TURTLE DOVE (Alton Rhode Mysteries Book 7)

by Lawrence de Maria

  “There is something else,” Godfrey said. “We’ve heard rumors that Harper is more than a recluse. That she’s become a bit odd, perhaps even senile.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Webster said, “undoubtedly spread by jealous rivals in the publishing game.”

  “I agree,” I said. “She looked fine to me when I spoke to her a few weeks ago.”

  The three Albatross people looked at me.

  “I wondered why you are here,” Glenneagle said. He turned to Benedetto. “You had him check up on Harper.”

  “It seemed prudent,” Godfrey said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No,” Glenneagle said quickly.

  “Well, I do,” Webster interjected. “I don’t like my authors harassed by some gumshoe!”

  “I didn’t harass her, Wally,” I said evenly. “We just had a nice chat. She didn’t even know I was a gumshoe. Maybe because I wasn’t wearing galoshes.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  I could tell that no one ever called him “Wally”.

  “The word ‘gumshoe’ originally referred to a shoe with a rubber sole.” I was showing off. “In the old days, that would have meant galoshes. The idea was that rubber-soled shoes allow someone, like a cop or private eye, to walk stealthily. But I digress. Tell me, Wally, how does she appear to you?”

  Webster cleared his throat and tried to recoup some dignity.

  “I have not met the woman,” he said. “But she sounds fine on the phone.”

  We all digested that for a moment. I turned to Peggy Whittaker, giving her my best smile. She managed not to undress, which I subscribed to her Ivy League background. Alice sometimes undresses, but, then, she is new to the Ivies.

  “How does she appear to you, Peggy?”

  She glanced at both Glenneagle and Webster.

  “Ashleigh sounds fine to me, too.”

  I almost hated to do it to the kid, because I already suspected the answer. But I had to.

  “I mean, how did she look to you?”

  More glances.

  Finally, she said, “Well, I’ve never met her, either.”

  I thought about whipping out my iPhone to take a picture of the look on Glenneagle’s face, but decided it would be inappropriate.

  “There is no need for face-to-face contact,” Webster said, trying to explain the unexplainable. “Harper wants to be left alone. She limits her appearances to a couple of events on her island. We had to insist on that, just to prove she’s alive.”

  Webster obviously meant that comment to be humorous and seemed happy when we all laughed. What a card!

  “Her lawyer, Alexandra Nidus, did not want a big deal made of those events, so we just sent a junior staffer to help out. Pass out books, and the like. She said Harper was charming. Other than that, we accommodated her wishes for privacy and did everything over the phone or by email. No reflection on Margaret’s editing abilities, but Lighthouse needed very little work and Harper approved what few changes we suggested.”

  I bet she did. I decided to throw Webster a lifeline he didn’t deserve. I didn’t want him contacting Nidus or anyone else.

  “Well, as I’ve told Barry and Godfrey, the lady I met seemed to have all her marbles. She had, I don’t know, great stage presence, if that’s the right word.”

  Neither Webster or Whittaker reacted to that remark. I did not expect them to. By now, I was pretty sure they were scammees, not scammers. Idiots, to be sure, but not criminals.

  Webster was grateful. He even smiled.

  “There you have it. There is no reason Ashleigh’s future books won’t be bestsellers. Mr. Rhode should alleviate any concerns your investors have about Harper’s condition.”

  “Mental, yes,” I said, “but she’s not a spring chicken. The goose laying the golden eggs may not be around forever.”

  “Yes, what about that?” Barry said.

  “Well, we have at least two of her works in the pipeline,” Webster said. “Expect them any day now. And sometimes posthumous novels do very well.” He saw the looks, and added solemnly. “Of course we wish Ashleigh the best.”

  He turned to me and actually smiled.

  “I, for one, am delighted you met her, Alton. Good show!”

  He looked like he wanted to sit on my lap and purr. To forestall that, I stood and looked at my watch.

  “Where has the time gone? I’m late for a stakeout at Grant’s Tomb. Someone has been shooting all the pigeons.”

  On the way out the door, I turned to Peggy Whittaker.

  “I wonder if Albatross House would be interested in the Brooklyn Bridge?”

  She looked at me and feigned interest. After all, I had walked in with the money guys and now seemed to be on her side.

  “Is it fiction, or non-fiction?”

  I heard Barry clear his throat.

  “No, I’m talking about the real bridge. I can get you a good deal.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Come on, Alton,” Barry said quickly, grabbing my arm. “I’ll drop you off at your stakeout.”

  ***

  In the elevator, Barry turned to me.

  “The fucking Brooklyn Bridge?”

  “I couldn’t resist. Those fools bought and edited a book from someone they never met, just to make a quick buck. And they can’t wait to publish something else from her. I think we can safely assume nobody here is in on the scam. They aren’t smart enough to come up with something like that.”

  “I wonder if Glenneagle knows his top editors are screwing each other’s brains out?”

  Not too much got by Barry Lewinsohn.

