“They’d been trying to get that Lexus for quite a while. She was pretty slippery, the guy said. She’d moved back home with her parents and didn’t leave a forwarding address to any of her creditors. Threw them off.”
“I guess it would.” I thought back to Shelby Church, whom I still thought of as Lisa Troy. She’d been a woman with a lot going for her. How had all this happened?
“Yeah,” Cherie said. “Why do you suppose she’d leave a job and a life and come back here? No offense.”
“None taken. I came back because I was broke and needed a place to live.” I didn’t mention a place to heal. “And I needed to save some money and rebuild.”
“That explains it, then. I got a chance to talk to one of the neighbors. I guess the repo guys weren’t the first. Everyone at the Church place was going crazy. Lots of bill collectors.”
“Coming to the door? Really?”
“On the phone. One of the neighbors has a part-time cleaner who also does the Churches’ house. The stories she could tell, apparently. No one could figure out how this girl, who wasn’t doing well as an actress, could afford that car.”
“So were the parents drowning in debt? Or was only the daughter?”
“As far as I can tell, it was just the girl. The parents are salt of the earth, if you listen to the neighbors. Boy, were they keen to talk. I guess the daughter was in a bad way. Crying all the time. There was no way she could pay off her debt. Guess it was more than credit cards and car loan. She had personal loans, line of credit, everything.”
“Student loans too, I guess?”
“No, her parents had put her through. They had a college fund for her from the time she was born. They wanted her to have a great education. And in the end, after she got a good, solid degree, she got herself in this mess. She was trying to make it as an actress, and roles had dried up lately. And then she met this guy. The parents were afraid of what she might do to herself. Everyone says they were trying to help her. They were going to take out a second mortgage. And now . . .”
“Yeah. And now look.”
“What do you think it all means?”
“It’s a pretty good motive.” I could see how separating Vera from ten thousand for an afternoon’s work would be very appealing. You’d have a few out-of-pocket expenses: mostly food and alcohol. You’d take the money, hand over the collection you had no right to in the first place and then make a clean getaway. Maybe you’d take some other stuff too. Uncle Mick had known a lot about the value of stuff on the walls. When the theft was discovered, there would be fingerprints of the obvious thieves, namely us, all over the place. And with our dingbat story about being invited. We’d driven up to Summerlea without a care in the world, in full view of the local walkers and snoops, even as the police had been receiving a tip.
But I worried that ten thousand dollars didn’t seem like enough to deal with Shelby’s terrible problem, especially if she had to share the take with the other conspirators. I knew from my own sad experience how credit card debt could mushroom, even if in my case someone else had done the spending without my knowledge. And Cherie had mentioned a big line of credit. So what else would they have taken?
My mind flashed to Uncle Mick, outside his shop. Had just enough of the Summerlea valuables found their way to Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques to get him arrested? Had the police received a convenient tip for that too?
That would explain why the cops had been at Uncle Mick’s antique shop. And once again, it told me that my friends and family had been purposely targeted.
On the bright side, whoever brought in those items would have been caught on camera. And Uncle Mick’s cameras weren’t necessarily where anyone would expect they’d be. There were no polite signs warning about their presence and suggesting that your privacy might be violated. Uncle Mick didn’t give a flying fig about your privacy.
So that could be good.
But how could I get my hands on any of those images? Our visit to Summerlea was now four days past. The setup had been earlier. It was possible that any clues planted at Uncle Mick’s would have been there even earlier.
Cherie said, “Are you still on the line?”
“Sorry! My mind wandered. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for another favor.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Wherever I am!” She laughed cheerfully.
I took a chance. No one knew we were here. The police probably didn’t know much about Cherie yet, although Tyler had met her before all this happened. But right now, he most likely still thought I’d been kidnapped, so he’d be focusing on that. I wondered if not letting him know I hadn’t been was so much worse than breaking up by text.
