The Christie Curse (26 page)

I didn’t dare fall asleep.

The security guard did.

U
NCLE BILLY SHOWED up well before six with an ID tag. He was always an early bird.
The security guard was nowhere to be seen. I guessed that Vera had worked her high-status
magic for the Kelly contingent.

“Your uncle Danny will be along shortly,” he said. “He’s always running late, usually
from some husband.”

I laughed. “Well, I am glad you can take over from security. They seem to be falling
down on the job.”

Uncle Billy shook his head in disgust at the chair, now vacant, where the guard had
been sitting. “In my day, heads would roll for less. Can’t trust anyone.”

“Not true. I can trust my uncles.”

With Karen in good hands and reinforcements on the way, I yawned and headed home to
get a bit of sleep.

*    *    *

EVEN THOUGH THE morning sun was streaming through the window, I flaked out the minute
I sat on the bed to take off my shoes. My last thought was surprise that no
cat had managed to follow me in. Then I keeled over fully clothed. I spent an hour
or so dreaming of sprawling hospitals full of policemen who were lost, cats who were
burglars and books that were missing. My eyes popped open in the middle of the missing-book
dream. What was that about? Something I had noticed and hadn’t thought much about?
Yes, gaps in the shelves in Vera’s collection, books not where they should have been.
Had I really noticed that? Or was the dream messing with my brain?

I reached for my notebook and made a note to myself to check that in the morning.
By then I was wide awake. It was morning. Seven thirty to be exact. Of course, it
had already been morning when I hit the hay.

As the uncles say just before plunging into some risky business, nothing ventured,
nothing gained. I had no choice but to head down those dark and endless hallways to
Vera’s library to check it out. I knew my way around the Van Alst house, but what
I didn’t know was Eddie McRae’s role in all this. Eddie seemed to be quite at home
in the house, and there was a chance that either Signora Panetone or Vera might have
told him I was suspicious of him. I decided the best time to test my hunch was in
broad daylight when everyone was awake and around.

At that point I conked out again.

*    *    *

THE THUNDER OF Signora Panetone banging on my door woke me up. The inevitable cat
was dozing on the flowered quilt. I glanced at the clock. Eight a.m.

“Breakfast ready! Vera says hurry! Late, late!”

My iPhone vibrated. A text message from Uncle Tiny let me know that all systems were
go and “the boys” were keen. After the world’s fastest shower, I slipped into a black
cotton scooped-neck tee, a flowered knee-length appliquéd skirt that my mother had
bought in San Francisco sometime in the sixties, and a pair of black sandals that
would let me run
or leap a fence if I had to. Who knew what the day would hold? Each one had been full
of surprises lately. I tucked my hair into a fairly neat ponytail and headed for the
lion’s den. Makeup could wait.

I entered the conservatory, ready to apologize, but Vera tore her eyes from her
New York Times
and held up her hand.

“I have a report that you slept at the hospital last night.”

“Didn’t sleep. That was the whole idea, to have someone awake and watching to make
sure that Karen Smith made it through the night. Unlike Grandville General’s so-called
security.”

“No need to quibble on the wording. My point is, that shouldn’t have been necessary.
You need your wits about you for this job.”

No kidding.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice. We could have had someone else spend the night there. You
are hardly a bodyguard.”

Someone else? Like who? The signora? She seemed to be tearing around twenty hours
a day as it was. Eddie? He was part of the problem. Brian? As if maintaining the gardens
and the rest of this huge property weren’t enough. Vera had a real problem with boundaries
in the case of her employees. And why would any of them have been better than me?
I was one of her employees too. And I’d already saved Karen’s life twice.

I kept these thoughts to myself. I took my place at the table, angling myself as usual
for the best view of the side garden. The signora had been waiting impatiently and
immediately transferred a small mountain of French toast to my plate. Without asking,
she poured on about a cup of maple syrup and then ladled on sliced strawberries. My
brain might have been sleepy, but my hand went right for my Francis I silver fork.

But Vera wasn’t done with me.

“In future, remember that I pay you to be awake and alert, not walking around like
a zombie.”

I said, “Thank you for making the arrangements to have the Kellys there keeping an
eye on Karen. I’d like to check something in the library this morning. Will that interfere
with any of your plans?”

She looked surprised. The small distraction allowed the signora to slip a few more
strawberries onto her plate.

The signora said, “No plans. Doctor coming, only doctor. Eat, Vera.”

“For the thousandth time, Fiammetta, it’s the physio, not the doctor. When have you
known a doctor to make a morning call to a person who wasn’t at death’s door?”

Fiammetta crossed herself and muttered, “Eat,” darkly.

“Tell me what it is you’re looking for, Miss Bingham.”

“I’ll know when I find it,” I said. “It’s just an idea, to do with the play. You’ll
know the minute I do.”

Vera answered with more of her dismissive grunts and turned her attention back to
the
Times
.

Breakfast was a quieter affair than usual. At least the garden was gorgeous, with
the peony beds in full flower.

*    *    *

I SPENT AN hour in my quarters, with paper in hand, making notes about different ways
I could think about recent events. That was an hour wasted. After that, I set off
for the library. As I crossed the grand foyer and started down the endless corridor
on the east wing, I passed the strange, tall woman with the salt-and-pepper pageboy
and the football player’s shoulders. She was standing by the elevator, tapping her
toe as she waited for it to arrive from the second floor. Of course, that was the
answer. No mystery there. This must be Vera’s physiotherapist.

She didn’t respond to my greeting. Not that I really cared. I had the library on my
mind.

