Bloody Royal Prints (20 page)

Coleman seemed to have made a new conquest. That was good. Someone to show her London, see that she had a good time. Coleman deserved to have a good time, and to be happy. Dinah wanted the best for Coleman. She prayed for Coleman's good health and well-being, and drifted back to sleep.

Saturday morning, May, London

Dinah was awakened by Hamilton standing by the bed, offering her a tray identical to Jonathan's. She didn't have to leap out of bed to serve Jonathan's coffee and juice, and, joy of joys, Hamilton had brought her the newspapers, including
Secrets
. For the first time she understood what it was like to have someone working for her who anticipated what she wanted. She thanked him, and he handed her a clipping from a paper they didn't normally see. It was a picture of Coleman outside Scott's and a nice paragraph about her discovery of the stolen art and antiques at 23 Culross. Good for Coleman.

She looked at the bedside clock. Hamilton must have turned off her alarm, but Jonathan's had rung, and he already had his tray. Perfect. They were awake at the same time, and could lie in bed sipping juice and coffee and enjoying the papers, like they used to in New York. True luxury. She pushed aside the
International New York Times
and picked up
Secrets
. Uh oh, Stephanie's latest print was on the front page and it was much more revealing than the last one: a female nude, standing, facing the viewer. Her head was turned away, obscuring her face, and anatomical details had been deliberately blurred, but an ogling man, obviously spying on the woman, had been introduced. It was pornographic, or close to it. Rachel would be upset. She'd have to call her later.

It was time to get up to arrange Jonathan's breakfast, and remove the smelly buffet to the kitchen. Then she remembered: The wicked witches had been banished, and she had no downstairs duties. She could shower and join Jonathan in the dining room knowing that his breakfast and her own would be perfect. Hamilton would see to it.

After her shower, she put on jeans and a blue turtleneck. She'd work at home today, selecting the room that would be her office, making sure there were bookshelves in it for the cookbooks she would acquire, and for the reference books she'd use for her job at the museum. She'd order office furniture and a fax machine, get Internet installed, set up a computer, and get all the office supplies she needed.

She'd discuss menus with Hamilton. He would handle the shopping and simple cooking, augmented with take-out, until the new cook arrived.

She was as happy as a bee—maybe a queen bee?—having rid herself of useless drones, and ready to put the hive in order.

She skipped down the stairs, and was thrilled to see a brightly colored wrapped package at her place at the table. She tore off the wrapping: a much coveted copy of
Gordon Ramsay's Great British Pub Food
. What a marvelous gift! The card read, “Good luck with your food column. James, Hamilton, and Franklin.” She was turning the first pages when Hamilton brought the telephone to the table.

“It's Mrs. Carter at Mr. Bain's.”

Mrs. Carter, sounding distressed, said, “Mrs. Hathaway, Mr. Bain wants you to come to his house right away. Miss Coleman needs you. Dolly vanished. She may have been stolen.”

Dinah gasped. Oh, poor Coleman.

“Please tell Coleman I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Hamilton said, “James is waiting for you. I put your dark blue coat in the car.”

Jonathan was descending the stairs as she ran for the door. “Hamilton will explain,” she called, and ran out the door.

Saturday morning, May, London

When Coleman awoke, she felt wonderful. She pulled back the curtains to see what kind of day it was. Oh, joy! The sun was shining. It was a perfect day. She still felt the glow of the party, and the excitement of meeting Tony. She was looking forward to seeing him tonight.

She pulled on her green tracksuit and sneakers. She'd take Dolly for a long, brisk walk before breakfast. Dolly had explored Heyward's tiny garden, but she needed more exercise, and so did Coleman. Coleman attached Dolly's pink leash to the matching pink collar, while the little dog danced and pranced with excitement, telling Coleman she was eager to go. Coleman was about to head downstairs, when someone slipped a newspaper clipping under the door. Good grief, there was her picture outside Scott's! That's why the lights had been flashing! A photographer had been taking pictures of her. The picture was flattering, and a nice paragraph covered her discovery at 23 Culross. That's why Tony said she'd be the toast of London. He must have known about the article.

