We rang the bell and banged on the door of the house until our knuckles stung. There was no silver Audi in sight, although it could have been tucked in the garage. Worse, there was no answer. I observed light behind the drawn blinds and what sounded like low voices in conversation, but that could have been a television set.
I felt like smoking them out. My resolve to lead an honest life was very inconvenient at that moment. Fortunately, the civilized side of my nature prevailed and we gave up. We headed down the walkway and almost straight into Harry Yerxa. He said, “I see that they’re in there and they won’t answer the door. Now you know how I felt for nearly three years.”
At the same moment, an idea blossomed. “We do. It’s a horrible way to treat people.” I lowered my voice. “We think if we could just talk to the grandfather, things would be better. They seem to be sedating him or something.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. His eyes bugged. And I had him exactly where I wanted him.
“You mean they’re drugging him? But why?” For Harry, this would be better than watching CSI or Law & Order. His eyes glittered behind the oversized glasses.
You know that moment when you should just walk away from a bad situation? I had a keen sense for it, and this was that moment. But I didn’t walk away. It wasn’t only my recent obsession with Wimsey and his sleuthing or that my job and home depended on figuring out what was going on. There was also this little bit of Tiffany that had rubbed off on me. Randolph needed help, and you never turn your back on someone who needs help. Even if they triple bolt the door and turn the surveillance cameras on you.
Figuring that honesty might actually be the best policy and having nothing to lose, I blurted it out.
“Our best guess is that this mother and her son may have latched onto a suitable victim, maybe one with no close relatives to get suspicious and a fair amount of loot. They could be plundering his possessions and probably clearing out his bank accounts and investments while they’re at it.”
He nodded. “I’ve heard of that kind of thing.” His umbrella tipped as he turned to stare at the house. As he turned back, rivulets of water ran down his face and his tweed cap sagged damply. “But what makes you think that’s what’s happening?”
You would never know that Karen had suffered a brain injury the way she seamlessly entered the conversation. “We tried to exchange a very valuable book for a moderately valuable collection that we know he has. As he is one of my clients, I am aware that he normally would prefer the more valuable book. He could always put together the other collection. I’d be happy to help him.”
Harry nodded. “But—”
Karen ploughed on. “But Delilah and Mason wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Mostly Mason,” I added.
“Delilah and Mason? Those are their names?”
“What? Oh, right. You’ve never met them.”
“Not for lack of trying. But I gave up on them. I’m not desperate, you know.”
“Of course not.”
“But I don’t understand, if they’re after the money and all, why they wouldn’t take you up on that deal.”
Karen said, “That’s the thing. It doesn’t add up. It’s possible they’ve sold the collection and Randolph doesn’t know a thing about it. He’s having memory problems, most likely because he’s drugged, so they’re getting away with it. In fact, I’d put money on it.”
Harry sputtered, “That is simply despicable.”
I said, “There were boxes in the foyer. When I saw them first, I thought perhaps they hadn’t unpacked yet. Now I’m wondering if they were selling off Randolph’s possessions.”
Harry said, “That would explain a few things. Should we call the police?”
I flinched at the P word. And I’d been hoping he wanted to play amateur sleuth with us.
Karen cut in, “Um, the police will want evidence and what we have is a hunch.”
“A solid hunch,” I added.
“Oh, very solid,” Karen agreed.
“Of course.” Harry nodded. “The police need evidence.”
“But we need to get that evidence before we involve the police,” I said. “This will probably mean the FBI, if he’s been kidnapped.” Of course, I was making it up as we went along. A little TV goes a long way.
The wet cap bobbed. “The FBI? Yes, that sounds right.”
Okay, now that he was in, I could almost hear the Criminal Minds theme song coming out of his ears.
“So will you help us?”
“Will I help you? Of course, ladies. Of course, but how? What can I do?”
I shook his hand to seal the deal. “What you’ve been doing. Keeping a neighborly eye on the place. And then let us know if Delilah and Mason leave. If we can get to Randolph, I think we can turn the tables on them.”
