The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery)

by Abbott, Victoria

  That smile wasn’t easy to produce or sustain, given this latest news. Dekker wasn’t in and he wasn’t at home. The icy feeling of the cold mud the previous night was nothing compared to the way I felt now. Was he really sick? If so, where was he? Not home for sure. Waiting somewhere? In an emergency room?

  My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Was Tyler dead? Had the blow from Uncle Kev killed him before he got home? I had to get more information. I really couldn’t let the desk sergeant in on it.

  And there was only one place to get it.

  I headed out to the Saab to make the trip to Burton.

  • • •

  LINCOLN WAY WAS a hive of activity. Police vehicles, news vans, you name it. I had to park three blocks away.

  As I walked back toward the Adams place, I stared at everything with surprise and interest. I’d been practicing that look, as I didn’t want the sick feeling to show on my face. I didn’t want anyone else to know what I feared.

  I headed straight for Harry Yerxa’s place.

  No answer.

  Wasn’t anyone home today?

  In Harry’s case it seemed very odd, as he was such an inquisitive person. How could he resist the drama on his own street? Perhaps he was just out annoying the police. It would be just like him. As much as I would have enjoyed watching that, I didn’t want to come nose-to-nose with any investigators.

  I walked down his walkway and up to the front door of the Adamses. No sign of the Audi. It could have been parked in the garage or it could have departed. No way to know.

  Of course, I never expected anyone to answer, but I had to knock. I issued a little wave to the cameras and gave the front door a good bang. I almost toppled over when it swung inward.

  “Hello,” I called. “Randolph?” I didn’t really believe that Delilah and Mason would have left Randolph on his own, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. I glanced around. The cameras were on, trained on a middle-aged woman who kept shaking her head and trying to escape back to her house. Harry Yerxa was missing out on his fifteen minutes of fame. No one seemed to be watching me. I could almost hear those Sayers books. Lord Peter whispered in my ear, “It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission, my dear.” Well, he might have if he’d been real. It’s actually easier to get arrested, whispered the voice of reason.

  “Hello?”

  I stepped inside and glanced around.

  What had happened here? The Adamses’ neat living room was a scene of chaos: a chair tipped over, dishes abandoned and books lying on the floor. The boxes that had been piled by the door were gone. The books from the built-in bookcases were also gone, and the wine racks in the dining room were half empty. I could understand moving out and taking valuables. But why was there such a mess? Had Randolph decided to fight back? Would that explain it?

  “Randolph?”

  I stood at the foot of the stairs and glanced up. No movement. Not a sound. I didn’t think there was much chance that either Mason or Delilah would have let me get this far if they were on the premises. On the other hand, I had no legal reason to be in that house. As a rule, this is not enough to stop anyone in my extended family, but I was trying for a different lifestyle. But on the other other hand, if the Sayers volumes were there, then I could simply pick them up and . . . what? I was already inside. I could always say that Randolph had agreed to trade for the Hemingway and then I could come back with that. No. I shook my head. This intriguing idea wasn’t consistent with my plan to lead an exemplary life and work toward my PhD. It was consistent with my plan to keep my current job, which was intended to rebuild my bank balance and let me resume my normal life.

  I was quite paralyzed by the pending decision.

  I heard a noise behind me and whirled. A police officer, a female this time, was lumbering around the side of the house and up the stairs. I rushed out to meet her. “Officer, would you be able to help me with something? I am looking for Randolph Adams, an elderly man who lives here. I’m a friend. He isn’t usually left alone in the house, but he should be here now.” Okay, so I wasn’t completely truthful. “The door was left open. Open, not just unlocked. I’d like to check, but, you know, that would be trespassing. I am sure you understand my problem. I’m very worried. I heard on the news they found a man murdered in the neighborhood, and there is no answer on the phone. What if it was Randolph?” My voice was shaking and I didn’t even have to fake it. I did play up my distress. It hadn’t occurred to me until this moment that the body could be Randolph’s. I’d been too worried about Uncle Kev and Tyler Dekker.

