A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

“Good, lord, Alistair. You’re a genius. Did you say anything to Stephan?”

  “No. If the egg is there, it needs to be collected by MI5 once we talk to Val. That is if she ever gets here.”

  “She’ll be here. She’s being cautious…and a bit vindictive as usual. Valerie likes to make people wait. It’s her way of paying it forward, so to speak.” Perigrine adjusted his Burberry tie.

  The tinkling of a bell let them know someone had entered the bistro. Soon a fascinating and extremely potent aroma like vanilla caramel and cotton candy wafted into the back room where Perigrine and Alistair waited for the physical to catch up with the promise. Alistair shifted his right leg onto his left, an imperceptible indication of his inner frame of mind. It didn’t go unnoticed by P.

  A tall, excruciatingly slim woman in her late thirties, walked with poise into the room. She wore a bright, hot pink form-fitting dress and a cropped black jacket, black tights and hot pink ankle boots. Her brown hair was twisted up into a neat bun and her skin had never seen a full dose of sun without proper protection. It was still in its original creaminess she’d been blessed with from her English mother.

  Sitting down beside Alistair, she leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek whispering, “Hello, Ally.” She drew out the last word as she gave Perigrine a smoldering gaze. “You're scrumptious as ever. Too bad you brought that old, tired thing with you.”

  Looking Perigrine up and down skeptically, she pursed her crimson lips in a note of displeasure. “And you're…tidy, P.P.”

  Perigrine rolled his eyes heavenward and with a pause for effect, he retorted, “Is that crow’s feet around your eyes, Valerie, or the accumulated weathering of your years as a tart?”

  Valerie gave Alistair a firm squeeze right above his knee, causing him to stiffen. Her pouty, red lips curved into a sweet smile as she focused all her attention on Alistair’s ear. “Do you hear that pathetic buzzing sound, Ally? I think it must be a dirty, little fly or something even more parasitic. I don’t know why you keep the old thing around.”

  “That’s it! Alistair,” Perigrine said hotly. “I’m going to Notre Dame. Call me when you’re done with her.”

  He stood up regally and slipping on his long, camel-colored trench coat, he walked out saying, “You deal with good old Val, Alistair. I’ll see you later.”

  As the door’s bell signaled Perigrine’s exit, Valerie leaned in again and put her head on Alistair’s shoulder with a sigh.

  “I’m so glad he’s gone. He’s such a prig. Missed me much?” she asked.

  Alistair patted her on the top of her head. “You’re enjoying yourself, Val, but teasing Perigrine this way will not change his feelings. If you would, please let the blood flow resume again in my leg and sit up. Let’s talk about your little problem with Ken Young or as he likes to call himself, Thomas Albright.”

  Valerie sighed and readjusted herself in the booth. She didn’t completely disengage herself from trying to become a carbuncle on Alistair’s left arm, but she did stop the heavy breathing and slowed the thigh squeezing.

  “Oh Ally, it’s been such a terrible week. If I tell you what you want to know, I’ll probably end up like that woman they found in the canal.” She breathed into his ear. “That would be such a shame when I still have so much to offer.”

  Again she snuggled up closer to Alistair who, using his free arm, waived at the waiter to bring another snifter.

  “Val, the police have Albright. He’ll throw you to the dogs. With the people he’s got things on, he’s sure to go free and he’ll come back for you, and possibly Helen.”

  The woman squirmed in her seat and released her tension on Alistair’s arm, allowing the blood to flow again. She fiddled with the tulip glass the waiter had sat in front of her with Cognac.

  “Mine?” she asked.

  “Naturally.”

  “How did you know it was me who carried the shashka to the London dealer?”

  “Perigrine talked with the dealer. You may share the same hair color as Helen Ryes, but once he described the perfume, it was game up for you. He said it was the one thing that really stood out and unfortunately for you, he actually recognized the scent’s elements. Helen Ryes wears Coco by Chanel not Angel by Thierry Mugler.

