by Joy Avon
“What?” Callie asked sheepishly.
Iphy shook her head. “Are you listening or not? We have to talk to Delacorte.”
“Ace doesn’t want me to get involved.”
“And you just listen to Ace?” Iphy sounded indignant. “He has the wrong suspect in custody. He messed up, and he refuses to see it.”
“You just told me that Strong won’t make any statement. That does make him look pretty suspicious. Why won’t he cooperate?”
Iphy’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. It worries me.” She rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “I just have to do something. Anything.”
Callie came to a decision. “All right. We’ll go see Delacorte together. We don’t know if he’s involved somehow—I mean, in Mr. King’s possibly dubious activities—so it’s better if you don’t go alone. You never know.”
Iphy nodded and went to get her coat. Callie looked at Daisy, who was eyeing her expectantly, perhaps hoping to go out on a walk. “What do you think, girl? Am I doing the right thing?” She hoped Ace would never find out about this.
A stab inside her made her wince, but she couldn’t go back on her given word now. She told Daisy to be a good girl while they were away, and they left.
* * *
At the Cliff Hotel, dinner was in full swing. Iphy asked for Mr. Delacorte and was directed to his table. He was sitting alone, dressed in a nice but quiet suit, just starting on his main course. He rose to his feet when he recognized them and pointed at the chairs opposite. “Do sit down. Would you care to join me? The hotel takes non-guest diners.”
“Why not?” Iphy said, and the waiter who had hovered nearby closed in at once to take their orders. Callie chose broccoli soup as an opener and Iphy, carpaccio. Delacorte said, “I also had the carpaccio. It’s excellent.”
Last time, dressed in his pajamas, he had looked younger and unbalanced, but here, at dinner, he seemed more in control and even a bit wary of them. Callie wondered if Falk, upon taking Delacorte’s statement, had impressed on him that he wasn’t to discuss the case with inquisitive locals. She felt her cheeks flame at the idea.
Iphy said, “I hope you feel a bit better after the dreadful events.”
Delacorte nodded. “I’m glad the killer has been apprehended. I felt unsafe with him being on the loose.”
“Suspected killer,” Callie corrected. “We don’t know yet if he really did it.”
“He must have. He fought with my boss. The medical examiner even found marks of it on the body.”
“How do you know that?” Iphy asked, her eyes wide, as if she was impressed.
“I talked to someone at the police station. I was afraid of being targeted as well. But they assured me that the attack was aimed at my boss solely and not at me.” He pricked his fork into a small round potato covered in herbs.
Iphy said, “Why were you afraid to be targeted as well?”
Delacorte shrugged. “Sometimes people aren’t happy with the way in which goods are appraised. They come back later and make threats. But I never expected it to get this violent.”
“You did know he was being threatened,” Callie said. “You kept that note saying Heart’s Harbor would bring him bad luck.”
He nodded slowly. “I keep all of those notes. I just felt like I should. Like putting them in the trash would be something criminal almost. I’m responsible for the paperwork and—”
“Did you ever notice anything unusual?” Callie pounced. “Like maybe prices being too low?”
Delacorte studied her with a frown. “What do you mean ‘too low’?”
“That what he offered people for books was below the real value.”
“That is common practice. He has to sell them again and make a profit.”
“By how much?”
“Excuse me?”
“By how much? What is the margin? Can I say buy a book for ten dollars and sell it again for twenty?”
Delacorte laughed softly. “That would be a 100% margin. You overestimate our work. We usually make ten percent. Sometimes a bit more if we have a good piece or someone entrusts us with an entire estate.”
“People do that?” Iphy asked, glancing at Callie. Callie bet her great-aunt was thinking the same thing as she was: that left alone with an entire estate, a dishonest expert would have the ideal opportunity to make a bundle. Had King profited off dead people, and had the relatives found out later on?
