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GLENDA WAS CLEARLY upset over something, although Dorothy was not certain what had triggered the emotional turmoil. The housekeeper claimed she was looking forward to Friday night’s going away party, hence it was unlikely to be the forthcoming event disturbing her equilibrium.
For the past seventy-two hours, the papers had been full of the Radley massacre, to the point where it was almost impossible to switch on a TV without being bombarded with yet more gruesome details. Dorothy suspected this was at the root of the problem. Perhaps Glenda was genuinely appalled by the bloodshed, yet wary of expressing an opinion in case she sounded disloyal. On Thursday morning, she found the housekeeper alone in the kitchen and decided to take the bull by the horns.
‘Those scones smell awesome,’ she started off the conversation with a compliment. ‘You had better watch Clive around them. You know how the guy can withstand pretty much anything except temptation.’
The Dutch woman smiled listlessly and gestured at a nearby tin. ‘I made a special batch for Jive,’ she said in a hollow voice.
‘I know it’s been a difficult few days, Glen,’ Dorothy replied gently. ‘It won’t get better until the whole gang is buried. There are three funerals tomorrow, and another four next Monday. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I know you’re not used to this sort of carry-on.’
‘Boss, do you seriously think I give a rat’s ass about the Radley gang?’ Glenda sounded part-shocked and part-amused. ‘If they had their way, you’d be pushing up daisies by now. They were nothing but a bunch of immoral, remorseless cretins. I’m delighted they got their comeuppance.’
‘So that’s not what’s on your mind,’ Dorothy replied slowly, taken aback by the venom in the other woman’s voice. ‘I can’t help noticing you’re not your usual cheery self.’
‘I’m dreading Simone and Charlie going home,’ Glenda grimaced guiltily. ‘For a while there, I was convinced you were going to suffer a full-blown nervous breakdown, and I’m worried you might relapse when they’re not around. You don’t have me fooled, Boss. I saw how close you came to the edge after the Kinsella Sting. You put on a brave face, but even though you watched Viv die, you can’t get past her betrayal. I don’t blame you for feeling devastated, and I honestly think you should have some sort of counselling to help you come to terms with it all.’
With misty eyes, Dorothy groped her way to the island and held onto the back of a stool for support. ‘That’s why you’ve been so quiet since we got back from Kerry? It has nothing to do with the massacre of the Radleys? You’re worried I’m going to have a breakdown?’
‘If the shoe was on the other foot, you’d be worried too,’ Glenda sniffed. ‘I know you’ve got Dorian to distract you, but I honestly believe you need professional help.’
‘Professional help,’ Dorothy repeated. ‘From a trauma counsellor or clinical psychologist, or some other mental health professional.’
Glenda folded her arms across her substantial bosom and nodded firmly.
‘I promise to consider it,’ Dorothy released the stool and stood up straight. ‘I don’t know how things will work out after the girls head off on Sunday, but I’ll give some thought to what you’re saying. I’m dreading them leaving as well, although I plan to go to work on Monday and do my best to get my life back on track. I want to be a role model for the twins. Did I mention that Dorian is taking me to some sort of swanky party at the end of next week? It’s not here, it’s in France. He’s going to be in Milan next week, and he wants me to meet him in Paris afterwards. Marco has all the details. You should ask him about it.’
Glenda’s face relaxed a little when she heard this. ‘Please be careful, Boss,’ she said earnestly. ‘The sort of shock you’ve endured during these past few months is bound to affect your health. I saw the same thing with my friend, Moira. She lost her son and husband within two years of each other and pretended she was fine. And she was fine until she suffered a massive coronary. Have you any idea how statistically unlikely it is for a fifty-year-old woman to die of a sudden heart attack?’
‘None at all,’ Dorothy replied meekly. ‘I promise to be careful, Glenda, and mindful of my health. Now, is there anything else you want to discuss with me about before I head over to the pool? Anything at all?’
