“Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the Queen. Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there? I frightened the little mouse under her chair,” I recited.
A shiver ran up my spine. “Roger, I think I know where the last Lost Boy is! It’s under the Queen’s chair.”
“Which Queen’s chair? You realize you’re in England. There are thousands of Queen’s chairs.”
“We’ll start at the top and work our way down. Buckingham Palace?” I smiled and let my weary head drop on his shoulder.
“I’ll see if Angus will excuse us. We’ll talk about the palace later. You must be exhausted. I’m knackered.” He lifted my head from its comfy position and stood.
“We can’t leave Hildy and Holly. They’ll starve to death. They can’t fly over the fence.”
“Those two walking foie gras, starve?”
“Or someone might serve them for Sunday dinner. We have to take them with us to your flat for now.”
“They’re birds. Dirty birds.”
Holly waddled up and placed her head in Roger’s lap, puppy-like. My Indiana Jones knuckled under, “Okay, but only for tonight until we can reach a no-kill animal control.”
I nodded, knowing we weren’t going to turn these two geese in anywhere. They had “feast” written all over their big grey bodies. Roger called for a black cab, while I hid Hildy and Holly until the taxi door was open. Then I appeared and scooted the geese into the taxi.
“Madame, I can’t transport those birds.”
“What birds?” I batted my eyes while Roger slipped him a wad of money. The driver looked at the cash and looked at geese. He pocketed the bills. “Just see that the birds that aren’t in the back seat don’t make a mess. And heads down!”
Keeping the goose heads down was a challenge. Hildy nipped at Roger as he tried to force her to sit on the floor. “Gentle,” I said stroking Holly’s head. My partner in fowl transportation got the hang of it. He stroked the goose’s noggin until she almost purred with pleasure.
Chapter 29
Goose-herding is not for the faint of heart. Roger and I held them down on the taxi floor the entire way to his flat. Our reward was nipped fingers and shoes full of goose poop. With the windows up the taxi smelled like a barnyard.
“How do we hold them when we open the car door?” Roger asked.
“You have any popcorn on you?”
“Bloody hell, Wendy! This was your bright idea.”
I started humming the tune Samuel was dancing to. My version was weak and lacked the cymbals, but I kept it up. Roger joined me. I nodded to show him I was petting Holly. He began to stroke Hildy. The geese settled in. The elderly cabbie was laughing so hard he ran a red light.
When we got to Roger’s flat, he had to fight Hildy to reach into his pocket for cab fare. “Now what? How do we get them out of the car?”
“Use your jacket to cover Hildy’s eyes,” I said as I pulled off my t-shirt and tied it round Holly’s head. I was fresh out of goose head covers. My black slacks were covered in white and grey feathers. Quite a fashion statement.
The geese weighed over twenty pounds each, but it wasn’t the weight, it was the wiggling that was the challenge. Lugging them up the stairs with their heads covered, I could feel the terror in their silence. I would have laughed but Roger was not enjoying the adventure.
Roger sat Hildy on the landing and wedged her between his legs while he struggled to reach his door key. I managed a quick prayer the goose wouldn’t bite him in his special place.
We burst into the flat, a flurry of feathers and droppings. The birds slid across the polished oak floors struggling to gain traction with their big yellow feet.
“Don’t sit on my sofa. Please?” Roger said.
He was right. I was a stinky mess. He was in the same condition.
“These birds are your idea. There’s a big package of copy paper on my desk. Start covering everything. And keep them off my bed.”
It took me two hours to cover every surface with letter size paper. Every time one of the geese flapped its wings, papers went flying.
“How’s the popcorn situation?” I asked.
“There should be a jumbo jar in the pantry. Have at it. I’m showering, then I’ll be at my desk. Enjoy your geese.”
He sounded crabby. What’s the big deal? A couple of birds for a couple of days.
I grabbed a blanket and threw it on the floor in front of the pantry. Hildy and Holly waddled over to inspect their new nest. At the sound of the popping corn, they danced in circles on the kitchen floor. While they were eating, I went to check on Roger. He was asleep at his desk.