“Oh yes, all the time.” Delacorte seemed to start when the shadow of a passing waiter fell on the table. He reached up and straightened his tie. “If someone dies, and the relatives don’t want to clean out the house, they can leave the whole thing to us. My boss used to put a price on the sum total, and then we’d clean out and sell everything, you know. People are so busy these days that they don’t want to comb through old vases and broken lamps for weeks on end. You’d be amazed what elderly people collect. Most of it, worthless.”
Most of it, but not all of it, Callie thought. She said, “Did you ever hit on something extra special among such an inheritance?”
Delacorte took his time answering, focusing on the steak he was cutting up. Then he said with a forced laugh, “If you mean if we ever uncovered something worth a fortune, not exactly, no. Most of the time it’s just a lot of junk.”
Callie glanced at Iphy to see if she also had the impression he wasn’t being totally honest with them. But the waiter arrived with their order, and they thanked him. Callie took up her spoon and dipped it into the hot soup, breathing its spicy scent.
Iphy said, “But it must have been exciting every single time to go into such a house and look through the things. Like a treasure hunt. You can never know what you might find.”
Delacorte smiled at her, an almost indulgent smile. “It seems more exciting than it is. You know, people are spoiled with these TV shows where locals come in, and they bring a plate or a sugar pot, and it turns out to be worth a lot. But do you have any idea how many people flock to such a day of appraisals and have absolutely nothing to show when they leave again? I think if you claimed that one person out of a hundred owns something of value, that would be a very positive estimate. And when I say ‘of value,’ I’m not even talking about a five-figure sum. More likely a hundred bucks for a vase, you know. It’s nice and all, but not life changing.”
Callie hemmed. “So you don’t think anything valuable was brought in at the Valentine’s event here in Heart’s Harbor?”
Delacorte shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, really. I’m just the assistant. I do the paperwork.”
“For how long now?”
“Four years.”
“In that time, you must have picked up some things, gotten a bit of expert knowledge of your own.”
Delacorte shook his head. “My boss didn’t treat me like an apprentice who was learning a trade. He never explained his decisions or his appraisals. They were as mystifying to me as to anyone.”
“And you didn’t feel the urge to learn more yourself?” Callie asked, perplexed. Having traveled the world for years, she had always longed to learn more about each place she went, pick up tidbits of local history, and expand her knowledge. She couldn’t imagine working for someone and simply accepting his decisions about antique goods without ever trying to learn more oneself.
Delacorte said, “I have to be honest with you. Antiques aren’t really my thing. I was in college as a law student when my father lost his job and could no longer pay for my tuition. I had to find a job on short notice to make ends meet, and then I came across Mr. King’s advertisement. I applied and he took me on. First, for a trial period, where he wanted to see if I worked neatly enough for him. I was good with figures, so he kept me on. That’s the whole story. It’s not hard work, and it pays decent wages, plus the traveling is nice. I get to see quite a bit of the country.”
Callie nodded, and Iphy said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father’s job. I do hope he’s found something again?”
Delacorte looked
at his plate. “He died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I asked. My condolences.”
Delacorte nodded curtly and then said, “You couldn’t know.” He looked up again with a sad smile. “My father was part of the reason I went to law school in the first place. He so wanted me to be a lawyer. I didn’t much care for it myself, but I wanted to please him.”
Callie felt sorry for the young man’s position, first having chosen a career for his father’s sake and then, after his father’s dismissal and a lack of money to complete his college education, having to look for some impromptu job. “So now that Mr. King is no longer here, what will you do?”
Delacorte sighed. “I’m not sure yet.” He played with his fork.
Iphy glanced at Callie. Callie sensed her uneasiness and realized that it would be difficult to broach the topic they had come to discuss. Delacorte didn’t seem to have the knowledge required to judge whether his boss had been dishonest in his appraisals, and as his boss had apparently not shared anything about the business side either, how would he know what had gone down?
“Oh,” Delacorte said, “there they are.” He nodded in the direction of the dining room’s entrance.
