Officer Tyler Dekker (Smiley)
He seemed to be a police officer, but he engaged in behaviors that other police officers didn’t. He was always near where the action was, just after it had taken place: Karen’s attack, the attempt in the hospital, the assault on Ashley. It was almost as though he’d anticipated these shocking events. Or worse, caused them. I could find no connection between him and Vera, except for me as an intermediary. I had no indication that he’d known Karen or Ashley before, or Alex for that matter. However, it seemed quite likely that he had shown up at Karen’s apartment and let himself in, or possibly even broken in. There was something definitely not right about Officer Smiley. He was not who he seemed to be. But who was he?
Signora Fiammetta Panetone
Was she a faithful retainer or something else? It was hard to imagine the signora being anything other than a whirling food magician. But what was her relationship with Eddie? She seemed to know everything that was going on. She’d reacted to the talk about Alex and the discussion about the attack on Karen. She had the keys to everything in the Van Alst house. Nothing happened without her knowledge. Did the information stay with her? Or did it get passed on to someone more dangerous?
The man with the limp
I had to keep my eyes open for him in the hospital and elsewhere. Had he been at the book fair? I couldn’t place him there, and neither Beckwith nor Ashley had seen him, but I hadn’t been watching for a man with a limp. He knew where Karen lived, and he’d showed up there. That meant he’d connected with her earlier, before the attack. Although I had no evidence that he was behind the attack in the hall, there was no doubt he’d tried to smother her in the hospital. Was he working with Merlin? Was he Merlin?
Merlin
Real? Not real? Real, but not who he seemed to be? What was he up to? And why?
How dangerous was he? He was connected to Vera indirectly, to Alex, and through Alex, to Ashley. I knew of no connection between him and Karen, but it wouldn’t be surprising given the business she was in.
Ashley Snell
Ashley didn’t know Vera, but she knew Alex, Karen, George and Jeannette Beckwith, Officer (who is he really?) Smiley, and had seen and observed Eddie at the fair and around town. Alex had revealed information about Merlin to her against his better judgment. She was a person who talked without thinking. Had she blurted out the Merlin connection to someone she shouldn’t have?
Alex Fine
Was he what he’d seemed to be—naïve, hardworking, honest, agreeable? Shy. Or something more? He was connected to Vera, Ashley, Karen, and probably George, Eddie, the signora and the mysterious Merlin.
What about his death? What had that been about? With two other attacks, was it really possible that he’d been the victim of a random act of violence by a homeless man? I needed to find out.
The play
The play (possibly nonexistent) was like a person in this whole complicated scenario. Almost everyone had some connection. Vera wanted it. Alex had hunted it. Ashley had found out things she wasn’t supposed to know about the seller. The signora probably had overhead talk about it. Eddie most likely had eavesdropped and found out about it. Karen might have had a lead on it. George and Jeannette most likely had heard rumors. Merlin was the kingpin who might or might not be able to provide it (if he was real). How did the man with the limp fit in with the play?
Missing info? Unknown connections?
What else was I missing? What didn’t I know? Why couldn’t I figure it out? It would have been a good night to be Agatha Christie, but I was Jordan Bingham, perched on an astoundingly hard plastic chair in the hospital, watching a woman sleep. It was not a good night for me.
Karen didn’t stir all night, not even when the nurses made their infrequent visits to check vitals. Each of them nodded to me, the caring “niece.”
I didn’t dare fall asleep.
The security guard did.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
UNCLE BILLY SHOWED up well before six with an ID tag. He was always an early bird. The security guard was nowhere to be seen. I guessed that Vera had worked her high-status magic for the Kelly contingent.
“Your uncle Danny will be along shortly,” he said. “He’s always running late, usually from some husband.”
I laughed. “Well, I am glad you can take over from security. They seem to be falling down on the job.”
Uncle Billy shook his head in disgust at the chair, now vacant, where the guard had been sitting. “In my day, heads would roll for less. Can’t trust anyone.”