“Wake up,” I nudged him. “I’m going to take a shower then curl up in the guestroom, since there’s a door to hide behind. Hildy and Holly are eating popcorn right now. You might want to keep an eye on them.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Angus has us set up to visit Buckingham Palace in the morning. He has connections with their security.”
“Great! I have a good feeling about this.”
***
When I finished showering, I put on shortie pajamas and ran a brush through my wet hair. Now to check on the flock. Roger was asleep on his bed, his arm draped over the edge. Hildy and Holly were asleep on the floor at his side. He must have carried them up to the loft. It was too high for them to reach.
I crept into the guestroom and closed the door.
Chapter 30
Just after nine on Tuesday morning, Roger and I stood outside 51 Buckingham Gate, a five-star hotel across from the palace. Angus had agreed to get us in and behind the scenes. The detective was running late.
My archaeologist squeezed my hand. “Do you mind if I kiss you in a public place?”
“I’d mind if you kissed me in a private place with all these people watching.”
He was still laughing when Angus strode toward us. He wore a dark blue suit; his hair glinted like copper in the sunlight. “Ready? Just keep a level head. No Yank theatrics,” he cut his eyes to me. “There are seven-hundred and seventy-five rooms in Buckingham Palace, but we’ll have access to only a handful of private rooms and the few rooms open to the public.”
“Thank goodness your screwball girlfriend gave us some parameters,” I said to Roger. “Under the Queen’s chair in public view. Here we go.”
We walked to the largest guard booth where Ian York, a pleasant looking older man with a delightful upper-crust accent, greeted us. The guys all shook hands, each avoiding my extended palm. Our IDs were scanned by security and returned to us. Following Ian into the palace, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the sentries in their nifty uniforms and huge black hats. I envied the discipline they showed… no way could I stand so perfectly still… I’d think about my itchy nose or potty breaks.
Inside, the security was more subtle. The guards wore dark uniforms and no hats. It didn’t appear they were armed. No one made eye contact, despite my smiling and nodding.
I leaned into Roger’s ear, “Why won’t Englishmen shake a lady’s hand? Do you guys think it’s ungentlemanly?”
“No. You scare the shit out of us,” he whispered.
I swallowed a chuckle.
“We’re headed for the throne room,” Ian said. We stepped across the threshold into the Grand Hall and up the curving marble stairs of the Grand Staircase. I was glad I’d worn flats as the stone floor was polished to a slippery sheen. I was wearing my black crepe Donna Karen dress and white pearls. I hoped I looked the part of a proper palace visitor.
The Green Drawing Room stood at the entrance to the Throne Room. The four of us walked through in respectful silence. This was the room that held the Queen’s official chair. It was dominated by an arch supported by a pair of winged figures of victory holding garlands above the throne. Angus said, “You two stay here. I’ll walk up with Ian. If it’s there, I’ll let you know.”
We spun around at the sound of clomping boots and a voice that sounded like an old vinyl record yelling,
“Wendy! What are you doing here girl?”
I groaned.
It was Granddaddy Earl.
He was a head shorter than me and might break one hundred pounds after a big meal. His eyeballs moved independently of each other, but carried identical bags. A perfectly matched set of horse-size dentures dominated his face. His head looked different. He’d replaced his muskrat-hide toupee with what appeared to be mink. It sat high on his skull and swirled from a pompadour ending in a ducktail. He looked like the world’s oldest rock ‘n roll singer trying for a comeback in his black jeans and t-shirt that read, I ♥ London.
He picked me up and twirled me around. The little hillbilly was small but powerful. “What in holy goat’s name is this? A dadgum reunion? It’s the good doctor… Jolley? Right?” He smacked Roger in the back, sending him into a short stumble.
“What the f—?” Roger said. “I think I’m hallucinating.”
“It’s sure a small world!” Granddaddy Earl said.
“Must be the global warming,” Roger muttered.
The old codger scanned the rest of our group. “I thought that was you, Wendy girl, when ya‘ll walked on by us. Let me introduce you to my bride.”