‘I don’t want to get anybody into trouble,’ Glenda’s face clouded over. ‘It’s just that Simone is keen to check out the studio. She thinks it would make a far better train room for Bunny. I’d like to reclaim the little room on the first floor because we have so many visitors these days. Not that I’m suggesting Bunny should have the run of the entire studio, but maybe the bedroom area could be converted for him.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Dorothy desperately tried to follow the other woman’s train of thought. ‘Are Simone’s findings inconclusive? Is the studio a no-go?’
‘She can’t get in there to check it out,’ the words sort of rushed out of Glenda at top speed. ‘The access code has been changed, and when she asked for it, she was fobbed off. That happened a few times, Boss, until she gave up asking. Like I say, I don’t want to get anybody in trouble, but if the studio is out of bounds, it means it isn’t being cleaned regularly...’ she trailed off looking deeply unhappy.
Dorothy’s stomach spasmed, while at the same time her heart plummeted down to her toes. She gripped the back of the stool again, except this time she climbed up on it, not trusting her legs to support her. Then she buried her face in her hands and succumbed to the misery. Watched by Glenda, she whimpered like an abandoned child.
He’s set it up as some sort of love nest. His room in the basement isn’t fancy enough to attract the hotties he wants, so he’s turned the studio into a seduction pad, and the other guys are covering for him. I can’t bear it. I simply cannot bear it. My heart has reached the limits of its endurance.
There was a clink of glass and she felt something hard and cold against the skin of her hand. She raised her head and Glenda silently handed her a small brandy.
‘It might not be too bad,’ the housekeeper commented quietly. ‘But you’re the only one who can get in there. I asked Ralph to investigate but he was too chicken. It’s your call, Boss. Would you prefer to leave it alone and pretend you know nothing?’
‘No,’ Dorothy sipped the brandy. ‘I’m going to tackle it head on. Feck them anyway. Who do they think they are to be changing the keycodes and refusing my best friend access? I’ll show them who’s boss.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Glenda did not sound especially enthusiastic. ‘Can I do anything to help?’
‘When I give the word, I need you to distract Clive so I can sneak past the cameras,’ Dorothy told her. ‘First I’m going to get that keycode.’
‘How are you going to do that without raising suspicion?’ the expression on the housekeeper’s face clearly stated she seriously doubted her employer’s stealth-like abilities.
‘No clue,’ Dorothy muttered, and polished off the rest of the brandy. ‘I’ll think about it while I’m in the pool. See you later and wait for my word.’
By the time she had swum twenty laps then showered and washed her hair, she had still failed to come up with a cunning plan. She dried her hair thoroughly and left it hanging loose. She put on a pair of skinny jeans, but instead of her usual boots, chose a pair of rubber soled purple trainers.
Over her pink bra, she pulled a white T-shirt and a purple cashmere sweater that matched her footwear. Still unsure of her operational guidelines, to say nothing of her mission parameters, Dorothy took the lift downstairs. The house was quiet, mainly due to the fact the guests had taken Moo-Moo to visit Simone’s parents. The Redmonds would be attending the farewell bash, but wanted one final day with their daughter and granddaughter prior to the inevitable separation. Marco had chauffeured the ladies in the SUV, and was currently running party related errands.
Dorothy put together the final pieces of her studio invasion exercise, then went to the kitchen to tell Glenda the plan was a go. Moving as casually as she knew how, she walked across the hall and tapped on the office door. Clive looked up in surprise when he saw who it was. ‘Everything okay, Boss?’ he sounded startled.
‘I need to make sure the cloakroom is ready for the onslaught of designer wraps tomorrow night,’ Dorothy kept her expression innocuous. ‘I can’t remember the fecking code for the door. Do you know it off the top of your head?’
‘Not a chance,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘The Bug usually takes care of opening that door. I’ll have to look it up on the server.’
He brought up the necessary list of codes on the first screen, and Dorothy grabbed a biro off the desk and scribbled down the one she needed on her palm. ‘Thank you,’ she pretended to be interested in a new games console that had mysteriously appeared next to the old one.