“Not true. I can trust my uncles.”
With Karen in good hands and reinforcements on the way, I yawned and headed home to get a bit of sleep.
* * *
EVEN THOUGH THE morning sun was streaming through the window, I flaked out the minute I sat on the bed to take off my shoes. My last thought was surprise that no cat had managed to follow me in. Then I keeled over fully clothed. I spent an hour or so dreaming of sprawling hospitals full of policemen who were lost, cats who were burglars and books that were missing. My eyes popped open in the middle of the missing-book dream. What was that about? Something I had noticed and hadn’t thought much about? Yes, gaps in the shelves in Vera’s collection, books not where they should have been. Had I really noticed that? Or was the dream messing with my brain?
I reached for my notebook and made a note to myself to check that in the morning. By then I was wide awake. It was morning. Seven thirty to be exact. Of course, it had already been morning when I hit the hay.
As the uncles say just before plunging into some risky business, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I had no choice but to head down those dark and endless hallways to Vera’s library to check it out. I knew my way around the Van Alst house, but what I didn’t know was Eddie McRae’s role in all this. Eddie seemed to be quite at home in the house, and there was a chance that either Signora Panetone or Vera might have told him I was suspicious of him. I decided the best time to test my hunch was in broad daylight when everyone was awake and around.
At that point I conked out again.
* * *
THE THUNDER OF Signora Panetone banging on my door woke me up. The inevitable cat was dozing on the flowered quilt. I glanced at the clock. Eight a.m.
“Breakfast ready! Vera says hurry! Late, late!”
My iPhone vibrated. A text message from Uncle Tiny let me know that all systems were go and “the boys” were keen. After the world’s fastest shower, I slipped into a black cotton scooped-neck tee, a flowered knee-length appliquéd skirt that my mother had bought in San Francisco sometime in the sixties, and a pair of black sandals that would let me run or leap a fence if I had to. Who knew what the day would hold? Each one had been full of surprises lately. I tucked my hair into a fairly neat ponytail and headed for the lion’s den. Makeup could wait.
I entered the conservatory, ready to apologize, but Vera tore her eyes from her New York Times and held up her hand.
“I have a report that you slept at the hospital last night.”
“Didn’t sleep. That was the whole idea, to have someone awake and watching to make sure that Karen Smith made it through the night. Unlike Grandville General’s so-called security.”
“No need to quibble on the wording. My point is, that shouldn’t have been necessary. You need your wits about you for this job.”
No kidding.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. We could have had someone else spend the night there. You are hardly a bodyguard.”
Someone else? Like who? The signora? She seemed to be tearing around twenty hours a day as it was. Eddie? He was part of the problem. Brian? As if maintaining the gardens and the rest of this huge property weren’t enough. Vera had a real problem with boundaries in the case of her employees. And why would any of them have been better than me? I was one of her employees too. And I’d already saved Karen’s life twice.
I kept these thoughts to myse
lf. I took my place at the table, angling myself as usual for the best view of the side garden. The signora had been waiting impatiently and immediately transferred a small mountain of French toast to my plate. Without asking, she poured on about a cup of maple syrup and then ladled on sliced strawberries. My brain might have been sleepy, but my hand went right for my Francis I silver fork.
But Vera wasn’t done with me.
“In future, remember that I pay you to be awake and alert, not walking around like a zombie.”
I said, “Thank you for making the arrangements to have the Kellys there keeping an eye on Karen. I’d like to check something in the library this morning. Will that interfere with any of your plans?”
She looked surprised. The small distraction allowed the signora to slip a few more strawberries onto her plate.
The signora said, “No plans. Doctor coming, only doctor. Eat, Vera.”
“For the thousandth time, Fiammetta, it’s the physio, not the doctor. When have you known a doctor to make a morning call to a person who wasn’t at death’s door?”
Fiammetta crossed herself and muttered, “Eat,” darkly.