  The officer was burly and tough looking, and that Kevlar vest wasn’t doing her any favors. She had badly overbleached hair in a long ponytail and fierce black eyebrows that looked like they’d been shaped by a pro. One tough cookie, chewing gum. So I was relieved when she smiled kindly at me. She had a gap between her front teeth. It added to the smile.

  I blurted out, “You have to go inside! What if he’s fallen and can’t get up? I don’t think he has one of those security buttons!”

  She snapped her gum. “We’re dealing with a crime scene outside. I don’t—”

  “You’re right. It’s more likely he’s the murdered man over there.” I pointed toward the rear of the house. To tell the truth I wasn’t faking the tears stinging my eyes. How did I suddenly have three missing men on my hands?

  “How old is he?” The officer pushed the door open a little farther with the edge of her notebook. There was no expression on her face, but I could see her start to take interest.

  “Randolph? He must be in his seventies.”

  “Then I can tell you he’s not the man whose body was found.”

  Her smile returned. I felt a mix of relief and panic.

  “Guy was younger,” she confided. “Twenties or thirties. Early forties tops. I shouldn’t be saying anything.”

  I gulped. Chances were that body was either Tyler’s or Uncle Kev’s. That was enough to make me sick.

  She nodded. “It can’t hurt to check on this guy.” She proceeded to the foot of the stairs. “Sir?” she called out.

  “Mr. Adams,” I offered. “Randolph.”

  “Mr. Adams, are you up there?”

  Nothing.

  “Randolph?” she tried. I followed her up the lovely wooden stairs to the second floor. She peeked in each of the bedrooms. I followed her. Not surprising. The chairlift had been on the bottom of the stairs. Now no Randolph. No anyone.

  Even though I didn’t think he was in the house, I said, “Should we check the bathrooms? I think sometimes older people . . . fall.”

  Three bedrooms and two bathrooms later, no Randolph.

  “I guess I was worried for nothing,” I said. “No one here.”

  “Looks like they went on a trip,” she said, glancing around. The entire second floor was in chaos, clothes tossed and discarded, more books tumbled, drawers opened. The beds were unmade and towels lay on the floor. Somehow this didn’t mesh with my idea of Delilah, pale and elegant.

  “Maybe.”

  She looked at me sharply. She was after all a cop. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I tried to do some business with Randolph, but his daughter and grandson kept running interference. I thought perhaps there was some kind of elder abuse, fraud.”

  “Do you have any evidence?”

  “No. Just a strong feeling.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “Books.”

  “Books?”

  “Yes. He was a collector and I am working with a dealer. He was interested in a Hemingway first edition, but his family has been making it difficult to see him. It felt to me like he was being controlled by them.” I didn’t mention the Sayers, or Vera, or even Karen’s name. Just being cautious. I had begun to realize that I was unwise to be in this house at all. Something wasn’t right. It really had nothing to do with me, and yet there I was sticking my nose in and attracting the attention of the cops.
I could just imagine Uncle Mick’s reaction.

  “Well, if they were supporting him and they didn’t want him wasting his money on books . . .” The cop shrugged.

  I must have looked horrified, because she quickly added. “I’m just saying, that’s how they might have been looking at it. I mean, I like books as much as the next person.”

  Before heading out, we both looked around again. She was keeping an eye out for something to indicate there’d been a crime, and I was searching for the Sayers books, while trying to give the impression I wasn’t looking for anything. That was quite a challenge when I spotted some of the titles. I stared. Sure enough there was Murder Must Advertise lying on the floor in front of a low built-in bookshelf under the window in the central hallway. A window! Vera would have a fit if she thought they’d been exposed that way. All it would take was one absentminded moment, a window left open, a sudden rainstorm. It occurred to me that I had spent way too much time around Vera. On the shelf lay Gaudy Night and Five Red Herrings. Partway across the room The Nine Tailors lay open, spine up. I shuddered. I glanced around and located Busman’s Honeymoon, Unnatural Death and Whose Body?