She was already down the steps and on the sidewalk when she realized she didn't have the house keys Heyward had given her. She told Dolly to wait, she'd be right back. To save time, she decided to take the little elevator up to her suite instead of walking. The elevator worked like a charm, and she quickly found the keys. But when she was in the elevator ready to go back down, the doors closed, and she couldn't open them. The elevator wouldn't budge. She rang the emergency bell. She could hear people tinkering with the controls, and talking to each other, but nearly half an hour passed before the elevator delivered her to the main floor. When she reached the steps where Dolly had been waiting, she was horrified to see that the little dog was not where Coleman had left her. She called her, but Dolly didn't come. Could one of the servants have taken her somewhere? Was she in the house? Coleman went inside and knocked on the library door.

“Come in,” Heyward called.

She entered the room, and asked him to check with everyone in the house. Had anyone seen Dolly?

Heyward, looking as worried as she felt, used the intercom to deal with his inquiries about Dolly. No one in the house had seen the little dog. She wasn't in the house.

Coleman was frightened, and angry.

“You must call the police! Someone must have stolen her,” she said.

“I'll call them, but they won't come. The police will refuse to investigate a missing dog, unless we can prove there's been a crime. They'll say she ran away—”

“Dolly would not run away,” Coleman said, furious.

“I know she wouldn't, but the police don't. I'm on the phone with my office. We'll put everybody we have on this—we'll put posters everywhere, starting in this neighborhood. Give me all Dolly's information—height, weight, microchip, pictures. We'll offer a thousand pounds' reward to anyone who'll see that we get her back today. We'll ask everyone on the square if they've seen her.”

“If you think Dolly's in the neighborhood, maybe I should go look for her,” she said. “I can't stand here doing nothing while someone hurts her.”

“Coleman, you must stay calm. I need you to make this search work. Listen to me: It's only eight thirty in the morning. She's been gone half an hour at the most. Even if someone did take her, we have no reason to believe they knew she belonged to you, or that you were a target.”

“But they might have,” said Coleman. “The house must have been watched. She was alone so briefly, they must have been waiting for a chance to get her. It could have been the ring connected with the house on Culross, or maybe someone who saw the article in the paper about me this morning.”

“Or it could have been someone who thought Dolly belonged to me,” said Heyward.

Coleman closed her mouth abruptly at the thought, which worried her even more. Of course Heyward might have enemies of his own. He was far better known in London than she was, despite the photo in this morning's paper.

“Dolly is almost certainly near this house,” Heyward said. “Whoever has her, for whatever reason, they won't hurt her. If they've kidnapped her, they'll want money. They'll probably call here asking for a ransom.” He turned toward Mrs. Carter, who was standing in the doorway. “Please telephone Dinah Hathaway. Tell her I want her here as soon as possible—Coleman needs her. Make sure that everyone here knows what we're doing, and that no one has seen anything suspicious.”

Coleman stood like a statue, still and cold, her face as white as marble. “This is all my fault. I knew this kind of thing happened in London. I read about a dog being left alone for only thirty minutes, and stolen. I shouldn't have left Dolly alone,” Coleman said. “You said before I came that she could never be dognapped because she was always with me. But I left her alone. She's too small and too sweet to fight. She's never bitten anyone. She's friendly to everyone; she's defenseless. She'll be so scared. I can't think what to do.”

Coleman and Heyward were standing outside on the house's front steps when Dinah arrived. “How can I help?” she said.

Coleman shook her head. “I don't know. I'll never forgive myself. I shouldn't have brought Dolly to London. I've never known anyone in New York who's had a dog stolen,” she said.

Coleman looked and sounded terrible, and Dinah didn't know what to say or do to help her. If whoever took the dog wanted money in exchange for her, it would not be a problem. Coleman had money, and Heyward was a billionaire. But suppose it wasn't about money? Suppose the 23 Culross witches or their masters had stolen Dolly to get back at Coleman for destroying their racket? Would they kill the little dog? God forbid. She prayed for Dolly and Coleman.