“Tell me what it is you’re looking for, Miss Bingham.”
“I’ll know when I find it,” I said. “It’s just an idea, to do with the play. You’ll know the minute I do.”
Vera answered with more of her dismissive grunts and turned her attention back to the Times.
Breakfast was a quieter affair than usual. At least the garden was gorgeous, with the peony beds in full flower.
* * *
I SPENT AN hour in my quarters, with paper in hand, making notes about different ways I could think about recent events. That was an hour wasted. After that, I set off for the library. As I crossed the grand foyer and started down the endless corridor on the east wing, I passed the strange, tall woman with the salt-and-pepper pageboy and the football player’s shoulders. She was standing by the elevator, tapping her toe as she waited for it to arrive from the second floor. Of course, that was the answer. No mystery there. This must be Vera’s physiotherapist.
She didn’t respond to my greeting. Not that I really cared. I had the library on my mind.
Even in the daylight there was a residual spookiness in the Van Alst corridors. I figured some of those relatives must have had seriously bad karma. I unlocked the library door and then secured it behind me. Not that I expected any of those relatives to leap from their frames and come after me, but better safe than sorry. I started systematically checking the shelves for gaps in the collections.
A half hour later, I had confirmed that the main level seemed fine. I climbed the circular wrought-iron staircase to the mezzanine and continued my search there. That was where the memory of odd spaces had come from, and most likely that memory had triggered my dream. Here and there were small gaps. Titles missing? Or room for growth? The Rex Stout section was there. I could see gaps. My uncles love Nero Wolfe. Well, I think they love Archie Goodwin. Sure enough, there were gaps where I would expect to find titles. More room for growth? A few volumes were not where they should be. But Vera might have had them in her room. I had noted that copy of Sad Cypress on her lap when she opened the door the night before. But the only gaps were on the mezzanine. What was one of the Nero Wolfe titles my uncles enjoyed? I recalled The Second Confession. Was there a copy of that here? There wasn’t. I tried to remember another Rex Stout title and finally came up with Black Orchids. No sign of that either. What were the chances that Vera didn’t have these? I kept going, slowly and meticulously, noting spaces that didn’t seem right. Vera must have an inventory of her collection. Where was that? I was surprised I didn’t know. I was falling down on the job. But I would ask, and I would return with it and compare it to the shelves on the mezzanine. I felt confident that Vera hadn’t taken any of those books away herself.
I had no way of knowing how mobile Vera might be without her wheelchair, but I figured those stairs would be very difficult for her. If I were going to pinch books, which despite my criminal pedigree I would never do, I’d pick a spot where they wouldn’t be discovered. The question was, who had taken them? I hadn’t. What about Alex? He’d worked for Vera. He could have had a sideline, selling duplicates or poorer copies when better ones were acquired. Or perhaps selling them and substituting cheaper copies. Would she have ever discovered what had happened?
This didn’t line up with what I knew about Alex, but I had to keep the possibility in mind.
And what about Eddie? How hard would it be for him to get his mitts on a copy of the key and to find out the access code? He seemed to have the run of the house. If he could get into the library, he could get out with something of value. Piece of cake if you asked me. And Eddie had been seen talking to Karen not long before she was attacked. That could not be a coincidence. Did they have a business relationship? Eddie seemed a likely candidate. I couldn’t imagine Signora Panetone stealing books. Where would she ever find the time? She seemed totally devoted to Vera. If money was her motivation, she could have been making a fortune running her own restaurant rather than shouting at Vera to eat three times a day and, as far as I could tell, seven days a week. Was she connected to anyone who might not feel as loyal? Someone who could take advantage of her position? She couldn’t have just materialized at the Van Alst house out of nowhere. I couldn’t discount some unknown Panetone connection, even though Eddie seemed like the prime suspect. I had an idea of how to find out.
