Drowning Pool (Miss Henry Mysteries) (4 page)

The rest of them mounted the massive stair
so that they could be browbeaten by the display of wealth and power that at first glance was witheringly unimaginative. They passed through what seemed like miles of stairwell all hung with paintings, tapestries, and friezes which looked like they had been chipped out of their original sources and then framed with crude timber. And there were weapons. Lots of weapons, among them obsidian blades whose possible history was most sinister, and some kind of coshes that could easily bludgeon a rhinoceros. It was not the stuff one saw in a five-star hotel. At least, not any hotel in the United States.

Juliet’s revulsion grew with every step
, though she was careful to keep her face blank, and she wondered who set the emotional temperature of the castle—Henrik or his father? There were a number of trophies on the second floor, enough to demonstrate that here was a lineage that included mass-murders of every type of fox and pheasant and big game, and was therefore a fitting rival for all the finest royal animal-killers in Europe.

But then
, she thought soberly,
what is this compared to the millions the Nazis had massacred, probably with the complicity, if not the actual assistance, of their host?

They passed a library and Juliet paused to admire it
, giving her eyes a long moment to adjust to the gloom. The ceilings were high and an iron staircase was needed to reach the balcony. The tomes were old and probably rare, and of course expensive. They were also being overlooked by a life-size Jesus dying on the cross. As a means of ensuring silence, the crucified savior probably worked better than any librarian.

As she looked from treasure to treasure, she had to wonder, was von Hayek the type to hide something in plain sight? Would he dare display it with a house full of artists who would be assumed to recognize it? If so, she would have trouble finding the roundel among so many other possessions.
It was beginning to feel that she would end up playing some version of the old Grab It game they always had by the door of the old arcade. She had never been particularly good at it and seemed to end up with nothing but unwanted things stuck in the claw. It would be far easier to find one—or even a dozen—hidden vaults than to sort through these open accumulations.

Juliet was the last to be shown to her suite but the wait was worthwhile.
Her room was large enough to hold a ballet class or a small symphony. There were no closets since they would have been anachronistic, but a mirror-fronted Louis the Someteenth wardrobe stretched the length of one wall, supplying her with more space and looking glass than she or her clothes would ever need, want, or use.

There was a small door connecting her suite
to a bathroom. There was a second door to another suite where she assumed Raphael would be sleeping. It was barely wide enough to accommodate his chair and low enough that she would have to duck to pass through it, but at least it was there. She was also glad to see that the bathroom had been outfitted to be handicap accessible and wondered if this was done solely for Raphael’s visit.

The
expressionless housekeeper closed the shutters on the dying sun and switched on the light, proving that there was electricity within the castle as well as without. It may have been an accident that the lattice of the large lamp overhead cast the shadow of a spider’s web upon the stone floor, but somehow she didn’t think so. The castle just had that spooky kind of aesthetic.

Juliet turned down an offer to have someone help her unpack the bags that had reached the room before her.
Given the paranoid levels of security, they had probably been searched, and she felt like one set of strange hands on her underwear was enough for the time being.

Juliet looked out the window, able to see the castle’s bones fairly well because of the security lights. It was basically a square built around an open courtyard. Except the courtyard had a pyramid in it, which made up the wall on Juliet’s left. It was not in good repair and the ragged stairs that led to the t
op looked like rotten teeth. Its outlines were disturbing and she hoped that she would not need to visit it, especially at night.

The other three walls that surrounded the dark courtyard were pretty standard European medieval castle fare, except for the giant carvings of bestial creatures inserted at random into the walls. It was easy to see that they were made of some other kind of stone because the tones didn’t match.

Relieved to be alone, Juliet lay down on the bed with the extra-firm mattress and let herself relax. She knew that her headache was mostly tension and would abate once she unkinked her neck muscles. If need be she had some lorazepam, but she was hoping that a hot bath would take care of rejuvenating her before dinner, which would be served, the poker-faced housekeeper said in barely accented English, at nine o’clock.

Eventually she would have to decide what to wear. She had a rather medieval
-looking gown but was reserving it for the night of the art show. That left her with one of Rose Campion’s Bohemian creations or the little black dress she had worn to her infrequent Washington cocktail parties.

Juliet set the matter aside and allowed her eyes to close. She wasn’t worried about oversleeping and a nap was the best way to get rid of her headache before it became a monster
that ate all thought and energy.

Juliet dreamed of water lilies and swimming through the crystal waters of the pozas.

Raphael had looked in on her a little before eight and complimented her on her classic black and pearls. The dress was a sort of social armor and she felt that she needed it. Though her headache was gone, Juliet was still suffering from some kind of jet lag mixed with culture shock. There was also a residue of anger at David Merton, and it didn’t help that everything looked and smelled and felt
wrong
.

“We have an interesting bunch here,” Juliet said, dabbing a bit of Rose’s orange blossom oil behind her ears
in the hope that it would cancel out whatever underlying smell was bothering her. She had not slipped into her heels yet.
Interesting
was code for
horrible
. She placed no hope on this being a congenial four days. The group was a bad recipe made up of bad ingredients in a bad place. No matter how they were mixed, the combination would be unpalatable. However, what could not be cured had to be endured.

“Indeed. I had no idea that Guda Stoss would be here. I feel that I need to apologize for that.
She is an impossible creature.”

“That’s okay,” Juliet assured him. “I will just make sure that I don’t have to sit next to her again. Does she ever bathe?”

“Gossip says no.”

