Secrets (26 page)

The second Althea answered, Cassie started talking fast. There was none of the “Slow down, I can't understand you” that most people would have said. For all that Althea was as old as some mountains, her mind was still razor sharp.

“You found the key,” Althea said with a great sigh of relief.

“So you knew what was in there?”

“Let's say that I suspected. No, I hoped.”

“The envelope is stamped with the name ‘Hinton, Texas,' which doesn't seem to exist any longer.”

“No, they changed the name of the town during Hinton's trial.”

“That's just what I told Jeff,” Cassie said, holding the phone to her shoulder and quickly folding clothes.

“So what are you going to do now, dear?” Althea asked.

“I don't know. Thomas and Jeff say they're going to take me back to Williamsburg. They seem to think I've now come to my senses and everything will be just as it was.”

“Men do hate to have their comfort disturbed.”

“Comfort,” Cassie said. “That's what I am.” She paused. “I've heard some bad things about you.”

“I'm sure every word is true.”

“Did you have something to do with getting Charles killed?”

“No. But I knew he was in danger and I knew the inside of that clock was his secret hiding place. He had no idea I knew of it. Was there something in there?”

“Love letters from Hinton to you.”

Althea paused only a second before laughing. “Sorry about that. What did you find?”

“A list of people. Jeff said Charles's murderer is probably on the list.”

“Good job!” Althea said.

“When I get back, we'll talk about this,” Cassie said.

“And I'm sure I'll tell you the absolute truth about everything,” Althea said, then laughed in a way that made Cassie smile.

“I'm beginning to see why the CIA keeps you under lock and key.”

“You don't know the half of it, dear. Now tell me what it is you plan to do with that key.”

“Nothing,” Cassie said. “I thought I'd give it to you. Jeff has no interest in it. Only you and I seem to be interested in who killed Florence Myers.”

Althea sighed. “Now that Charles is gone, I'm the only one who does care about Hinton, but then he is my daughter's father.”

All Cassie could do was laugh as she sat down on the bed. “So tell me, Miss Spy of 1941, what do you have in mind that I do with this key?”

“It so happens that I have a friend who owns a small airplane—not a jet, mind you, but big enough—and he owes me a few favors. Well, more than a few, but that's another story. I wonder if you might be willing to take a little trip.”

“Let me guess,” Cassie said. “To Hinton, Texas.”

“You are a clever girl. Do you think you can escape both Thomas and Jefferson?”

“Not if escaping them means that I have the entire CIA trying to find me.”

“They were looking for you when you were in Fort Lauderdale, but they didn't find you, did they? You must learn to trust me, my dear. If there's one thing I know it's how to evade and escape. Now, be quiet and listen and I'll tell you exactly what you must do. By the way, how did Jeff like the pink pajamas?”

Cassie laughed in a way that told Althea everything.

“You're welcome,” she said. “Now, dear, get pen and paper and write down what I tell you.”

“Will any of it be the truth?”

“Enough of it that you'll be able to find what I want you to. Did I tell you that two of my great-granddaughters are Elsbeth's age? Four and six years old. I'm sure they'd make delightful playmates for Elsbeth. You do plan to see her again, don't you?”

“All right,” Cassie said with a sigh. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

C
ASSIE DID EXACTLY
as Althea told her to do. First, she packed her smallest case with as much as she could, including three sets of clean underwear and a nightgown. The rest of her clothes went into her big suitcases and she put them outside her door. Just as Althea said there would be, a man she'd never seen before was standing outside and waiting for her—or making sure she wouldn't escape. Cassie told him she had one more thing to do and acted as though it was an embarrassing “feminine problem.” As Althea said he would, he picked up her cases and took them down the hall. As soon as he left, Cassie slipped out of the room, her small case over her shoulder, her car keys in her hand, and ran down the back stairs—which were just where Althea said they were.

Through all of it, Cassie marveled at what kind of life Althea had had that she knew so much about federal agents that she knew just what they would do. And the bigger question was, Why hadn't they changed their tactics in the last fifty years?

It had been easy for Cassie to find her car parked with the others in back of the garage. Althea had bought a MINI Cooper in Fort Lauderdale, payed cash for it, and had placed it in someone else's name. It was hidden out of sight from the house. The only car that Charles allowed in front of the house was a silver Mercedes.

One of the guests saw Cassie as she ran around the side of the house to her car. He had been playing one of the people who'd been riding when Florence Myers was murdered, and Cassie didn't remember his name. She feared that he'd sound the alarm and give her away, but he gave her a look of envy, then raised his hand in farewell. It looked as though all the guests would be there for a while as they answered questions about Charles's murder.

Her little car started right away, and she sped down a narrow dirt road that led out the back of the estate. The front driveway had a helicopter, three police cars, and an ambulance on it, but the back was the service entrance and empty.

She'd written down Althea's directions about how to get to the local airport, and although she got lost a few times she was there in forty-five minutes and the plane was waiting for her. Standing in front of it was a man with red hair and a beard, and when he saw Cassie's car, he waved.