Earl yanked the arm of the skinny, grey-haired lady standing next to him. He pulled her forward and stuffed her in my face. “This here is Birdie. We were married last week. We’re on our honeymoon. Birdie used to waitress at the Possum’s Paw. Birdie, this is that young lady I told you about. The one what risked her life to save my grandson Joseph. She’s good people.”
Granddaddy Earl was the grandfather of Charlie Hook and the patriarch of the Hook clan. The last time I saw him, he had washed his hands of Charlie and had taken the rest of the family back to their goat farm in Georgia.
I shook my head trying to sort out the surreal from the preposterous. “How could you…?”
“Afford this here luxury trip, you’re asking. That’s the best part. I showed those smartass young’uns of mine. I got me a computer, and I learned myself how to do that eBay stuff. Then I took my entire collection of Elvis memorabilia and sold the lot.”
Ian pressed his earpiece, whispering for security backup. I squinched my face trying to tell him it was okay. Roger shot me a look that said please don’t mess this up.
Granddaddy Earl was doing his best imitation of a human pinball bouncing off the five of us as four of us stood there dumbstruck. “Here’s the funnest part. I done sold my entire Elvis collection to Charlie.”
Oh dear. He’s gone senile. I put my hand on his arm and spoke slowly. “Granddaddy Earl, Charlie’s gone. He passed on.”
“Not that Charlie!” he said, pointing downward. “This Charlie!” he said, moving his arms as if taking in the whole palace. “Prince Charlie bought the entire collection, including the picture of praying Elvis painted on black velvet. When I told him about our nuptials, he invited Birdie and me to visit him on our honeymoon. He’s waiting for us downstairs. I just had to grab you and give you a kiss for old-time’s sake.”
Three guards had arrived and reached out to nab Earl and Birdie. He yanked free. “Tell Charlie we’re on our way.”
“Wendy, here’s a tip if you’re doing the tourist thing. The Elvis at the wax museum… he don’t look so good. He looks more like a dead Elvis. We took some pictures with Birdie kissing him for the folks back home. It ain’t gonna fool anybody, but it’s sure worth seein’. They got a whole thing on movie stars and rock singers—”
Birdie tugged on his arm. “Big Earl?”
“I’m coming, honey-buns,” he waved us off and followed the guards down the marble stairs.
Roger and I exchanged glazed looks.
Chapter 31
Four hours later, we’d peeked under every chair a royal fanny could fit in. The snooping being done from a distance of a dozen feet made it more of a challenge. I saw enough dust bunnies to repopulate the planet but no Shadow.
“That’s all I’m permitted to show you,” Ian said. “I can’t imagine anything being hidden under any of the Queen’s chairs without someone finding it. Her corgis are forever sniffing out new things. Those dogs would have howled if there were something suspicious.”
“Thank you, Ian,” I said. As I looked back at the line of tourists shuffling shoulder to shoulder through the Picture Gallery past the Rembrandts, Van Dycks, Rubens, and Vermeers, I saw an ear flapping. It flapped again. It looked like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn in a river of humanity. That ear belonged to Algy Green.
“Roger!” I nudged him.
By the time we both looked back, Algy was gone.
With clenched jaws Roger said, “That bugger is following us.”
“He’s really hungry for the reward,” I said.
“Speaking of hungry. Let’s grab a bite. I know a great pub near here.”
I wondered what Granddaddy Earl and Prince Charles were having for lunch.
***
At two in the afternoon, Roger, Angus, and I were sitting in a darkened pub. Sunlight filtering through red and green glass. The walls were rough stone and had probably been there for hundreds of years. Angus got a call and left us on our own.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“You have any suggestions?”
“Granddaddy said something about the wax museum. Isn’t there a likeness of the Queen at Madame Tussauds?”
Roger sighed. “Tomorrow we’ll check it out. Whoever murdered Benny might be hot on the same trail. If they did take Darcy, they would know where to look for the Lost Boy, so she must have eluded them. She is still alive you know.”
I shot him a questioning glance. What made him so sure the crazy lady was among the living?