  She swirled the liquid around in the bottom of the glass and took a slow sip. Turning to Alistair, Valerie said with slight worry, “I’m not kidding, Ally, they’ll kill me if I talk. I owed Young a favor from a few years ago. He caught me with my hand in the cookie jar, so to speak and arranged my return from Kiev.” Val sat quiet for a few seconds and took another sip of the Cognac. “I only came when you called because I wanted to see Perigrine.”

  The two sat for a little longer. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Alistair said, “Go on, Val. He told you where he was going. Go make up. Be nice and not so waspish.” Then after a pause, he added, “Do me a favor?”

  She stood up and smoothed her dress. “What?”

  “I know it was you they used to frame Helen Ryes. Young will serve his time for murdering Sharon O’Connor and Laura Rossar-mescro only if you come forward. You’re the glue that proves it was for gain and that Young was the mastermind behind it. The four thugs won’t dare talk. It’s two deaths and you know who did it. Come clean. I’ll see to it the Russians he was working for never find you.”

  Val bent down and cupped Alistair’s face in her hands. “Ally, you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen on a man.” Kissing him long and slowly on his mouth, once done, she dropped her hands and picked up her purse. She dug around and pulled out a pretty blue bottle of perfume which she opened and dabbed at her wrists and neck. The room filled with the heady fragrances of Bergamot, Caramel, and Patchouli. There was an undefined innocence in what she said next.

  “It’s funny. I’ve always liked the idea of marriage. I would feel so safe living in a small cottage somewhere in Yorkshire. Want to make an honest woman of me, Alistair?” With a last wink, she turned and made for the door.

  Alistair didn’t watch her go. He knew, if she decided to talk, she wouldn’t announce it here. He picked up his own coat and slipping it on, he, too, strolled out, causing the tiny bell above the door to jangle for the third and last time that night.

  Chapter 39

  JOHNS, PIERS, POLLY AND THE girls sat in one of The Traveller’s coziest booths right across from the fireplace, well-laid with logs causing the fire to make crackling and popping sounds comforting to the human ear. They were going over the crazy night from a couple of days before.

  The regulars were also enjoying their pints and in the back an occasional brouhaha erupted from the dart players. A steady rain, along with a heavy drop in temperature, told the inhabitants of Marsden-Lacey and all of Northern England that autumn was in her fullness.

  Johns was explaining what they’d found on the other two boats while the rest of the party squeezed in close to hear every word.

  “We found two more eggs in the same place: the galley lamps. I want to take you over tomorrow to London to see them. They were picked up yesterday by three armored cars and as many security vans sent for additional protection. They’ll be six stories down in a facility so secure an atom bomb couldn’t blow the door.”

  “What will happen to Albright, or whoever he is?” Piers asked.

  “That’s not his name. His real name is Ken Young, a long-time secret service agent for the CIA. Spent years working as a spy in the Ukraine. He’s a nasty fellow and has strong ties to the Russian mob. Not an ounce of humanity left in him.”

  “Did he kill Sharon?” Helen asked softly.

  “He didn’t commit the murder, but he had Victor, “The Dove”, do the work. Victor’s fingerprints were the ones found on the shashka that killed Laura Rossar-mescro. They also found traces of skin under Sharon’s fingernails matching Victor’s DNA. Albright, I mean Young, was the brains. He managed to set himself up with a fake police identification and pay off someone in Nottingham’s office to fax a phony
request for collaboration between our two constabularies. His entire goal was to have access to everything we were doing on the case so he would know when it was best to send his men in to find the eggs.”

  “Will he serve a sentence?” Martha asked.

  “As for a sentence, that’s tricky. It’ll depend on evidence and getting a statement from someone who took orders from him. We're looking for the woman who traded the cossack’s shashka which killed Laura for the diamond necklace. None of the men he had working for him will point the finger at him. They’re either connected with the Russian mafia or too afraid to talk. There for a while, Helen, things were looking kind of bad for you, but now I’d love it if you’d turn evidence on Albright, Young or whatever his real name is.”

  “What makes you think I’m not guilty?” Helen asked with a good natured smile.

  “You were with Piers having tea at the same time the woman who pawned the shashka came into the antique store in London. Can’t be two places at once.”

