“Any driver worth his salt could drive a train,” Father Vincent said. He joined them at the table. Today, at Ruby’s suggestion, he wore a Utilikilt. A definite step up from Gilda’s old hostessing skirt, and he could store his tools in his pocket.
“Not so fast,” Bobby said. “This here driver got on the wrong track and is rolling head-first into another locomotive.”
While the men argued and Scotty finished his bagel, Ruby stole a glance at her phone. No message yet. She was sure she’d slipped the packet into Eleanor Millhouse’s briefcase. Positive. If she opened it at all, she had to have seen it. The fact that she hadn’t responded could mean a number of things. Maybe she didn’t care if they took out a billboard with her leering husband, holding a cocktail, reaching a hand toward Deb’s cleavage. Maybe the firehouse meant more to her than her reputation.
Or, maybe she was on to them.
Or maybe Eleanor Millhouse was simply someone who didn’t make rash moves. She had to think it over. And then she’d respond. It was a few more hours until five o’clock.
There was nothing to do but wait.
* * *
Across the Villa’s cafeteria, Deborah checked her phone, too. Louie had been so attentive lately. After she busted the grandfather clock, he’d yanked his pillow under his arm and stomped to the guest room. He’d kept up the silent treatment through a good part of the next day.
But since yesterday evening, he’d been sending her loving texts. In person he was a little more stand-offish—at breakfast, for instance, when he barely made eye contact. Then she got his text telling her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. She didn’t even know when he’d had time to send it. Probably when she had her back turned to butter his waffle. But later, when she got dressed, she saw it and couldn’t help running to the den to give him a hug.
Louie. He pretended to be shy, but his heart was pure gold. Maybe he wanted babies after all.
* * *
Claudine glanced at her phone, too, but it didn’t have to do with Eleanor Millhouse or Louie. The Cabrini heist was scheduled to take place in exactly one week. Then last night she’d received an urgent email from their man on the ground in San Francisco saying that someone had just been nabbed for trying to steal the Cabrini jewels.
Her first thought had been that Oswald had double-crossed her. He’d been amazingly reliable, but she had to keep on her guard. She was soon set right.
“Not a pro,” Tyrone said. “An insider, a guard, tried to lift the emerald brooch and beat a path to Tahiti. He never made it past the break room.”
The Sultan’s parure. A gift to the opera singer from yet another ex-lover. “Thought he’d disappear in the commotion?” Claudine said.
“Right. With the emeralds in his shirt pocket.”
“What does that mean for security?”
“Tighter, I’m afraid. Everyone’s getting another background check.”
“Smitty,” Claudine said. He was their inside connection. It was his job to see to a few critical details—chiefly, the employees’ exit alarm.
“His papers are good. As long as they don’t get too deep into references, we should be solid. I’ll let you know,” Tyrone said. “There’s one thing, though.”
Claudine gripped the phone. “What?”
“They’ve changed the alarm code structure. It’s every hour now.”
Not every day. That meant they wouldn’t be able to lift the code and use it that night. “Is it on an algorithm?” A daily code might be made up by the head of security, but hourly changes were usually too much for one brain to handle.
“Think so. I’m working on it.”
Claudine set the phone on her desk and absently scratched Petunia behind the ears. Just seven days until the Cabrini heist. Not long. Just long enough for something to go wrong.
22
At five-ten that afternoon, Ruby set her phone face down on the vanity in her salon. That was it. Eleanor Millhouse had not responded. Ruby’s chest tightened. They’d have to follow up on their threat. She couldn’t see any way out of it.
The bell at the salon door rang. Her next appointment wasn’t until morning. She raised her head to say the salon was closed, but snapped her jaw shut. Standing in the doorway was Eleanor Millhouse.
“Ruby. How are you?” Eleanor said.
Fake calm. Ruby felt her face redden as a hot flash radiated down her neck and over her chest. “Terrific. I’m great. Can I help you?”
Eleanor smiled. “Perhaps this sounds blunt, but—”
“Yes?” She barely got out the word.
