The Curious Case of the Missing Figurehead: A Novel (A Professor and Mrs. Littlefield Mystery)

by Diane Noble

  The professor just sat there, watching me. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw warmth and understanding in his expression. Kind eyes always bring tears to mine. I sniffled.

  “And my business … oh dear, what about my business?” Tears now pooled in my lower lids. “You can’t do this to us. We need this event.” I grabbed a napkin from the holder and gave my nose a swipe. “And you can’t even tell me why the event must be canceled?” I’d put in everything I had, plus some I didn’t, even taking money out of my retirement account. If tonight’s dinner didn’t happen, my little company would be bankrupt by the end of the month.

  He was fingering an antique-looking cross I hadn’t noticed before. It hung from a leather cord tied at the back of his neck. Since it was a well-known fact among the gossips in town that he’d never married, I wondered if he’d ever seen a woman cry before.

  “It’s complicated.”

  I huffed out a sigh as I slid into the chair next to his. “Please reconsider. Whatever’s causing you to cancel, can’t you deal with it tomorrow?”

  “I wish I could. But in truth, we’ll all rest easier if we cancel.” He stood to go. “I’m sorry about your business and all the work you’ve gone to. I really am. But it’s just too dangerous.”

  I trotted along behind him as he headed through the dining room. “You must have known that bringing the figurehead to Eden’s Bridge means that every Tom, Dick, and Harry who’s ever dabbled in antiquities, legal or otherwise, would congregate here too.”

  He turned, and a smile almost made it to his lips. I saw his mouth twitch in one corner. “I will make inquiries about compensation for all you’ve put into my dinner. Maybe the food could be taken to Asheville to a homeless shelter, or …”

  I looked down, so disappointed I could have cried. Again.

  He didn’t say good-bye or even “I’m sorry,” but turned back around, opened my front door, and jogged down the steps. I stood watching from the doorway as he continued down the driveway toward the street.

  Seconds later, Enrique and Juan Fox arrived in The Butler Did It catering van. One hundred fifty pounds of prime baby back ribs lay in big tubs in the back of the van. When they opened the door, the fragrance of the rub wafted out. The crew had applied the rub last night at the Encore, a dinner theater with an adjoining restaurant-sized kitchen, built for Southern Highland University’s school of culinary arts and for the drama department. It was perfect for dinners such as this. Or it would have been perfect.

  But back to Enrique and Juan and the van full of ribs. I raised my hand in greeting. Enrique jumped out of the driver’s side, and Juan exited on the other.

  “Okay to leave the ribs in the van while we get the pit ready?” Enrique asked as he closed the door of the van.

  I hesitated. What would we do with one hundred fifty pounds of raw baby backs? Or cooked, for that matter?

  I walked with them to the barbecue pit in the rear corner of my yard. They had laid the apple wood yesterday, so it was just a matter of lighting the fire, letting it cook down to coals, and then keeping the coals at a constant temperature.

  I started to tell them that Dr. Haverhill had canceled dinner. And then stopped as a new thought occurred to me.

  The Butler Did It wasn’t about to cancel.

  I had no idea why Dr. Haverhill thought going forward with the dinner would be dangerous, but I was going to find out. And I had only a short time to do it.

  Chapter Four

  Enrique had parked the catering van to one side of the garage door, so I had a clear shot out of the driveway.

  I sped down Crab Apple Lane, turned onto University Avenue, and spotted Dr. Haverhill jogging along at a fairly nice clip. I was impressed. I wasn’t sure how old the retiring professor might be, but he seemed to be in good shape for any age. Very good shape.

  I caught up with him, honked, and pulled over. He halted, his face red with exertion. He came over to the Ghia, looking puzzled.

  “I’m not a quitter, Dr. Haverhill.”

  “Max.”

  “Okay. I’m not a quitter, Max.”

  “Neither am I, under ordinary circumstances …”

  “Have you received threats?”

  “Not exactly.”

  His laugh lines disappeared. Something in his eyes said perhaps something worse had happened.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I removed my oversized sunglasses and propped them above my forehead, headband style. “Before you call off the dinner, I think we should talk.”

  “I plan to make my calls as soon as I get home.” He nodded toward the university campus, which was in the distance. “I’m only a mile or so down University Avenue.”

  A perfect opportunity to do some digging and perhaps save the day. Or, rather, night. “I’ll drive you.”

  He looked grateful, opened the door, and dropped into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

  As soon as he had fastened his seat belt, I checked for traffic and pulled away from the curb. I stepped on the gas, revving the Ghia’s little engine as I shifted gears.

  After a few moments he frowned and glanced at the speedo­meter.

  “There’s something else you should know,” he said, “about the figurehead.” He glanced at me. “It’s here.”

  I smiled at him. “I know.”

  “How could you possibly know?”

  “I guessed when I first read the article about it, and you, in the Chronicle. And it doesn’t take a PhD—sorry—to figure out that with that kind of press, you’re going to receive threats and all kinds of attention. Am I right?”

  “The figurehead was delivered by special transport last night.”