Even in the daylight there was a residual spookiness in
the Van Alst corridors. I figured some of those relatives must have had seriously
bad karma. I unlocked the library door and then secured it behind me. Not that I expected
any of those relatives to leap from their frames and come after me, but better safe
than sorry. I started systematically checking the shelves for gaps in the collections.

A half hour later, I had confirmed that the main level seemed fine. I climbed the
circular wrought-iron staircase to the mezzanine and continued my search there. That
was where the memory of odd spaces had come from, and most likely that memory had
triggered my dream. Here and there were small gaps. Titles missing? Or room for growth?
The Rex Stout section was there. I could see gaps. My uncles love Nero Wolfe. Well,
I think they love Archie Goodwin. Sure enough, there were gaps where I would expect
to find titles. More room for growth? A few volumes were not where they should be.
But Vera might have had them in her room. I had noted that copy of
Sad Cypress
on her lap when she opened the door the night before. But the only gaps were on the
mezzanine. What was one of the Nero Wolfe titles my uncles enjoyed? I recalled
The Second Confession.
Was there a copy of that here? There wasn’t. I tried to remember another Rex Stout
title and finally came up with
Black Orchids.
No sign of that either. What were the chances that Vera didn’t have these? I kept
going, slowly and meticulously, noting spaces that didn’t seem right. Vera must have
an inventory of her collection. Where was that? I was surprised I didn’t know. I was
falling down on the job. But I would ask, and I would return with it and compare it
to the shelves on the mezzanine. I felt confident that Vera hadn’t taken any of those
books away herself.

I had no way of knowing how mobile Vera might be without her wheelchair, but I figured
those stairs would be very difficult for her. If I were going to pinch books, which
despite my criminal pedigree I would never do, I’d pick a spot where they wouldn’t
be discovered. The question was,
who had taken them? I hadn’t. What about Alex? He’d worked for Vera. He could have
had a sideline, selling duplicates or poorer copies when better ones were acquired.
Or perhaps selling them and substituting cheaper copies. Would she have ever discovered
what had happened?

This didn’t line up with what I knew about Alex, but I had to keep the possibility
in mind.

And what about Eddie? How hard would it be for him to get his mitts on a copy of the
key and to find out the access code? He seemed to have the run of the house. If he
could get into the library, he could get out with something of value. Piece of cake
if you asked me. And Eddie had been seen talking to Karen not long before she was
attacked. That could not be a coincidence. Did they have a business relationship?
Eddie seemed a likely candidate. I couldn’t imagine Signora Panetone stealing books.
Where would she ever find the time? She seemed totally devoted to Vera. If money was
her motivation, she could have been making a fortune running her own restaurant rather
than shouting at Vera to eat three times a day and, as far as I could tell, seven
days a week. Was she connected to anyone who might not feel as loyal? Someone who
could take advantage of her position? She couldn’t have just materialized at the Van
Alst house out of nowhere. I couldn’t discount some unknown Panetone connection, even
though Eddie seemed like the prime suspect. I had an idea of how to find out.

It suddenly crossed my mind that if Eddie had an access key to the library and trapped
me there, I wouldn’t have a hope here in the east wing. The library was at the farthest
end of the wing. It was as far as you could get from the kitchen and the conservatory,
where Vera would probably be if her physio appointment was over. The library windows
had been covered up, so there wouldn’t be any way to attract the attention of the
gardener. No one would hear a sound, and most likely no one would ever see Eddie coming
or
going. The second attempt on Karen’s life had been in a busy hospital in the early
evening.

I had good reason to feel edgy. I picked up the small bronze of the naked man reading.
I loved that little bronze, and now there was another good reason to. I gripped it
tight. If anyone tried to get me, they were going to have an unexpected fight on their
hands. There were benefits to being raised by Kellys. Rolling over and playing dead
wasn’t in our DNA.

*    *    *

ON MY WAY back to my own quarters, still clutching the bronze statue and fighting
the urge to look over my shoulder in case Eddie was about to clobber me, I spotted
Vera in the conservatory. She must have finished her physiotherapy session. Judging
by her expression, it hadn’t helped much. She was glaring at the
New York Times
, ignoring the spectacular garden behind her. I felt a jolt of the signora’s excellent
coffee would help me stay awake, and there was a pot sitting in front of Vera. I decided
to join her. Sometimes good espresso is worth a sacrifice.

The signora appeared as if by magic with another cup and saucer for me.

I was somewhat distracted by the smell of the fresh baked bread that arrived with
her. Once again, I wondered when or if Signora Panetone slept.

Vera glanced up over her espresso and raised one eyebrow. When I looked down and saw
the statue in my hand, I had to think fast.

I met Vera’s gimlet-eyed gaze. “I’m afraid I’ve fallen a bit in love with this little
bronze, and I wanted to find out about it.” I resisted apologizing for carrying it
out of the library, or even asking permission. “Who is the sculptor? I can’t really
read the artist’s signature.”

“I have no idea. If he wasn’t holding that book, he
wouldn’t be in the library. It’s just something my father picked up. He was the one
with the fondness for bronzes. I never really cared for them.”

“Really? But they’re so beautiful. When they’re done well, and this one is.”

“If you say so. I can’t get excited over it. My father got to know a lot of sculptors.
I guess they could smell a patsy.”

I hadn’t noticed many bronzes or other statues in any of the grand rooms around the
house. Perhaps Vera had chosen to sell them off.

“Well, this one is lovely,” I said.

“Is it? I suppose you want it for your quarters.”

I barely managed not to stutter out a “w-w-what,” which would have diminished me in
Vera’s eyes for sure. “It belongs with your book collection.”