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
For a moment, Ruby stared. She dropped into the barber’s chair behind her. Oh. Now she got it. “My uncle’s wholesale business hasn’t been doing so well.”
Eleanor’s smile remained constant. “I’m sorry to hear about that. Unless he’s a beauty expert, my job offer is for you, not him. Have you heard of the Shangri-La?”
Of course she had. While Ruby’s Crafty Cuts had the reputation as the “secret address” for rich ladies who enjoyed the thrill of slumming it for their color and cut, the Shangri-La Spa gleamed with acres of marble floors, piles of fluffy Turkish towels, and a team of European aestheticians. Rumor had it that a dermatologist managed an unmarked office in the rear where you could get fillers and Botox injections while pretending to be in for a massage and facial.
“I’m happy cutting hair here, thank you.”
Eleanor didn’t respond, didn’t move.
Ruby swallowed. “Please, come in. Sit down.”
Eleanor’s crisp pantsuit and box purse stood out against the lime green door Ruby had painted the spring before. Maybe she should have gone with something more elegant. Bone or Dior gray or something.
“I only have a minute, I’m afraid,” Eleanor said. “We have plenty of excellent stylists. What I’m looking for is someone to manage the spa.” As Ruby paused to take it all in, Eleanor continued. “Jocelyn raved about your highlights, and of course I’ve seen the publicity about Taffeta Darling. You have quite a reputation, you know. Just the other day, I was having lunch at the Women’s League when one of the ladies showed up with a beautiful curly cut. We couldn’t get over how good it looked on her.”
“Must be Betsy Dobber.” Betsy had been blow-drying her hair straight for years, but it didn’t do her face any favors, especially as age took its course. She needed to let out her natural curl. With the right cut and a few basic instructions on using gel, ten years dropped away.
“Yes, Betsy. It was quite a transformation.”
Eleanor started at the noise of a Chihuahua barking from the kitchen. Bruce must have come home. “Hi, honey,” he yelled.
“I’m with a customer,” she said nervously. “That’s just Marty. The dog, I mean. The other one is my husband.” So far Eleanor had said nothing about the firehouse. Or the photos.
“We were talking about what a valuable addition you’d make to the Women’s League.” She unclipped the top of her purse and withdrew an envelope. “I’ve written up a job description and a salary offer. I hope you’ll take a look at it—I think you’ll find the terms generous.” Her unflinching gaze caught Ruby’s. “We could use someone like you on our team. I think we’d see eye to eye.”
Ruby slipped the envelope into her apron pocket. “Can I think this over and get back to you?”
“Naturally. Shall we say by” —she punched a finger in the air— “five o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”
* * *
Ruby took Eleanor Millhouse’s job offer to her mother to read. She opened her sand chair on her mother’s grave and sat facing the inset plaque at its head.
“Mom, you would not believe this. I was sweeping up after my last client for the day—another bob, why so many bobs?—and who do you think came in? The president of the Carsonville Women’s League. Just like that.”
Leaves rustled in the canopy above and fell around her. A couple, one holding celloph
ane-sheathed yellow mums, wandered in the distance.
Ruby leaned toward the head of the grave. “She brought me a job offer. In this envelope.”
Are you sure? her mother’s voice came to her.
Ruby fumbled with the envelope. Eleanor had been so smug. What if she had known all along and this was a threat or some kind of legal summons? She slipped two pages from the envelope and let out her breath. It was indeed a job offer. She put on her reading glasses. Her eyes widened. A job offer with a generous salary—far more than she made on her own.
Her hands dropped to her side. This job was a huge step up. She and Bruce could use the salon as a living room again. Not only would she make more money, she’d have access to the women who could clear her mother’s name. They’d trust her, respect her. It was about time.
Plus, she could give up shoplifting for good. She couldn’t tell Bruce about her “wholesale” deals for clients. It was hard to say which was worse: fearing Bruce would find out she was a thief, or keeping such a huge secret from him.
But what about the Rizzio kids? She couldn’t tell if it was her mother or her own conscience that whispered the words. Even more pressing, what would the Boosters do about Eleanor’s refusal to answer their threat?
