“Cynthia Wu. Yes, she could definitely identify her.”
Lupe kept shaking her head. “Sorry, kids, I know how much you want it another way, but you’re never going to see that woman again to prove who she really is.
He sighed. “Or Jamie, for that matter.”
18: Impregnable
She was mopping the kitchen floor when he came downstairs, an inviolate sign she was upset. Doreen hated housework, considered it a God-given right to avoid it if at all possible. The gleaming stove, fridge, cupboards and now floor could only mean she was bargaining with God. She’d keep house if He’d give back the boy.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Not enough to notice.” She didn’t look at him.
“Can I walk across this to get my coffee?”
“Yes, you may.”
He poured then watched her. She was haggard, stretched thin, dangerously so, but almost done. He went to her, took the mop away. “Always wanted to be married to a charwoman.” She couldn’t even smile at that. He pretended to inspect the kitchen. “God’s gotten the message, I’m sure. Now we have to help Him by helping ourselves. We’ll get Jamie back, but not if you’re a basket case.”
Her green eyes filled and her voice broke. “Aren’t you…the wise one.”
“That’s why I get the big bucks.” He turned her toward a stool. “You sit, I’ll scramble, and we’ll plot strategy.”
She sat, truly trying to pull herself together, but she was not wholly successful. “What do we do…first?”
Good Girl! “First, I take a few days off from Care Wheels to work on this full time.”
“Then?”
“I talk to Judge Shepherd about what we can do legally.”
“Don’t bother. Lupe’s right. We don’t have a prayer against Kinkaid’s money and Dragon’s clout.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I have an idea.”
It wasn’t bad, nor the next one or the one after that. Doreen was soon her old quicksilver self. Thank you, God. As much as she wanted the boy back, he wanted this woman more.
“It strikes me, my red-haired darling, the chances of pulling this off are a bit like taking a swim without getting wet.”
”What else are we gonna do?”
He nodded. “I think it’s time you met Josh Kinkaid.”
“Can we trust him?”
“To quote someone I’m close to-”
“What else are we gonna do? One of my pithier remarks.”
“I simply adore pithy women.”
Byerly considered the El Paseo one of Santa Barbara’s treasures, a delightful maze of shops and restaurants off State Street, graced by fountains and flowers. It contained the authentic Street of Spain and the El Paseo Restaurant, where Josh and Addie were already seated when they arrived for lunch. Parcels surrounded Addie’s chair. She’d been shopping, obviously at Paseo Nuevo, a big, brassy mall across the way.
Now she arose. “I’m thrilled to meet you, Mrs. Byerly.”
“DeeDee, please.”
“I can’t thank your husband enough for all he did for me.”
“If you say any more I won’t be able get my head through the front door.” He shook her hand. “From the look of all those purchases you must have found an apartment.”
“Better yet, a house,” Josh said. “Why waste money on all that rent. This way Mums has a nest, and I have a place to come home to.”
“It’s just a small house on the Mesa, three bedrooms, but a grand view. Listed for $1.2 mil and they wouldn’t come down, if you can believe that.
Doreen pretended to be shocked, but he knew she wasn’t. “Maybe we should put our house on the market, dear, cash in on such foolishness.”
“We couldn’t afford to live here, then.”
Yakking about houses and furnishing them went on for some time, through drinks and ordering. Finally he steered the conversation to what they’d come for. “Josh, I need your help, at least some information. The other day a little boy was dropped into our laps.”
Doreen told the story. He added some details, mostly about losing Jamie last night.
“We have reason to believe both Jamie and his mother-her name is Amanda Sykes-are being held at the Kinkaid castle…"
“But why?” Addie asked.
He grimaced. “Mandy Sykes is the only one who can tell us for sure, and we can hardly ask her until-”
“They’d be in the tower,” Josh said, “and that place is-”
“Impregnable, you told me. Are there any windows?”
“At the top, facing the front.”
