The idiot woman also had two suitcases, one in each hand. Was she nuts? Who makes a getaway with Gucci?
«Halt!» Maggie cried out. «Halt or I shoot!»
Which really worked only in truly bad cop and war movies.
Nikki let go of the suitcases and broke into a trot, the miner's light strapped to her headband lighting her way.
«Damn,» Maggie swore, rubbing her face with her free hand, trying to wipe off the rain that had already saturated her hair and was now running down into her eyes.
How was she going to keep up with the woman? Nikki ran flights of stairs for fun , for crying out loud. The last time Maggie could remember running was weeks and weeks ago, when she'd gone after that creep and tackled him, nearly getting herself killed in the process.
You'd think a woman would learn.
Then again, every once in a while, a woman catches a break. Even Margaret Kelly.
With a startled screech, Nikki Campion lost her footing on the slippery cobbles, or bricks, or whatever the old stones were, and, her arms waving wildly, over she went, into the pond.
Where the Boffo Transmissions girl, even with her built-in flotation devices, sank like a rock.
«I'll get her,» Alex shouted, coming toward Maggie in his boots and slicker, carrying another slicker for her. «I knew she wouldn't get far. Here, put this on.»
Maggie had her flashlight trained on the water. Wow, whitecaps. When this pond flooded, it didn't fool around. «I don't see her, Alex. We can't wait for you to get out of that stuff. And she's wearing it, too. She can't swim in that.» She began stripping off her soggy sweatshirt.
«Maggie, no—»
Maybe if he'd said «please» she wouldn't have done it? No, she was going to do it no matter what Alex said. Jumping in after Nikki Campion was just the sort of thing Maggie always did. Jump first, think later.
As the water closed over her head, Maggie instantly gained a whole new understanding of the word «cold.» She'd have to tell Evan.
She surfaced to sputter and to yell, «It's cold!» Treading water as she worked to toe off her loafers, she tried to get her bearings, but there was still no sign of Nikki. «She come up at all?» she yelled at Alex, who had trained both flashlights on the water.
«Only for a moment. To your left. Maggie, I—»
«Okay.» Maggie took another deep breath and went back under, opening her eyes, as she hoped to see something in the dark water.
And she did see something. The glow from Nikki's miner's light, or runner's light, or whatever the heck it was.
Maggie's feet touched bottom—the pond was probably only about nine or ten feet deep in this spot—then pushed off the graveled bottom even as she reached out with one hand and grabbed for the yellow slicker by the back of the collar.
Except her fingers hadn't closed around a collar; they'd closed around a strap, a wide strap. She pulled, and the strap came with her—or rather, the large cloth bag attached to the strap came with her. But not Nikki.
Maggie let go of the bag and it sank to the bottom of the pond. She was a good swimmer, which came from living her formative years at the Jersey shore, but she had limits. Lung capacity was one of them. Good thing she didn't smoke anymore or Nikki would be a goner.
Maggie surfaced, took another deep breath, and went down again, this time with more of a plan. Locating the glow of the miner's light, she judged where Nikki's arms were and grabbed one on the second try, pulling hard on the end of the sleeve of the slicker.
Luckily, the slicker had been fashioned for a much larger person. Even luckier, Nikki actually helped her, if blind panic can be called help.
Her arms and legs thrashing, Nikki grabbed onto Maggie, attacking her rescuer. Typical. So Maggie, not really feeling all that sorry about it, brought up her knee and popped the actress one square under the chin.
All in the name of rescue , she told herself as she grabbed onto Nikki's hair and headed for the surface.
«I've got her!»
Maggie sank a little as she felt Nikki being pulled up and out of the pond, then resurfaced in time to see Nikki's legs being dragged out of the water. «Yo. A little help here?»
Alex left Nikki where she lay on her stomach, coughing and retching, and reached for Maggie's hand. «You are the most feather-witted, headstrong, unbelievably selfish woman I have ever had the misfortune to encounter, do you know that? You could have drowned.»
«Yeah, I'm crazy about you, too,» Maggie gasped out, holding onto his hand as she gripped the edge of the raised path. «I'm betting the jewelry's still down there. She had it in a bag around her neck like an anchor, the jerk. Keep the flashlight on the water. I'm going to go back down and get it.»