  By the time I found Strong Poison, I was breathing heavily. I barely managed to keep myself from reaching out and scooping them up, holding the volumes close to my chest and racing off, cackling maniacally.

  The cop was regarding me strangely. “All good there, miss? Don’t worry. We’ll ask around about your friend. I’m sure he’s fine. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if they left because it’s pretty scary having a murder in your backyard.”

  “I guess so.” It didn’t account for the state of the house.

  “You’ll see.” She gave me a pat on the arm. She was being very sweet for a police officer, considering all officers were sworn enemies of Kellys and Binghams. But then she didn’t know who I was.

  “Thank you, Officer.”

  “Candy,” she said with a surprising twinkle in her eye. “Candy Mortakis. And don’t you worry. We don’t want anything happening to a fragile old man. I’ll keep an eye on the house too. Personally.”

  “Oh, I am probably just overreacting, um, Candy, but thanks. That’s very helpful.”

  Great, now I had arranged for a cop to be watching the house I probably needed to break into.

  What was this about? First, I was tripping over Officer Tyler “Smiley” Dekker and now this woman. What was I? Some kind of cop magnet? I had merely wanted to take advantage of her official presence, not become her new BFF. Get me out of here! I screamed, but inwardly of course.

  She said, “I see there are stairs up to the third floor. It doesn’t look like it’s finished space up there, but I suppose I should check that out. We find a lot of stuff in attics.”

  I watched her wide, square rear ascend and veer out of sight. I felt confident that Randolph wasn’t up there, at least not if he was still breathing. I had trouble imagining how he could get to the second floor without the chair lift, never mind the third floor.

  I waited. I fought the urge. Unsuccessfully. Then before she could descend, shaking spider webs from her cop’s hat, I did the deed. I grabbed every Sayers book I could spot and dropped them into my deep-orange bag. Luckily, it was not only deep orange, but also deep. I draped my fitted denim blazer over it. It was a crazy thing to do, and I have never lifted anything, not from a shop, nothing. My form of rebellion was going straight, and yet here I was, giving myself the five-finger discount, swiping books. I couldn’t believe myself.

  But the one thing I was sure of was that this Adams house was in some way a crime scene. It was just a matter of time until the cops figured that out and wrapped it in crime-scene tape. Just a matter of time until the books and everything in the house was evidence. Of what, I didn’t know. That collection would disappear forever. I figured I would make it up somehow. If Delilah and Mason came back and saw the books missing, they’d know it was me or Karen right away. But I knew they weren’t coming back. Even if the interior hadn’t been plundered, it was obvious. The house was empty. Soulless.

  “Nothing up there,” Officer Candy said, clumping down the stairs and, as expected, brushing spider webs from her cap.

  I hoped she hadn’t noticed my guilty start at the first clump.

  “You’re jumpy,” she said with a cheerful gappy grin.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I keep thinking of Randolph. But he’s obviously not here. I wonder when they’ll be back.” Of course, I knew in my bones he wasn’t coming back. Just didn’t know why.

  She gave the place a speculative glance. The kind that made me think she might make detective one of these days. “You might be right to worry. Something tells me they won’t be back.”

  “That’s what I think,” I said, trying not to tilt over with the weight of the books in my bag. “But I don’t know why.”

  “Well, I’ve seen a number of sites where people left town with no forwarding for very compelling if not valid reasons. They all look a bit like this. Clothes strewn, papers all around, safe’s empty.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Safe’s empty,” she said, happily.

  “What safe? I didn’t see one.”

  “Over here.” I followed her into what must have been the master bedroom, with lovely sheets strewn around and drawers pulled out. In the walk-in closet was an open wall safe. I had been too busy coveting the Sayers stash to see that the first trip around.