  Piers winked at Helen and said, “You owe me one.”

  Helen nudged him with her elbow. “Hush.”

  Johns went on with his story. “Ballistics matched the gun Albright-Young used to fire at Helen and Martha on the narrowboat with the bullets found imbedded in the boat’s outer walls. He had gunpowder residue on his hands. It will be up to Helen and Martha to testify about his threatening them in the boat.”

  “What about Martha plugging him in the leg?” Helen asked with a laugh.

  “Better him than us,” Martha replied.

  “She’ll have to account for why she had the gun in the first place and why she used it. That’s the law. Might even get to lock her up for a while.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Merriam. I have a good solicitor. She told me not to discuss my case with the police.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Did he kill Sharon for the letter?” Helen asked.

  “Definitely,” Johns replied. “She must have contacted him about it. They would have known of each other living in the same town and even Helen was aware of his expertise in the field of translations.”

  “I’d known of Albright for at least ten years. He lived in Nottingham and worked as a translator for at least as long. Our paths didn’t cross much, but other colleagues talked about his work,” Helen said.

  “Sharon’s email was finally opened. In it, the real Nottingham police found correspondence sent to Albright the day before she was found floating in the canal. She’d only copied half the letter and requested his translation of it.”

  “He realized the incredible truth of what Ivan Ivovich, the Cossack of Maria Feodorovna, had written in the letter. His email back to Sharon requested to see more of the letter. She may have been threatened later or simply killed outright.”

  “He ought to be publicly strung up,” Martha said then sipped her drink.

  “I agree,” Polly added with a big smile and raised her glass to Martha.

  “You, two, simmer down. No toasting each other. We know where that got you the last time,” Helen said severely.

  Martha and Polly ignored her and clinked glasses anyway.

  “What about the Rossar-mescros? Don’t the eggs belong to them?” Piers asked.

  “That’s where it gets sticky. They actually belong to the Empress Dowager and her descendants and after talking with Stephan earlier, he wants to do the right thing.”

  Martha reached over to pick up one of the brie topped crackers they’d ordered for appetizers and asked, “Was he shocked to know they’d been inside the lamps all this time?”

  Johns didn’t get a chance to answer because a gentle voice interrupted their huddled conversation. Looking up, they all fell quiet. There stood Stephan Rossar-mescro himself, smiling sweetly and holding his tatty, brown fedora in his two hands.

  “Good evening,” Stephan said.

  “Mr. Rossar-mescro,” Helen said, standing up to greet him, “How are you?”

  “I am fine, thank you dear lady. We’re leaving for our home waters and I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done. There is some good news I wanted to share with all of you.”

  The group waited, giving him their full attention.

  He continued. “After I finished with our talk, Chief Johns, I called the man you told me to, the Director for Her Majesty’s Royal Collection. He invited me and a guest to London. He wants to see the eggs and to discuss a settlement.”

  Everyone at the table offered him their congratulations.

  Johns said, “Mr. Rossar-mescro, we're so happy to hear your good news.”

  “Yes, and if you need any help, please don’t be afraid to ask,” Helen offered with a kind touch on his shoulder.

  “There is one thing, Mrs. Ryes, I would ask of you.” Stephan said shyly.

  “Name it.”

  Mr. Rossar-mescro appeared nervous and unsure of his request. He said in an awed voice, “I have been asked to meet Her Majesty, The Queen.”

  Everyone at the table exclaimed their happiness and wished him a wonderful time.

  “This is my request, I would like to take Mrs. Ryes with me, if she will come. They’ll want to talk about the eggs and I would feel honored to have such a beautiful and intelligent woman at my side to give me courage.”

  Helen took the gentle man’s hand and with eyes glassy from unshed tears she said, “I would love to accompany you, Mr. Rossar-mescro. It would be a dream come true. Thank you.”

  He blushed and, with a cheerful wave to all, left promising to contact Helen as soon as the date was set for the Royal visit.

  “I guess you know he’s got a thing for you, Helen.” Piers said.