“Could someone scale the walls and drop down to-”
“Bars, Mr. Byerly, it won’t work. Strangely there’s no glass in the windows. I guess birds fly in regularly. When I was young I used to lob rocks inside, listen to them rattle around. Only I was caught and threatened with permanent banishment.”
“Why do they keep it locked?” Doreen asked.
“Secrets and locks are a way of life for some people. Granddad’s study was kept locked, although he let me in once.” He laughed. “All it needed was a few suits of armor-or maybe a roundtable for King Arthur.”
“We need to get into that castle, Josh. How about breaking in at night?”
“Tough. You’re talking walls, gates, sensors, cameras, three armed goons and a German Shepherd who’s pals with a Doberman.”
“We were thinking maybe we could get in posing as servants,” Doreen said. “They have servants, don’t they?”
“Not as many as you might think. Let’s see.” He actually counted on his fingers. “There’s a cook, Carmen, and her helper, Maria. You know her. Then there’s one maid, been with step-granny dearest a long time, and a housekeeper.” He thought a moment. “There used to be a butler, Jeeves, I think, no Jerome. Joy got rid of him and brought in this battleaxe, Hildegard Uberreich.” Josh laughed. “If you ever watch old movies, she’s Mrs. Danvers, only not as good-looking as Judith Anderson who played her in Rebecca.”
“Four women run the place?” Doreen asked.
“There’s the musclemen who act as chauffeurs and such, but they aren’t really servants. Oh yes, there’s a gardener.”
Doreen shook her head. “I still find it hard to imagine-”
“Oh, there’s lots of other help, day labor and per diems. I thought you wanted to know the live-in help.”
“Day labor? It might work. Who hires that?” She made a face. “Tell me it’s not the housekeeper.”
“It might be.” He shook his head. “No, I doubt it. Hilde isn’t from around here. She doesn’t know people.”
Addie said, “She probably calls an agency and tells them how many people she needs that particular day-or the next day, or by the week.”
Doreen beamed. “I ought to be able to find out what agency serves the Kinkaid castle.”
“Even if you could get hired on as day help, won’t they recognize you?”
I don’t think they’ve seen me up close.” She patted Addie’s hand. “In my checkered youth, I dabbled in amateur theatricals. Played a French maid in some outrageous farce once. I suspect with a proper wig and uniform I could give an encore performance.”
19: At The Gym
He held his tongue until they were in the car, then said, “You may want to play dress up, Doreen, but this is no college farce. Believe me, Dirk the Ninja is no French fop. He hurts people.”
“I know that, dear, but what else can we do?”
“We can go home to Monarch Lane and resume our nice, dull, boring and safe retirement.”
She made a face. “I thought we settled that. Jamie and Amanda need us. We can’t let them down.”
“Very well, but you just said the magic word, we. You’re not setting foot inside that place without me.” Again she made a face. “I mean it, Doreen.”
“Is this called putting your foot down? If so I don’t think I like it very much.”
“It’s called being a tea
m, doing things together.”
She patted his cheek. “That sounds a lot better.” He stopped at the curb in front of her shop. “What are you going to do now?”
“Go home and try to come up with a plan so neither of us has to play domestics. It’s called appealing to better natures.”
“Always works with me.”
He dialed, got the machine, said, “Hi, machine, how are you today? This is Walt Byerly. Remember me? I’d appreciate it if you’d have Sid phone me as soon as he comes in. Thanks, you’re a good fellow, machine.” He’d always wanted to do that.
While he waited he forced himself to sit and read. It wouldn’t make the phone ring, but it would pass the time. On the front page of the LA Times he read: “THE METEORIC RISE OF JUSTIN WRIGHT.” Meteors fall don’t they? The sub-head read: “From Political Obscurity to White House Front Runner, Thanks to Well-endowed and Well-placed Backers.” One of them was well-endowed anyway. He read the names. A regular Who’s Who in right-wing politics, among them Karl Kinkaid and, surprise, surprise, Columnist Joy Fielding.
