Twice Dead

by Catherine Coulter

  “Not a thing as yet. It’s only been a day since I spoke to Marilyn Warluski at Quantico. Our people are staying with Tony, Marilyn’s boyfriend, in Bar Harbor. His phone’s covered. If Tammy calls, we’ll hear it all. He’s cooperating.” Savich paused a moment, then shrugged. “It’s frustrating. She’s not in good shape, yet no one’s seen her. Chances are very good she did indeed murder a pharmacist in Souterville, New Jersey. The other pharmacist checked and said someone had rifled through the supplies. Vicodin, a medication to control moderate pain, and Keflex, an oral antibiotic, a good three or four days’ supply, were missing. Evidently she killed the guy because he refused to give her anything.

  “As you know, we alerted police on all islands to Tammy’s possible presence. Now they also know to keep a close eye on doctors and pharmacies, and why.”

  Ollie said, sitting forward, his hands clasped, “Look, Savich, she threatened you. I read you the note. She means it. We’ve all been talking about it, and we think you should have some protection. We think Jimmy Maitland should assign you some guards.”

  Savich thought about it a minute, then looked down the table to Sherlock. He realized she was thinking about Tammy finding out where they lived and coming to the house. She was thinking about Sean. He said to Ollie, “I think that’s a great idea. I’ll speak to Mr. Maitland this afternoon. Thanks, Ollie, I really hadn’t thought it through.”

  He called a halt, scheduled a meeting with his boss, Jimmy Maitland, within the hour, and kissed Sherlock behind a door. Then he went to his office and punched in Simon’s cell phone.

  Simon answered on the third ring. “Yo.”

  “Savich here. Is Lily all right? What’s going on?”

  “Yes, she’s fine.” Simon then told him about their meeting with Abe Turkle, omitting Lily’s challenge to beat the crap out of Abe. Then he told him about their much shorter meeting in Hemlock Bay with Daddy Frasier. “That old guy’s really something, Savich. The guy hates Lily, you can see it in his eyes, colder than a snake’s, and in his body language. I think he would have threatened her if I hadn’t been there.”

  Savich wanted details, and so Simon told him exactly what had happened.

  They’d gone to Elcott Frasier’s office because they wanted to get in the old man’s face, scare the bejesus out of him, let him know that everyone was on to him. Since he was the president and big cheese of the Hemlock National Bank, he had the shiny corner office on the second floor, all windows, a panoramic view of both the ocean and the town. Simon had wondered if Frasier would see them. His administrative assistant, Ms. Loralee Carmichael, at least twenty-one years old, and so beautiful it made your teeth ache to look at her, left them to kick up their heels for only twelve minutes, acceptable, Simon decided, since they’d caught the old man off guard and he’d probably want to get himself and his stories together. But Simon was worried about Lily. He’d have given anything to put her on a plane back to Washington, D.C., where she’d be safe. She looked nearly flattened, her face pale and set. If there’d been a bed nearby, he’d have tied her down in it. She moved slowly, but she had that lockjaw determined look, and so he kept his mouth shut.

  Elcott Frasier welcomed them into his office, patted Lily’s shoulder, his hand a bit on the heavy side, and said, “Lily, dear. May I say that you don’t look well.”

  “Mr. Frasier.” She immediately moved away from him. “Since you’ve already said it, I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do about it.” She gave him a smile as cold as his own. “This is Mr. Russo. He’s a dealer of art. He’s the one who verified that four of my Sarah Elliott paintings are forgeries.”

  Elcott Frasier nodded to Simon and motioned to them to be seated. “Well, this comes as quite a surprise. You say you’re an art dealer, Mr. Russo. I don’t know many art dealers who can spot forgeries. Are you quite sure about this?”

  “I’m not exactly an art dealer, Mr. Frasier, as in running a gallery. I’m more a dealer/broker. I bring buyers and sellers together. Occasionally I track down forgeries and return them to their rightful owners. Since I own a Sarah Elliott and know her work intimately, I was able to spot the fakes among the eight paintings that Lily owns, particularly since I knew which four had been forged.”