“Okay. We need some security camera footage from my uncle’s place.” I didn’t want to name names over the phone. “That’s the same uncle who gave you the big, sloppy kiss on St. Patrick’s Day. The device will be in the building across from his workplace. It’s upstairs over the vacant shop in a storage space. There’s an entry keypad. The code is our dog’s name. Take the whole laptop and keep it somewhere— What’s that noise? Cherie?”
“Sirens,” she said. “I’m moving on. I’ll be in touch. I’ll get your stuff.”
My eyes were heavy. I needed a bit of sleep, even half an hour. There was a funky old alarm clock on the wobbly side table. I set it for thirty minutes. That would be enough to keep me going.
Then, yawning and swaying, I checked the window and left it open so that I could get out quickly if I needed to. Tired as I was, the old Kelly training kicked in. Survival of the fittest and all that.
I set up a small tower of pots and pans where it would be knocked over if the door opened and before the light could be turned on. Like I said, training.
I cornered Kev. “I have a getaway plan. If someone comes in, you get yourself out by the main bedroom window. I’ll leave by the other one.”
“I know all that stuff, Jordie.”
“Promise?”
Silence.
I said, “Because if we’re caught here, I don’t want to have to worry about you. I’ll meet you at the van.”
“Guess you’re right.”
With that I fell onto the bed and into a deep sleep, even though Uncle Kev was building a spectacular blaze in the huge stone fireplace.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I DIDN’T WANT it to be a dream, because I was so happy to meet Roderick Alleyn. He was every bit as charming as I’d imagined him on the page without any of the elitist characteristics I’d ascribed to him.
I offered him everything I could think of from the fridge in the cabin. He declined, citing legal reasons. Oh well. Before he faded from my mind, he did take the time to offer me what he called a word in my ear. “Look to the stage.”
“You would say that,” I answered.
Alleyn was smiling enigmatically and twiddling his silk tie when my eyes popped open. I lay in the dark, listening to Kev’s gentle rhythmic snore from the next room. All the Kellys snored. I’d always liked the sound; it made me feel safe and happy. Of course, I was far from happy and not in the least bit safe. And there was a lot to think about. There would be a bonanza of Kelly DNA in this cabin after we left, but the police wouldn’t be doing much DNA work even if they did show up. Smiley had always said that forensic resources were tight in the Harrison Falls police budget, and I figured cabin break-ins weren’t top priority.
The fire was glowing nicely. The rain had stopped. The sky was clear. The funky old alarm clock must have been for decoration. It had failed to ring. It was now the middle of the night, We’d need to get going soon. Not that I expected any owners to arrive before dawn but I had the idea that people who loved cabins in the woods also loved arriving at them as the sun was coming up. Even so, I knew better than to wake up Kev too early. He’s bad enough with a full night’s sleep.
I made myself a cup of
cranberry-orange tea, picked up the two quilts from “my” bedroom and headed for one of the recliners I’d spotted in the sunroom earlier. Right at that moment, it should have been called the moon room. With its sloped glass roof and glassed sides, it was a magical place, reflecting a black but twinkling universe.
This quiet, deserted and illegal hideout had to be good for something besides keeping the rain off our heads and giving us a place to sleep.
Without the buzz of phones and the presence of real police, I could actually think.
As my life and the lives of people around me were spinning out of control, I needed to be calm and to reflect. Job one: Figure out what was happening to us and why.
The million twinkling stars reminded me of my tiny role in this universe. I don’t know how long I sat there, watching. The night sky reminded me that life goes on, and sometimes we need a little distance to make sense of things.
For the first time since we’d heard of Chadwick’s death, I felt a bit of pleasure. The stars can give you perspective. Perspective was something I’d totally lost. It had been replaced by fear, anxiety and panic. Yet here, I could feel peaceful.
From the time I was a little girl I’d adored the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper too. I’d particularly loved how the stars made such vivid pictures in the sky.
