Stealing the Countess (11 page)

“You were here at six when the Stradivarius was stolen?”

“The cops asked me that. So did the FBI. I was here at six, well, more like a quarter to. I didn't see anything, though; I didn't hear anything, either. Sorry. I was too busy battering pots and pans. Besides, I almost never leave the kitchen.”

“Did you see any strangers lurking about? Perhaps when you arrived that morning?”

The cook spread her hands wide.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“About the chicken penne recipe.”

She laughed heartily.

“Nice try,” she said.

*   *   *

I returned to the Peacock Chamber and reviewed the police reports that Mr. Donatucci had given me, just to be thorough. Everything the cook said coincided with what she had told the authorities.

I was deciding on what to do next when I heard a knock on my door.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Caroline Kaminsky.”

“Come in.”

The door opened and Heavenly swept into the room—it was the correct word, swept. She closed the door and leaned her back against it. Damn, she was a fetching lass.

“Good morning, Caroline,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“McKenzie,” she said.

Heavenly opened her arms wide and came toward me. She hugged me and I hugged her back because, well, like I said earlier, I'm nothing if not polite.

“It is so good to see you again,” she said.

“I wish I could say the same.”

“McKenzie!”

She pulled away. The shocked and outraged expression on her face lasted about two seconds before it was replaced by a smile.

“What are you doing here, Heavenly?” I asked.

“The same thing you are. I'm after the Countess Borromeo.”

“You mean you didn't steal it already?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Based on past experience…”

“I'm hurt, McKenzie. Hurt by your insinuation.”

“Paul Duclos is offering $250,000 for its safe return.”

“I heard. I bet the thieves were expecting more.”

“How about you?”

“I'd be more than satisfied with a quarter of a million.”

“Sure you would.”

“Just as long as I come out ahead, that's the main thing.”

“Heavenly—”

“I don't have the violin, McKenzie. Honestly, I don't. If I did, I'd make a deal right now and invite you to dinner. At least I'd buy dinner after you came up with the money. You do have the money, don't you?”

She moved closer to me.

“It's in the Cities,” I said.

“Oh? Is Nina holding it?”

“No, she's not.”

“How is Nina these days?”

Heavenly ran the tips of her fingers under the collar of my shirt.

“Do you care?” I asked her.

“I do. I've always liked her, even if she doesn't like me. What did she call me last time? A thug?”

“Actually, I called you a thug. In any case, Nina doesn't object to your profession so much as the fact that you're always hitting on her boyfriend.”

Heavenly kissed me hard on the mouth and smiled her irresistible smile.

“Stop teasing,” I said.

She thought that was funny.

I gave her a gentle shove. Heavenly found a comfortable spot on the corner of my bed. I sat in a chair far enough away that it would take an effort for her to attack me again.

“Seriously,” she said. “I really am happy to see you.”

“If you don't have the Countess already, what are you doing in Bayfield?”

“Looking for it.”

“For whom?”

“Does there have to be a for whom?”

“You checked into a bed-and-breakfast under an assumed name.”

“There could be a lot of reasons for that.”

“Only one. You don't want anybody to know that you're here. Why? You're not wanted, are you, Heavenly?”

“People have been wanting me since I was fourteen years old—except for you, of course. Maybe that's why I like you so much.”

“I meant by the police.”

“No, I'm not wanted by the police.”

“I could check.”

“What are you going to do? Call your friend Bobby? How is Commander Dunston these days? He's still a commander, right? They haven't made him chief of police or anything, have they?”

“Not yet.”

“There's no paper on me, McKenzie. As far as I know.”

“Well, then…”

“There you go again, being all accusatory.”

“When did you get here?”

“I'm going to answer that question. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I know you're going to check anyway. I arrived Saturday morning.”

By then the theft was national news, I reminded myself, but the Peyroux Foundation—and Midwest Insurance—had not yet posted the conditions for the $250,000 reward they were offering. That would come later in the afternoon.

“Do you think the Stradivarius is still in Bayfield?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Who do you think took it?”

“Connor Rasmussen.” Something in my expression must have given me away, because Heavenly quickly added, “You don't believe it.”

“I walked the Queen Anne last night and again this morning—”

“So that was you outside my door at three
A.M.
”

“I don't think Connor could have taken the Countess while Duclos was sleeping in the room. I don't think he would have dared try it while Duclos went for his walk for fear of bumping into one of the other guests or the cook.”

“I agree.”

“So…”

“He did it while everyone was at breakfast. He dashed up the stairs, took the violin, came down the stairs. Ninety-three seconds flat. I timed it.”

“How did Connor get the violin out of the house before the authorities searched it?”

“He had an accomplice.”

“Who?”

Heavenly waved a finger at me.

“I don't know,” she said.

“What do you know about a kid named Curtis Shanklin?”

“Teacher from Oceanside, California, works summers as a guide for Apostle Island Adventures. Fancies himself to be an extreme sports athlete. He's not a kid, either. He's only a year younger than I am.”

“Look at it from my side of forty. What does he teach?”

“Junior high English. Why do you ask?”

“Last night he offered to sell me the Countess Borromeo. All I needed to do was step outside with him.”

“Did you?”

“I might have if I knew where his two friends were.”

“I met Shanklin's friends; don't remember their names. How did you leave it?”

“I told him to e-mail me a photo of the Strad, and if I liked it, we'd talk.”

“I take it you haven't heard from him.”

“Not yet.”

Heavenly glanced at the gold watch around her wrist.

“He's probably on the lake with a tour,” she said. “Won't be back until midafternoon.”

“You know his schedule, too? I'll be damned.”