  Simon paused a moment, wondering how much to tell Frasier and if it would frighten the man. He’d known, of course, about the forgeries, didn’t even try to act shocked. Why not push it all the way, since he had a pretty good idea of how it had gone down? It would have to make him act. He hadn’t told Lily this and hoped she wouldn’t act surprised. He smiled toward her, then added, “I originally thought that you initiated the whole deal. But then I got to thinking that you’re really a very small man, with no contacts at all. There’s a collector, a Swede named Olaf Jorgenson, who isn’t a small man. He’s very powerful, actually. When he wants something, he goes after it, no obstacle too great. I believe that it was Jorgenson who instigated the whole thing. It went this way: Olaf wanted the Sarah Elliott paintings when they were in the Art Institute of Chicago, but he couldn’t pull it off and had to wait. He knew exactly when Lily Savich left Chicago to move to Hemlock Bay, California. He put out feelers and found you very quickly, and your son, Tennyson, who was the right age. Then you all cut a deal. Actually, I heard Olaf had only three of the paintings. I don’t know where the fourth one is as of yet. Hopefully, he has it as well. It makes everything cleaner, easier.” Simon snapped his fingers right in Frasier’s face. “We’ll get them back fast as that. So, Mr. Frasier, did I get it all right?”

  Elcott Frasier didn’t bat an eye. He looked faintly bored. Lily, though, who knew him well, saw the slight tic in his left eye, there only when he was stressed out or angry. He could be either or both at this moment in time. She was surprised initially at what Simon had said but realized that it had probably happened just as Simon had said. She said, “Jorgenson is indeed powerful, Elcott. He isn’t a small man at all, not like you.”

  Simon thought her father-in-law would belt her. He was ready for it, but Frasier managed to hold himself in. He said, dismissively and as smoothly as a politician accepting a bribe for a pardon, “That’s quite a scenario, Mr. Russo. I’m sorry to hear four of the paintings were forged. No matter what you say, it must have happened while they were at the Art Institute of Chicago. All this elaborate plot by this fellow Olaf Jorgenson sounds like a bad movie. However, none of this has anything to do with me or my family. I really don’t know why you came here to accuse me of it.”

  He turned to Lily and there was a good deal of anger in those eyes of his. “As for you, Lily, you left my son. I fear for his health. He is not doing well. All he talks about is you. He says that your brother and sister-in-law slandered him, and none of it’s true. He wants to see you, although if I were him, and I’ve told him this countless times, I’d just as soon see the back of you for good. You weren’t a good wife to him. You gave him nothing, and then you just up and left him. His mother is also very concerned. The mere idea that he would marry you to get ahold of some paintings, it’s beyond absurd.”

  “I don’t think it’s absurd at all, Elcott. It could have happened the way Mr. Russo said. Or maybe it was Mr. Monk who found Mr. Jorgenson. Either way, four of my paintings are fakes and you are the one responsible.

  “Now, if Tennyson isn’t doing well, I recommend that he pay a visit to Dr. Rossetti, the psychiatrist he very badly wanted me to see when I was still in the hospital. One wonders what he had to do with all this.” Lily paused a moment, shrugged, then continued. “But of course you would know about that. How much did you pay Morrie Jones to kill me?”

  “I didn’t pay him a—” She’d snagged him, caught him completely off guard. He’d burst right out with it, then cut off like a spigot, but too late. Simon was impressed.

  The tic was very pronounced now, and added to it was a face turning red with outrage.

  “You’re quite a bitch, you know that, Lily? I can see why you brought your bodyguard with you. This p
ainting business, I don’t know what you’ve done, but you can’t lay it on me. I’m not to blame for anything.”

  Simon wanted, quite simply, to stand, reach over Mr. Frasier’s desk, and yank the man up by his expensive shirt collar and smash him in the jaw. It surprised him, the intense wish to do this man physical damage. But when he spoke, he was calm, utterly measured. “Trust me, Mr. Frasier, Lily isn’t a bitch. As for your precious son, what he is isn’t in much doubt. Would you like to tell us why Abe Turkle is staying at your cottage?” Simon sat slightly forward in his chair, the soul of polite interest.

  “I don’t know who that is or why he’s there. The real estate agent handles rentals.”

  “Naturally Abe knows you, Mr. Frasier, knows everything, since he’s forged the paintings for you. I do know that he’s expensive. Or perhaps Olaf is handling his payments as part of the deal?”