The phone rang and he heard Sid Rankin’s gravelly voice. “Two calls in the same week, perfesser, I may charge you a fee.”
“Think of all I’ve done for you.”
“My mind’s a blank. What’s on yours?”
”Justin Wright.”
“You’ve fixated on him.”
“Maybe with good reason. How do I go about talking to him?”
“Call him up, I’ll give you the number. You can talk to his machine, just as you did mine. Or, I’ll give you another number where you can learn his views on anything from the Supreme Court to harbor seals-he’s for killing both, only one for furs. Still another number will earn you a personal appeal for funds.”
“I want to talk to him privately and confidentially.”
“What about?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I think you’re going to have to.”
“If everyone knows about it, Sid, there’s no point in discussing it with him.”
“Has this anything to do with a certain rumor I told you about?”
The man was sharp all right. “Why would you think that?”
“Answer a question with a question?” He laughed. “Okay, perfesser, you win. You don’t have to tell me, but you’re going to have to tell someone. The great man’s calls are screened. You’re going to have to provide a good reason for speaking to him, otherwise you’re just some goof-off college professor bugging him with oddball ideas. And Wright isn’t counting too heavily on the vote of academe.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed. “If I say what I want to talk to Wright about, how many people will have to know it?”
He said nothing for a moment. “It’s a crapshoot no matter what, but I may be able to whisper in the shell-like ear of someone hopefully close to the great man, who will possibly deliver the right message and-”
“I get the idea, Sid. Whatever I do, chances are it’ll be on the evening news.”
“A lot depends on the initial message. If Wright doesn’t want it known-”
“I hardly think he will.” He paused. “How about you, Sid? How many people do you tell?”
“You wound me, perfesser. Confidences are my life.”
“This is heavy stuff, Sid, lives may be at stake.”
His voice changed, lost its insouciance. “Okay, Walt, I’m impressed. What’s your message for Wright?”
He thought a moment. Say as little as possible, but pique his interest. “Okay, here it is. I can only hope for the best. Say, ’I know where Amanda Sykes is, but I’ll only talk to Wright personally and confidentially.’ Got that, Sid? Don’t write it down and above all don’t ask me any questions. Bye and thanks. I owe you.”
“Do you provide domestic help for the Kinkaid estate?”
“Yes, we do.”
Only her third call. How fortunate. DeeDee glanced at her list, Elite Placements, run by Anita Hockhousen. She’d never heard of Anita Hockhousen, and she’d so hoped to deal with someone she knew. “Is Anita in her office?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Never mind, I’ll drop around.”
The office was on State Street below Mission. She arrived bearing a bouquet of flowers.
“These are beautiful, DeeDee, but why on earth?”
She was mid-50s, a full-sized woman, but well presented in an ivory-colored suit, her brown hair nicely coiffed. There was a bit of the Hillary Clinton in her. She’d need diplomacy in dealing with both the upstairs and downstairs folk. “I need a favor.” DeeDee smiled. “And I thought flowers might-”
“You’re right about that. Let me find a vase and we’ll talk.” One was produced. “You don’t remember, DeeDee, but we met once, at Bonnie James’ garden party last year.”
“I knew you looked familiar, how could I forget?” She smiled. “I keep having more and more of these senior moments.”
“Middle-aged moments, you mean.” She deposited the arranged vase on a table behind her. “Now what’s the favor?”
“You provide servants for the Kinkaids, don’t you?”
“One of my better accounts.”
“May I ask how many and what types?”
“It varies. If no one is in residence, I send hardly anyone. Right now, with Miss Fielding there, it’s as many as six or eight, mostly kitchen help, maid, cleaning women. On laundry days it may be two or three more. Then there are the outside people, gardeners and such. That, too, varies but usually two or three. Why do you want to know?”