‘I hope I don’t find anything inappropriate in there by way of underwear,’ she remarked nonchalantly. ‘By the way, I think Glenda might be whipping up a little snack for you as we speak. Just giving you the heads-up in case the other guys beat you to it.’
She left the office then ran to the dining room and waited just inside the door to see if he would take the bait. Less than a minute later, the Welshman appeared outside the office. He slowly rotated his head and checked the surrounding area before moving steadily in the direction of the kitchen.
As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, Dorothy sprinted across the hall and let herself out the front door. Under normal circumstances, Clive would have the CCTV images up on the kitchen screen within a minute. Not only had Glenda hidden the remote controls, she had promised faithfully to distract the protection officer, thereby providing a three-minute window of opportunity for Dorothy to run to the studio without being detected.
She jogged up the part of the driveway leading to the garages and kept going until she got within five metres of the studio. The building was probably just about the most neglected area of the property. Even the Crow’s Nest got more use. It looked very pretty from the outside, having been given a New England twist with full timber cladding painted a pearl grey.
It was clear from Phil Doheny’s plans, the musician intended to cordon off one substantial area of the building with a glass wall, and cram it full of recording equipment. While Dorothy had been more than happy for Saul to go ahead and build the studio, she asked him to ignore the original interior drawings and leave the space as open as possible. Saul agreed it would be a mistake to get too bogged down in layout until she had a better idea of how the studio would eventually be used.
The end result was one large area suitable as a bedroom, two neat bathrooms, and one monstrous space where, if Phil had lived, the artists would have set up their equipment and strutted their stuff. It was the so-called bedroom that interested Glenda as a potential train room, and with good reason.
It was in the region of two hundred square-feet, and would provide Bunny with more than double the space he currently had at his disposal. The existing train room could be converted into a single bedroom, or even kitted out with bunk beds. With the twins and Deco virtually living at the house fulltime, the extra space would be very useful. Dorothy’s mind was also fixated on the bedroom, although for very different reasons. She closed the distance between her and the front door and paused again.
There were cameras attached to each corner, as well as one large one positioned over the door pointing directly at her. The red light flashed and she half-expected it to be panned by a hidden operator. It remained static, and it crossed her mind it might not be monitored. In keeping with the rest of the property, no fewer than twelve windows had been installed in the studio. There was a window on either side of the front door, albeit with closed shutters.
Even if she opened them, Dorothy suspected she would be unable to see through the glass. She paused and considered her options. She had not seen Jack since breakfast, although this had little or no significance. He might be anywhere on the grounds or the greater Howth area. He might be helping Ralph with something of a domestic nature, or discussing security issues with James. One never knew what the precious Tinman might be up to.
How likely is it I’m going to find him in there buried between a woman’s legs? Maybe now would be a good time to turn around and walk away. Why am I always such a chicken? So what if he’s with a girl? It’s better for me to know the truth than to be swanning around in blissful ignorance like a blind fool. Strap on a pair, D-Ly, and open the goddamn door.
There was no sure way of knowing if she was being watched via the camera, but since she owned the camera, the studio, and everything else within a one-mile radius, it seemed infantile to be overly concerned about it.
‘It’s your house,’ she reminded herself, as she slowly keyed in the code. ‘You’re not doing anything wrong. You just want to make sure the studio is clean. It’s all super-casual. You’re not spying on anybody. This is your house so quit stalling already and put one foot in front of the other.’
The door opened easily and noiselessly and she stepped into a long corridor, glad to out of the chill. Should have worn a coat. The lights came on automatically as soon as they detected her presence, although it was eerily silent. It was impossible to tell whether this absence of noise was as a direct result of the soundproofing, or if the building was deserted.
She found herself looking at an interior window which should have provided viewing access to the studio area. The window had been blacked out with some sort of blind. Oh shit. She looked around for the doors. The nearest one led to the first of the two bathrooms. Moving slowly, she opened it and peeked inside.
