“I see. You also say you knew that the area of the basement we’re concerned with here is off limits to the public. There’s a sign of notification on the door.”
“Oh, yes, I know all about that sign. But I also know the alarm doesn’t ring.”
“I see,” he said again. There was a long pause while the agent looked down at his notes. What was he thinking?
Carrie shifted in her chair, moving it slightly so it would scrape on the floor while, with her foot, she pushed her purse farther under the table.
“Agent Bell?”
He looked up. “Ma’am?”
“The Elderhostel group we’re part of is taking a tour of this building right now. It began at 3:00. We have friends in the group who will wonder where we are, and the coordinator will be keeping track of any missing people. Wouldn’t it be best if I went to join them, especially if Mr. King will be tied up for a while? Our absence might cause a stir and an effort to find us. Henry or I should be there to explain.”
“I’d rather you didn’t explain. No one here, outside the staff, knows about the attack on Hobbs yet. Ranger Hawkins knows, but he will not mention it to your group. Perhaps he’s already given some simple reason for your absence. I’d like to avoid any public agitation or alarm, and I also want to find out more about your interest in the off-limits area of this building. It seems odd.”
“Not odd when you consider the circumstances.”
She paused, thinking about those circumstances and wondering whether or not she should mention suspicions about Everett Bogardus to this man.
It was sure unhandy, being separated from Henry. What was he saying, and would their stories mesh? Would he mention Everett?
Agent Bell’s light blue eyes studied her, and he waited without speaking. The silent treatment.
“One of the circumstances is the unique history of this place as I said, plus the fact that Henry and I have recently had some success as private detectives. We notice mysteries. We take an interest in them, and this was certainly something out of the ordinary. A mystery.”
The blue eyes widened just a bit. Of course he couldn’t show emotion, he wouldn’t dare unbend and be informal. But his look said, “Detectives? Aw, come off it.”
She might be exaggerating her role as a detective, but it was no exaggeration to say that Eleanor and Jason, and probably Greta, would be concerned about their absence from a planned Elderhostel activity, whether Ranger Hawkins had given any explanation or not. But, in spite of that, her main interest in joining the tour was to find out if Everett Bogardus was there.
She wished she knew if Henry had mentioned him. Well, no matter, if Ranger Kandler or Agent Bell saw a man dressed all in black, they’d make a connection since Henry had told them the person hiding behind the tanks was wearing black. That was assuming they believed Henry, of course.
She decided he probably hadn’t said anything more than that. Everything about Everett’s involvement was still speculation, and Henry was a stickler for facts. Therefore, at this point, he would not be likely to implicate Everett Bogardus.
Agent Bell put down his pen. “You’re detectives?” The two words, full of scorn, spoke worlds.
“Yes. We don’t do it for pay, but in a small way Henry and I have been able to help people in trouble more than once. We fell into it easily enough after a friend of ours was murdered and we discovered who had killed her. Henry, you know, is a retired police officer. He was a major in the Kansas City Police Department.”
That ought to take the agent down a peg or two.
It didn’t. “Yes, we learned that from Ranger Kandler. He confirmed Major King’s background after the incident this morning. There was no need to look up any record for you at the time. We didn’t know you were involved.”
Carrie shifted into her grandmotherly mode. “I haven’t got a record, Agent Bell, unless it’s a record of the Social Security payments I get or the taxes I pay. As I told you, I do work for the State of Arkansas, but only as manager of a Tourist Information Center. And I think you must be through asking me questions now. I simply haven’t any more to tell you. Besides, we’ll be in Hot Springs the rest of the week if you need us. We’re just two senior citizens who came here to enjoy an Elderhostel and, because of my, uhhh, excessive curiosity, we were able to get quick help for an injured park ranger. That’s it. I may be overly curious, but you must admit that connecting the turbulent circumstances of the ‘60s with the presence of an unknown person back in the basement who was carrying a geologist’s pick isn’t all that unusual. The whole sequence of events, added to the town’s history, made me curious. It should make you curious. In fact, I would think you’d want to look for that money yourself.”