  “Maybe, but what a first date!” she said, jabbing Piers in the side.

  With no attempt at retaining her usual composure, Helen reached across the table, grabbed Martha’s two hands, and shaking them with vigor said in a gleeful squeal, “I’m going to meet The Queen! Can you believe it, Martha? Isn’t it crazy?”

  Laughing and squeezing Helen’s hands in return, Martha answered, “Crazy as a fox, buddy. Crazy as a fox!”

  Chapter 40

  THREE WEEKS LATER, A MEETING was arranged between a slim, brunette woman and the Crown Prosecution Services regarding a man she knew as Ken Young alias Thomas Albright. The two parties discussed a business arrangement regarding the delivery of a long, curved sword or shashka, to an antique dealer in London. In return for her testimony, she would be given immunity and relocated to a new place under a new name. She returned the diamond necklace as proof of her involvement.

  That same week, Helen and Martha went to London where Helen did attend a press conference regarding the unprecedented find of three Fabergé eggs once belonging to the Romanovs of Imperial Russia. She was later invited along with Mr. Rossar-mescro to attend a private audience with The Queen and a host of other dignitaries who previewed the first major exhibition of Fabergé eggs in the Royal Collection.

  Martha, Chief Johns, Piers and Emerson took in the sights of the most beloved capitol of the English speaking world, London. With Tallant Rossar-mescro, Stephan’s grandson, in tow, the promise of ice cream and treats Emerson wrangled from Celine was fulfilled at Harrod’s Ice Cream Parlour. Later, with Helen acting as docent, the entire group visited the Fabergé exhibition, marveling at the three eggs nearly lost to time.

  After leaving Paris, Perigrine and Alistair took a much-needed holiday to Majorca where they visited some old friends and chartered a small sail boat to visit some of the nearby smaller islands.

  Having broken the mystery explaining where the last of the four Fabergé eggs had been secreted, they worked out a lucrative deal. The Mavia, or Mauve egg, would be going home to the Russian people as a gift from the British government, that is as long as Valerie Clark, Perigrine’s sister, was allowed to live a peaceful life secure from reprisals.

  Where did they find the remaining Mauve egg not connected to a boat in any way? Sophia Rossar-mescro, in order to purchase the two na
rrowboats for her family, sold the heart-shaped piece which nestled inside the Mauve egg. The first three eggs: the Cherub, the Empire and the Blue Hen, became the good-luck totems for the families’ boats and were secreted inside the Tiffany style lamps specially constructed for the galleys.

  The Mauve egg was found in a place powerful with meaning for the young Romani girl, Sophia, who lost her mother and her sister in a bomb explosion during World War One. Instead of putting the egg somewhere in the boats, she’d placed the egg as a testimony in an hallowed place, Brompton Cemetery, befitting her mother’s legacy.

  The lost treasures of Maria Feodorovna and the quest of Ivan Ivovich Lysenko, her faithful Cossack, had come full circle. The Rossar-mescros returned three of the eggs and the Mauve egg was retrieved by the Director of MI5 two days after Valerie Clark left for a quiet retreat in Palm Springs, California.

  Miri Rossar-mescro’s prophecy was finally complete.

  “A Helen holds the letter.

  A hunter wields the blade.

  Death creeps among us,

  A debt is finally paid.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Helen and Martha’s first adventure, Two Birds with One Stone, which is also available to borrow with Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program.

  Excerpt from

  Two Birds with One Stone

  WAYFORD AND MARSDEN-LACEY WERE only fifteen minutes apart. The day had been extremely long and both Helen and Martha were ready for a glass of wine, soft beds and sweet dreams. However, they had one last errand to run.

  As they drove along the quiet English countryside, the evening air was tinged with a coolness that helped to clear their brains of any dullness or fatigue. Crickets and frogs sang soft lullabies in the hedgerow while moonlight gave the rounded haystacks, still drying in the fields, a ghostly luminescence. The Mini Cooper meandered along the peaceful country road bordered by ancient stone walls, with the occasional pretty cottage tucked into a grove of oaks or yew trees.