She smiled back at him and felt that she had just pulled off a major coup. She had escaped Jeff, Thomas, and a small herd of police. She was sure that later there'd be lectures and recriminations, even penalties, but at the moment it felt wonderful to be free of all of them. And that house, she thought. It was good to be out of that house where so much bad had happened. The image of Charles Faulkener on the bed was still in her head, and the sunshine felt good.

“Just on time,” the man said. “Exactly like Althea said you would be. I'm Bruno.” He held out his hand to shake hers.

“Cassie,” she said, shaking his hand and grinning at him. All she could think was that she'd made it. She was sorry she was going to miss the look of shock on Jeff's face when he found her gone, but it couldn't be helped.

“Get on board,” Bruno said. “I'll get you two started in just a minute.” Turning away, he walked toward the little building at one side of the runway.

“Two?” Cassie said aloud, then thought that Althea had probably bummed a ride for her on a prescheduled flight.

She climbed the stairs onto the plane and when she stepped through the door, she halted. Jeff sat there, a magazine in his hand, a paper bag on the seat beside him.

Cassie couldn't move, just stood there, staring at him. He didn't look up but picked up the bag. “I bought some bagels and doughnuts,” he said. “But I guess that now that you're a fitness fanatic you don't eat doughnuts. And I got you some milk. I hope it's still cold, but it's been a while since I got it. It took you longer than I expected to get here.”

He looked up at her. “If you don't come inside the plane, we can't leave.”

All Cassie's good feelings of having escaped left her. She took a seat across the narrow aisle from him, sat down heavily, then took the bag and opened it. She pulled out a custard-filled doughnut slathered in chocolate icing, and a bottle of milk.

Bruno got on the plane, shut the door, and sat down in the pilot's seat. “You two okay?”

“Fine,” Jeff said. “Just great. How about some doughnuts, Bruno?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

Cassie ate in silence, staring straight ahead. Jeff went back to reading his magazine. A half hour into the flight, she turned to him. “How did you find out?”

“Are you speaking to me?” he asked.

“Get off it! How did you find out that I left?”

“Easy. I've lived with you, remember?”

Cassie glanced at the pilot and saw that he was concentrating on flying the plane, and besides, it was too noisy for him to hear. “What is that supposed to mean? You've never ‘lived' with me.”

“Enough to know you. And I've certainly found out a lot about you in the last few months. I couldn't see that a woman who'd hide in a cabinet in some man's house while he sat there and watched TV would docilely wait for the police. Especially since she might fear that they'd take away her precious key. After the way you dug around on the floor looking for that thing I knew you'd do whatever you could to find out about it.”

“I didn't think you were looking at what I was
doing
when I was ‘digging around' as you call it.”

Jeff smiled at her. “I was looking at a lot of things.”

Cassie took a bagel out of the bag. “Althea told you where I was, didn't she?”

“She told Thomas, but, truthfully, I think she wanted to tell. She didn't want you to go to Hinton alone.”

“And of course you think that I can't do anything on my own. No doubt you think Florence Myers's murderer is still there. He's probably a hundred and twelve by now and just waiting for someone to go to a bank that doesn't exist in a town that doesn't exist and open a safe-deposit box that's empty.”

“Actually,” Jeff said as he looked inside the bag, “Hinton has been renamed Fairmont.”

“Fairmont?” Cassie asked, eyes wide, then leaned back in her seat and smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Having met Althea, I'm not surprised either, but we did miss it. It's a tiny place, with just a couple of stores, a church, and a bunch of farms. The Hinton Bank is now the Bank of Fairmont and it's a savings and loan. They deal mostly in farm equipment, but they still have the safe-deposit boxes in the back.”

Cassie looked at him. “Are you telling me that the rent on that box has been paid for all these years?”

“Yes. After Hinton died, all his effects were given to Althea. Ruth wanted nothing to do with him. Some of the clothes Althea lent me for this weekend belonged to him. In his papers was the bill for the box, but no key. She set up an account at the bank that gets enough interest to pay the rent for the box. It's just sat there for over sixty years, paying itself from the account.”

“Waiting for the key to be found,” Cassie said.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “After the murder, Faulkener was pretty much in a rage at Althea and wouldn't let her back in the house, so she couldn't get the key.”

“In all these years, surely she could have found some young actor to go to one of Charles's mystery weekends and dig up the floorboard.”

“I don't think she cared,” Jeff said. “She's led a very busy life, so maybe she didn't think about whatever had been put under Faulkener's bedroom floor.”

“What sparked her interest now?”

“I don't know. Probably boredom. Or maybe it's the years. Charles Faulkener is older than Althea.”

“Not that I believe you, but why were you sent to the weekend?”

“Leo has been assigned to Charles's case for years and—”

“Leo is a CIA agent too,” she said, more a statement than a question. What she'd seen of the man was beginning to make sense. “Tell me, was there any robbery of Althea's jewels?”