She sat at the grave until dark fell.
* * *
It was definitely later than five o’clock now, but no word from Ruby, who was in charge of the “concerned citizens” email address. Her calls to Ruby had gone unanswered, too. As far as Deborah knew, Eleanor hadn’t responded yet. Or had she?
Deborah was home alone. To be fair, it had been quite a while since she’d been stuck in the Granzer mansion without Louie, but she missed him. He hadn’t even left a note. Her phone chirped. Deborah grabbed it.
“Meet me @ Hotel DeRitz ASAP. Must see you. XXOO. L.”
She had to read the message twice. Meet at a hotel? It wasn’t the usual thing, but he must be feeling romantic. And signed his text XXOO. And L. He never did that. Warmth flooded over her. He wanted to see her. He wanted her. Now.
Deborah ran upstairs and stripped off her jeans and tee shirt. Thinking of Louie’s response at the fundraiser, she pulled over her head the blush pink dress she’d worn that night and brushed her teeth. A swipe of lipstick later, she was in the car.
In fifteen minutes, Deborah pulled into the parking lot at the Hotel DeRitz. Night was falling, and violet streaked the horizon. Louie’s BMW with his “Traveling is for the Birds” bumper sticker was parked in the next row. Her heart soared. Louie. Things would be different between them now. They’d be so much closer, more like Ruby and Bruce.
Except for the stealing and lying, of course. But that was over now.
In the lobby, Deborah searched the plush sofas and armchairs, but didn’t find him. She poked her head into the bar—one she was familiar with, unfortunately—but no Louie there, either. She approached the front desk.
“I’m Deborah Granzer. Has my husband left me a note?”
The pimply-faced boy behind the desk searched the register, then handed her a key card. “He said he’d meet you upstairs. The Marie Antoinette suite, fifth floor.”
A suite. Louie had really gone all out. Maybe even ordered a bottle of champagne, although he’d have a milk and coke for himself. She waited at the elevator. What should she say when he opened the door? She could walk in the room and say, “Honey, you shouldn’t have.” But that wasn’t true. As Ruby would have pointed out, he indeed should have. Not that it mattered any more.
Mirrored panels set in fancy wood trim lined the elevator. Click-click-click, it climbed the hotel’s floors. Deborah could hardly breathe in anticipation.
The doors opened. Ahead of her unrolled whitewashed walls with gold molding and more mirrors. She knew what she’d say. She’d simply open her arms and say, “Louie, I’m so glad to see you.”
She passed the Madame de Pompadour suite, the Sun King suite, and finally arrived at the Marie Antoinette suite. She rapped on the door, her heart pounding. When he didn’t respond, she slid the key card in. The door clicked open.
“Louie, it’s me.” The room was a awash in plush carpeting, gold-framed furniture, and flocked wallpaper. “Honey?”
There he was, lying on the bed. “Louie, honey, I’m so glad to see you.” She moved closer. “Louie?”
He lay on his back, hair rumpled, breathing, but dead to the world. Lipstick smeared his collar, and his shirt was unbuttoned, belt undone. Deb’s stomach curdled. A sheaf of photos lay on his chest with a note.
“How does it feel?” it read.
23
Claudine watched the tea shop owner pace back and forth. He’d advance a few steps, his hands full of tissues, then back off as if it weren’t appropriate. Finally, he charged ahead with the whole box of tissues. “Here,” he handed it to Deborah, who Ruby said hadn’t stopped crying since last night at the Hotel DeRitz. Once Louie had regained consciousness, he’d packed a bag and left for Peru.
“If you need anything else, you’ll tell me, right?” the tea shop host asked.
Deborah clutched a wad of tissue and nodded.
Claudine couldn’t believe it. Ellie Whiteby Millhouse, that evil woman. Whether Louie was drugged—as he claimed—or seduced and led upstairs, she’d hit way below the belt. Louie told Deborah that someone from the national Warblers Association called and said she wanted to meet him at the hotel to talk about taking over the local chapter. He ordered a cola and milk and couldn’t remember anything else. Whatever the case, he hadn’t helped matters by taking off right away to South America with someone named Trixie.