  I swerved around a car puttering in my lane. Max inhaled sharply. My synapses fired. I needed to stop and process everything the professor—er, Max—was telling me. “Do you mind if I pull over for a moment?”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “I think better when I’m not driving.”

  He looked relieved.

  By now we were parallel with the university faculty parking lot. I turned in with only a moderate tire squeal, spotted an empty space, and glided rather nicely into it. I cut the engine and turned to look at him. I had only a short time to convince Max that the show had to go on. My company’s very life was at stake.

  “Okay, so the figurehead is already here.”

  He nodded. “Under lock and key.”

  “You planned to put it on exhibit tonight?”

  He smiled. “Am I that transparent? Yes, I talked to Hyacinth and James Delancy—plus a few others in administration—and then I made arrangements for the carving to be transported from DC. The approval didn’t come through until a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Hyacinth knows about this?” I couldn’t believe my best friend kept a secret like this from me.

  “I know you two are good friends. I swore her to secrecy. As university archivist, yes, she needed to know. She approved the plan and has been on board every step of the way.”

  He reached in the pocket of his sweatpants, pulled out his cell phone, pressed a few icons, scrolled through some pictures, and then handed it to me. “This is why I need to cancel.”

  I saw a man in his late fifties, dressed casually, his silver hair stylishly collar length with a bit of curl. Fairly tall, with a slim build. He was turned slightly away from the camera so I couldn’t see his eyes. A beautiful woman stood next to him. I could see only her elegant profile and spiked blonde hair. “Who are they?”

  “His name is Marcel Devereaux. He’s an art and antiquities dealer from Paris. He’s well-known in certain circles. And those circles aren’t necessarily aboveboard. The woman, I don’t know. He’s said to have a companion who’s connected to high-end thieves. But I don’t know how true that is. European skullduggery, I suppose, and really, just hearsay.” Max
frowned and, taking the phone from me, studied the photo. “He’s been following me. I’ve seen him several times over the past few days. He and the woman were on my train from DC to Charlotte. And then I spotted them here in Eden’s Bridge yesterday. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Why do you consider him so dangerous that you would cancel tonight’s dinner?”

  “There was an attempt on my life during my last dive. A deliberate act. Someone cut both hoses to my oxygen tank. I didn’t find out until I was in the water.”

  “If he deals in antiquities, what if he’s here for the event, pure and simple? Maybe he wants to rub elbows with the who’s who of the antiquities adventurers.” I gave him a confident smile. “If he’s on the up-and-up, there’s nothing to be worried about, right?”

  “Anything is possible with Devereaux. But whatever it is, I doubt that it’s on the up-and-up.”

  “Why do you think he had anything to do with the sabotage of your oxygen tank?”

  “After we docked a few weeks ago, I saw him in a pub with a member of our crew. Money was exchanged. There was no reason for this Parisian to be in that spot at that time.”

  “But you didn’t see him while you were in DC?”

  Max shook his head.

  “How about letting me look into it? See what I can find out.” My life suddenly flashed before my eyes. Was I nuts? My company was about to put on the biggest event in Eden’s Bridge history and I was about to go AWOL to unmask a possible bad guy. I told myself to count to ten and calm down. If I didn’t take time to snoop, The Butler might lose everything anyway.

  It helped that Katie could pinch-hit for me as manager of The Butler team. Even so, my brain was spinning to the point I felt dizzy.

  And Max still didn’t look convinced.

  I leaned forward, determined to keep him from speaking until I’d finished. “If I can get the skinny on Devereaux and make sure he’s not up to something nefarious, will you agree to go ahead with the dinner?”

  Max surprised me by throwing his head back and laughing. “Get the skinny?”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.” I put my sunglasses back on my nose.

  “I love your tenacity.”

  “This wouldn’t be my first investigation, you know.” I lowered my sunglasses to study his expression.

  “Hyacinth told me you dabble in PI work.”

  Something about the word dabble hit me wrong. But I quickly felt the irritation fade as I met Max’s mountain-lake-hued gaze.

  “You said earlier that you had to put on this dinner for financial reasons. You have a stake in my dinner being successful, true?”

  “A huge stake.” My eyes watered again as I considered it. I pushed my sunglasses back into place. “It will pull The Butler Did It out of the red. If it’s canceled, I’ll be out a lot … of …” My voice caught and I couldn’t go on. The thought of losing my company hit me all over again. Sometimes my PI work took precedence over The Butler. The catering side of my business suffered when I did pro bono for friends. And I’d had a string of those lately. Tears stung behind my eyes, but I was proud of myself for being calmer than I’d been in my kitchen.

  Max’s brow furrowed in thought. “I’ll hold off canceling for a short time. How fast can you work?”

  “Speed of lightning.” I started the engine.

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “You need to text Devereaux’s photo to me. And do you mind riding with me back to my place?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. I had little time to spare.

  He pulled out his phone, and I gave him my cell number. I heard my phone chirp a few seconds later.

  I did a one-eighty and Max grabbed the edge of the worn Naugahyde seat with one hand.

  “Not to worry,” I said. “It just feels faster because the top’s down.”

  He nodded and wrapped his white-knuckled fingers around the armrest on the passenger-side door. “I like your spirit, El,” he shouted over the noise of the wind. His hair blew straight out behind him, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

  I’d never heard my name shouted more beautifully.

