The Christie Curse (27 page)

She waved a hand. “Bronzes always make my skin crawl. Take it. The offer stands only
while you’re in my employ, it goes without saying.”

“Naturally. Thank you.”

“You hungry?” Signora Panetone pounced again.

I blinked. “Thanks, but I ate a lot of that French toast. Very good with the strawberries
and maple syrup,” I mentioned in case she had forgotten heaping my plate an hour earlier.

“More coffee would be good,” I added. That got the right response. I watched her carefully
as she motored through the door from the kitchen. No sign of Eddie, but he may have
learned to stay out of my line of sight.

The conservatory was quiet while I sipped my coffee and Vera ignored her plate, as
usual. Outside the window, I could see and hear the gardener on the lawn tractor.
The sight of the magnificent peonies and smell of cut grass added to the moment. If
there hadn’t been a murderer about, life would have been just about perfect.

“So,” I said after my third cup, “do you house some of the books from the collection
elsewhere?”

She scowled. I was used to that and composed my own expression to reflect pleasant
inquiry.

She said, “I do not. Why would you ask?”

“I thought I saw some gaps on the mezzanine, just a few, but I could tell that something
had been taken. Was—”

A timid person could start to become very nervous around now. “No.”

“No? But I’m sure—”

“I haven’t taken anything from the mezzanine or the main level for that matter, except
the one book I am reading.
Sad Cypress
. I am going through my Christie collection again. It’s not the best copy, but it’s
still lovely. But that’s it.”

“And you haven’t decided to sell any? That would explain it.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?
Decimate my collection?
”

We stared at each other. “I wasn’t suggesting that you were decimating your collection,
only that you may have replaced some copies with better ones. Or perhaps some were
elsewhere to be, oh, I don’t know, appraised or repaired.”

“Never.” Her espresso cup jumped as she banged the table to emphasize the neverness.

“Good to know,” I said.

“What were you really doing in the library?”

I managed a look of surprise. “I was looking for a couple of Christie novels that
I seemed to have missed. She sure did churn them out.”

“Did you find them?”

“Coffee!” The signora stormed through the door from the kitchen to the conservatory
and topped up my cup for a fourth time. I might never sleep again. She swooped out
again, probably to brew another vat.

Finally I said, “What I found was holes, gaps on shelves. So I wondered if someone
had taken a number of volumes for some reason. Or if the gaps were supposed to be
there.”

“What shelves?”

“I was looking in the Nero Wolfe books. I noticed no copy of
Black Orchids
or
The Second Confession
, two titles I know. Do you own copies?”

She paled. Her scowl deepened, although I wouldn’t have thought it possible. “It would
have to be someone with an entry code.”

“I suppose so. Who has the entry code?” I thought I knew the answer.

“You do.”

“And you can assume I didn’t take them because
I
just brought the matter to your attention and
you
had been unaware of it.”

“Could be a ploy to throw me off.”

I sighed to make my point. “Could be, but isn’t.”

“If you think I don’t know about your unsavory connections, you have underestimated
me.”

“And you shouldn’t underestimate me. I am not unsavory and haven’t taken any of your
books. If I had, how long would it take for you to discover them missing from the
mezzanine? There’s lots of very stealable stuff in this house. So lucky for you, I’m
on the up-and-up. Now, who else has the entry code?”

She didn’t even blink at my audacious response.

“I do, of course.
You
do.”

“Alex?”

“Alex did. Keys to the house and the code to the library.”

“Did you get the key back, after he died?”

She frowned. “I didn’t. I assumed it was destroyed when he was killed. It’s not much
good without the alarm code. Am I supposed to worry that someone will get in and start
plundering my collection?”

“I think there’s already been some plundering.”

“So it would seem.”

I hesitated. “Do you think it was possible that Alex might have taken some of the
books?”

“A few months ago, I would have said no uncategorically. Now, who’s to say? Things
are not as they seem.”

“You’re telling me,” I muttered.

“There’s no one else.”

“The signora?”

“Fiammetta would never, never, never take anything from me. She’s been with my family
since I was born. My parents brought her over from her dirt-poor Italian village in
1956.”

“But if she has keys and the code, then perhaps someone else could get access.”

“I doubt that.”