Ruby was ready to give up the whole plan, and Deborah couldn’t get out two straight words, but no way was Claudine quitting now.
“I guess we have our answer,” Ruby said.
Deborah sniffled.
“Blackmail clearly won’t work,” Ruby added. Then, to Deborah, “Darling, I’m sorry for how things turned out. But it’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“That’s not all,” Deborah said. She pulled a legal-sized envelope from her bag. “Look at this.”
Claudine opened the envelope and read while the tea house host fussed in the background. “Someone’s convinced Grandpa Granzer’s heirs to start proceedings to declare him mentally incompetent. Has to be Ellie.”
“She’ll never taste another macaron here again,” the host said.
Ruby glared at him until he left. Deborah’s sniffles erupted into a wail.
“We’ve got to give this up, Claudine.” Ruby put a hand around Deborah’s back. “Look at the poor girl. She can’t take any more of this. It’s not fair. We were wrong to try to deal with this by faking photos.”
“Do you just want to let her get away with this? It’s not just us, either—not just the firehouse. She’s run people out of their homes.”
Deborah moaned. Ruby patted her back. “There, there.” She looked up. “You have a better alternative? She’s hell-bent on getting that firehouse. We’ve played our biggest cards. It’s time to throw in the towel. Besides, we’ve only got four days until the commissioners’ meeting and they seal the deal.”
What was with Ruby? Claudine examined her. Something was different from the last time they’d met. “I know Eleanor Millhouse from when she was Ellie Whiteby, remember. She’s smart, she’s meticulous, and she’s ambitious. And she believes wholeheartedly in retribution. She won’t quit until she gets it.”
“Maybe she’s not as bad as we think,” Ruby said. “Maybe she really believes she’s doing something good for the town.”
Deborah snuffled into her tissue. “She’s a witch.”
Claudine nodded. “A crafty one, too.” They couldn’t pin the episode with Louie on Eleanor. No one at the hotel remembered her, and Louie sure wasn’t talking. But the Boosters knew who was responsible.
Ruby’s attention seemed to be elsewhere. “I mean, sure, she’s a sharp businesswoman, and she knows how to go after what she wants. But we can’t catch h
er in anything illegal. Remember?”
“Ruby, what’s got into you?” Claudine said. “To get even, she destroyed Deborah’s marriage. She’s trying to get Granzer locked away somewhere. She led another woman to kill herself. God knows how many people she’s turned out of their homes. And now she’s willing to squelch a plan for a family shelter and ruin the lives of the kids.”
“And to burn down the firehouse,” Deborah added. “Remember, she tried that, too. She might have killed them.”
Ruby stared into her tea cup. A minute passed, then two, while Claudine and Deborah watched her. “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay, I get it.”
Claudine scooted her chair in closer. “Let’s think this through. Eleanor wants the firehouse. Badly.” As the words came out of her mouth, she could hear Oz’s voice telling her to focus on the Cabrini heist, let someone else take care of the kids.
“Yes,” Ruby said.
“Why?” Claudine asked. “Why is she willing to go to these lengths, enough to hire a PR firm and pledge twenty-five thousand dollars for a new shelter?”
“She must be getting a lot more than that for it,” Ruby said. “With her condo complex.”
“Or something else,” Claudine said. “If we knew more, we might be able to figure out what to do next.”
“What about the land around the firehouse? It’s mostly old warehouses and things, right?” Deborah’s nose was still red, but she’d set down her wad of tissues. “Maybe she wants a big parcel.”
Claudine nodded. “Yes. Like south of town, that chunk of land she bought up, then sold to the county for the sewage treatment plant.”
“It was legal, though. All legal,” Ruby said.
“Was it really?” Claudine reached for the teapot. It was empty. The host ran over to refill it. After he left, she lowered her voice and said, “Sure, that’s what she’d say.” Ruby sure was being quiet. “But is it the truth?”
The Booster Club Page 18