I can probably outstare you, she thought as Agent Bell met her eyes again. You’ll blink first.
And he did.
“All right, go find your tour group. Do not mention the circumstances that delayed you or anything about the injury to Ranger Hobbs. I suggest you tell the coordinator and your friends that you and Mr. King got involved in a conversation with rangers about various events in the park, or something of that sort. I’m going upstairs after I check with the searchers, and I’ll tell Major King you’re with the Elderhostel group.”
“Thank you. And would you please keep us informed about Ranger Hobbs’ condition? You have our room number at the hotel. We are praying for his full recovery.”
The agent inclined his head as Carrie reached under the table, tugged at her purse, and hefted the strap across her shoulder. That accomplished, she got up to hurry out of the room.
“Ms. McCrite!”
Her heart almost stopped. “Yes?”
“There’s dirt from the basement floor on the back of your slacks. Before you join the group, you may want to brush it off.”
He would notice dirt on clothing. “Thanks for telling me, Agent Bell. I’ll take care of it.”
“And, Ms. McCrite, under no circumstances are you to return to this area of the building. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear.”
Only a few more steps now, and she’d be safely away.
In her rush she almost missed it. Although the floor in the employee area hallway was clean, and bright with fluorescent lighting, the background color of the pen matched the baseboard paint. It was hard to see, lying there in the angle between the floor and wall. It could be missed if you were agitated, as she—as they all—had been earlier.
But now she could see it clearly, even the tiny red lobster on its side.
She hesitated only a moment, then, holding her purse securely, turned back into the break room. “Ever been to Boston, Agent Bell?”
He gaped at her, probably deciding she was even more loony than he’d supposed.
“Nice place to visit, Boston. Cambridge too, just across the Charles River. I’ve been there several times. One of the best places to eat in the area is Legal Sea Foods in Cambridge. They’re known for their lobster.
“And you know, that’s quite a coincidence, because one of our Elderhostel group, Everett Bogardus, is from Boston. I happened to mention Legal Sea Foods to him at lunch today, and he said he eats there sometimes. He even showed me a pen they’d given him last Christmas. Had a red lobster on it.
“If you ever go to Boston, you really should try that restaurant. Everett knows all about it if you want to find out more. The address is probably on his pen.”
She smiled at the agent, whose expression now could only be described as blank.
“Just a word to the wise, you know. Never can tell when you might need odd information.
“Well, good-by again, Agent Bell.”
She pushed out the door and hurried toward the ladies’ to brush off her pants. She was thinking, I wonder what Henry would have done about that pen?
Chapter IX
Carrie
Drat! The restroom mirrors were placed too high to show dirt on the backside of a 5’2” woman. After craning her neck fruitlessly
and making a few ineffective swats at her behind, Carrie took off her slacks so she could see where to brush. Now she stood bare-legged in the middle of the restroom floor, thinking about what to do next.
Not all the dirt she’d sat in on the basement floor would come off with brushing. That, however, was not her main concern at the moment.
Her main concern was the geologist’s pick weighing heavily in her purse. She needed to get rid of it before one of those law enforcement people decided to investigate the contents of her purse or Henry discovered what a fool she’d been.
Not that her original idea had been wrong, actually. In fact, she still thought it a rather good idea. After hearing Henry’s report of his morning adventure, she’d decided a quick survey of the basement here would reveal possible places money could be hidden. Never mind that no one had found anything in over forty years. They weren’t really looking.
She imagined herself finding it. It wouldn’t be difficult in a basement like Henry described. All it took was a bit of informed reasoning, and any possible hiding places should be obvious. Then a few taps of the pick; mystery solved, treasure revealed, Everett Bogardus thwarted.
So when, at her insistence, Henry had gone to the car to get the miniature flashlight she’d given him for his birthday, she’d stuck the pick in her purse. Why not?