«Maggie.»
«Don't try to stop me, Alex. I've had it up to here with these people, and I'm going to get those damn jewels and get out of England.»
«I agree. But perhaps you'd like to use this?» he suggested, retrieving Nikki's lighted headband and handing it down to her.
«Good thought,» Maggie said, trying to smile, but her teeth were chattering, so she gave up that particular effort as a bad job.
One last dive did the trick, as the handle of the bag actually seemed to be waving to her as she searched for it, and she was back on the surface and then on the slippery, bumpy path a moment later, lying face-to-face with Nikki Campion as the gray light of dawn became a little brighter. «Come here often?» she asked the drenched Nikki.
It was morning, and the case was solved. Sort of solved. Most of it solved. She hoped Alex was happy. She was. Rapidly freezing to death, maybe nearing a slight case of fatigue-induced delirium, but happy.
«I believe you two have been introduced,» Alex said, assisting Maggie to her feet. «Here,» he added, draping a wet slicker over her shoulders. «This won't help much, but it's better than nothing. Can you navigate the path back to the house while I assist Miss Campion?»
«Don't… don't let her get away,» Maggie told him, heading for the still-open back door to Medwine Manor. «I'm so cold!»
She wasn't quite halfway to the house before Sterling, looking really adorable in his own yellow slicker, came running toward her, gathered her close under his arm, and led her into the kitchens, where Perry was waiting with a large red-and-green-plaid wool blanket.
«I love you guys,» Maggie told them, shaking all over. «Fireplace. Get me to a fireplace. I'm so cold.»
And that's when the lights went on…
«I thought it was the generators, but they're probably ruined,» Sir Rudy said, handing Maggie a cup of hot tea as she entered the main saloon. «Our local electrical council has certainly outdone themselves. I don't remember power being restored this quickly before.» He held up the silver sugar bowl. «Sugar?»
«Yes, three, please. Or four, if that doesn't insult you,» Maggie said, trying with all her might not to spill the tea because her hands were still shaking. She glanced at the mantel clock. It was after six. Gee, it was true: Time flies when you're having fun.
Tabby and Bernie had grabbed her almost the moment she'd climbed the stairs to the first floor, pushing her into the study, to sit and drip and shiver while Tabby raced upstairs for towels and dry clothing, and Bernie told her she was an idiot—and Maggie had agreed with her.
But now she was back in the main saloon, and the power was on, which meant the central heating had kicked in, and the fire was still blazing in the fireplace, and Maggie actually had a moment to wonder how she was supposed to get all her wet clothes into a suitcase, then explain them to an airline security guard.
Because she was leaving England today if she had to swim. Okay, maybe not if she had to swim.
«Where's Alex?»
«Here, my dear,» he said, and she turned to see him standing to the far left of the large room, looking the epitome of the Gentleman At Home, as he had crossed one ankle over the other and was leaning, so nonchalantly, on the knob of his sword cane. «And, before you ask, here, too, are all our new friends
, including Miss Campion and the robin. Although I don't believe either of them is pleased to be here.»
«I was leaving,» Nikki explained through chattering teeth. «A person can't leave a house before she's murdered? So I picked up someone else's bag by mistake. So what? A person can leave a place when a person wants to.»
«This is ridiculous,» Byrd Stockwell said, glaring at Evan Pottinger, who was standing over the seated Byrd, holding the fireplace poker. «She ran, which proves she's guilty. All I did was diddle the slut.»
«So very charming. Always the gentleman, Robin, aren't you?»
«Really?» Byrd said with a sneer. (Maggie all of a sudden didn't think he looked half so handsome.) «At least I'm not trying to act like some stuffed-shirt English lord.»
Alex put a hand to his chest and recited a line from Aeschylus. «'Oh me, I have been struck a mortal blow right inside.' Pardon me, Robin, as I toddle to my chair, a broken man.»
And then he did just that, propping his sword cane against one arm of the chair as he sat facing Byrd Stockwell. «Now, if we could dispense with the histrionics and be on with this?»