“Does she have family? Friends who might not be quite as devoted to you?”

She raised an eyebrow. I could see it had her thinking. “No,” she said. “But regardless,
the signora and our gardener, Brian, who has been with us for more than thirty years,
have keys to the house and the house code; however, neither one has ever had the access
code to the library. It’s me, you and Alex. That’s it.”

“What about Eddie?”

“Fiammetta lets him in and treats him like a pet. Eddie doesn’t even have a key or
the house code, let alone the library access.”

“He’s here all the time, and I wonder why he was so interested in Karen Smith and
in what I’m doing.”

Vera’s nostrils flared slightly, and she pointed to the door. “I have nothing to worry
about from Eddie. This conversation is at an end.”

I left, but I knew my words had had an impact. With luck, her faith in Eddie might
take a bit of a slam.

*    *    *

I WASN’T IN the mood for tragedy, but I had no choice. Alex’s death was really bothering
me. I got into Uncle Lucky’s Navigator and drove out to see Alex’s parents. I didn’t
expect it to be easy, and I was right.

I kept an eye out for Officer Smiley as I drove, but he’d been keeping a low profile
lately. Hopefully, that was good.

At the Fines’ house, the garden looked even more neglected, too much for the Fines
to cope with in the wake of Alex’s death.

I had a photo and a series of questions.

The grief was no less intense than on my previous visit. I felt it seeping into my
bones from the minute I walked through the front door. The Fines were oddly pleased
to see me. The Pirouette cookies were produced. Tea too.

“I have some questions for you. I am very sorry to disturb you again.”

Mr. Fine said, “We’re happy to see you.”

Mrs. Fine added, “It’s lucky you caught us. We are leaving to spend a week with my
brother in Ithaca. Please come in.”

“First of all, do you still have Alex’s keys to the Van Alst house?” I didn’t mention
the library, in case that spooked them. Vera might have thought the keys were unimportant,
but I figured a determined person could find a way to get the code. All it might take
was a carefully hidden small camera, the type they use to steal credit card information
in stores. Not that I have any way of knowing about those.

Mr. Fine bristled just slightly. “The Van Alst key was in his personal effects. We
would never keep something like that.”

Mrs. Fine said, “Everything went back to his…employer. They would have been in that
box.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but I wondered if they might have been tucked somewhere and
been missed.”

His forehead furrowed. “Doesn’t your employer have them?”

“She doesn’t.” Of course, I didn’t necessarily believe Vera about anything, including
who had keys, but I thought she’d been sincere.

Mrs. Fine bit her lip. She glanced at her husband. “I don’t remember putting that
key in the box. Do you?”

“Not specifically, but everything to do with that job went into the box.”

Alex’s mother said, “We weren’t thinking very clearly.”

Her husband added, “And we weren’t looking for keys.”

They exchanged glances and shrugged at the same moment. “It’s possible they’re still
here,” Mr. Fine said. “Such a small item. Do you want to have a look in his room?
It’s still difficult for us.”

Once again I found myself in Alex Fine’s boyish room. I don’t know what I thought
I could find that I hadn’t the first time, but it was worth the try. I checked here
and there, sliding my hands behind cushions, sticking my nose under the bed, checking
behind books on the shelf. His clothes were still hanging in the closet, and I checked
the pockets, but no keys. I stopped to glance at the photos on the wall, Alex and
other young boys fishing. Alex at Black Pine Summer Camp looking very solemn with
a group of four young friends. Alex still serious at his college graduation, arm in
arm with a grinning blond buddy a good eight inches taller than he was. Their mortarboards
were tipped at ridiculous angles over their faces. A solemn but happy moment. Then
there were the photo-booth shots of Alex with Ashley, her smiling face turned toward
his. In happier times, as they say. Who would want to damage these two harmless young
people? Would Ashley be dead soon too if I didn’t figure out what was going on?

Back downstairs, I told the Fines that there were no keys to be found. They seemed
relieved, as if I’d suspected them of incompetent packing or keynapping.

“Miss Van Alst asked specifically for the keys when you returned the stuff to her?”

“We didn’t give them directly to her. We’ve never met her. She didn’t even come to
the funeral. Sent flowers. What do you think of that? His own employer.”