Jeff grinned. “No. Sorry. I made up the whole story. But you helped us catch a robber—and murderer. I didn't like your methods, but you did it.”

Cassie nodded. She was almost becoming used to everything she'd been told being a lie. “Okay, go on.”

“Leo knew that Faulkener had recently been diagnosed with cancer and that this would be his last chance to find out the truth about the murder. He always said that the key to finding out what happened lay in Althea and what she knew. He'd been heard to say that all he cared about was living long enough to outlive Althea Fairmont.”

“Why did he hate her so very much?” Cassie asked.

“She told him he couldn't act,” Jeff said.

Cassie smiled. “Ah, now I see.”

“Anyway, Charles agreed to tell what he knew if Althea would tell what she knew. Leo was the liaison between Althea and Charles. I think you already figured out that Roger Craig was Althea's attorney….” He raised his eyebrows in question, and Cassie nodded.

“Althea got all the gossip from Roger so she knew about…well, about us, so she said she'd only tell what she knew if I would go on the mystery weekend and play Hinton.”

“And this was before she met me,” Cassie said, then turned in her seat. “Who shot at her that day?”

“No one. She sent her staff away, then fired into the air. I guess she figured it was time to meet you and Dana.”

Cassie leaned back in the seat and thought about how what had happened in the last year had been choreographed by Althea. “Was she really a spy?”

“Big-time. She spied through every war we had. She was brilliant at getting secrets from anyone. That woman has—”

Cassie raised her hand to stop him. “I don't think I want to hear. Whatever she did in her personal life, she's still one of the greatest movie stars of all time. She was brilliant on the screen.”

“And even more brilliant off of it.”

Cassie bit into her bagel. “I wonder who killed poor Charles?”

“We have him in custody.”

“Already?”

“Already,” Jeff said. “He was on the list you found and he was easy to identify once we had his name. Remember the young men who carried your suitcases to your room?”

“He was one of them?”

“Yes,” Jeff said. “Of course he was just a hit man. His shoes fit the prints we saw in the attic. He led us to a warehouse full of—” He gave Cassie a quick look. “Charles Faulkener was not a nice man.”

Cassie nodded. Her instincts about him had been right. She closed her eyes for a moment. The noise of the propeller plane roared around them and they'd had to nearly shout to be heard. In spite of what she'd said, she was glad that Jeff was with her. Seeing Charles Faulkener with his throat cut had upset her a lot, and she didn't relish being alone.

 

The little plane landed on a long, straight dirt road. Bruno turned off the engine, opened the door, and pulled down the steps. “Sorry, folks, but this is as close as I can get.”

At the foot of the stairs, Cassie looked around. All she could see for what looked like miles was flat farmland. There wasn't a building in sight. “Where's the town?” she asked Bruno.

“That way,” he said, pointing toward what looked like nothing. “A couple of miles. You shoulda had a car meet you here.”

“No time to arrange it,” Jeff said as he gave the man several fifty-dollar bills. “Thanks a lot. We'll take it from here.”

He grabbed his duffel bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, Cassie got her case, and they walked to the edge of the field, then waved as Bruno took off in the plane. The silence after he left let her hear every insect buzzing. In the far distance was the sound of a tractor.

“So now what?” Jeff asked.

“You do have a sense of humor,” Cassie said. “Why didn't you get your agency to send a helicopter for us or at least a car?”

“And fill out all those expense papers? No thanks. I have no idea how I'd explain a trip to look inside an old safe-deposit box. And Florence Myers is of no interest to the government, so they won't pay.”

“So I guess we walk,” Cassie said.

“Looks like it.”

They set off down the hot, dusty road in silence. “I'd like you to tell me about Lillian,” Cassie said after a while.

Jeff hesitated, but after a few minutes, he began to open up. He told Cassie how they'd met when they were very young, and how they'd known from the first moment that they'd get married someday.

She thought back to that day so long ago. “I remember how much you loved her.” She took a breath. “You were doing security work then.”

“Just something my father asked me to do. He was helping out a friend of his who was there that weekend, but Dad had been wounded and—” He smiled at Cassie's look. “Dad was a field agent. Don't let his love of gardening fool you. He loved being in the thick of it. If guns fired, Dad was there.”

“Your poor mother,” Cassie said softly.

“Yeah. We're hard on wives,” Jeff said with a grimace, then smiled. “Did you know that your mother met my father once and made a pass at him?”

Cassie's mouth dropped open in astonishment. “
My
mother? Margaret Madden?”

Jeff chuckled. “Yeah, your mother. You didn't get here by the stork dropping you down a chimney, you know.”

Cassie stopped walking and her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. Did they—I mean—”

Jeff looked at her a moment, then smiled and started walking again. “Naw. Never. You're not my sister, if that's your fear.”

“Might as well be,” she said under her breath.

“Cassie,” Jeff said, frustration in his tone, “I think we should get something straight between us.”

“And what is that?” she asked.