Glass Houses

by Stella Cameron

  “We’d be more than happy to help with the plans, wouldn’t we, Millicent?”

  Husband’s and wife’s gazes locked, and Millicent said, “Oh. Oh, I see. Of course we would.” She threw her arms around Olivia. “You’ve always been such a wonderful daughter, so reliable and kind. And you’re respectful. You deserve the best at a time like this, and you shall have it. We’ll make sure of that.”

  “Aiden’s an American, Millicent. From New York. His father was a very successful dentist.”

  “New York,” Millicent said. “I say. And you’re here on business?”

  “I guess you could say that.” Aiden didn’t dare look at Olivia. He wanted to laugh but knew better.

  “They haven’t known each other long, but we know how it can be, don’t we, dear?” FitzDurham gave another of his unlikely winks, this one at his wife. “Sometimes things get out of hand and before you know it, you’re in over your head. That can be difficult if the fella’s not to be trusted, but obviously Aiden here is going to make sure he does the right thing. Olivia will come out smelling like a rose. Plan away. We couldn’t be more happy. And there’s no need to feel you have to talk about being—well, you know—in a bind, as you said. We’re thrilled, aren’t we, Millicent?”

  “Oh, yes. How many people from your side of the family, then, Aiden? I do think it might be wise to”—Millicent gestured expansively—“to get on with it.”

  “Absolutely,” FitzDurham agreed. “Money’s no object. Within reason, of course.”

  “Oh, oh, oh.” Millicent opened her mouth wide and danced toward her husband on her toes. “Conrad, do you think—do you? How about Olivia’s grandmother’s ring? How perfect that would be.”

  When they finally stopped talking and noticed that the objects of their joy weren’t saying a word, the FitzDurhams looked puzzled.

  “I’m going to let you explain,” Olivia said to Aiden. “You’ll get through faster.”

  Olivia knew Aiden hadn’t been pleased to be the appointed storyteller, but twenty minutes after he started, he closed with, “So you see how sensitive this is,” and she could see that he was satisfied with his efforts, and her parents were eating out of his hand.

  “Very sensitive,” Daddy said. “But you made the right decision. Coming to me. I was in the Air Force in the War. Know how to think in tight spots, I can tell you.”

  The phone rang in the hall. Daddy never answered it and didn’t like it in the room with him. Mummy trotted out and her raised “hello voice,” as Daddy called it, halted other conversation. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, a girl. I’ve got it. I’m very happy for you.”

  Aiden leaped up. “It’s Chris,” he said. “He’s tracked down the number here instead of using the cell.”

  Olivia followed him into the hall where Mummy gave him the phone.

  “Yo, Chris,” he said. “Another girl? Great. How’s Sonnie? Great.” He said, “Sonnie and a new daughter are fine,” to Olivia, who clapped and felt like crying.

  Mummy hovered while Aiden listened again. “How do you know?” he said. “Yeah. Next to you, Vanni’s the best partner I ever had. So Fish and Moody decided to go to New York instead of coming back to England, and they’re holed up in Ryan Hill’s place. Wild. I’m glad Vanni had that little brainwave and checked the place out. I’d have hated to walk into the building and see them if I wasn’t expecting to.”

  Daddy joined Mummy.

  “Yes, okay. What do you think?” Aiden asked Chris.

  Olivia put out a hand and he held it, squeezed it.

  “Okay, I get it. You and Vanni are both right. We’ll get out of here tomorrow. We’re both too wiped out to go to Heathrow now. Damn, I hope you are right. I do think they’re scared. Kitty’s probably made sure of that. But I’m not so certain they’ll take one look at us, assume we know the truth, and spill everything trying to defend themselves. Yeah. Yeah, okay, it’s the best shot we’ve got. You know I’m not about to keep on running, or have Olivia keep on running. Of course you’ve got to stay with Sonnie. We’ll get out there to visit your new girl as soon as we can. If we can.”

  Olivia didn’t care about the caution Aiden issued; he was talking about the two of them as if they might have a future together.