  “I feel like a world-class jerk for working with these people,” Benedetto said.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Godfrey,” Barry said. “In my wildest imagination I would not believe what I just heard. Did you see the look on Glenneagle’s face when Wally and Peggy said they had never met Harper? He didn’t know what was going on either. I feel sorry for the poor bastard. He’s going to be out of work soon, along with the others.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I said. “Invincible ignorance is its own defense. Glenneagle may take the fall, and maybe the kid. But Wally the Weasel will figure out a way to blame some junior copy editor making 20 grand a year. But you would think that after Clifford Irving pulled his hoax with the Howard Hughes biography the industry would be cautious.”

  “Alton,” Barry said, “how long will it take you to get what you want on Bald Head Island?”

  “Hard to say. I hope I convinced Webster that he has nothing to worry about.”

  “People will start to talk pretty soon, especially if we cancel investor meetings.”

  I remembered my last trip to that part of North Carolina.

  “You flew into a private airport for the wedding, as I recall.”

  Barry smiled.

  “I’ll call Teterboro, and tell them to put a jet at your disposal tomorrow. And there will be a car waiting for you when you land.”

  CHAPTER 20 - DINNER INVITATION

  I made arrangements for Gunner and Scar, and early the next afternoon I headed out to Teterboro Airport in New Jersey.

  It turned out that Lewinsohn & Son belonged to one of those fractional jet ownership programs. The company had a choice of a half dozen different corporate planes available on short notice. The Gulfstream reserved for me could carry nine passengers in plush splendor. I was the only passenger and felt like James Bond. But I passed on a martini and settled for a Heineken and some cashews, quickly and efficiently supplied by a very lovely hostess who undoubtedly wondered who the hell I was to rate such royal treatment for a flight lasting just over an hour.

  When I landed at the general aviation field outside Wilmington, North Carolina, just after 4 PM, I was hoping for an Aston Martin as my rental car. But the silver Porsche 911 waiting for me sufficed. It had a GPS system that probably could have found Amelia Earhart, and I was at the ferry dock in Southport a half hour la
ter.

  Once I got off the ferry on Bald Head Island, however, I lost the 007 cachet. It’s hard to act like a super sleuth when driving around in a rented golf cart.

  In fact, I was at a loss as how to proceed. I knew I could probably locate Sandy Nidus easily enough, but then what? Tail her in a golf cart? I thought about just staking out the house in which the phony Harper was staying. But a man on a golf cart watching a house, even if he moved around frequently, would stand out like, well, a man on a golf cart watching a house. When I passed the golf course, I could see some players. I supposed I could rent some clubs and act like I was looking for a lost ball if I was approached. That probably wouldn’t work, considering that the nearest fairway was more than a mile away from the house.

  I was hungry. The cashews had been my late lunch.

  Rule No. 1 in the gumshoe handbook: When there is serious thinking to be done, eat.

  I drove my cart over to Mojo’s. I was surprised to see that it was busy. I found a spot at the bar and the bartender came over. He recognized me by name, which meant that I had probably spent too much time there in my previous stay. I ordered a beer and asked for a menu.

  “I would have thought the island was pretty deserted this time of year,” I said.

  “Still have a few weddings going on,” the bartender said, “and the annual Bald Island Bluefish Tournament is on.” He looked up and down the bar. “Plus, it’s Happy Hour, which we extend in the off-season.”

  “How long is it now?”

  “Goes from 11 AM to 11 PM.”

  “I may move here,” I said, handing him back the menu.

  “Any specials?”

  “Bluefish.”

  “Burger and fries, and another beer.”

  While I ate, I came up with my plan. It was Rule #2: When you don’t know what to do, ring the doorbell.

  “What’s that?”

  It was the bartender. I didn’t realize I’d been thinking out loud.

  “Nothing. I’m a man with a plan.”

  “Yeah. You fit in real well with our Happy Hour crowd.”

  ***

  Alexandra Nidus answered the door.

  I had expected someone besides “Ashleigh Harper” to do so, since there was another golf cart in the gravel driveway.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  Then she recognized me.

  “Mr. Rhode, how nice to see you again.” I was pretty sure she didn’t mean it. I was about as welcome as an S.T.D. “What brings you back to our fair island?”

  “Hello, Sandy,” I said. “I’m looking for my niece.”

  Her eyes flickered for a second.

  “Your niece?”

  “Yes. Anna Dickson. You must remember her. You helped me get her into the Harper luncheon back in August. I believe you gave her your email and she was going to contact you with some follow-up questions about The Lighthouse Chronicles.”

  I wanted to see how much she would admit.

  “Oh, yes. Small girl, very cute.” Nidus smiled. “I never believed she was your niece. We’d spotted her trying to get in without you. It was pretty obvious that you didn’t know each other and you just did her a favor. I didn’t want to make an issue out of it. She seemed to be a very nice person, and you were very generous to help her out.”

  Sandy Nidus was very good.

  “You would make a pretty good detective,” I said.

  “Coming from a real detective, that’s a nice compliment.”

  “Did Anna ever contact you?”

  “Yes. We exchanged emails. I answered all of her questions. I hope she was satisfied.”

  I didn’t mention that Anna thought she was being given the runaround.