Callie turned her head. Two ladies in nice dresses had entered and stood waiting for the waiter to direct them to a free table. One of them seemed vaguely familiar. That hair, the profile.
Suddenly, with a shock, Callie realized these two ladies were the ones she had seen in the parking lot discussing a man who would get his just desserts. The ones who had also been up in the book room to have something appraised.
“You know them?” she asked Delacorte.
“Not really, but they were at the event, to have my boss appraise some books for them. They acted very … uh …” Delacorte flushed. “Like they were interested in him.”
“In a personal way?”
Delacorte nodded. “When I put away the book he bought from one of them, a card fell out. It said ‘Paula,’ with a hotel room number and the words ‘Tonight at ten.’”
“A rendezvous?” Callie asked, glancing at the ladies, who were now taking their seats. They didn’t look like the casual dating types. But then again, how could you tell?
Delacorte said, “My boss could turn on the charm if he wanted to. I guess he already knew them from a prior occasion. He did seem a bit flustered when they were at his table.”
“How odd,” Iphy said. She obviously had trouble not staring at the ladies.
“And which one of them is Paula?” Callie asked.
“The one on the left. The younger one with the blonde hair.” Delacorte frowned hard, as if trying to recall something. “Her hotel room number was 408.”
Iphy exchanged a quick look with Callie. Callie bet she knew what her great-aunt was thinking. That as soon as they were done dining with Delacorte, they had to find out more about the mysterious Paula and her friend.
Chapter Fifteen
It was a great thing they had decided to dine with Delacorte, because it had offered them the perfect excuse to be at the hotel. After their soup and carpaccio, Callie had salmon with mixed vegetables, and Iphy chose a quiche with four kinds of cheese. Delacorte told them several funny stories of his appraisal days, and at one point as Callie sipped her mineral water, she thought that without the murder this could have been a very pleasant evening.
For dessert, Iphy had coffee with bonbons while Callie chose ice cream with meringue. She kept a careful eye on Paula and her companion, who, despite having started eating later, had caught up with them and were also eating dessert. Chocolate mousse, it seemed, from the tall glasses. While they were eating, they seemed to have fallen into a discussion of some kind, Paula turning paler and quieter while her companion talked more and gestured about her.
Just as their glasses were almost empty, the companion, red in the face and jerky in her movements, got up, shoving her chair so far back it almost knocked into a passing waiter, and said something, then left with her head held high. Paula stayed seated, looking at her disappearing friend with a shocked expression. She seemed to want to take the last bites of her mousse, then seemed to decide against it, put the spoon back in the glass, collected her bag, and left as well.
“Mr. Delacorte,” Iphy said, “you’ve been a charming host for the night. Thanks so much, but we must be leaving now. Goodbye.”
And she rose and walked off.
Callie got to her feet as well, grabbed for her handbag, which dangled off her chair, and said goodbye to Delacorte. He didn’t seem stunned by their abrupt departure, and something of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as if he knew they were going after Paula and her nameless friend.
Callie felt a bit embarrassed that their actions were so transparent. She told a passing waiter that she’d like to pay the bill, pulling out her wallet and not twitching a muscle when the steep price was quoted. The Cliff Hotel was a fancy place to dine, and you had to expect a matching price tag.
Still, it took her a few minutes to get it all settled, and when she walked out into the lobby, Iphy was nowhere to be seen.
Looking about her, slightly lost, Callie recalled that Delacorte had given Paula’s room number as 408, and made her way up to the fourth floor. There she found Iphy in the corridor, looking at a door.
Spotting Callie, Iphy at once gestured for her to come over, and said in a whisper, “I wanted to make sure she didn’t elude us. She went inside.”
She looked Callie over. “What should we do? Just knock and ask if we can talk to her?”
“For what reason? Because she came to offer a book for appraisal at our Valentine’s event?” Callie shifted her weight. “She put a card in the book, inviting Mr. King for a meeting here. Something quite … uh … intimate. Maybe she’s a former girlfriend? She won’t tell us a thing.”