Tough one. I couldn’t see Vera faking sensitivity for the length of a funeral. So
perhaps it was just as well. “That
must have been hard for you. But she has many health issues. She’s confined to a wheelchair,
and as far as I can tell, she never leaves the house.”

Mrs. Fine said, “Humph.” I was inclined to agree with her.

“So you didn’t even see her when you took Alex’s things from his apartment?”

“No. Signora Panetone met us. We’d heard a lot about her. Alex used to do very funny
imitations of her.”

“Did you see Miss Van Alst when you dropped the box off?”

“We didn’t drop it off. The box was picked up.”

Well, Vera wouldn’t have picked it up.

I raised my eyebrows inquiringly.

“She sent someone to get it. A staff member, I suppose.”

That was news to me and also a good segue into my question. I’d taken the time to
print out the photo I’d shot of Eddie in the driveway. “This man?” I asked, flashing
the photo and trying not to sound triumphant.

They squinted at the shot and shook their heads in unison.

“No. Not him.”

That came as a surprise. I thought hard. “Was it the little Italian lady, Signora
Panetone?” I was distracted by the image of the signora veering through the countryside
shouting, “Stop! Stop! You stop! Eat!” No, that didn’t make sense. Maybe it had been
Brian. He did everything else for Vera. “Who did pick it up?”

“He didn’t give his name. He said Miss Van Alst had sent him to pick it up, and we’d
already had a call from her to tell us to have it ready right away.
Without delay.
”

A couple of possibilities occurred to me. This sounded uncaring even for Vera. It
made me wonder. Perhaps Vera hadn’t been behind getting the box.

“I understand. And you’re sure the call came from Miss Van Alst.”

“We have caller ID, and it showed ‘V Van Alst.’”

So much for those ideas.

“What did he look like? Old? Young?”

“Middle-aged, I guess. Fiftyish. A fairly big man. That’s all.”

I said, “Glasses?”

They shook their heads.

“Hair color?”

“Sandy. Brown with gray. Just kind of ordinary.”

I had an idea. “By any chance, did he have a limp?”

She said, “He did, now that you mention it.”

Well, now we were getting somewhere. If only I could figure out where.

Mr. Fine said, “These questions, it makes us wonder.”

Mrs. Fine nodded. “There’s something funny going on. In your opinion, is it all to
do with Alex’s death?”

I took a breath. “Some events have made me wonder what really happened to Alex.”

They both zeroed in on me. “What type of events?” Mr. Fine asked.

I explained about the attempts on Karen Smith and Ashley and watched as Mrs. Fine
gasped. “Who could be doing these things? It couldn’t be that same homeless man who
pushed Alex to his death.”

I said, “I don’t know, but it seems that there must be a connection. I understand
that the police never found that homeless man.”

Mr. Fine said, sadly, “No. We hear from the detective in charge of the investigation
every now and then, but they have no new leads. We have tried to feel compassion for
this man. Many of these people are seriously mentally disturbed. They don’t know what
they’re doing.”

Mrs. Fine added, “But it was hard to believe that Alex could have fallen in that way.
He was just so cautious. And I know he would have been wary of a person like that…”

Alex’s father took up when she trailed off. “He would never have stood so close to
the edge in the first place. It just wasn’t like him.”

She whispered, “Not like Alex at all.”

Her husband said, “You understand that we could never bear to watch any of the images
after the first time.”

I sure did.

*    *    *

I COULD STILL feel their sorrow clinging to me as I drove from Darby back to Harrison
Falls. They had hugged me and promised to do anything to help. I just couldn’t think
of what they could do.

I supposed the drive was pleasant, but I couldn’t really tell. My mind was on the
strange situation. Someone had arranged to get Alex’s things. That someone may or
may not have been Vera. Vera hadn’t told me, although that didn’t necessarily mean
anything. The person who’d picked up the box sounded like the large, limping man I’d
seen by Karen’s apartment, but was definitely not the same person who’d attacked Ashley.
Were there two people working together? Was that why things didn’t add up? Was Eddie
one of them? Eddie seemed to have the run of the kitchen area. Could he have pretended
to be Vera with her gravelly voice? The Fines had never met Vera, and they wouldn’t
know that she had such a distinctive way of talking.