“Brilliant! I’m your man.” Harry beamed and we did too, although by this point we all looked like drowned rats yet again. Karen’s slicker was good to a point, except that the neck was too wide. Icy water was now running down the back of my neck and soaking into the tweed sweater.
“Excellent. We’ll give you Karen’s number at the Cozy Corpse. It’s her cell number too.”
“You don’t need to give it to me. I already have it.”
We both blinked at him. I didn’t remember Karen giving him her number.
Karen said, “What do you mean?”
“I have it.”
“How did you get it?” Something about that creeped me out.
He started to laugh. I wasn’t sure it was a laughing matter.
“If you don’t want people to get your number, maybe you shouldn’t be driving around with it clearly painted on your van.”
That was a relief. “Sorry,” I said. “I think I’m just freaked out by these people. Didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Me neither,” Karen said. “And I’m freaked too. We’ve been imagining the worst and it’s taking a toll.”
“No offense taken, ladies. I’ll let you know the minute I see those two reptiles head out and I’ll do my best to keep an eye on—what’s his name?—Randolph?”
“Yes. Don’t put yourself in a compromising position though.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, brandishing the clippers.
I said, “Right. I suppose we’d better get your number too.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He couldn’t seem to stop chuckling. I realized that for the first time in a long time, Harry Yerxa was having fun. I was glad we could help with that. I wrote out my number and hoped it wouldn’t be too soggy to read if he needed it.
Harry fished a small notebook from his pocket, scribbled his number, ripped out the sheet and handed it to me. I dropped it into my bag.
He wasn’t the most typical ally, but I was quite sure that Lord Peter Wimsey would have enlisted Harry too had the shoe been on his aristocratic foot. Now, if we could just figure out where Kevin was hiding out. I knew that my uncles would have made sure he was there to ensure our well-being. Even though Harry and Kevin seemed to have hit it off earlier, I didn’t want Kev to connect with him. My most chaotic uncle was quite capable of getting poor Harry Yerxa into a tight spot. Kev loves tight spots. He thrives on them and often creates them for others.
By the time we got into the van, Karen and I were almost cheerful, having gained Harry as an ally. We didn’t spot Mason approaching until he pounded against Karen’s window. That got our attention.
Under the black hoodie, his face was grim. He thumped his hands on the glass again, and our whole vehicle shook. I pressed the automatic locks but the key lock gave my frozen, wet fingers some trouble.
Delilah scurried behind him, her flowy garment whipping in the wind. “Please come in the house, baby,” she pleaded.
“I told you two scam artists to stay away!” He banged the window again to punctuate his rage. He pointed at Karen. It was only a finger, but a weapon couldn’t have been scarier.
“I don’t know what the hell your problem i
s, lady, but if you come here again, you will regret it.” Karen and I watched, stunned, as he stormed through the rain to his house. Delilah followed, her long hair drenched, hands stretched out to him.
“Motherhood. I may be glad I missed out,” Karen said with a wobble in her voice.
“I hear you.”
“Do the kids still say WTF?” This time she managed a grin, though we were both breathing heavily in the now fogged-up car.
I laughed. She sure had spirit. Even so, she was fragile and I needed to get her home before she caught a chill or we were accosted again.
I was also way too soggy and I needed a chance to think. Uncle Kev should have been watching the Adams house as we drove off. With luck, he’d keep me posted and wouldn’t get himself or anyone else into trouble.
I just had to have faith.
Usually, when things got weird or worrying, I would get in touch with Tiffany, and she’d give me some perspective. Occasionally she has brought to my attention such things as respecting boundaries and some of the more subtle points of the law, such as: locks aren’t always for picking and normal law abiding citizens don’t run around in wigs snooping on their friend’s clients. I guess some other part of Tiff had rubbed off.
I seemed to be sabotaging my own goal of being the first person in my family to go straight. Tiff would have plenty to say about that. If she were still in contact.