Maggie walked over to stand beside Alex. «What have I missed? Have I missed anything?»
«A phone call from Mary Louise, as a matter of fact. A very interesting phone call from Mary Louise. But we'll allow that information to fall into our conversation as we get on with this, if that's all right with you.»
«Do I have a choice?»
«Not really, no.»
«Didn't think so,» Maggie said, sipping her tea as she looked more closely at Nikki, who was shivering in a blanket on another chair dragged to this side of the room. And surprise, surprise, someone had tied one of her ankles to a leg of the chair. Good thinking. «Okay, go for it. I'm kind of tired anyway.»
«I hate you,» Nikki said, glaring at Maggie. «You tried to drown me. I'm going to sue you, you know. You won't have a pot to piss in when I'm done with you.»
«Gee, I'm scared.» Maggie looked at Alex. «You have the bag?»
«It's safe, yes,» Alex told her, then got to his feet and turned to speak to everyone. «I am happy to announce, ladies and gentlemen, that we have both our miscreants safely in hand now, and there should be no further impositions on your time or constraints on your movements. In other words, you may go.»
«Not until we know what the hell happened here,» Bernie said, looking at Tabby. «You want to know, right?»
«Only if my name doesn't come up again,» Tabby said, pouting.
«I think you've had your fifteen minutes with this one, Tabby,» Maggie told her, grinning. «Come on, Alex, fill in the blanks here. I can fill in one of them—how Nikki here knew about the path. She knew because she spends all her time running around, up and down the halls, the stairs. She had to have looked out a window at some point and seen the path. Her getaway path. Once she'd found the jewels in Byrd's bedroom, all she needed was to figure out when to make her escape. I mean, it's not like acting was really going to work out for her anyway. But remember her running around with her hair all wet with sweat? That wasn't sweat; that was rain . And she was asking us where Byrd was because she wanted to give him the slip. She was just biding her time, her luggage and the jewels already stashed in the kitchen, and when we said we were going to search all the bedrooms, she knew it was time to make a break for it. It's all so logical now.»
«Nikki?» Alex asked the woman. «Do you care to comment? Or would you rather I supply more details? For instance, the fact that your last name isn't really Campion. It's Campiano. And that your uncle is Salvatore Campiano, a gentleman with, as my informant told me, connections .»
Maggie slapped a hand to her forehead. «Just when you think you know everything…»
«Shh, my dear. Miss Campion? We know now that Boffo Transmissions, a marvelously successful enterprise that had its birthplace in Brooklyn, is owned by your uncle, who was nice enough to pay for his favorite niece's nose job—I believe that's the term—then feature her in his nationwide television advertisments, thus making you a celebrity. Rather like Paris Hilton without the Internet photos, I believe my friend explained to me—known for being known. I really don't understand the concept. But I applaud you, my dear. Many wouldn't know what to do with a windfall of stolen jewelry. But your uncle would. Wouldn't he, Miss Campion?»
«Mary Louise knew all of that?» Maggie asked, impressed. «That's what she told you?»
«No, my dear. Our friends Vernon and George knew all of this, George's relatives once more proving veritable fonts of information.»
«George is Killer, right? And Killer's Italian, right? How could I forget that one? Does everybody in the five boroughs know everybody else? Why don't I know anybody?»
«Perhaps you should consider getting out more?» Alex suggested with a smile.
«I'm ignoring that. But you're saying you don't think Nikki here was in this thing from the get-go? Hers is what they call a crime of opportunity? What makes you so sure?»
«I'm not, actually. But this entire exercise, start to ignoble finish, has the air of slapdash and clumsy improvisation about it, don't you agree? Robin, put us out of our misery, please. Remember, confession is purportedly good for the soul.»
Oh, goody, now they were getting to the really nifty part. «Yeah, Robin ,» Maggie urged, «you know the jig is up. Tell us everything.»
Byrd Stockwell looked up at Evan, who had just noticed that his glass was once more empty and was wandering off, poker in hand, to correct that lapse.
«He said he'd hit me with that. You people are all crazy. Americans. Everything's violence for you.»