  “Tell Vanni I’ll call as soon as we get there.” Aiden hung up and pulled Olivia close. “Fish and Moody are staying in Ryan Hill’s apartment. Vanni remembered how they went directly there after they first got to New York. He figured Fats Lemon might have told them where Ryan’s place was—maybe even told them they should go there if they needed somewhere to hide. Vanni found out they’d gone from Chicago to New York and there was no record of them leaving the country. He couldn’t find them registered anywhere, so he took a chance and went to Hell’s Kitchen. There they were. He told them he was an electrician or something. He thinks they’re close to cracking up. He wants us to confront them because he expects them to cave and admit the truth—whatever that turns out to be.”

  Olivia felt more relief than she knew she ought to yet. “So it’s Hell’s Kitchen, here we come?”

  “Tomorrow,” Mummy said, reminding Olivia that she and Aiden weren’t alone. “You need a good night’s rest first.”

  “I should say so,” Daddy agreed. “And I’ve got to say, I’ve never felt more confident of a man’s ability to handle a sticky wicket.”

  Olivia pushed her fingers into Aiden’s sides, warning him not to ask about sticky wickets. “Absolutely,” she said.

  “There’ll be plenty of room for the two of you in the blue guest room,” Daddy said. “Won’t there, Millicent?”

  “Right, plenty. Why don’t the two of you go on up? Conrad will bring your bags.”

  Swallowing air along with shock, Olivia separated herself from Aiden, who promptly held her hand again. He said, “Thank you,” to her parents and led the way to the stairs.

  “One bedroom?” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I can,” Aiden replied. “They know a good thing when they see it. They don’t want you to let me slip through your fingers.”

  Thirty

  Winston Moody observed Kitty Fish with suspicion. “When Rupert telephoned you in London, at that disgusting Fiddle—by the way I was the one who thought you must be there—you told Rupert to fuck off, didn’t you? Weren’t those your exact, charming words, Mrs. Fish? When he suggested you rejoin us here in New York and bring the negatives with you?”

  “Can’t you see she’s tired, Winnie?” Rupert said. “Don’t torment her. She’s here now, and so are the photographs.”

  “That’s right,” Kitty said. She supposed she’d have to get around to explaining that Vince from The Fiddle was dead, but she would not say that was the only reason she’d come here— she’d come because she didn’t dare stay in London and get picked up by the coppers.

  Someone had to keep a calm head here, Winnie thought, and it would have to be him. “As charmed as I am by your company, and that of… what did you say your friend’s name is?”

  “PJ,” Kitty said, careful to smile at her old friend from school. “She’s a bit overwrought.” True enough. “And tired. But she’s been an absolute gem about helping me.”

  Rupert didn’t remember Kitty mentioning this PJ with her oversized blue eyes behind round, wire-rimmed glasses and long, straight dun-colored hair. He cleared his throat and said, “Right. Well, we’d best take a look at those prints now. The coffee table will do to spread them out.” He cleared carefully arranged lines of magazines from the glass top and threw them on the floor beneath.

  “I don’t like it here, Kitty.” PJ’s abrupt announcement captured everyone’s attention. “You always were the troublemaker. I should have refused to help you. I want to go home now.”

  “And get picked up for murder?” Kitty said. She had no choice but to intimidate PJ back into her senses. “We had a little problem, Winnie and Rupert. Vince from The Fiddle was supposed to help us, but then he turned greedy and started pus
hing us around. When we got into the Hampstead house he threatened to take the pictures and run off with them.”

  “Self-defense,” PJ said. “He was coming at me, so I picked up the nearest thing and stabbed him. It was these long shears. I didn’t mean to kill anyone. It was his own fault.”

  Rupert had lost his appetite after Central Park, and now he thought he might vomit.

  “What a bloody mess,” Winnie said. “And it’s your fault, Kitty, not hers. You’re the one who got greedy and stole our property. I don’t know, Rupert, doesn’t it seem to you as if we’re doomed to be surrounded by devious, dishonest people?”

  “It’s awful,” Rupert said. “There’s no honor left in this world, but Kitty never used to be like that.”