Iphy sighed. “Maybe not. But this is a lead. An ignored lead, I might add. Falk hasn’t done a thorough job.”
“Well, if Delacorte didn’t tell him about Paula, how was he to know?” Callie felt obliged to defend Ace, also a bit out of guilt as she realized she hadn’t told him about the women in the parking lot discussing someone’s just desserts. It had seemed a bit vague and irrelevant, but combined with Delacorte’s statements now …
Iphy seemed to have come to a decision because she nodded to herself and approached the door. She knocked. The sound reverberated across Callie’s tight nerve endings.
It took a moment, then a female voice asked from inside, “Sylvia, is that you?”
Iphy glanced at Callie and replied, “Yes.”
Callie cringed under this outright lie to gain access to the woman, but it was too late already. The door opened, and the room’s occupant appeared on the threshold. Her eyes widened when she saw them.
Iphy smiled. “Good evening. I would really—”
When the woman tried to shut the door, Iphy quickly moved into the doorway. “I would really like to talk to you.”
“I asked if you were Sylvia,” the woman spat. “You said yes.”
“I didn’t hear you properly,” Iphy lied cheerfully. “It’s about the book you offered to the expert at Haywood Hall. It was worth more than he offered to pay you. We’re here to set the balance straight.”
Callie wasn’t sure that more lying would help their case, but Paula seemed relieved it was just about a book. She stood there undecided for a moment, then she stepped back. “Do come in. Don’t look at the mess.”
What mess she meant eluded Callie, as the room was perfectly neat. No suitcases in sight, no clothes lying around. Nothing on the nightstand.
Iphy said, “I’m sorry this is a bit awkward, coming to your hotel room so late. But we spent quite some time tracking everybody.”
Paula laughed, a short nervous laugh. “I’m surprised you could track me at all.”
Callie held her gaze. “That wasn’t so hard. You left a card in the book, giving your name and hotel room number.”
Paula flushed. “I did? Oh yes, now I
remember. I thought that maybe if the book interested him, he would want more, and then he could contact me.”
“You have more of such books?”
“Yes, from an aunt.” Paula nodded. “She died, and I don’t know what to do with it all, really.” She gestured around her. “I’m a stewardess. I’m abroad a lot. I don’t need a ton of things.”
“I see.” Callie pointed at some leather chairs by a fake fireplace. “May I sit down?”
“Certainly.” Paula gestured to Iphy to take a seat as well. “How unhospitable of me when you went through such trouble to find me. The book is worth more, you say? What a surprise. I thought it was quite a nice offer already.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“Forty. It was a large leather-bound volume, but very old, and there was some wear and tear.”
“If it was very old,” Callie asked, puzzled, “didn’t you wonder if forty was the right price?”
“That’s why I went to an expert, right?” Paula widened her eyes. “If I had just offered it online or something, I would have wondered if I had gotten the right price for it, but not now. He knew his stuff.” She opened the drawer of the nightstand and then froze. “Oh, I keep forgetting I’m not at home.” She closed the drawer again.
“But you travel widely, right?” Callie asked. She had an unsettling feeling the woman wasn’t being completely honest.
Paula said, “What went wrong with the book sale? Am I entitled to more money? I really don’t need it, you know. I have enough from my job.”
“Still, you came all the way out here to sell a book for forty dollars,” Iphy said quietly.
Paula fidgeted with her hands. “Just because it seemed so rude not to do anything with the inheritance. I never knew my aunt well, but she left everything to me, so she deserved some consideration.”
“I see. You wanted the expert to also buy the other things included in this inheritance?”
“Well, it would have made it easier for me to settle it. Not being around much and all.” Paula paced the room. “You see, now that Mr. King is … uh … no longer here, I guess he can’t help me, and I’ll just have to go back home. You can keep the money you think he should have given me for the book. It’s really not that—”