The Christie Curse (36 page)

I hoped like hell that whoever was out in the living room had gone for help.

“If I give it to you, will you let me live? The money isn’t mine, so I would be considered
a co-conspirator. No one would believe my story about finding it.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Will you let me live?”

“Of course I will,” Ashley said with a fake smile.

“All right,” I said.

She moved closer, eyes gleaming.

I waited until she got close enough for my purposes. That was close enough to see
that the safety was off, not a good thing. The bronze was still under the pillow,
and it was my only possible hope.

“It’s just like you put your tooth for the tooth fairy,” I said idiotically. “Under
my pillow. You can take it all, but you have to let me go, Ashley.”

She said, “You are just toying with me. I’m looking forward to getting rid of you.
I am going to take that money, and I am going to watch you die.”

I’d had no idea this girl was so vicious and angry. Not for the first time, I thanked
my uncles for teaching me to look unafraid and think on my feet no matter how bad
the situation. My knees were wobbling. I could hear the thunder of my heart. My mouth
was dry.

Ashley lunged toward me, quickly. Too quickly.

Bad Cat hates sudden moves. He reached out an elegant set of claws and raked her thigh.

Shocked, Ashley shrieked and whirled.

Bad Cat licked his paw. I dove for the bronze under the pillow. With the statue in
my hand, I faced her. The trouble was I lacked whatever it would take to hit a human
being in the head or even the hand with a heavy metal object. Karen’s injuries kept
playing in my mind.

“What are you going to do with that?” she mocked. “A stupid statue against a gun?”

“This,” I said, whacking that gun. It flew across the room,
hitting the floor with just enough force for it to go off. We both dove for it. I
managed to butt heads with her as we tussled. I had the advantage as I still had the
use of both my hands.

My ears were ringing as I struggled to my feet. I gripped the gun and pointed it at
her. “Stand up and move back.”

“You won’t shoot me,” she sneered. “You can’t.”

“I believe you are wrong about that,” I said.

A voice came from the door to the living area. “Maybe she won’t shoot you, but I can
and I will.”

Ashley’s eyes widened as she turned to face Officer Smiley. Except he wasn’t smiling
now.

He said, “Just so you realize, Jordan, I wouldn’t have let her shoot you.”

“Good to know,” I said.

“I am really sorry you got mixed up in all this. I tried to keep an eye on you when
I was tracking Ashley and her father, but you sure make it hard. Anyway, when I followed
her here tonight, I knew this was serious and I had to rescue you.”

“You didn’t rescue me, I rescued myself. You just saved me from shooting this little
murderer. I’m thankful for that.” I was grateful that he was holding his police-issued
Glock on Ashley and especially happy that I didn’t have to find out the hard way whether
I would have shot Ashley.

But he wasn’t done. He had a few words for Ashley. “So, Ashley. You killed my friend,
a fine, decent guy that I cared about. He really loved you and you used him. Now I’m
going to make sure that you go down for it. I’ll be attending your trial every day,
even if I have to quit my job, just so I sit and watch your face.”

I was pretty sure that as a witness he wouldn’t be allowed to attend the trial when
others were testifying. But, of course, I only knew that bit of procedure because
of my unsavory family connections. That was another thought I kept to myself.

“You can’t prove it,” she sputtered. Whatever you could say about her, she was no
quitter.

“That’s what tape is for, Ashley.”

I for one hoped that as well as getting it on tape, he had called for backup. This
girl was a tiger.

“As long as you called it in,” I said meaningfully.

He grinned.

Ashley had started to wail. “I didn’t do anything, you stupid, nosy cow.”

I don’t know who was more astonished, Officer Smiley or me or the guy in the dark
shirt and tie with the gelled hair who appeared in the door behind Smiley. I supposed
that the sound of the Smith & Wesson going off had been enough to get his attention
behind the tinted window of whatever dark sedan he was driving. Of course, he wouldn’t
know who Smiley was. This could take another turn for the worse.

I shook my head. He frowned.

“Thanks so much, Officer Dekker. I am so glad you followed Ashley. Did you say backup
is—?”

“On its way.”

Sal’s someone disappeared faster than a Siamese cat on a mission. I gave a sigh of
relief. Sal’s information had saved my life. I didn’t want to have it end badly for
him and whoever he’d sent to protect me.

Ashley still wasn’t done.

“You can’t prove that I did anything. I had nothing to do with Alex being murdered.”

“We’ll get you on conspiracy, theft, and obstructing a police investigation and half
a dozen other offenses. We’re just getting started. You were involved in the commission
of a felony. That means you’ll be culpable in Alex’s death, Karen’s attack and death
threats against Miss Bingham here. Welcome to the justice system,” Officer Dekker
said. No smile this time.

I
FACED VERA across the breakfast table in the conservatory. Today’s special was fragrant
fresh sweet rolls. I knew that there’d be eggs to follow and who knew what else. “I
have your money.”

She lifted her gaze from the
New York Times
. “I want it back.”

“I’m sure you do, but there are terms.”

She roared. “What do you mean terms? It’s my money.”

“There’s no real proof of that.”

“My word is good enough.”

“Sure, it’s your word in addition to my four conditions.”

“I said, no terms.”

“Fine. I’ll turn the cash over to the police. It will get tied up as evidence for
years as this is probably going to take a long time to wind through the courts. Of
course, there’s no proof it’s yours, so they may never turn it over.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.” Not only would Vera hate having her money
tied up, but for reasons of pride and self-preservation, she also wouldn’t want word
to get out that she’d been ripped off.