Uncle Mick always said when you saw the Dippers to make sure someone wasn’t dipping into your pocket to steal your wallet. I chuckled to myself remembering that, even as I unconsciously checked my pocket, as I’d done when I was five years old.
Uncle Lucky had gone even further and introduced me to the constellations when I was six. He’d taught me that my beloved Dippers were part of the Ursa Major constellation. He promised that the Great Bear was something I could count on. It would always be there. I smiled. I could also always count on Uncle Lucky, who was a great bearlike figure himself. It was good to remember that. Uncle Mick might be out of commission, but Uncle Lucky was out there, and tomorrow I would find a way to reach him.
I scanned the sky, and sure enough, there were the three stars marking Orion’s Belt. I had to admire a constellation with great accessories. But Orion, the hunter, always had to watch his celestial back. Behind the scenes—and unseen in April—was Scorpius. I knew there was some kind of Scorpius behind our scenes too, lurking out of sight, malicious and dangerous. Who was my Scorpius? Why was he or she targeting us?
I hoped that, like the outlines of the constellations, all would be revealed if I could just see the patterns. That was something else Uncle Lucky had taught me. Look for the patterns; your eye will fill in the connecting lines.
All my uncles were fascinated with the night skies, maybe because so much of their business took place under cover of darkness. I shared the fascination, if not the business.
It felt good to sit there, covered in the quilts, thinking, reviewing everything that had happened without distraction. By distraction, I meant Uncle Kev and the police. But no matter how I looked at the stars, we were in a mess of some magnitude.
Would Inspector Alleyn have seen the connections between the seen and unseen players in our drama? He sure had a knack for finding links and noticing small, discordant elements. Would he have spotted our Scorpius?
Of course, unlike me—a fleeing felon on the run and in the woods—he’d be well-groomed, calm and aristocratic, and he’d never find himself hiding under a bed. He’d take his time and look at each aspect of the case. Mull over the small things that stuck out and nagged at the back of the mind. I hadn’t done that. I’d been too busy dashing around and panicking. Not that I didn’t have good reason to panic. I had people to worry about. Uncle Kev wouldn’t last ten minutes in prison. Vera might, but that was an awful thought. I wasn’t so crazy about hearing the doors clang behind me either. Orange didn’t suit me at all, as I’ve mentioned.
It looked grim for all of us. Were the police still holding Mick and Lance? I couldn’t check with Smiley. Kev was a disaster. I was working alone.
Not only were we headed for the slammer, but two people were dead, two people who didn’t deserve that fate. What had Chadwick Kauffman ever done to be bashed with a sculpture and pushed down the staircase at Summerlea? Nothing, as far as I could see. His employees seemed distraught. He had no heirs. There didn’t appear to be anyone with a motive.
But, like the constellations, things were starting to take shape. I just couldn’t make out what that shape was.
“Look to the stage,” Inspector Alleyn had said in my dream. What did he mean by that?
* * *
WELL BEFORE DAWN, we met Cherie at the edge of the road. For once she was not in the cable van, but in an unmemorable older Ford Focus. She followed us to the most isolated spot we knew of, a quarry twenty miles north of Harrison Falls. There Kev drove the van into the lake. He’d wanted to torch it, but saner voices prevailed.
It is said there are more cars at the bottom of that quarry than at any car dealer in the region. I chose not to think about that as we drove back.
Cherie had the laptop from Uncle Mick’s secret location. “That’s a cool space across the street from Mick’s antique shop. You ever think of opening a boutique in the vacant shop downstairs, Jordan? It might be less dangerous that working for a book collector.”
Kev said, “But we love working for Vera.”
Cherie said, “It takes all kinds, I guess. Well, you two can stay at my place until this blows over.”
Kev brightened. I hated to tell him that there wouldn’t be much romance.
I said, “I’ll need you to help me some more, Cherie.”
“I’ll help you too, Jordie.”