“Has Darcy been in touch with you?”
He snorted. “No. And that’s unusual for her.”
“How can you be sure she’s alive?”
“How can you be so sure she’s not?”
“Humph. Never bloody mind.”
***
We taxied back to Roger’s flat. I never knew how independent being behind the wheel of a car made me feel until I’d done without it for a few days. Having to rely on the availability of cabbies was like being a baby in a stroller.
“Honk!” The geese greeted us at the door and ran to the pantry like two puppies.
“They’re your geese,” Roger said.
“We’re going to have to get food for these two, and soon!” I said as I dumped the un-popped kernels into the popcorn maker.
“Not the plan. Remember? You’re calling animal control.”
“We can’t do that. Someone will take them home for Sunday dinner. Let’s try to find them a good home.”
Roger shook his head. “I’m fresh out of farmer friends. Okay, one more day.”
My back ached from picking up pooped-on papers. I circled back replacing with clean papers. “We’re going to need more paper, too.”
Scrunching off my shoes, I plopped on Roger’s sofa. Every part of me ached. I lay back and flopped over. I stretched my feet to one end of the couch and my arms up to the other, wiggling my tushie to get the kinks out of my lower back. Hildy nipped gently at my toes. I patted the side of the sofa and she waddled over. Holly followed. They rested their two heads close together. I yawned as I petted their grey noggins. Tomb raiding was exhausting work.
I lay there thinking about the wonders of the palace while Roger prepared tea for two. The next thing I knew, he was splayed over me his lips seeking mine. The geese scrambled for safety. I rolled into his kiss and then froze.
“Don’t just lie there, do something!” he said.
From over his shoulder, I had a perfect view of a window washer’s platform hung in front of the panoramic glass. Dangling like a mouse in a hurricane was a little dude in white coveralls. Algy Green. The nutter was spying on us. Pushing off my frustrated would-be lover, I grabbed for the blanket and hugged it to me.
“Look over at the window,” I whispered.
Roger did. “I’ll
be fucked!” He jumped up and ran to the glass, Hildy and Holly at his side. They honked at our peeping tom, beating their wings against the glass.
Algy’s eyes were two pink gumballs. He scrambled to lower the plank. One end dropped down, sending him sliding to the end of the board – his skinny, boneless body slumped on the edge and his eyeballs spun in fight-or-flight response.
Roger pushed open the lower part of the window. “Get off that plank, you little blighter, before I pull it out from under you. If I see your face again, you’ll regret it!”
Algy cleared his throat and attempted to stand, clinging to the rope as he wobbled on the platform. “I’m ready to do a deal.”
“You have nothing to deal with, you idiot.”
“That’s beside the point. Let’s talk. I’m all ears.”
Roger and I fell onto each other laughing as the plank slipped slowly to the ground. We leaned out the window. Algy limped away from his spy-rig dragging one foot, his ears catching the wind. He looked like a white mouse after an experiment gone bad.
We settled down with our tea and our geese and promptly fell asleep on the sofa. I woke during the night. Roger was sound asleep in his bed, the watch-geese on the floor at his side. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be jealous.
Chapter 32
“I think we’re being followed,” I said to Roger as our taxi pulled in front of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum on Marylebone Road. It was the morning of the third day of our frantic treasure hunt, and my nerves were raw. Extreme heat can play nasty tricks on even the most balanced of minds.
“Is it that little moron again?” he asked.
“Can’t tell. It’s a black sedan with tinted glass; looks like an undercover cop car. It’s been on us for a few blocks.”
Roger got out first and stood at the curb, his eyes fixed on the street. I jumped from the cab, my beige sundress sticking to my thighs, the shoulder straps falling on my upper arms like soggy noodles.
We hadn’t counted on a queue for the un-ticketed masses. The killer heat wave did nothing to discourage the summer tourists who stood in long lines, chattering in their native tongues. Their voices rose and fell in a gibberish soup. The racket worsened the pain in my head. The ticket line extending halfway down the block made me want to cry. Exhaustion drained my usual power of positive thinking.
Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil Page 9