  Mr. Frasier got to his feet. The pulse was pounding in his heavy neck. He was nearly beyond control, his hands shaking. Almost there, Simon thought. Elcott Frasier pointed to the door and yelled, “I don’t know any damned Olaf! Now, get out, both of you. Lily, I don’t wish to see you again. It’s a pity that the mugger didn’t teach you a lesson.”

  Simon said, “We’ll return for a very nice visit, along with the FBI, when we have our proof. Not much longer. Consider this a reality check. You might want to consider cutting a deal right now, with us. If you don’t, just think of all those big, mean prisoners in the federal lockups; they like vulnerable old guys like you.”

  “Get out or I’ll call the sheriff!”

  Lily laughed, couldn’t help it. “Sheriff Bozo?”

  Elcott Frasier yelled, “His name is Scanlan, not Bozo!” Then he nearly ran to the door, jerked it open, and left them staring after him. Simon said to Lily as he helped her to her feet, “It’s been quite a morning, first Abe and now your soon-to-be-ex-father-in-law, both of them leaving us in their lairs and stalking off. But everyone is shook up now, Lily. We’ve stirred the pot as much as we can. Now we wait to see who does what. Maybe old man Frasier will decide to cut a deal. Now, you ready for a light lunch, maybe Mexican?”

  “There isn’t a Mexican restaurant in Hemlock Bay. We’ll have to go to Ferndale.”

  Loralee Carmichael looked them over very carefully as they left the reception area. Simon wiggled his fingers in good-bye to her. There was no sign of Elcott Frasier.

  He said carefully, as he walked slowly beside her to the elevator, “I want you to consider leaving the rest of this to me. Can I talk you into going back to Washington?”

  “No, don’t even try, Simon.”

  “I had to try. When bad men are afraid, Lily, they do things that aren’t necessarily smart, but are, many times, deadly.”

  “Yes. We will be very careful.”

  He sighed and gave it up. “Over tacos we can discuss our next foray.”

  “Do you really think Olaf Jorgenson set this whole thing up?”

  “When you think about it, he’s the one with all the contacts and the expertise, unless our Mr. Monk knows more about the illegal side of the business than we’re aware of yet. I’m sure Frasier will be speaking to Mr. Monk if he hasn’t already. I can’t wait to hear what this guy with his bedroom eyes has to say.”

  SIMON paused a moment, switched his cell phone to his other ear, then said, “That’s all of it, Savich, every gnarly detail.”

  He waited for Savich to ask him questions, but Savich didn’t say anything. Simon could practically hear him sorting through possible scenarios.

  Simon said, “Lily did really good, Savich. She’s tired, but she’s hanging in. I’ve tried to talk her into going back to Washington, but she won’t hear of it. I swear I’ll keep her safe.”

  “I know you will,” Savich said finally. “Just to let you know, Clark Hoyt, the SAC in the Eureka FBI office, is going to provide you backup. I figured you guys would stir everything up and that could be very dangerous. I don’t want you to be on your own. If you happen to see a couple of guys following you, they’re there to keep you safe. If you have any concerns, give Clark Hoyt a call. Now, you make Lily rest. How many tacos did she get down?”

  “Three ground beef tacos, a basketful of chips, and an entire bowl of hot salsa. We’re going to hole up now, then see Mr. Monk in the morning. By then, they’ll all have spoken together, examined their options, made plans. I can’t wait to see what they’ll do. Give my love to Sherlock, and let Sean teethe on your thumb. Any word on Tammy Tuttle?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call you after we’ve seen Mr. Monk tomorrow.”

  “Clark told me they’ve got a line on Morrie Jones. It shouldn’t be long before he’s in the local jail.”

  “I’ll call the cops in Eureka and find out.” He paused, then added, “I’m not planning on letting Lily out of my sight.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Eureka, California

  The Mermaid’s Tail

  Lily was deeply asleep, dreaming, and in that dream, she was terrified. There was something wrong, but she didn’t know what. Then she saw her daughter, and she knew Beth was crying, sobbing, but Lily didn’t know why. Suddenly, Beth was far away, her sobs still loud, but Lily couldn’t get to her. She called and called, and then Beth simply wasn’t there and Lily was alone, only she wasn’t really. She knew there was something wrong, but she didn’t know what.