«Yeah, yeah, shame on us,» Maggie said, putting down her teacup, as she'd realized about three sips ago that Sir Rudy had laced the tea with brandy. Which was why she'd finished all of it, the warmth of the brandy doing wonders for her. «Now spill your guts. You and Joanne and Sam. Maybe Nikki here, too, maybe not. How did it start? How did you all get together? Come on, Robin. First one to roll over catches the break, but the offer goes on the table only once. Let's hear it, Robin—one, two, three, cop that plea.»
«And you say I watch too much television,» Alex said, shaking his head.
And then Byrd Stockwell surprised her. He crossed one long leg over the other, folded his hands in his lap, and became one hundred and fifty percent stiff-upperlip British. «Oh, very well. Only an idiot would not try to salvage something out of this ungodly mess. But I want to make this clear. I killed nobody .»
«Don't try to blame me, Byrd Stockwell! You just shut up!» Nikki yelled, throwing back the blankets and jumping to her feet… only to fall forward, flat on her face, as she must have forgotten the rope around her ankle. It was beautiful to see, Maggie decided, grinning. Almost poetical.
«No, Nikki, you shut up,» Bryd declared flatly. «Always walking around the room naked, hunting for your nail polish while prattling on in that annoyingly high-pitched voice of yours about how I should admire your biceps, of all things. That's how you found the jewelry, isn't it? My jewelry. I shouldn't have listened to Joanne.»
«Listened to Joanne about what?» Maggie asked. «You talked to her about Nikki?»
Byrd rolled his eyes. «Joanne felt that we should behave as if we weren't already acquainted, although she didn't much care for the method I chose to allay suspicions on that head.»
Maggie pointed at him. ''''You're the one I heard arguing in the study yesterday. You and Joanne.»
Byrd shrugged. «Possibly. Probably. She was becoming a bit intense. Even unnerving.»
«Being the object of Miss Pertuccelli's affections could very well be terrifying, I'd imagine,» Alex suggested sympathetically.
«Funny, Alex,» Maggie said, then looked at Byrd. «She loved you? She expected marriage?»
«You Americans. You need everything wrapped up in a fantasy, don't you? This was business , Miss Kelly.»
Maggie believed she was getting closer now. «Except American Joanne didn't think so. She got jeal
ous. She thought you were going to drop her for Nikki. So you killed her.»
«Incorrect on all counts,» Byrd said, pushing back his blond hair, almost preening. «If you'd allow me to explain from the beginning?»
«Who's stopping you?» Maggie asked, then winced. «All right, point taken. At least it's only Alex and me talking this time. Go ahead.»
And he did. He explained that he'd happened to meet Joanne in London. She was impressed («naturally»), and he was intrigued by her tale of woe about an upcoming movie she'd been all but blackmailed into working on. Re-creating England on a California soundstage—ridiculous.
But the budget was limited, there was no choice, nothing she'd found in England could be had for a reasonable amount of money.
«She was all about money,» Byrd said. «Probably why I was attracted, as I am also very concerned with money. I won't bore you with the details, but we came to conclude that I could help her and she could help me, and we both could get very rich. It seemed that she paid alimony to quite a few people.»
«You set up that meeting between Joanne and Sir Rudy?»
Byrd brushed some invisible lint from his slacks. «Right down to the red dress, Miss Kelly. My jumped-up uncle so admires red. By the end of the evening, he believed it was his idea to offer Medwine Manor to the production company, gratis. He's a simple man, my uncle. Joanne, unfortunately, turned out to be much more complicated.»
«So that's how the movie got switched from Hollywood to England at the last minute. Sorry, go on,» Maggie said, even as she could hear Marylou saying, «There, there, sweetie, we had fun, remember? It's not all bad,» to an obviously upset Sir Rudy.
And Byrd went on, Nikki being very quiet, to explain that he had somehow become persona non grata in his uncle's house, unfortunately just as he'd discovered an old set of plans for the house in the back of one of the silver cupboards. Someone, he told them, had actually used them to wrap up some godawful bits of blackened silver. Byrd took the plans, not knowing at that moment what they were, to wrap up «a few things.»
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