  We had reached a point in the conversation when leaving someone standing in the doorway is rude, and maybe suspicious. I smiled at Nidus, but did not say anything. She took the hint.

  “Would you like to come in, Mr. Rhode?”

  “Yes, thank you. And please call me Alton.”

  It was an older house, with a kitchen and dining area on the first floor, and sleeping areas presumably higher up. Most of the newer places on Bald Head, I’d noticed, had floor plans just the opposite, so that occupants could see out over the ocean from living areas on the second or third floors. As with newer houses, this one also had an open floor plan, with the kitchen flowing almost seamlessly into a great room that had couches and chairs on one side near a large television, and a dining area near sliders through which one could catch a glimpse of the ocean over the dunes. The kitchen had all the modern appliances, but the furniture was rustically old.

  “Would you like something to drink, coffee perhaps?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  We sat across from each other by the television. I heard a squawk. I turned and saw the parrot in the birdcage that Anna Dickson had mentioned in her letter.

  “Excuse me,” Sandy Nidus said, standing and walking over to drape a towel over the cage. “He becomes nervous around strangers.”

  She sat back down, kicked off her sandals and tucked her feet under herself. She had red toenails and very nice ankles.

  “Does he talk?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Too bad. I bet he’d make a hell of a witness.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. How long have you been Miss Harper’s attorney?”

  “About five years.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Occupational hazard. But it must be public knowledge.”

  “It is public knowledge. I handled some legal work for Ashleigh related to her will and finances, and we became very good friends. She has no family and came to rely on me for just about everything. I’m afraid the outside world is a bit much for her. She did not handle fame well. She wanted me to protect her privacy, and, with a few exceptions, I have.”

  “That luncheon being one of them.”

  “Yes. The publisher insisted. But it was a trial for Ashleigh.”

  “There may be more.” I said.

  Sandy Nidus gave me a strange look.

  “You said you are looking for Miss Dickson,” she finally said. “Do you think she is on Bald Head?”

  “I don’t know. But I know for certain she came back here to see Ashleigh Harper sometime early in the fall, and I’m pretty sure she returned more recently.”

  “Really?”

  She seemed genuinely perplexed.

  “Yes. She wrote her brother about the fall visit, and in the letter she indicated that she was coming back.”

  “She should have contacted me. I handle all of Miss Harper’s affairs. I could have saved her the trouble of coming. As we made quite clear when we all met the first time, Ashleigh does not receive visitors. The book luncheon was a rare event. A very rare event.”

  “So, you have not seen or heard from her?”

  “I told you. She contacted me soon after the luncheon, by email. That’s the last I heard from her. If she came to Bald Head two times after the luncheon, we didn’t see her on either occasion. Are you saying she is missing?”

  “Yes, for weeks.”

  “How dreadful!” She seemed concerned. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you involved? I mean, I know you are a private detective, but I assumed the girl was just a casual acquaintance.”

  “She mentioned me in the letter to her brother and he sought me out. He asked me to locate her.”

  “What about the police?”

  “They’ve had no luck.”

  “I know the local police chief well,” Sandy said. “Perhaps I can make an inquiry.”

  If she was acting, she was probably as good as the woman I knew to be upstairs.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that myself.”

  “Did Miss Dickson say anything else in her letter?”

  I knew she was fishing.

  “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course.
Is there anything else?”

  “I would like to speak to Miss Harper.”

  “Why, pray tell?”

  “Perhaps she saw Anna. Are you in this house 24/7?”

  “Well, my office is here, now. It made more sense, especially after the publication of The Lighthouse Chronicles.” But I do run out, to shop and the like.”

  “And to play a round of golf.”

  Sandy Nidus smiled.

  “Yes, you saw me at the club. I do have a life, and some other clients. I enjoy an occasional dinner with friends.”

  Or a roll in the seaweed on Leonard Vole’s boat.

  “Ashleigh is perfectly capable of taking care of herself for a few hours,” she added.

  “Perhaps Anna Dickson came here while you were out.”

  Sandy Nidus shook her head.

  “I think she would have mentioned that.”

  “I would still like to speak to her. Just to cover all the bases.”

  Sandy Nidus didn’t say anything for a full minute. The only sounds came from the ocean, from breaking waves, and from the covered cage, where I could hear the parrot shuffling back and forth on his perch.

  “Well, I don’t see the harm in it,” Nidus finally said. “Ashleigh naps a lot but I know she’s awake now. I just spoke to her about dinner. In fact, I was just going to run out to get something from the market. You don’t mind sitting with her for a while, do you?”

  That took me by surprise. It was more than I had hoped for.

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “And I know that we are out of wine. It will give me a chance to buy some. You will stay for dinner, won’t you? I make a mean cassoulet.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “Come. I’ll take you to her.”

  We went up to the third floor. “Ashleigh Harper” was sitting on the deck looking at the ocean. It was cool, and she was bundled up, wearing slacks and a light ski jacket. There was a quilt covering her legs.

  “Ashleigh, this is Mr. Rhode. You remember him. He was at your luncheon back in August. He’s staying for dinner and wants to chat with you while I go to the store.”

  The old woman narrowed her eyes and looked startled. Sandy Nidus left.