forty

German spies. Dead bankers. Secret vaults. And a connection to Poor Nic Bartalotta.

Of all those things, one didn’t surprise me—Poor Nic at the center of it. If there was a catastrophe around, there was always a connection to Poor Nic. He was a magnet for all things holy shit. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if his family held the mooring lines for the Hindenburg while they sold helium balloons nearby. And I think a relative was a lifeboat officer for the Titanic and another sold ice cubes on deck.

Why not now?

Angel stirred in our room and I went down in time to catch her readying for a shower. She was elated, of course, to see me.

“Tuck, will you wear a bell or something? You’re always popping in on me when I don’t expect it.”

What’s with the bell, anyway?

“Angel, I need your help.” I told her about my attic discovery and how I thought it all tied into my visit to Cairo’s Shepheard Hotel.

She couldn’t wait to help me and dropped her towel to climb in the shower. “It’s six in the morning, Tuck. Your 1944 belly dancer and German spies waited this long; another few hours won’t hurt.”

How silly of her. “Look, can you look up Hekmet Fahmy, Hussein Gafaar, and Johann Eppler for me? I’ll see you later today to hear what you found.”

“Why me?” her voice gurgled under the water.

“You’re the history professor, honey.”

“And you’re the detective, honey.”

She had a point. “But it’s sort of difficult for me to use a computer. And if I have to use electricity to build my strength to type all night, your electric bill will be outrageous.”

Silence. “If I don’t do the search for you, will you haunt me forever?”

“Too late for that. I’m going to see Poor Nic. I’ll send him kisses and hugs.”

“You do that.”

As much as I loved our shower talks, there was work to do.

With a huff and a puff I blew across town to the hospital and peeked over the shoulder of an ER nurse to find Poor Nic’s room on the second floor. There, in a chair outside his door, was Bobby. He stuffed a breakfast sandwich into his mouth—in one bite—and gulped a mucho-extra-grande coffee at the same time. He probably had room for a side pound of hash browns and a half pig of bacon, too, if only his gargantuan hands could find the time.

I liked Bobby. He was both dependable and predictable.

Inside the room, I expected to find Poor Nic lounging in bed reading the Charles Town race forms and enjoying breakfast caviar or whatever mob bosses eat. I didn’t find anything of the sort. He was sitting up in bed, one arm in a sling, the other holding the hand of the woman sobbing in his bedside chair.

Karen Simms.

“Now, Ms. Simms.” He patted her hand. “I am afraid I simply do not understand your dilemma. Perhaps you should start at the beginning, no? Bobby said you were desperate to speak with me last night. I am sorry I was unavailable. Please, tell me now.”

Karen sniffled, eased her hand away from Poor Nic’s, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m embarrassed to be here, Nicholas. I was told to come to you if I was ever in trouble. I never thought it would be like this—and I’m sorry to bother you after what happened to you last night. But, that’s precisely why I know I’m in danger. If they’ll go after you, then I’m not safe.”

“Ms. Simms, slow down. I do not understand. Who are you speaking of?”

“It’s the bank.” Karen straightened. “I’m in terrible trouble at the bank.”

I said, “Oh, you are? Do tell, Karen. Do tell. And spare no details, please.”

Poor Nic’s eyebrows rose and he peered past her toward the door. Then he returned his gaze to her. “Tell me.”

“With William gone, there’s no one to turn to. I’m frightened—scared to death. I saw things, Nicholas. Things going on at the bank and in some of the accounts. Things I wasn’t supposed to see and know about. Now William’s dead. They’re going to find out about me, too. I have to get out of town. I have to hide until this is all over and they catch the killers.”

“Killers?” I said. “Come on, Karen, get to the punch line. What killers?”

Nic asked her that, too.

“No, I can’t say. I only suspect. You understand—I don’t know for sure. But if you add it all up—the secret account, William’s meetings, and the club—well, if you do, then I’m in big trouble.”

She wasn’t making any sense.

“You feel yourself in danger because of something you saw?” Poor Nic watched her and put on his best grandfatherly smile, and when she nodded, he added, “And the account? Which one?”

Karen’s face paled and she slid back on her chair. She looked down at her hands on her lap. “Well, I think you know, Nicholas.”

Poor Nic’s eyes narrowed a little and a strange, thin smile etched the corners of his mouth. “Are you saying the Kit Kat West, my dear?”

She nodded.

Oh, really? The Kit Kat accounts are involved with William’s murder? Funny how Marshal never brought that up.