“I want to be hired on.”
“You? Why on earth would you?”
She screwed up her face. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. “I need to get into the house.”
“Then visit. Take her some flowers. It worked with me.”
“I need the run of the place, Anita. I need-” She grimaced. “I need to check on something…look around without…anyone knowing.
“Why would you want to do that, DeeDee?”
She sighed. “Do I have to answer?”
“If you want my help. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk losing a valuable customer.”
She nodded, inhaled, blurted, “I think people are being held in the castle against their will.”
“In the tower?”
Dee-Dee gasped. “You know?”
“Heaven’s no.” Anita laughed. “My girls talk about it, how mysterious it is, how they can’t go up there.” Again she laughed. “We’ve all read gothic novels and have imaginations.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
Anita Hockhousen arose, walked away from her desk to look out a window. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?”
“I think I do, yes.” Her voice was small.
“I could be risking, not only money, but my reputation.”
“I’m sorry, Anita.” She could think of nothing else to say. Anita was only right. This was too big a favor.
Suddenly the woman laughed. “Somebody told me once how hard you are to refuse.” She turned back to DeeDee. “What the hell! Everyone loves a mystery.”
“Thank you, Anita. It will only be for a day or two.”
“There’s still a problem, DeeDee. All my girls are regulars, been with me a long time. They need the money. I can’t just-”
“I’ll pay twice what you do, no, make it $1,000, if someone gets sick for a week.”
Anita Hockhousen stared at her. “You really are serious, aren’t you?” She thought a moment. “I’m sure Susan would love the money and time off. She’s a maid, does light housekeeping, serves meals, drinks, that sort of thing.”
“She has the run of the house?”
”I assume she goes most anywhere, but-”
“When do I start?”
“Whoa, DeeDee. You’ll never pull it off. Too many people know you. The last thing you look like is a downstairs maid.”
“You’d be surprised how I can change
my appearance. As for people recognizing me, who expects to find DeeDee Byerly in a maid’s uniform serving cocktails?”
“You may have a point.” She sighed. “Very well, but if Hildegard, the housekeeper, calls up and wants you replaced, there’s nothing I can do about it and you’re out your money.”
She waved that aside. “When do I start?”
“Tomorrow if you wish.”
“Too soon, I’m not ready.” She remembered Walt’s operation. Maybe she’d never be ready. “The day after. Where do I go?”
“I’ll give you a uniform. You meet here at 7 a.m., we drive you and the others out there.”
She hugged her. “Thank you, thank you, you’ve made my day.”
“I still have my doubts.”
“If anything goes wrong, it won’t come back to you.” She started for the door, then turned back. “Oh Lord, I almost forgot. Walter, that’s my husband, won’t let me go without him. Could you-”
“How is he at mowing, weeding, general handyman stuff?”
“He does that before breakfast.”
“I’ll give you overalls and an ID.”
“You’d better give us phony names. And thanks again for everything.”
“Personally I think you’ll both be sorry, but if you find any bodies in the tower let me know.”
Lupe entered Olympic Fitness on West Carrillo Street, second floor, and approached the attendant at the counter. It was the fifth gym on her list. “Does this man work out here?” She showed a photo of Harry Gould.
“Who wants to know?”
The blonde’s spandex was expanded and not just by muscles. Lupe worked out regularly and thought she was in good shape, but she did not look like this woman. The plastic man produced a body like hers. “I’m Detective Hernandez, Santa Barbara police.” She showed her gold shield. “Did you know Harry Gould?”
“He’s the guy what killed hisself, ain’t he?”
Grammar was not required with mammarian displays. “Yes.”
“Too bad, Harry was a good guy.”
“Then you knew him.”
“Sure, but him and me didn’t work out together or nothin’.” She stood on tiptoes, itself awesome, and looked around. “See that girl over there on the treadmill? She and Harry-well, I see them together often. Her name’s Kay Shelley.”
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