  “First of all,” she said, “who has a wall safe?”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly. Do you?”

  “Me? No, of course not. What would I keep in it?”

  She shrugged. “That’s my point. Most people don’t have one because they don’t have the right stuff to put in it. Do you even know anybody with a wall safe?”

  I shook my head.

  Not strictly true, of course. Wall safes were only some of the hiding places my uncles had, although they’d never be so obvious as to hide one in a bedroom closet. Vera too had a couple of wall safes, one hidden behind the portrait of her most hideous ancestor and one behind the mirror in an upstairs bathroom.

  She said, “But these people did. Why is that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “It will be something, for sure.”

  Hard to argue with that.

  “Right. Something for sure. Important documents maybe?”

  “Like what?”

  “Wills. Powers of attorney. Deeds. I don’t know. A treasure map?” I grinned foolishly.

  She chuckled. “We’ll clear this up.”

  “I suppose. I just hope that Randolph is all right. His family was acting so weird when my friend and I came by. I think they realized we could see they were taking advantage of an old man. And the younger guy was downright aggressive.”

  “Hmmm, could be.”

  “What if that’s what made them pack up and go in such a hurry? Dragging poor Randolph with them. Maybe that caused them to bolt.”

  She gave me a kind but pitying look. “I doubt that you and your friend with your raised eyebrows were enough to set them running.”

  “They were edgy, very edgy.”

  “Apparently. But was anything said? I’m still betting you weren’t the cause.”

  If not, what had been, I wondered. My gut told me that their departure was connected to our visit, but I still wasn’t sure why.

  “I’d better get back,” she said. “I’ll call this in and see what they make of it at the station. Guess I’d better get your name and coordinates.”

  Oh boy.

  I made the split-second decision to give a police officer my real name, the address of the Van Alst House and my iPhone number. This was not the smartest thing I’ve ever done and it certainly was one of the most unsettling. Still, I figured an inside track on what was going on in Burton was worth a bit of discomfort.

  “I’ll call you,” she said as we made our way out the door. She was grinning. I was not.

  “Great,”
I said with a sinking heart.

  • • •

  THE LOCAL RADIO station was playing up the murder with energy and pizzazz: “The Body in the Mud,” “The Man No One Knew” and “Murderville.”

  No name had been released. No age. No details.

  I turned off my car radio.

  Officer Chatty Candy had told me that it was a man in his twenties, thirties or early forties. That could easily have been Uncle Kev or Tyler Dekker. I needed to find out.

  I drove off, conscious of the guilt from the load of Sayers books in my bag. Two blocks away, when I figured no cops were coming after me, I pulled over and sat in the Saab, my hands shaking, and fretted over all I didn’t know and what I had just done.

  Something was nagging at me. If Tyler Dekker was dead, he could hardly have called in sick that morning. Unless, someone had killed him and knew enough about him to call the station pretending to be him. Uncle Kev didn’t know enough about Tyler to do that. Anyway, that was just too convoluted. No, Officer Smiley wasn’t dead. Therefore, Uncle Kev hadn’t killed him. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The relief didn’t last long. Tyler Dekker had been up to something underhanded and more than just playing hooky from work. He didn’t work for the Burton force, so he could hardly have been undercover there. Whatever it was, it wasn’t on the up-and-up.

  So then I had to ask myself, if Uncle Kev hadn’t killed Officer Smiley, had it been the other way around?

  Chapter Nine

  THE MAJOR MEDICAL facility in our area is Grandville General Hospital. Any trauma, that’s where they take you. It was a few minutes out of my way, but I needed to check.

  At the information desk, I asked for Tyler Dekker, possibly admitted suffering a concussion last night or today.

  The attendant checked and shook her head. “No one here by that name.”

  Of course, I wasn’t relieved. What if he was unconscious? What if he had no identification on him? What if he wasn’t there but was somewhere else, unconscious and alone?