My Spidey Sense warned me that something was wrong. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on what was going on. Randolph hadn’t seemed unhappy and wasn’t entirely under their control. Could it be some sort of Stockholm syndrome? Or was he maybe just going in and out of senility, unable to recognize his abusers, so he treats them well, because he’s a gentleman. It all felt wrong and it was making me even more anxious about my task for Vera. I needed to get those books to keep my job and home. Would I be able to with Mason standing guard?
Karen said nothing for the rest of the way. I knew she was troubled too. This time she let me help her.
“We’ll get through it,” I promised her.
“Alive, I hope,” she said.
• • •
AS I CRUISED down the long Van Alst driveway toward the back entrance, a sad figure caught my attention. I’d recognize him under any circumstances, even drenched. It was our letter carrier, Eddie, who had carried an unwavering torch for Vera since they were young. He was raking up piles of wet leaves. I paused and rolled down my window. “Eddie?”
“Jordan!” He waved, and then looked down at his slippery pile. Pointing at the amber glow in the window, he said, “She hates the leaves.”
“Do you want me to get you a proper raincoat?”
“It’s too late for that, but I’m almost finished. Thanks.”
I left Eddie toiling in the downpour. I had to hand it to Vera; she sure knew how to keep a guy interested and desperate. He didn’t even work for her and he was probably delighted to have been summoned to toil for Her Highness.
I did work for her, but on this particular day, I preferred to dodge her and her instructions.
My garret was deliciously warm. The signora had left me a gift of hot lemon “tea.” It was mostly rum and honey, but if that was what Italians wanted to call tea, who was I to argue? I still hadn’t figured out how she knew exactly when I would be home, but the “tea” was piping hot and had a good three fingers of rum in it. I gulped it down even before I ditched my sodden clothes.
Good Cat rolled on my bed playfully. Purrs and chirps filled the quiet room. “I have to freshen up for dinner. No time for cuddles.” I headed to the claw-foot tub. The clothes I had borrowed from Karen splatted in a wet heap on the floor. Cradled in the tub with the luxurious lavender suds, and a second cup of “tea,” I let my mind go.
A few thoughts bubbled to the surface. First, it was nagging at me that we’d run into Tyler Dekker on our first visit to Burton. What was he doing there? Was Tyler also following a hunch about something in Burton? What were the chances that those two things were the same? Why had he pulled us over even though he was out of his jurisdiction? And he said he liked the wig. I hoped he was flirting with me and wasn’t going to turn into some sort of horrible pervert with a bad hairpiece fetish.
I let the lavender bubbles slowly wash away Officer Smiley’s image. There were other things bothering me. That Mason kid. He had really spooked us. I’d seen confidence and calm beyond his years. That urged me to believe his threats.
“Teenagers can be right little psychos,” Mick had exclaimed watching the news one night, about two weeks earlier. Maybe this was one of those times. Was Mason a psycho? If so, what did that mean for Randolph or for us if we went back?
Perhaps it was the rum in the “tea” that caused me to doze off in the tub. There was Lance in the moonlight, doing his Lord Peter impersonation. I loved the character for who he was, but also for his unrelenting romantic pursuit of Harriet Vane, no matter what. As the dream drifted, I found myself dressed as Vane and Lance as Wimsey ready for a fancy-dress Halloween ball, not that anyone in Harrison Falls but Vera would know who they were. Still, we looked very glam, me in a drapey velvet gown and Lance with a monocle. And just as we were about to touch lips, my eyes popped open.
“Kevin.” I sat upright sloshing water and “tea” onto the floor. My most aggravating and talkative uncle was alone with a cell phone and no one to chat with. Yet, I had not even had a text.
Unnerving.
No time for worrying though. I was going to be late for dinner.
Chapter Six
DINNER HOUR WAS eight p.m. at the Van Alst residence. Early on, I had learned not to be late and to give the signora plenty of notice if I was not going to be there. Vera insisted on it, and I had a theory that was so she didn’t end up having all that food thrust at her. I am a dinner diversion of a different kind.