  “I’m not now,” Kitty whined, “And I’ve come to you, haven’t I? We’ll make a go of it. You two have got plenty of money. We’ll get set up here in New York and make a killing. We’ll have to be a bit low-key at first, but we’ll take on the big time soon enough. It’ll be ever so exciting. What do you think?”

  “You don’t think anything yet, do you, Rupert?” Winnie said quickly. “We have other fish to fry first. Get the photographs.”

  “Could I have a private word with you, Winnie?” Kitty asked. She didn’t like having to smile at the hateful old bastard.

  She walked past him and along a corridor leading to the bedrooms. She entered one and waved him inside. This was probably Ryan’s bedroom. He must have spent a fortune on a wall covered with audio-visual equipment. A television screen dominated and seemed to Kitty to be as large as a cinema screen.

  The anticipation on Winnie’s face made her yearn to knee him somewhere very painful. “I don’t want to take long over this, but I don’t see any other way to approach it. Still a watcher, are you, Winnie?”

  He turned a heavy shade of red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know I do. One-way glass anywhere you can put it. Paying off those girls to smuggle you into a shower stall in the locker rooms. Bet you got your eyeful there, even if they were little girls.”

  “Not so little,” Winnie ground out. “And it’s none of your goddamn business.”

  Kitty shrugged and made sure the door was shut firmly. “Then there’s the little boys, isn’t there?”

  “Rupert was so indiscreet. But you gave your word never to mention any of this.” Winnie’s voice became a hiss. “You can’t prove a thing against me anyway.”

  “What if I tell you I can?”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  She took a photograph from her pocket and held it out for him to see. Breath escaped him as from a popped balloon. “Where did you get that?”

  She put it back into her pocket. “None of your business. And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “I won’t pay for your blackmail tricks.”

  “Won’t you?”

  Kitty unbuttoned the fine wool cardigan she wore over a pink satin camisole.

  “Do it up,” Winnie said, the flare of panic in his eyes. “Now, you bitch,”

  “Oh, come on. We know each other better than that. You were quick enough to want to make a fool of Rupert behind his back before, and for a tweedy kind of fella, you were quite good.”

  Despite his anxiety, Winnie preened a little.

  Kitty finished unbuttoning the cardigan and took her arm out of the left sleeve. “Just in case you decide not to be a good boy and help Kitty, I can shout, can’t I?” she said. “Oh, come here and give me a cuddle.”

  Winnie shook his head, but went slowly closer.

  “It’s about PJ,” Kitty said, massaging her left breast beneath the camisole. “She’s quiet, but she’s passionate, Winnie. And she doesn’t meet people easily. She needs a regular lover. She’s good, you know. She’s studied a lot of weird stuff—sex stuff, PJ’s hot and she’s ready. I’ve been with you, remember, so I know what your tastes are like. I think the two of you would make a good pair. Time you settled down a bit.” Kitty giggled.

  Winnie was standing toe-to-toe with her. “She’s a mouse,” he said. “Not like you, my girl.”

  “No, different from me, but a real turn-on. You know what they say about the quiet ones. There are men who would give a lot to find her in their bed every night, but she doesn’t like them.”

  “What makes you think she likes me?”

  “I can tell.” Kitty pulled one shoulder strap down and clamped Winston’s face to her breast. Over his head, she grimaced. Odious, that’s what he was. “This is just to tide you over. But go easy with me about everything, will you? And I’ll make it worth your while if you do. We could get things sorted out—find a way to get rid of Rupert—and then we could have a party, hm?”

  Winnie was noisily inhaling her breast, but he nodded, and she knew he was wavering in her direction.

  “Good,” she said and gripped his crotch firmly enough to make him squirm and buckle at the knees.

  When she’d finished with him, his expression was vague, his little mouth swollen and red. Sweat stood out on his brow. “Tuck yourself all in, there’s a good boy,” she told him, making sure all was in order with her own clothes. “Then come on out. I’ve got really good feelings. Working together, we’re going to make a great team. With my help, we’ll persuade that group at The Dakota that they’d better play the game our way or risk exposure.”