“McKenzie, I've been here five days. Every heterosexual male within a twenty-mile radius has hit on me, and a few nonheterosexual females as well.”

“Still.”

“Shanklin likes to talk about himself. Most men do.”

“Did you attempt to recruit him; get him to do your heavy lifting?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He reminds me a little of your last boyfriend.”

“The one you threw in front of a speeding car?”

“That was an unavoidable accident.”

“I'm on my own this time.”

“Does Shanklin have any kind of relationship with Connor?”

“I don't think he's Connor's accomplice, if that's what you're asking. I don't think he has the Countess, either. Do you?”

“No. I've been spreading word that I'm willing to buy back the violin. He thought I was carrying the $250,000 in my pocket.”

“That's what you get for painting a target on your forehead. What are you going to do now?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Want some company?”

“No.”

“We've worked well together in the past. The gold hidden by Jelly Nash. The lily—”

“We've never worked together, Heavenly. Or should I call you Caroline? It was always you on one side and me on the other and somehow, some way, we'd meet in the middle.”

“Think about it.”

I did. What is it they say about keeping your enemies close? Of course, Heavenly wasn't really my enemy. More like an unscrupulous rival.

“What's your cell number?” I asked.

I inputted the digits into my smartphone as she recited them to me.

“I'll give you a call if something comes up,” I said.

Heavenly rose from the bed and moved to the door.

“Be sure to give Nina my love,” she said.

“If I do, she might come up here and give you hers.”

 

SEVEN

Bayfield Superior Marina practically glistened the way sunlight reflected off the water and the boats riding in their slips. I studied it from a metal bench in Memorial Park. The benches were all angled to look out at Lake Superior and Madeline Island beyond. Anyone watching Paul Duclos play from the gazebo on the corner would have had to sit sideways. 'Course, there had been so many people in the park that night, even those who had arrived early enough to secure seats probably ended up standing to see anyway.

The marina was tucked behind imposing breakers. Children and their parents crawled over the rocks and concrete, but there were no tourists walking the docks. The man who operated the marina explained to me that permission was required to gain access to the boats.

“Many of our guests, at least during the season, this is their home,” he said. “You'd be amazed how many people live on their boats.”

I asked if Herb Voight was on his boat. He didn't know, but he allowed me to take a look. I walked along the docks until I reached slip number 77; the marina boasted 135 slips, and the man said 110 were rented for the season. I discovered a thirty-footer there with the name
Heather II
printed across the transom. I knew enough about boats to know that you don't hop on board without asking permission first; that would be like walking into someone's house without knocking.

“Ahoy,” I called. “Anyone aboard?”

There was no answer.

“Mr. Voight?”

“He'p ya, son?”

The question came from a man standing on the deck of another thirty-foot boat that provided full accommodations in the slip next to
Heather II.
He was much older than me with white hair, and so thin I was sure a heavy wind could pick him up and carry him across the lake at any moment.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I was looking for Mr. Voight.”

“Not here.”

“I guess not. Maybe I'll find him at his mansion on Wilson.”

I tossed in that last bit so the old man would think I knew Voight personally.

“More likely he's out getting himself some breakfast,” the old man said. “Buy ya a beer while ya wait?”

“I haven't turned down a free beer in my life.”

“Come aboard.”

I did.

“Name's Jack,” the old man said. “Jack Westlund.”

His way of shaking hands was to hand me a Leinenkugel.

“McKenzie,” I said.

I took the beer and drank.

“Good morning, Bayfield,” I said.

“Attaboy. So, whaddya want wit' Voight? Can I ask?”

“I'm looking into the theft of the Stradivarius.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Isn't that somethin'? No crime in Bayfield t' speak of for God knows how long, and then this. 'Mazing.”

“Are you from Bayfield?”

“Me? Nah. From Fitchburg down by Madison. Retired a few years back and now come up here t' stay durin' the summer. Some people have lake homes. This is my home. Superior is my lake.”

“That is so cool,” I said. I meant it, too.

“I like it,” Jack said.

“May I ask how all this works?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You rent a slip in the marina for the summer, am I right?”

“You are correct, sir.”

“Do you just come and go as you please?”

“Yeah, man. That's what makes it fun. Go across t' Isle Royale or Grand Marais, up to Houghton, whatever. Sometimes, I'll just scoot over t' the Apostles, find a protected anchorage, drop anchor, lower the dingy, barbecue on the beach, catch some rays. You'd be surprised. Some nights you'd see a hundred boats out there from all over Superior. Just one big party.”

“You don't inform the marina when you leave?”

“Oh, oh, I see what you're askin'. Well, yeah, sometimes. See, what you do, if you're gonna be gone overnight or for maybe a couple of nights, you might pass the word. That way they can rent out your slip t' some other boat while you're gone; get yourself a few bucks rebate on your rent, you know? I do it all the time. Fixed income, what can I say?”

“How about Voight?”

“Doubt he bothers. Man has more money than God. At least the old lady does.”

“When you travel, do you file … what's the seagoing equivalent of a flight plan?”

“Float plan.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go over t' the Coast Guard station across the way and let 'em know what's going on. Leastways I do. On long trips, I mean. Let 'em know if I'm crossing over t' Canada or what. Most people don't bother, though. It's not required by law or nuthin'. I don't do it myself if I'm just takin' a short trip, huggin' the shoreline to Duluth or someplace like that. Why bother?”

“Were you here for the big concert?”

“Yeah, I was. Sittin' right where you are now, sippin' Leinie's, the music comin' across the water, oh man, it was beautiful. I'm not what you'd call a classical music fan. Give me Hank or Johnny, any day. The way that boy was playin'—it made me reconsider, you know?”