I hustled downstairs and raced along the endless corridors, hoping to make it before I turned into a pumpkin. I’d barely had time to work my wet hair into a French twist and slip into the full-skirted, three-quarter-sleeved vintage royal blue wool dress with a belt and a peplum waist. I’d laid it out before I left for our Adams misadventure. Except for my elegant black leather dress boots and traces of Siamese hairs, it was all very Christian Dior “New Look.” I can’t believe the treasures that people donate to church bazaars. The wool dress was warm too, something to be treasured in my new home, as Vera was stunningly cheap with the heat. I’d have been grateful if someone set my socks on fire, as I still needed to shake the chill of our wet afternoon. My mother’s lapis earrings and her cocktail ring could dress up a paper bag, but with this dress, they looked divine. I’d run out of time for makeup, but in my little satin clutch I kept an emergency tube of Dior red. Not that it mattered, as Vera couldn’t have cared less what I looked like, as long as I was dressed for dinner, arrived on time and had some information on the missing Sayers books.
She glanced at her watch as I waltzed into the dining room. I slid into my regular chair at the opposite end of the Sheraton table from Vera and smiled, showing off my Dior smile, a bargain at our local discount store, BTW. I was still close enough to see that Vera had found yet another gruel-colored sweater, this one missing two buttons but only one elbow. Where did she get her wardrobe? Most respectable charity shops or church bazaar volunteers would toss those items into the trash as soon as they spotted them. However, this was a mystery for another time, as I had more than enough on my mind between Fort Adams and getting my mitts on the Sayers collection.
Before Vera could grill me on the missing books, the signora arrived with her giant tray containing a tureen of my favorite soup, homemade chicken broth with lovely little pasta stars, and a large bowl of what looked like freshly grated Parmesan. She ladled the soup into my Crown Derby soup bowl and said, “Cheese? Yes? Yes, yes, cheese.”
“That’s fine thanks, Signora,” I said as the fragrant Parmesan cheese kept coming. From the sideboard, one of the Siamese gave me an evil look. Bad Cat.
Identical to Good Cat, except in temperament and behavior. I met its eye, curled my lip and pointed at my boots.
“Cheese,” the signora insisted, not liking my diversion.
“Stop now, Fiammetta, for heaven’s sake. Listen to what people are telling you,” Vera bellowed.
That stopped the cheese talk but sent the signora scuttling with the tray to Vera’s end of the table.
“Soup, Vera. Very good for you. Eat!”
Vera looked at her soup with a total lack of interest. As usual she’d probably have three tablespoons while I would probably have three bowls. At least that would be the signora’s plan. There’d be no point in fighting. Luckily, I think that hot homemade soup is the perfect fall food and the best way to get over getting drenched and disappointed. And it’s a terrific warm-up for the main course. The sound of rain slashing against the windows and the shriek of the wind couldn’t dim the magic of the signora’s soup.
“So,” Vera said, “when will my Sayers collection be coming back?”
The moment of truth. Of course, for one raised in the Kelly tradition, the truth does not come easily. I could always bluff. However, Vera had a sixth sense about that kind of thing. I gazed around the dining room before I spoke. If I got fired, I’d miss this amazing room where Vera’s grandfather Van Alst entertained captains of industry, governors and the upper crust of the region. Lord Peter Wimsey would have felt at home in this room, I was sure of that. I would particularly miss the Sheraton table and chairs and the silver candelabra on the priceless carved–black walnut sideboard with the dragon’s head knobs. It seemed to me there was a bit less silver sitting on it than there had been. Disappearing valuables were part of life in Van Alst House. Vera had to keep going somehow, and there was no way she’d part with her rare book collection. Better to auction off the candlesticks great-grandfather Van Alst gave his bride than mess with the books. But of course, the books had been messed with. That was the point.
“In my lifetime, Miss Bingham.” She loved saying that.
“Sorry.”
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