  She left Winnie mumbling about danger, and returned to the apartment’s main room. “Winnie and I do just fine one-on-one,” she told Rupert and PJ. “He understands exactly what we were up against in London and how we’re going to proceed now. Nothing to worry about.”

  Rupert showed instant annoyance, which Kitty ignored. She took the photographs from her purse and spread them tidily on the glass coffee table.

  A tapping sound started on a conservatory roof on the front side of the apartment. Hail and sleet scudded into the windows. Blue lights shining on a jungle of orchids made the slithering drops sparkle.

  PJ rose silently from her soft purple chair and set a large magnifying glass on the table before retreating again.

  Winnie appeared, looking calm enough, and went directly to the table. He did glance at PJ and give her a smile that turned Kitty’s stomach. PJ seemed nothing other than puzzled, but she smiled back.

  “I don’t see a thing,” Rupert said, sounding relieved. He’d seized the magnifying glass and gone to his knees to pore over the pictures. He moved from one to another, then went back and re-examined a photo here and a photo there.

  “Let me look,” Winnie demanded. He snatched the glass and bent over the table. He lingered over one picture for a long time and finally said, “There. Damn you, Rupert.”

  “Kitty, I want the two of you to stay over there,” Rupert said. He looked at the photo again and gradually turned cold, then colder. “You’re right. It’s there and it’s clear. I don’t know why I didn’t see it right off.” He raised his face to stare at Winnie. “But don’t you try to shove all the blame on me. If we’d been there on time, instead of having to stop so you could look at the Rolls you intended to buy with your take, we’d not only have finished the sampling, we’d have been well away.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Winnie drew up his lips in a repulsive sneer. “Forgotten the other, have we?”

  “He who must never be mentioned,” Kitty said and giggled. She pointed at the two men. “Why pretend we don’t all know it was your friend, Ryan Hill. Is that it? Was he there?”

  Winston grew rigid with fury. “One more word on the subject and you can forget sticking around for our lucrative future.”

  “Really.” She slipped a hand into her pocket and started to inch out the photo.

  “Stop!” Winnie’s jowls trembled. “Just stop it. As it happens, you’re right. We were interrupted by Ryan Hill, but it’s all right. We made sure he won’t bother us again.”

  “Winston,” Rupert said, infuriated by his partner’s careless tongue.


  “Well, these two have told us they’ve murdered Vince in London.”

  “Isn’t that lovely,” Rupert said. “Now we’re even. We all know we’re murderers. That’s not exactly my preferred position in these situations.”

  Satisfaction warmed Kitty all the way through. “Don’t worry, Rupert, you can trust us, just as we can trust you. How did you kill Ryan?”

  “I didn’t kill him. Winnie did. One moment… One moment the man was hauling on my collar and demanding the biggest cut of the money. The next Winnie was—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Winnie smashed him over the head with a bronze horse. A bronze horse doorstop, to be precise. Next thing we know, we hear footsteps coming and the best we could do was drag the fellow out of sight and hold our breath.”

  With a sigh, Winnie said, “Might as well spill all the beans. We heard a man’s voice—we think it was the butler—showing people into the gallery. He asked them to repeat their names. One voice was muffled, the other distinct. Olivia FitzDurham. That’s how we knew who we had to find afterward. The people who own the house were away. We’d found out they would be and how to get in the back way when the dustmen went into the yard to change the dumpster. Never thought of a butler sabotaging us by letting the others in.”

  “I don’t see anything that would give you away,” Kitty said.

  “Not the murder,” Rupert said, “but the painting we were—er, checking. You can see where we worked on it.”

  Kitty hurried to him and took the photo in question. After a few seconds, she laughed and said, “Well, you’ve got better eyes than me. I can’t see a thing.”

  “Anyone who knows the painting would.” Rupert bent over the coffee table again. His back ached, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring through the glass. Then he realized what hadn’t crossed his mind. “No—oh, no. Oh, my God, Winnie. Aiden Flynn and the FitzDurham woman must have kept the negatives to these, and they’ve probably developed them by now. They’ll see this photo. When they do, we’ve had it.”