“I assure you, there is nothing untoward with the Kit Kat accounts, my dear. I review those myself. Surely, you know I would not tolerate such possibilities.”

“No, no, I’m saying—Well, I’m saying what happened to William and those accounts are all connected. And I know you’re involved in the Kit Kat, Nicholas. Everyone knows. I have to get out of town. If I tell you what I know—it’ll help you. If I do, will you help me?”

Poor Nic pressed a button on his bed control and the bed sat him straighter. He slid his aged legs over the side and eased himself into a sitting position facing her. “My dear, if there is something amiss at the club, I assure you I will get to the bottom of it. You have my word. And if it has anything to do with William’s murder, I will deal with that most directly. Now, tell me.”

“All I’ll say is this: I was told to move money around, Nicholas. Lots of money. Every month I was told to take cash out and turn it over. Not enough to get anyone’s attention, but plenty. And there’s more. But, not until I’m somewhere safe, okay?”

Poor Nic reached a hand out, and when he did, he winced and touched his bandaged arm in the sling. “I assure you, Ms. Simms, you are quite safe with me.”

“That’s what William told me, too, Nicholas.” She stood and went to the window. “Never mind, I’ll find my own way. I’m sorry I came to you. I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t trust the police—after all, they’re working with Marshal and Thorne. I don’t trust them. I just thought …”

“No, no, you came to the right person, my dear.” Poor Nic beckoned back to the chair and called out for Bobby. When Bobby entered, Poor Nic gestured to Karen. “Bobby, make arrangements for Ms. Simms to have, oh, let us start with five thousand. Is that sufficient for now?”

Karen blinked several times. “No, no, I wasn’t asking for …”

“It is fine, my dear.” He returned to Bobby. “Provide her with five thousand from the house money and give her one of our guest vehicles. Something small and low-key, you understand.”

“Yes sir, boss. Want me to take her somewhere myself?”

Poor Nic glanced at Karen. “My dear? You are welcome to stay with me. It’s the safest …”

“No.” Karen stood and backed away from the bed. “I can’t. No. You … . Hawkins … Marshal. No. I can’t. I …”

Poor Nic held up a hand and calmed her with that schmoozy smile of his. “I understand. Trust is important. Bobby, the cash and the car—for now. And perhaps get her one of our untraceable cell phones, too. She must be free to call and know the police are not listening.”

Bobby nodded and looked at Karen. “I’ll be outside.” He left the room.

I said, “Geez, Nic, pretty generous. You know she’s probably the key to this case, right? And if she is, hiding a witness is obstruction of justice. Except for you. I think you call it ‘business as usual.’ But you got class, Nic. Always helping out the lovely ladies.”

Karen wiped away tears. “Thank you, Nicholas. William wasn’t wrong about you.”

“Who wasn’t wrong about whom?” A voice said from the doorway. “The only person who’s wrong is whoever thinks you’re so sweet and innocent, Karen.”

Lee Hawkins walked into the room like Patton returning to the Philippines—no, wait, that was MacArthur, but you get it. Bobby was behind her holding the door open for her entrance.

“I’m sorry, Nicholas, I have to leave.” Karen retreated to Bobby and gave Poor Nic a faint smile. “I meant what I said. William wasn’t wrong.”

“Oh, please.” Lee stood at the foot of Poor Nic’s bed. She gave the old gangster a warm smile that metamorphosed into ice when she turned to Karen. “What are you doing here, Karen? Blackmail or another con job?”

“I don’t have to put up with this, Lee.” Karen snapped her arms folded. “I know all about you and your grandfather. I know …”

“You know what? Some deep dark secret?” Lee took a quick step toward Karen and split the air between them with a stiletto finger. “More lies and innuendo? Come on, Karen, when are you gonna be happy with what you have and go?”

Poor Nic patted the air. “Ladies, please. This is not the time or place.”

A short, stout nurse brushed passed Bobby into the room. She took one look at Lee and Karen and stepped between them. “All right, ladies, everyone out. We need to discharge Mr. Bartalotta. You can take whatever this is elsewhere.”

Karen stepped back near Bobby. “Hawkins, you twist everything, don’t you? I know what you two were doing to William—and I know all about that woman, too. I won’t let you get away with it.” She looked to Poor Nic as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Good-bye.” She spun on her heels and rushed from the room.

The nurse looked at Lee. “All right, Miss, you’re next—out.”

Poor Nic started to object, but the nurse held up a hand. “Not a word, Mr. Bartalotta. Not a word.”

Poor Nic surrendered and lay back on his bed, arms folded, looking submissive.

Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.