She didn’t want to speculate now about what might have happened to her if Ranger Kandler or Agent Bell had looked in her purse and found a geologist’s pick like the one used in the attack on Ranger Hobbs. After finding the injured ranger with the bloody pick beside him, she never wanted to see a geologist’s pick again—in her purse or anywhere else. She could still picture the one lying on the dirty floor, dust and darkening blood in a messy...
No! Carrie shook her head, trying to erase the image, and forced her thoughts back to things at hand.
The little bit of dirt that wouldn’t come off her slacks gave her a good excuse to go to the hotel and dump the pick. Then she’d change clothes and come back to join the Elderhostel group. Even if Agent Bell found out she’d left the building, her dirty slacks offered excuse enough. He, after all, had been the one to point out the dirt.
She tugged the slacks back on, thankful for an elastic waist, and rushed toward the stairs, intent on getting up to the lobby, out of the building, and down the street.
But at the top of the stairs, she ran smack dab into a swarm of Elderhostelers coming out of the Fordyce theater.
“Oh, there you are, Carrie,” Jason called out. “We missed you and Henry at the movies. Did the two of you get involved in some private activity of your own?” And of course he snickered, causing the few who hadn’t already noticed her abrupt arrival to look her way.
Someday, Carrie thought, in a flash of temper, I’m going to throttle that man.
Greta’s voice broke into the awkward silence. “I’m sorry you missed the informational film, Carrie, but you’ll have time to catch it later. We’ve divided into two groups for the building tour so everyone can be close enough to their guide to hear explanations. Why don’t you and Henry go with Rina Jenkins? Her group is smaller. Or,” she looked around, “isn’t Henry coming?”
Carrie shrugged, at a loss as to what she should say.
“He’s okay, isn’t he?” At Carrie’s affirmative nod, Greta continued, “Good. He can join us later. All right, we’re ready. Ranger Hawkins will begin on this floor, volunteer guide Jenkins and her group on the third floor. Shall we get started?
“Gather around, gang,” Rina Jenkins said. “You can walk up to the third floor, or you can take the elevator. Even if you choose the stairs this time, I suggest at least one experience riding in our elevator. It looks antique and it is, but it’s been completely re-vamped and is quite safe. We’ll divide into smaller groups to ride it.”
Surrounded by fellow Elderhostelers, Carrie was swept through the elevator’s grillwork door; accompanied by interesting mechanical clanks and clicks, she rose up and away from the lobby exit she’d been intent on reaching.
Oh, well, so what? If anyone saw the pick in her purse, she could say she purchased it in preparation for the crystal dig. They wouldn’t know the difference.
Of course Henry would know, but surely she’d have a chance to slip it out of her purse and back onto the night stand shelf after they returned to their room. He’d spend time in the bathroom while they were getting dressed for supper. She could put the pick back then.
Besides, she’d decided she really didn’t want to miss the tour. She was genuinely interested in learning more about this beautiful and fascinating old building. And Henry said there might be possible hiding places for money on the other floors too. He could be right. She’d check that out.
Their group stopped first at the viewing rail in the third-floor music room. The room glowed with golden light coming through its stained glass ceiling. Airy wicker furniture invited relaxing, writing, card playing, and reading. She saw a grand piano in the women’s lounge at one end and a pool table and smoking area for men at the opposite end. The floors were covered in elaborately patterned mosaic tile. Beautiful, Carrie thought, how very beautiful.
“Beautiful,” came an audible echo of her thoughts in a masculine voice.
He’d startled her because she hadn’t noticed him anywhere in the group. When she turned around she knew why. Clothes sure did make the man! He no longer wore black. Everett Bogardus had changed into green slacks and a grey guayabera shirt. He looked ordinary, almost lost-in-a-crowd invisible.
“Don’t you find the ceiling breathtaking?”
“Well...yes, yes, I do.”
