The Harry Starke Series Books 4 -6: The Harry Starke Series Boxed Set 2 (The Harry Starke Novels - The Boxed Sets)

by Blair Howard

  Nice.

  “So where will you begin?” she asked.

  “Amanda, my love… give it a break. Let my little gray cells, as old man Hercule called them, do their work. I’ll get there in the end… or not.” I looked her. She gazed up at me, her eyes wide.

  “Okay, you win,” I said, reluctantly. “Let’s suppose, just for a minute, that you’re right—”

  “Ooh, I like that. Go on.”

  “One more time,” I said sternly. “Interrupt me more one time, and I’ll put you over my knee—”

  “And spank me. Oh yes please.”

  “Jeez, you’re something else. Okay,” I said. “As I was saying. Suppose you’re right. And not for one minute do I think you are. No. Shut up for a minute,” I said, trying not to smile, when she opened her mouth. “But suppose she is trying to tell us something. It would have to do with the watch and the box, right?”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “Okay then. We know something is in the box, but why the watch?” She didn’t answer, and we stared out over the open water.

  Finally, I got to my feet, took her hand, and helped her up. “Let’s go take another look, at the portrait and the watch. Maybe we missed something.”

  It was well after five o’clock when we arrived back at the old house. Strong was behind the desk, sorting through some papers. He barely looked up when we walked in, and wouldn’t have spoken had it not been for Amanda.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Strong,” she said, brightly. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, Miss Amanda. All’s well. I hope you’ve had a nice day. Dinner at eight all right?”

  “Yes, that will be fine. We’ll see you then.”

  When we got to our room, she was still in a playful mood. No, she wanted to do more than play, but I was already of a mind to do other things. Reluctantly, she gave in.

  “Let me see the box,” I said.

  She took it from her suitcase and handed it to me.

  I shook it hard. Like before, something rattled inside.

  “Enough of this,” I said, and I slammed it down on the floor. The damn thing bounced about a foot in the air, but it remained intact: there wasn’t even a mark. I picked it up and raised my arm to throw it again.

  “Stop! No, Harry. Please don’t break it. It’s… it’s too nice just to smash it like that. Maybe we can get someone in the village to open it… somehow.”

  Hell, even she didn’t seem convinced. Still, it was a nice box. I shook it again. It rustled. It was maddening.

  Fiddling with it, I pressed the mother of pearl at the center of the design; nothing, and I didn’t expect there to be anything. I pressed one of the others, in one of the transepts—

  Whoa. Did it move?

  I pressed it again. It did, by God. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have noticed, which is probably why no one else had. Quickly, I pressed all the others too. Of the six, only the ones in the transepts moved, barely. The one at the center of the design seemed solid, as did the one below the design.

  “What? What?” She could see I’d found something.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing, but come here and see.” She stepped up close to me. “Here,” I grabbed her hand. “Press here. See? It moves, and so do these other three.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What does it mean?”

  “I have no earthly friggin’ idea.” I pressed and I pressed. I pressed each in turn clockwise, and then I pressed them all again anticlockwise; I pressed the top one, then the bottom one, then the two sides. Nothing. Damn it.

  “It’s no good,” I said. “Nothing works. Let’s go take another look at the painting. We have to be missing something.”

  In the sitting room, all was as it had been before, but I couldn’t help but feel that something was different. It was nothing I could see, just that the atmosphere was heavy. There was a faint hint of perfume in the air. Or maybe it was air freshener, or maybe I was going friggin’ nuts and imagining things.

  Sheesh. I’m getting to be as nutty as she is.

  I sat down in my usual chair; Amanda sat in hers. Together we stared up at the enigmatic Elizabeth Miles. Amanda reached out for my hand, and I took it, and squeezed it gently. Elizabeth stared out across the room… or did she. Again, maybe I was imagining it, but I had the distinct feeling she was looking at me. No it wasn’t her eyes, it was more the slight tilt of her head, the way her eyebrows were slightly hooded. I got up and walked across the room, turned and looked at her. My hair stood on end. Nothing had changed, but she was looking at me. It was, I was sure, no more than an artist’s technique. Some of the better ones could paint the eyes of a portrait so that they seemed to follow the observer around the room.