  Chapter Five

  My house came into view. I hit the brakes and turned into the driveway, narrowly missing the catering van. We both lurched forward at the sudden stop. “You can stay here, if you’d like,” I said and swung open the driver’s-side door.

  The humidity was rising along with the sun. The cicadas were out in force this year, and this morning they’d turned up the volume on their buzzing. Several frogs set up a competing racket from the small creek behind my office. Well, actually, it’s a potting shed that I turned into an office.

  The professor, still a bit white-faced, just nodded as he grabbed a handkerchief from his rear pocket and mopped his brow.

  I headed to the back corner of my yard, behind my vegetable garden, where Juan and Enrique were turning the racks of ribs in the pit. The charwood sizzled and sparked, and hickory-scented smoke rose. The scent was divine. Bubba and Junior sat in lawn chairs, reading magazines and talking.

  “You boys comfortable?” I tried not to sound too sarcastic. “You might lend a helping hand to Juan. I need to take Enrique with me.”

  The Sutherland boys shrugged lazily and stood to stretch. Bubba yawned and scratched his chest. Lazy or wily, I wondered. They grew very quiet and attentive when I told Enrique that he was needed at the Encore and why. I had the eerie feeling they were watching me like birds of prey, and noting everything I said, especially when I mentioned surveillance.

  Enrique, a top student in the culinary arts department, had discovered that he was a talented chef when it came to pit smoking and grilling. I’d also found he was even better at working with electronic devices such as bugs and minicams.

  “Right now?” He’d already pulled off his apron.

  “It can’t wait.”

  He glanced at his younger brother. “Go ahead,” Juan said. “I can handle it.”

  I pinched off a piece of meat on the end of a rack and popped it into my mouth. It nearly melted on my tongue, it was so tender. “Perfecto,” I said as I chewed. “Absolutely perfecto.”

  I turned back to Enrique. “I’ve got the Ghia,” I said. “And the backseat isn’t very big. You know where the equipment is?”

  “Same as last time?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Wireless only.”

  He trotted off toward the potting shed, where I kept a variety of such gadgets. I followed to make sure everything was in order and to explain precisely what he needed to do.

  I hurried to the car, Enrique trotting to keep up. Max had extricated himself and now leaned against the passenger-side door, his legs crossed at the ankles.

  I made introductions and then waited, trying not to look at my watch, while they climbed in and fastened seat belts. The morning sun was higher now, the wind warm against my face as I turned out of my driveway and pressed on the gas.

  “Mrs. Littlefield always drives like this,” Enrique shouted from the backseat as I rounded a corner, the tires squealing. “Someday, I tell her, she will not be so lucky when the sheriff catches her. I tell her this all the time.”

  Max raised his brows.

  I faked a scowl at Enrique in the rearview mirror, and he mugged back. Enrique was the taller of the two brothers, with jet-black hair, long legs, and pecan-hued skin, and dark, expressive eyes. Juan was of a shorter and stockier build and was a little better looking.

  With Max shouting directions, before long we were turning onto his street. “Third house down,” Max said, glancing over at me. His face held a new expression, almost as if he was seeing me for the first time.

  I came to a halt in front of a small two-story English-style house with a high-pitched roof. I almost laughed as I surveyed the front yard. Where most people grew a lawn, seedlings t
hrived in perfectly aligned rows. Signs made of empty seed packets stood at the end of each row identifying corn, squash, spinach, and tomatoes, among others. Amid a dozen other loamy rows stood a larger sign: Grow Vegetables Not Lawns.

  I liked the professor more every minute, and we’d spent only a few hours together. I met his gaze. For a breathless moment, I imagined … well, I didn’t want to go there. I had it on good authority from my hairdresser friend, Mabel, one of my best sources for such things, that half the women in town had either tried or were in the process of trying to catch the professor’s eye.

  I lifted my chin a notch. I was above all such romantic folderol.

  Max opened the passenger door, unwound his legs to get out, then hesitated a moment and leaned back in. “I enjoyed our morning together.”

  Be still my dancing heart. So much for the folderol.

  “Let me know what you find out about Devereaux,” he said. “I’m still not convinced that the dinner should go on. If we’re going to cancel, we must do it soon.”

  “Give me till eleven,” I said, hugely disappointed. I flashed him a brilliant smile and gave him a mock salute, which in my humble opinion spoke volumes about my confidence that all would be well.

  He sighed and nodded reluctantly.

  Minutes later, I roared into the Encore parking lot and halted in a parking space near the service-entrance side of the building. I checked my watch. My mind spun with last-minute preparations for tonight’s dinner: overseeing Enrique’s setup, syncing it with the monitor in The Butler Did It van once Juan delivered the ribs, getting the crew working on the table setups, hoping the university maintenance crew had pulled out the extra round tables from storage, placed chairs around each, and laid out the linens.

  But before I could get started on all of that, I needed to find out about Devereaux.

  Hyacinth must have heard the rattle of the Ghia’s muffler, because before I could set the brake, the Encore’s side door opened, and she stepped out and waved.