“Wait until you see the ceiling in the men’s bath hall.” His voice was low, purring. “It has over eight thousand pieces of colored glass and depicts three people swimming: a mermaid, a man, and a woman. All nude, of course. Lovely, lovely.” His thigh touched her hip, and he took her arm. “We’re going to the gymnasium next.”
“Oh?” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t hear the guide say.”
But he was right. They moved down a long hall to the building’s elaborate wood-paneled gymnasium. It showcased leather punching bags, mats, various ladders and rings suspended from the ceiling on ropes, and racks with evil-looking Indian clubs in graduated sizes. There was a long horse, bars to climb and swing on, lumpy leather medicine balls. It’s a kind of 1920’s torture chamber, Carrie thought as she looked around.
Their guide was just beginning to tell about the use of all these items by both men and women when a smiling newcomer approached the group. He asked Rina for permission to tag along and listen. “I couldn’t help overhearing your explanations. I’d like to learn more too,” he said.
No one offered a spoken objection, and Rina welcomed him cordially, but objections began banging inside Carrie’s head as soon as she saw the man.
He was casually dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, but she recognized him immediately. It was one of the police officers who had responded to the 911 alarm call for Rusty Hobbs. As far as she was concerned, his effort to look like an ordinary tourist didn’t work. He needed to slouch more and should have put on a ball cap, or maybe even a hair piece. His bristly haircut and erect bearing were stereotypical, if not for law enforcement, then the military. He looked too stiff in the company of all these “I’m for comfort first” senior adults.
She felt the throb of her heart increasing. He’d been sent to keep an eye on her! Oh, golly, it was time to get away from Everett and out of here.
Beside her the soft, insistent contact of Everett’s body suddenly changed to steel as his grip on her arm tightened. Oh, my! He must have recognized the law officer too. Maybe he’d been concealed someplace, watching, when people began responding to the emergency calls on behalf of Rusty Hobbs.
An awful thought hit her, and she almost wept when she realized she and Henry should have thought of it before. It was possible Rusty could identify his attacker, and that Everett knew he could.
Even if this police officer didn’t have any idea yet that Everett Bogardus might have been the one who attacked Rusty, then Everett wasn’t aware he didn’t know. She could hear the quickened breathing, feel the steel-spring tension in his too-close body.
Her thoughts were racing back, once more trying to remember exactly what she and Henry had told various law officers that might point to Everett. She was sure all Henry said was that the man he saw wore black. They wouldn’t know more than that unless Agent Bell had found the lobster pen and made the connections she’d hoped her remarks would initiate.
But the man in black was no longer wearing black. There would be no similarities for the police officer to observe.
Everett squeezed her arm harder. She looked up, said, “Stop that, it hurts,” loudly enough for a few in their group to hear. With a small grunt she supposed was meant to be an apology, he dropped her arm and turned back toward Rina.
Good. Now she could get away. She started to slide backwards toward the door of the gymnasium. Her thoughts were moving more swiftly than she dared move her feet. First she needed to find Henry and warn him that Rusty might be able to identify his attacker. Henry and the law enforcement people should know Rusty required a guard.
Where was Henry? Where were the offices? Agent Bell said Henry was in a third floor office. She’d put the building floor plan in her purse but didn’t dare take time to search it out now.
At last she was out of sight of the group, so she turned to run on tiptoe toward the main hall at the front of the building. She’d seen only open doors and public display areas on this side of the third floor. Offices must be on the opposite end.
She’d just reached the corner of the hall when, coming from nowhere, Everett shoved against her. Before her thoughts could grasp what was happening, his left arm circled her neck, cutting off her breathing. Something sharp pricked at her throat.
She heard the familiar purr through a ringing in her ears. “I have a knife. I can slit your throat and kill you faster than anyone could with a gun. You’re going to be quiet, and you’re going to do what I say. Walk to that doorway straight ahead of us. Quickly now, Carrie.”
A Treasure to Die For Page 8