  Lily jerked up in bed, drenched with sweat, and groaned with the sharp ache the abrupt movement brought to her belly. She grabbed her stomach and tried to breathe in deeply.

  When she did, she smelled smoke. Yes, it was smoke and it was in her room. That was what was wrong, what had brought her out of the nightmare. The smell of smoke, acrid, stronger now than just a moment before. Then she saw it billowing up around the curtains in the window, black and thick, the curtains just catching fire.

  Dear God, the bed-and-breakfast was on fire. She hauled herself out of the high tester bed with its drapey gauze hangings and hit the floor running.

  Her door was locked. Where was the key? Not in the door, not on the dresser. She ran to the bathroom, wet a towel, and pressed it against her face.

  She ran to the phone, dialed 911. The phone was dead. Someone had set the fire and cut the phone lines. Or had the fire knocked out the lines? Didn’t matter, she had to get out. Flames now, in the bedroom, licking up around the edges of the rug beneath that window with its light and gauzy draperies. She raced, bowed over, to the wall and began banging on it. “Simon! Simon!”

  She heard him then, shouting back to her. “Lily, get the hell out of there, now!”

  “My door’s locked. I can’t get it open!”

  “I’m coming! Stay low to the floor.”

  But Lily couldn’t just lie down and wait to be rescued. She was too scared. She ran back to the door and pulled and tugged the doorknob. She picked up a chair and smashed it hard into the door. The chair nearly bounced off it. It didn’t matter, anything to loosen it from its frame. The door did shudder a bit. She realized the door wasn’t hollow. It was old-fashioned and solid wood. She heard Simon jerk his door open, heard him knocking on doors, yelling. Thank God he hadn’t been locked in like she was.

  Then he was at her door, and she quickly moved back. She heard him kick it, saw it shudder. Then he kicked it hard again, and the door slammed inward. “You okay?”

  “Yes. We’ve got to warn everyone.” She began coughing, doubled over, and he didn’t hesitate. He picked her up in his arms and carried her down the wide mahogany staircase.

  Mrs. Blade was in the lobby, and she was helping out a very old lady who was sobbing quietly.

  “It’s Mrs. Nast. She’s a permanent resident. I tried to call nine-one-one but the line’s dead, of all things. There are people on the third floor, Mr. Russo. Please get them.”

  “I’ve already called nine-one-one on my cell phone. They’re on their way.” Simon set Lily down and ran back up the stairs. He heard her hacking cough as he ran.
>
  He didn’t get to the top of the stairs alone. Beside him at the last minute were firemen, all garbed up and yelling for him to get back downstairs and out of the building.

  He nodded, then saw a young woman struggling with two children, coughing, trying to pull them down the corridor. The two firemen had their hands full with other guests. Simon simply grabbed all three of them up in his arms and carried them downstairs. They were all coughing by the time they got out the front door, the kids crying and the mother holding herself together, comforting them, thanking him again and again until he put his hand over her mouth. “It’s okay. Take care of your kids.”

  They saved a lot of The Mermaid’s Tail, and all of the ten people staying there. No serious injuries, only some smoke inhalation.

  Colin Smith, the agent sent over by Clark Hoyt to maintain an overnight watch on the bed-and-breakfast, told them he’d seen two men sneaking around, followed and lost them, turned back to see the smoke billowing up, and immediately called the fire department. That was why most of The Mermaid’s Tail was still standing.

  Agent Smith left them, after making certain they were okay, to repeat his story to the fire chief and the arson investigator, who’d just arrived.

  Simon was holding Lily close to him. She was barefoot, wearing a long white flannel nightgown that came to her ankles, and her hair was straggling around her shoulders. He’d managed to scramble into jeans and a sweater and sneakers before he’d left his bedroom. He blew out, but didn’t see his breath. It was cold, probably just below fifty degrees, and the firemen were distributing coats and blankets to all the victims. Neighbors were coming out with more blankets and coffee, even some rolls to eat.

  Simon said, “You okay, Lily?”

  She nodded. “We’re alive. That’s all that matters. The bastards. I can’t believe they set the entire place on fire. So many people could have been hurt, even killed.”