“Gossip may be right.” Juliet leaned into the giant mirror and applied some lipstick. The light was dim so she had to get close
to the glass. Usually she would be uncomfortable with someone watching her as she attended to her toiletries, but somehow it was alright that Raphael was there.

Since Raphael would have to use the elevator
which was rather slow and Juliet was not quite ready to face the crowd, they parted company with promises to see each other soon.

A glance at the clock said that she was u
nable to delay any longer, so she slipped on her heels and picked up her small clutch. It was a vintage piece embroidered in heavy gold thread, a gift from Esteban which he had found on his travels. She did not turn off the light since she didn’t fancy coming back to an unlighted room.

Artists were not, at least in Juliet’s experience,
especially noisy people, but the din as she approached the lounge, or whatever they called the pre-dinner gathering for cocktail chamber, was loud enough to make her think of a kid’s party at a pizza parlor only with an open bar and free all-you-can-eat salad bar. Were they whistling past the graveyard, trying to fill up the tomb of a castle with the sounds of life?

There was no salad bar, but she was correct about the bar and the bartender was pouring with a lavish hand. Juliet accepted her basin of wine
in a cut crystal glass that was almost as large as a punch bowl and went to mingle. She first found Raphael and made sure that he was well supplied with drinks and company. He was deep in discussion with Bertram
Fröndenberger about some esoteric process of restoration that sounded excruciatingly boring, so Juliet left them to it.

There were two other artists that she hadn’t met. One worked in stone and the other in oils. She knew both of them by reputation. Oscar Dandie, the sculpt
or, was famous for having a temper and for having been married a half-dozen times and divorcing each woman in turn in dramatic, high-profile fashion. The other artist was a woman, Judith Karenina, who painted fantasy landscapes for Broadway, ballet companies, and in the old days for movie sets. She was the eldest of the artists but by no means grandmotherly in her nature. Her voice was tart as well as piercing and she dressed like Gloria Swanson, which was to say that she dragged velvets and furs on the floor behind her. Juliet tacked her work smile in place and waded in to make the best of it.

Juliet
soon discovered that there was little
esprit de corps
among the creative ranks, and that many of the guest artists were sneering at each other’s work and declaring their own superior genius. This kept her circulating and pretending admiration for the collection of medieval weapons on the wall near the massive fireplace.

She was going to need that
lorazepam after all.

There was another man
floating in the background, perhaps a security advisor or secretary. He might have been created by a statistician who dealt in human norms. His clothes, haircut, and accent suggested he was American, though he was so unremarkable in appearance, in attire, and in conversation to be overlooked by almost everyone. In fact, he was so unremarkable and wallpaper-like that Juliet noticed him immediately. He was also very observant of the guests in the manner of the Secret Service. The Scotch in his hand was also untouched. She was not ready to swear that he was part of the shadow game, let alone that he worked for the NSA, but he had all the unremarkable outlines of an NSA operative.

Someone working on the inside would explain why Merton had been sure of the roundel’s destination.

But, on the other hand, if Merton had someone there already, why the devil had he tapped her for this job? Unless they were after von Hayek for something else? Perhaps arms or drug trafficking? And they didn’t want to risk their man’s cover over a piece of art?

Or maybe he was a freelancer, or someone who worked for an enemy.

Juliet gave a mental shrug. Hers was not to reason why or who or what. Her job was to find the lost roundel.

Juliet braced herself when she saw
a red-faced Guda headed her way. The woman had insulted almost everyone in the room and had apparently decided to finish off the lesser meat before they went in for dinner. She pulled up before Juliet and stared truculently.

“It’s not worth it,” Juliet warned her.
“He isn’t interested in you. Nor am I.”

But apparently she thought it was
worth a shot. Guda, in a breath thick with whisky fumes, started off insinuating that Juliet was some sort of artistic vampire feeding off Raphael’s fame and talent, thus diminishing his work.

The idea that her t-shirts—by far and away her most reliable money-maker—owed anything to Raphael’
s God-given talent made Juliet laugh in genuine amusement, an act which made the woman pause and her already bulging eyes bug out a little more.

Juliet
thought about telling Guda that she was actually Raphael’s muse, but she opened her mouth and something else came out.

“Oh
, no. You’ve got it all wrong,” Juliet said. “I’m just using him for sex.”

There was no way that Raphael should have been able to hear this comment over the general din but
the room had some odd acoustics. He had looked up at the sound of her laughter and gave a slight smile when their eyes met.

Henrik von Hayek
, who was standing next to Raphael, also stopped speaking and looked between them. His still expression seemed thoughtful though it was difficult to tell.

Someone else was looking at her too. It was Mr. Wallpaper
, and though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, Juliet thought that he looked amused.

“Be a dear and go bother someone else
for a while,” Juliet said and walked away, not caring that she was being rude. Had Stoss been cleaner she might have leaned over and bitten her intrusive nose. That really hurt and was such shocking behavior that it usually made the victim freeze. However, the fear of disease was a real deterrent and she didn’t want Raphael to think that he couldn’t take her into public.

The dinner bell rang
. Its clang drowned out all conversation, startling Juliet and making her giggle. Who actually rang a gong at dinner anymore? The whole thing was very Hollywood stage set.

“May I see you in, Miss Henry?” Mr. Wallpaper asked
, appearing at her side.

Since Juliet was curious about whether he was friend o
r foe, she smiled and took the proffered arm that was thick with muscle. He also had some telltale callouses on his hands, suggesting some serious time practicing martial arts.