It suddenly crossed my mind that if Eddie had an access key to the library and trapped me there, I wouldn’t have a hope here in the east wing. The library was at the farthest end of the wing. It was as far as you could get from the kitchen and the conservatory, where Vera would probably be if her physio appointment was over. The library windows had been covered up, so there wouldn’t be any way to attract the attention of the gardener. No one would hear a sound, and most likely no one would ever see Eddie coming or going. The second attempt on Karen’s life had been in a busy hospital in the early evening.
I had good reason to feel edgy. I picked up the small bronze of the naked man reading. I loved that little bronze, and now there was another good reason to. I gripped it tight. If anyone tried to get me, they were going to have an unexpected fight on their hands. There were benefits to being raised by Kellys. Rolling over and playing dead wasn’t in our DNA.
* * *
ON MY WAY back to my own quarters, still clutching the bronze statue and fighting the urge to look over my shoulder in case Eddie was about to clobber me, I spotted Vera in the conservatory. She must have finished her physiotherapy session. Judging by her expression, it hadn’t helped much. She was glaring at the New York Times, ignoring the spectacular garden behind her. I felt a jolt of the signora’s excellent coffee would help me stay awake, and there was a pot sitting in front of Vera. I decided to join her. Sometimes good espresso is worth a sacrifice.
The signora appeared as if by magic with another cup and saucer for me.
I was somewhat distracted by the smell of the fresh baked bread that arrived with her. Once again, I wondered when or if Signora Panetone slept.
Vera glanced up over her espresso and raised one eyebrow. When I looked down and saw the statue in my hand, I had to think fast.
I met Vera’s gimlet-eyed gaze. “I’m afraid I’ve fallen a bit in love with this little bronze, and I wanted to find out about it.” I resisted apologizing for carrying it out of the library, or even asking permission. “Who is the sculptor? I can’t really read the artist’s signature.”
“I have no idea. If he wasn’t holding that book, he wouldn’t be in the library. It’s just something my father picked up. He was the one with the fondness for bronzes. I never really cared for them.”
“Really? But they’re so beautiful. When they’re done well, and this one is.”
“If you say so. I can’t get excited over it. My father got to know a lot of sculptors. I guess they could smell a patsy.”
I
hadn’t noticed many bronzes or other statues in any of the grand rooms around the house. Perhaps Vera had chosen to sell them off.
“Well, this one is lovely,” I said.
“Is it? I suppose you want it for your quarters.”
I barely managed not to stutter out a “w-w-what,” which would have diminished me in Vera’s eyes for sure. “It belongs with your book collection.”
She waved a hand. “Bronzes always make my skin crawl. Take it. The offer stands only while you’re in my employ, it goes without saying.”
“Naturally. Thank you.”
“You hungry?” Signora Panetone pounced again.
I blinked. “Thanks, but I ate a lot of that French toast. Very good with the strawberries and maple syrup,” I mentioned in case she had forgotten heaping my plate an hour earlier.
“More coffee would be good,” I added. That got the right response. I watched her carefully as she motored through the door from the kitchen. No sign of Eddie, but he may have learned to stay out of my line of sight.
The conservatory was quiet while I sipped my coffee and Vera ignored her plate, as usual. Outside the window, I could see and hear the gardener on the lawn tractor. The sight of the magnificent peonies and smell of cut grass added to the moment. If there hadn’t been a murderer about, life would have been just about perfect.
“So,” I said after my third cup, “do you house some of the books from the collection elsewhere?”
She scowled. I was used to that and composed my own expression to reflect pleasant inquiry.
She said, “I do not. Why would you ask?”
“I thought I saw some gaps on the mezzanine, just a few, but I could tell that something had been taken. Was—”
A timid person could start to become very nervous around now. “No.”
“No? But I’m sure—”
“I haven’t taken anything from the mezzanine or the main level for that matter, except the one book I am reading. Sad Cypress. I am going through my Christie collection again. It’s not the best copy, but it’s still lovely. But that’s it.”
The Christie Curse Page 19