  That’s what it is, I told myself. It’s a painter thing. Now go sit back down, you idiot.

  I did. I took my seat beside Amanda, and looked up again at Elizabeth… and then I thought I noticed something. Okay! What’s that?

  I tilted my head sideways, squinted my eyes, got up again and stepped to the painting. Yeah! That’s it.

  “The watch,” I said, holding my hand out behind me and flapping it at her. My eyes didn’t leave Elizabeth’s. “Gimme the watch.”

  She handed it to me. I hefted it. Looked at it; looked at the one in the painting. They were identical, no doubt about it. The only difference was that hers was open, but she wasn’t checking the time—she couldn’t have been. She had the back open, not the front. I could just make out the works through the clear glass. So what the hell did that mean?

  I opened the front of the watch. Snapped it closed and opened the back. I looked at the one in my hand and then at the one in the portrait. Yep, they were identical.

  Jeez, what the hell am I missing?

  I must have stood there for ten minutes, maybe more, staring first at one watch and then at the other. Nothing. They were exactly the same.

  I shook my head and gave it up. Whatever it was, I wasn’t seeing it. I turned to Amanda and said, “Let’s go eat something. Hell, let’s go get drunk. Maybe that will start the juices flowing.”

  ----

  I don’t know whether it had been my tough treatment of him in the middle of the night or what, but Strong, or maybe it was his wife, had gone out of their way to please us. Dinner consisted of a roast rack of lamb, my favorite, followed by an exquisite soufflé. He’d even found an outstanding bottle of cabernet to go with it. He’d actually found more than one, as the night would later prove. And he couldn’t do enough to please us.

  I was wrong about one thing, though. Strong drink in large quantities does not start the juices flowing, nor does it make for a creative, much less analytical mind. We finally fell into bed that evening at around eleven, not drunk but not quite sober either, and definitely too tired for…. Nah. I’m never too tired for Amanda, and, so it seemed, she’s never too tired for me.

  Chapter 14

  I slept little that night. I must have seen every hour tick by on that damned bedside clock, the little red numbers taunting me. Amanda? Hell, she could sleep outside in the middle of a storm. Finally I’d had enough. Dawn was breaking, and it was going to be a beautiful day. I shook her awake. She rolled over onto her back, her arms spread wide across both pillows, and with eyes only half open, she looked up at me, smiled, reached out for me, and said, “Come back to bed and cuddle me.”

  Any other time I wouldn’t even have hesitated, but I was as antsy as hell and needed to shake it off.

  “No. I have to get out of here. I’m going for a run. You want to come?”

  “Ummm…. No!”

  “Come on. Get your lazy rear out of bed. It’s a beautiful day outside, and we don’t get an opportunity like this very often.” I grabbed her hand and pulled.

  “Oh okay. Just give me a minute.” She crawled out of bed, and I do mean crawled. On her hands and knees she crossed the bed­­—what a lovely sight­­—and then rolled off onto her feet and headed for the bathroom. I d
ressed while I waited: running shorts, shoes, and a T-shirt. Five minutes later, the toilet flushed and the sink turned on.

  When she emerged she was a different woman: alert, perky, and ready to face the day. She turned her back to me, stripped off the shirt she’d ended up wearing, and put on her own running gear. It was quite a performance, and one I never tired of watching. In fact, I almost gave up on the idea of the run and… well, you know. But I didn’t, and a few minutes later we were heading up the trail toward the cliff tops at a fast trot.

