UNCLE 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.”
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.”
“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.
I pulled over and gave the Fines a call. A bit soon, but after all, they had said anything they could do.
“Vera Van Alst’s voice, can you describe it?”
A pause. “Just a woman’s voice, nothing out of the ordinary.”
I remembered how I’d reacted to Vera’s voice in our first meeting. It had taken a lot of getting used to. “So not like crunching gravel?”
“What?” Mrs. Fine sounded startled.
I amended that. “Not deep? Gravelly?”
“No. Just a woman’s voice. A bit muffled, I suppose, like she had a cold, but not deep. And not gravelly.”
And, therefore, not Vera Van Alst.
“Could it have been a man pretending to be Miss Van Alst?”
She paused for a few seconds. “I suppose.”
Interesting.
* * *
IT CROSSED MY mind that Uncle Lucky might like to get his Navigator back. He was unlikely to squeeze himself into the Saab, and he tended to get bored with the Town Car. I planned to return the SUV after a trip to the hospital in Grandville. I dropped in to see how Karen was doing and found that nurses and residents alike were quite enchanted by Uncle Danny. People say he can charm the pants off…I mean, charm the birds out of the trees. He’s the most Irish-looking of us all, all wiry red hair and bright blue eyes, an alarming mustache and a blarneyish tongue. He attributes that coloring to a Viking ancestor named Olaf who he claims made a splash in Dublin round about the ninth century. If you buy him a drink, he’ll tell you some tales about Olaf. I’d advise any mesmerized listeners to hang on to their wallets.
Danny was happily seated in a very comfortable chair outside Karen’s door, playing solitaire and no doubt about to tempt the unwary into a costly game of Texas Hold ’Em. Someone had provided him with an iced cappuccino and a glazed double-chocolate doughnut. I noticed members of the female staff swaying their hips a bit more than I remembered them doing previously. And, in fact, there seemed to be more walking by than usual as well.
Despite this amusing scene, if you were a villain planning something, it would be wise not to underestimate Danny.
Even though he’s a hugger and a kisser and that mustache tickles.
“Thank you so much for doing this, Uncle Danny. I know you’re busy.” Of course, none of my uncles is ever really “busy”; they just have degrees of availability.
“Glad to. Nice place. Good food. Pretty ladies.”
I had to grin. “And Karen? Have you heard anything about her prognosis?”
“Pretty lady doc says that your friend is stable and they are thinking that guarded optimism is the phrase.”
“That’s a relief. Are you okay here on your own? I plan to stir the waters a bit.”
Uncle Danny inclined his head toward what looked like an orderly checking a medical instruction, but those hairy forearms and the Celtic cross tattoo should have been my first clue that Uncle Billy wasn’t far. In the unlikely event that someone blindsided Uncle Danny, Billy would bring that someone a little closer to his maker. Karen was in four good hands. I loved those guys. I figured Danny’s early career choices of riding rodeo in Alberta and later wrestling would pay off in a tight situation. Billy was the family athlete: shot put, javelin, you name it. There wasn’t an item that he couldn’t heave through the air with mind-popping accuracy.
“We’ll manage twelve hours each, and then the relief team shows up. Course, it’s more likely that someone will pull something when things are quiet. Lots of traffic here.”
“Has anyone tried to get into her room?”
“Sure thing. Half dozen. I stay with them and check them out first. Billy watches the hall. A stethoscope could fool nearly anyone, gotta admit it. But they’ve all been who they said they were. Billy and I work well together.”
That reminded me. They weren’t the only people who might be working together. “Okay. Here’s a picture of a guy to watch out for.” I handed over the print of Eddie McRae. “But like you two, he may be part of a team. The other player is a big guy, limps, sometimes more than other times, and may be wearing a baseball cap. Pass this on to our relief team when they get here, please.”
The relief team would be Uncles Tiny and Connie. They made Danny and Billy look like a pair of rookie candy stripers.
I figured if we didn’t want to spend the rest of our lives worrying, it was time to take action.
* * *
I TOOK A quick detour to get a dog toy for Walter in the Poocherie, a specialty dog store in downtown Harrison Falls. I picked up a giant jar of gummy bears for Walter’s caretakers at the Sweet Spot, the candy store in a little row of boutiques that occupied our defunct department store. Harrison Falls was redefining itself after the slam that the Van Alst Shoes failure had inflicted and building a new life fleecing, I mean attracting, tourists.
Five minutes later, I parked the Navigator in its usual place and headed off to see how all that dog sitting was working out.
The first thing I noticed was that Walter was parked on the sofa, bug-eyed with contentment. I shook my head in case I was hallucinating. He looked quite comfortable on that heritage quilt. I’d been hoping that would come to me eventually, but I wasn’t sure I wanted it now. He welcomed me with his ragged smoker’s bark, and Uncle Mick popped out of the kitchen. He had a can opener in one hand and a can of duck and sweet potato dog food in the other. It’s a dog’s life all right.
“Oh, and about your Eddie,” Uncle Mick said.
“Not my Eddie, but what about him?”
“Nothing. Nada. Zip.”
“Really?”
“I don’t think the guy ever had so much as a parking ticket.” Obviously, my uncle felt this was a character flaw.
“Did you find out anything about him?”
Mick shrugged and spooned dog food into the designer dish with the white paws on the red background. It would take more than that to make the duck and sweet potato goop look good, but Walter’s curly tail came to life.
“Grew up in Harrison Falls. Went to school here. Never left.”
“That’s it?”
“Works as a postal carrier. Quiet, close to retirement, no job problems, nothing on his routes, no complaints.”
I shrugged in disappointment.
“Supposed to have a thing for Vera Van Alst.”
“What?”
“No accounting for taste,” Mick said, setting down the dog food for Walter. “Since they were kids is what I heard.”