As with so many of Uncle Kev’s comments, I let it slide.
Cherie said, “Whatever it takes. This has been fun so far.”
Fun? Maybe I was getting old. Aside from lunch at Summerlea, nothing about it had been fun.
Kev and Cherie flirted happily in the front of the car. In the backseat, I left a message for Uncle Lucky from my burner phone.
Then I sat back to focus on our situation and all the unknowns we faced. How had our players gotten into Summerlea? I had nothing to lose by speculating. The housekeeper was a possibility, but she’d lost a good job when Chadwick died and she had nothing to gain from his death.
My intuition told me that the answer lay at the Country Club and Spa, now known as a source of at least one false tip for the police. The Country Club was the connection. But who was the weak link? Was it Lisa Hatton? Infatuated with Chadwick? Would she have betrayed him out of revenge? Was it anger over unrequited love?
Or had Shelby been the person who managed to get that key? She went to events there. I assumed her family were members. She could have called in a tip. She’d been involved in the trickery at Summerlea. Would she have been able to get the key and the codes from Chadwick? How?
Was the Country Club where I should be spending my energy? Or should I look back to the stage? Whatever that meant.
I felt a shiver down my spine.
But I had an idea.
* * *
CHERIE LIVED OUTSIDE Maple Ridge, two towns past Grandville, just over the county line and yet far away enough from Harrison Falls to mean we wouldn’t be dodging police. She was down a long driveway off a road with few houses. I was happy. Uncle Kev was in heaven. Cherie had every channel in the universe and more movies than you could ever imagine. I was glad to know Kev was sitting safely on her leather reclining sofa, with a couple of bags of Cheetos and a cluster of remotes.
I sat with the laptop and began the tedious job of checking out everything that had happened in Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques for the week prior to our adventure at Summerlea. Luckily, at most times nothing was happening at the shop. I was able to skim, but even skimming took time. I may have eaten a few Cheetos too.
Uncle Mick came and went. Walter enjoyed a lot of walks.
I popped in to say “hi” more than once. There I was, showing off my raspberry dress to Uncle Mick and Walter. Uncle Danny and Uncle Billy paid a social call. I paused when the occasional customers came in. I captured their images and moved the individual images to a memory stick. Most people were buying things. I was pretty sure the culprits weren’t going to be middle-aged ladies on the hunt for estate jewelry, but you have to keep an open mind.
I found myself yawning, but there was no stopping now.
An elderly man tried to interest Uncle Mick in a stack of National Geographic. Uncle Mick turned him down gently, but did offer a glass of Jameson whiskey as a consolation prize.
Click. Click. Click.
There. A pretty young woman with a cloud of curly hair was taking a great interest in the estate jewelry. I couldn’t see the color in the grainy gray footage, but I knew that hair was strawberry-blond. Mick took a great interest in her too. She had him taking out earrings, rings and necklaces. Helping her to put them on, leaning forward so clasps could be fastened on her neck. Holding out her hand for Mick to assist as she tried on ring after ring, diamonds from the forties, a garnet dinner ring I’d noticed, a square sapphire.
Oh, Mick. How could you let yourself be so deluded? I shook my head.
Behind her other customers browsed around the shop. Most were regulars and waved cheerfully to Mick as they left. One man seemed to be killing time. He shrugged to indicate he was also in no hurry. Mick didn’t pay much attention.
The camera was not so foolish.
He was tall, with a square, well-shaped head hidden by a baseball cap. He kept his face turned away from the security cameras on each wall. Of course, those cameras weren’t hooked up to anything, so that was a waste of time. The camera in the cuckoo clock and the one in the shabby teddy bear were a different story. They even captured his hands, large and covered with black leather gloves. I was surprised Uncle Mick didn’t notice him, but he had other things on his mind. I’d seen that ball cap and those gloves recently in the Lexus SUV that scooped up Shelby the night she was killed.
The Marsh Madness Page 24