  It was indeed a spectacular morning. The sun was just peeking over the treetops to the east, a light breeze whispered in off the ocean, and the seabirds dove, splashed, and called raucously to one another. We kept up a fast pace. Amanda works out a lot, and had no trouble keeping up. I certainly wasn’t hanging back for her, either. In less than fifteen minutes we were at the great flat rock where we had sat that first day. We were both breathing heavily, but invigorated.

  “Wow,” she said as she sat down. “That was amazing.” She reached out for my hand and pulled me down beside her. “I wish it could always be like this.”

  “It can. It will. We can run every day, on the mountain.”

  “That’s not what I meant. This is a new experience, for both of us. It’s all changed, Harry. We’ve changed. I can feel it. I love you so much.”

  “I know, and I love you too, but change is a good thing, right?” As I looked at her and thought about it, I had one of those flashbacks; a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since that day, now more than three years ago, when she ripped me a new one on air.

  Yeah, change is a good thing.

  “Yes, I suppose. But have you thought about what it’s going to be like when we get back home? People are going to treat us differently. Kate… she’s still a part of your life. What about her?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “Amanda, yes, Kate is still a part of my life, my professional life. We have a long history together. We work well together. The other thing? You know it ended more than two years ago. You and I? I never would have believed it, but here we are, and life is good. Okay?”

  She nodded. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” I swung round to face her. “You suppose? What kind of an answer is that?” I grabbed for her, but she was ready for me, and was on her feet and running, laughing.

  An hour later, showered and fresh and in the best of spirits, we sat down to a huge breakfast of eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes and toast. I hate toast; you can’t beat a good old buttermilk biscuit and some homemade strawberry preserves, but hell, we were in Maine. I might as well have asked for grits. There was no chance of getting them either.

  Unfortunately, our upbeat mood couldn’t, and didn’t, last for long. The great portrait of Jonathan Miles did much to spread gloom, even on such a wonderful day. Our thoughts and conversation soon turned to things not quite… normal?

  Amanda went first. “Have you thought any more about last night?”

  “Which part? The part where you….”

  “Stop it, you ass. Be serious. You know what I meant.”

  I heaved a sigh and shook my head. “I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve been up most of the night thinking about it and, by the way, you snore.”

  She slammed her fork down on the table, “I do not!”

  “Do too. Like a little pig. A pretty little pig, I must admit.”

  “Do I really?”

  I nodded. “But it’s okay, I think.”

  She punched my arm, hard.

  “More coffee, folks?” Strong said, as he approached out table, pot in hand.

  “Yes, please,” I said. “By the way, I haven’t seen those two guys today, the fishermen. Did they head out early?”

  “They did. They left for home before breakfast. Said they needed to be back in New York before dark.”

  “Hmmm,” I looked at Amanda. She shrugged.

  “So,” she said. “Where’s Mr. Perkins this morning? Any chance I could have a word with him?”

  “Of course. It’s his day off, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll give him a buzz and you can go on through to his room. He lives on the ground floor in the small tower on the north side of the house. He’s been here longer than I have. Must be at least seventy-five. Probably should have replaced him by now, but he knows the place better than anyone, how it’s run, its idiosyncrasies.”

  He left, went out into the foyer and reappeared a couple of minutes later. He beckoned for us to follow him, then led the way though the kitchen to a heavy wooden door.

  Simon Perkins did not look his age. In fact, I was hard-pressed to believe he was any older than sixty. He was wiry man, tanned and lean, with a full head of hair. True, it was gray, but it was thick and long. His arms were knotted with muscles. He must have been quite the ladies man in his day, because the old geezer flirted with Amanda outrageously, and it was easy to see she was flattered.

  It didn’t take long for us to figure out Perkins had nothing to do with our nocturnal experiences though. He was as deaf as a post. Could he have been? Yes, I suppose so, but you only had to spend a few minutes with him to see how unlikely it was. He was a fun old guy with an eye for ladies. Nothing more.

  -----

  “So now what?” Amanda asked, as I pulled the door to Perkins’s quarters closed behind me.