A red Ferrari pulled into the driveway. Coleman glanced at it but continued her monologue, blaming herself, lamenting that she had left Dolly alone, swearing that if she got the little dog back, she'd never leave her alone again.

Tony got out of the car and ran up the steps. He handed Coleman a Starbucks cup and a blueberry muffin. She didn't seem to register it, or him, but she sipped the coffee, and nibbled the muffin.

“How did you hear?” Dinah asked.

“It's on the radio,” he said.

Heyward looked at him. “Police radio?”

Tony nodded.

Mrs. Carter returned with a tea cart loaded with a coffee pot, a teapot, a pitcher of orange juice, and a basket of pastries. She spoke to Heyward. “I don't think Miss Coleman wants to come inside.”

“Maybe not, but she doesn't look warm enough. Would you bring her a coat?” Heyward asked.

“Yes, right away. All the telephones are ringing. It's people who want to help, or the press.”

“Yes, I hear the phones. Thank the callers, tell them we'll announce any news, but for now we're trying to keep the lines clear in case whoever has the dog is trying to reach us.”

Mrs. Carter hurried upstairs, returned with Coleman's fur coat, and draped it over her shoulders. Coleman slipped her arms into the sleeves, and pulled the coat closed.

One of the maids came to the door carrying a telephone. “Mr. Bain, there's a man on the phone who says he has your dog. He wants to speak to you.”

Heyward took the phone and pressed the button to put it on speaker. A gravelly voice with a heavy Scottish accent spoke. “You want your dog? How much will you pay?” Heyward exchanged glances with Tony.

“A Ross,” Tony whispered. “Keep him on the line. I'll make some calls, see if the police can locate him.” He went inside. Coleman could hear him talking on the phone.

Coleman stared at Heyward. Were they saying it was that nasty old Ross man who'd taken Dolly? What a fiend. She'd like to go after him, but it was impossible. If she were a man, she'd beat him up. Someone should.

Heyward moved into the house and joined Tony. Coleman could hear the two of them speaking, in separate conversations. She started to follow them inside so she could hear better, but when she tried to move, her coat caught on something, maybe one of the evergreens in the big pots on the porch? She pulled hard, but she couldn't get it loose. She reached down to untangle it, and a wet tongue licked her hand.

“Dolly!” she said, “Oh, I'm so glad to see you. How'd you get here? Look, Dinah, Dolly chewed through her leash. Look at her leash—only a short bit left. That's how she got away. Smart Dolly.”

Coleman picked up the little dog and cuddled her, but Dolly wriggled and was impatient to get back down.

“What is it? Are you hungry?” Back on the ground, Dolly grabbed the hem of Coleman's coat in her mouth again and pulled it—and Coleman—toward the street.

“She wants to go somewhere,” Coleman said.

Heyward, who'd hung up on the foul-mouthed Scot when he heard Coleman cry “Dolly,” was the first to understand. “She wants to take you to the people who abducted her.”

“Of course. I should have known,” Coleman said. “What should we do?”

“She must have been held very nearby, probably in one of the houses in the square,” Heyward said.

“There are a lot of police in the area,” Tony said. “It will be easy to have all the nearby houses watched while she takes us to the right one. But Coleman, you can't walk alone with her. James and William should walk with you and Dolly. They're both big men, and can protect you if necessary. We'll follow you in my car. I want to stay in touch with the police—I can do that best from the car.”

“I'm going with Coleman and Dolly,” Dinah said.

“Okay, let's go,” Coleman said.

When Coleman picked up what was left of Dolly's leash, the little dog looked at her approvingly, and dropped the coat. She trotted out to the street, and turned left on the sidewalk. She led them to a house only four houses away. She sat down in front of it, stared at it, and then up at Coleman. Her attitude was clearly “I've done my part. Now it's up to you.”

Within minutes the house was surrounded by police. One of them knocked on the front door, which was answered by the old Ross man who had screamed at Coleman and Dinah the day before. An argument ensued, while Coleman, Dinah, James, and William watched. Heyward and Tony got out of the car and joined them for a better view.