I accepted a cup of espresso from the signora, who was uncharacteristically quiet.
I smiled at her and told myself never to get on her bad side.

In the end Vera agreed to make a donation to a charity of Alex’s parents’ choice in
his memory and to provide some financial assistance to Karen.

I said, “Third, from now on, you will treat me with respect.”

She almost choked on my fourth and final condition.

*    *    *

TWO WEEKS LATER, the grand dining room was all done up for a festive occasion, something
that had been missing in the Van Alst house for too many years. But no longer. The
table was set for thirteen, and the dinner party was in full swing. Vera Van Alst
was fulfilling condition number four, reluctantly, but so what. We had a lot to celebrate.
The many things that some of our guests had to mourn were set aside for the evening.

The ornate Royal Crown Derby china gleamed in the softly glowing light from four large
silver candelabras set with high beeswax tapers. I’d managed to hook up a small music
system, which was now playing some soft background music, although conversation was
drowning it out. I was feeling very party-like in my emerald-green vintage Christian
Dior party dress with its deep and dramatic neckline and swirly skirt.

As part of condition number four (host a dinner and be pleasant and hospitable for
the duration of the event), Vera was doing her best not to glower. I had presented
her with a silk blouse in royal blue. It went with the china and flattered her skin
tones. She’d seemed pleased. Cyndi from Scissors on Wheels! had styled her hair, and
I had bullied her into wearing lipstick. I’d placed Uncle Mick next to her
at the far end. I figured those were dollar signs and not stars in his eyes. Vera,
like so many women before her, was smitten. Maybe it was the ginger eyebrows or the
gold chain nestled in the chest hair. Whatever, Vera had ignored the eggplant, mint
and hot pepper salad and the roast veggie and farro salad. I can attest that both
were fabulous. Eddie sat across from Mick, watching him like I might watch a tarantula.
I’d put him there to be near Vera. I hadn’t predicted that the Irish charm would work
on her. Eddie wasn’t used to being at the table, and now he was too heartsick to eat.

I felt bad about that, especially as I’d learned late in the game that his only reason
for talking to Karen Smith at the book fair had been to find a special gift for Vera.
Unrequited love. What can I say?

Speaking of Karen, she was finally well enough to go out. In fact we’d delayed the
dinner until she could join us. She was still pale and rail thin, but even so, practically
delirious to be invited to dinner at the Van Alst house. She also seemed tickled to
be seated next to Detective Zinger, who was ostensibly there to question some witnesses
and had been encouraged to stay to dinner. We wanted to avoid the appearance of a
conflict.

The Fines were not completely comfortable with Vera, although they had come to accept
that she wasn’t responsible for Alex’s death, or completely unfeeling about it. The
donation in Alex’s memory had done the trick. I’d placed Officer Tyler Dekker in between
them. That had been a good seating choice.

Earlier I’d even considered inviting George and Jeannette Beckwith. I felt a bit guilty
about suspecting them of complicity with “Merlin.” But when I’d mentioned this to
Karen, she reminded me that even if he was not guilty, George could be a serious jerk.

Signora Panetone swooped around the room in her glory. She had reluctantly agreed
to us hiring some help to serve,
but she’d made every mouthful herself. A lot of food would be eaten. The main course
was game birds with a creamy garlicky polenta. Uncle Lucky stared at it with suspicion.
What kind of can had this come from? He’d barely recovered from the risotto with saffron
and mussels. Seated next to him, Miss Orsini, who was almost as quiet as Lucky, leaned
over and whispered an explanation. I’d only invited the physiotherapist because I
felt guilty about my false accusation, but it was already paying off in Uncle Lucky’s
continuing education.

Walter was parked next to Lucky, glancing meaningfully at his red dog bowl. The signora
had already fed him at least once, but dogs are always optimistic that there will
be more. Both cats stared daggers at him from their entitled perch on the priceless
sideboard.

Karen leaned across the table and said to Uncle Lucky, “You don’t know how grateful
I am that you are willing to keep Walter. The doctor has said it might take months
for me to fully recover, and I was so afraid I would have to send him to a shelter.
This is a huge weight off my mind.”

Uncle Lucky flinched at the word “shelter.” Walter stared bug-eyed. Lucky uncle and
lucky dog.

A hiss was clearly heard from the sideboard. Can’t please everyone.

I was shoulder to shoulder (and knee to knee) with Lance, a payoff itself. It wasn’t
how I’d devised the seating, but someone had switched my hand-lettered place cards.
And across from me I had a fine view of the baby blues and blushing cheeks of Officer
Tyler “Smiley” Dekker and the Fines doting on him. Mrs. Fine was saying, “We hope
you will be able to join us for Christmas dinner this year. We would like that so
much.”

At the end of the table, to my right, in my usual place, was the empty chair for our
symbolic guest, Agatha Christie, the Queen of Crime.

Once the
torta di miele
and custard were served and
twelve small glasses of Limoncello filled, I stood. “I’d like to make a toast to Agatha
Christie, without whose guidance and ideas Brian Underwood and Ashley Snell would
have gotten away with murder. I never thought I’d be wrapped up in a mystery like
Poirot and Miss Marple.”

Everyone rose, even Vera. Glasses were raised.

“To Agatha!”

“Eat!” the signora thundered.

And of course, we did.