, she realized. Now they’ll be monitoring it for sure. And they’ve probably tapped my phone by now.

  Anna, honey, don’t call. Wherever you are, don’t call.

  49

  Jack’s cell phone rang on the table next to the bed. Although it wasn’t even 6:00 A.M., he and Regan were awake, courtesy of their neighbors, the O’Sheas. “This has got to be good news,” Jack said, reaching for it, “unlike most phone calls at this hour.”

  “Hello.”

  “Jack, it’s Keith. I think what I’m going to tell you will make you happy.”

  “Try me,” Jack said. He lay back down next to Regan, put the phone on loudspeaker, and held it between their heads.

&nbs
p; “I’m in upstate New York, near Rochester, in a town called Sweetsville. I just had a chat with a woman named Hortense Hager who has a daughter named Anna. Anna travels with her husband, Bobby Marston, who is a—quote—consultant. Hortense said her daughter can’t tell her where she lives or even where she is at any time because her husband’s work is so top secret.”

  “It sure is top secret,” Jack said sarcastically.

  “My sentiments exactly. Anna was a makeup artist in New York City.”

  “She was?” Regan asked excitedly.

  “Hi, Regan,” Keith said. “Yes, she was.”

  “This is getting better and better.”

  “I know,” Keith answered. “Anna met her husband, Bobby, eight years ago when he rented an apartment across the street from where she lived. Before she realized the reason for my visit, Hortense said she had spoken to Anna yesterday, and the most interesting thing Anna told her was that Bobby is having dental problems. One of his caps fell out. The security guard at the Nanuet Mall proudly told me that he knocked the teeth out of the guy who stole the necklace last December 23rd—which just happened to be the day the Does rented the P.O. box in Suffern and Anna called her mother to say she and Bobby suddenly couldn’t make it for Christmas.”

  “You didn’t ask Hortense if her son-in-law had a peculiar laugh, did you?” Jack asked.

  Keith chuckled. “No. Hortense is pretty upset with me. She rather rudely threw me out of the house.”

  “Poor woman,” Jack said. “She must realize Anna is up to no good.”

  “I’m sure she does. I called you this early because I knew you wanted to be updated.”

  “I certainly do,” Jack agreed. “Never hesitate to call.”

  “I’ll keep you posted, boss.”

  Jack snapped the cell phone shut. “Now we know, Mrs. Reilly, that John Doe has a loose cap.”

  Regan rested her head on Jack’s shoulder. “And a funny laugh.”