  “Well, we can rule him out, I think, right?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “And the fishermen have up and left, which doesn’t rule them out, but does make them unlikely suspects.”

  “That leaves the Strongs,” she said, “and I don’t see it. He was too upset. His outrage was genuine.”

  I couldn’t help but agree with her, but then again, I’d seen some great actors during my time in law enforcement.

  We went back in the kitchen, which was empty. Where the Strongs were we had no idea, but the coffee was still hot, so I poured us half a cup each and we sat down at the kitchen table.

  “There is one other person that might have a hand in it, but he’s not here,” I said, as I looked at her across the rim of my cup.

  “Oh yes? Who?”

  “Duckworthy. He made you an offer for the place. A very low offer, and he admitted to having a business partner. He’s the only one I can think of that might have a motive for scaring you away. It’s tenuous, but….”

  “Harry. That’s a real stretch. He’s an ass, but I just don’t see it. How?”

  “That’s the catch. I don’t know. I thought the fishermen might be working for him, but now that they’re gone… well. Who knows?”

  “Hmmm,” she said. “We only have Strong’s word for that, that they’re gone. They could still be here. Sneaking around somewhere, waiting.”

  She had a point, but I didn’t say so. I didn’t want her to spend the rest of our stay looking over her shoulder. I figured that was my job.

  We sat together in silence. There was still no sign of the Strongs.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  I thought for a minute. “I keep thinking about that painting. The one in the sitting room. There’s something funny about it, something we’re not seeing. You want to go and take another look at it? Maybe we’re missing something. Maybe the cold light of day will shed some new light on it.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  A few minutes later we were standing together in the sitting room, in front of the fireplace, staring up at the painting.

  The more I looked at her face, the more I wondered about her expression. It was… plaintive, that was for sure, but there was something more. Her eyebrows were raised.... Was she asking a question? Was she trying to tell us something? The composition of the picture was all wrong too. She was facing out of the scene, not into it. It looked awkward. She looked awkward.

  I pulled the watch out and opened it, looked at it, looked at the one in the painting, but I was just as bemused as I had been the night before. What the hell was I not seeing? And why was
she holding the watch like that? She held it with the tips of all four fingers and the thumb of her left hand, tilted slightly toward us, so we could see the inside of the case.

  “Do you see anything?” I asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amanda shake her head.

  “Me neither,” I said, “but there must be something.” I raised the watch higher, close to my eyes, and squinted at the inside of the concave back. It was a mass of tiny swirls­­—they were so small they might have been scratches. Scratches? I wonder….

  “I don’t suppose you have a magnifying glass in that catch-all of yours?”

  “Nope. I wonder if Strong has one.”

  I picked up the phone and dialed his extension. You guessed it: he didn’t have one either.

  “Shit. What do we do now?” I said, more to the room than to Amanda.

  “How about we take a photo with the iPhone,” Amanda said, “and then enlarge it.”

  “Hmmm. Not bad. It’s worth a try.”

  I took the watch to the window where the light was better, laid it on its back, and took out my phone, an iPhone 6s. I snapped a couple of pics, brought them up, and enlarged one of the images.

  Crap. That’s no good. “Nope. It gets too fuzzy when it’s enlarged. Now what?” For a moment I was baffled. Then I had an idea. But without Internet service….

  “Okay, I have an idea. Come on.” I grabbed her hand and rushed her out of the room.

  “Keys,” I said. “We need the car keys, and my laptop.”

  Five minutes later we were on the road heading for Little Machias.

  “Here.” I handed her my iPhone over the center console. “Keep an eye on the bars. Let me know as soon as we have service.”

  We were almost at the town limits when she said, “Okay. Got it. Four bars.”

  I pulled over to take the phone from her and sent myself an e-mail with all six images of the watch attached. Then I turned on the iPhone’s personal WiFi hot spot feature, opened my laptop, and… sure enough, I was able to log onto the Internet and into my Gmail account, and there it was. I downloaded the images and snapped the computer shut.