The room looked clean and unused, and the blue towel matching the tiles seemed dry and untouched. So far so good. She closed the door with a snap and looked around. There was only one other way to proceed, and that was along the corridor and through the beech door leading to the studio proper and the bedroom. She took a few calming breaths and forced herself to walk down the hall and open the second door.
When she depressed the handle and pushed it open, another light clicked on and she found herself in a small windowless area with nothing but a couple of upright wooden chairs leaning against the walls. She was facing yet another door.
Dorothy frowned. She had not been inside the studio since the weekend of the twins’ twenty-first, yet could not recall this odd little waiting room, nor the extra door. Was she going mad? Had stress caused her to blank its very existence from her mind?
That was when she noticed the sign and gadget. She approached the new door warily and lifted down the ear defenders. The laminated sign read, ‘Warning. Do not proceed past this point without ear defenders.’
She held them up and inspected them. They felt heavy in her hands and she guessed they were top quality. She popped the gadgets over her head and adjusted them until they covered her ears perfectly. Not exactly sure what’s going on, but here goes. Please, God, don’t let it be anything to do with porn. Or sex. Or other women. When she was sure her ears were properly protected, she pushed open the mysterious door and stepped through into the studio.
She had plenty of time to observe their activities because they were far too occupied to notice her. The studio was neither dirty nor dusty. Almost directly opposite Dorothy were two steel-framed beds, stacked one on top of the other. Marco lay on the top one reading a magazine, while Jack was stretched out on the bottom one, clearly absorbed in a newspaper. Both men wore ear defenders, and seemed oblivious to their surroundings.
From where she stood, Dorothy could see the door to the bedroom was ajar, and the room was full of something that appeared to be junk. There was some sort of table in the middle where the bed should have been. Hoping for a better view, she sidestepped a little, praying she wouldn’t be spotted. She saw the object was a ping pong table and the junk a collection of musical instruments.
The floor on which she stood was the same engineered hardwood that had been used in her study. It was a beautiful maple hue which always attracted plenty of compliments from visitors. This floor looked less attractive than the one in her study, due in the main to the chalk marks every couple of feet which were guilty of spoiling the effect. She was standing almost on top of the final one and had no trouble reading it clearly. 10 Metres.
Dorothy allowed her eyes to rove up and down the length of the studio. She tended to think of it as a very large space indeed, but now she saw the chalk marks, realised it was barely thirteen metres in length, and possibly seven in width. Most families would consider themselves lucky to have such square footage to use as their living room. Notwithstanding what most families would appreciate, thirteen by seven metres was a very small gun range by anybody’s standards.
Josh and Deco were standing on the line marked five metres with ear defenders in place. Both boys were firing at human-shaped paper targets pinned to mattresses. Sheets of metal protected the walls and windows behind the targets and, even from a distance, Dorothy could see how pockmarked and pitted the metal was. The paper sheets were riddled with bullet holes. James was standing to one side of the room, closely observing the gun-toting duo. He looked relaxed, although she was not fooled by his stance. He was ready to pounce if either boy appeared to be in trouble.
Neither Josh nor Deco looked anything of the kind. Almost simultaneously, they ran out of ammo and lowered the weapons. James stepped forward and gently confiscated the firearms. The boys slipped the ear defenders off and wrapped them around their necks instead. Dorothy followed suit, but held hers instead of putting them anywhere near her neck. James turned his back and seemed to be reloading the weapons at the nearby shelf.
‘I’m getting better with the .22,’ Josh announced loudly. ‘I still hate it. I don’t know why I can’t stick with the Glock.’
‘We have to get used to a variety of firearms,’ Deco sounded as if he had been through the same conversation many times before. And before you say it, you won’t get your hands on either the Magnum or the Colt until the Dog is good and ready to let you have a go.’
‘Poxy .22.’ Josh grumbled. ‘Talk about a woman’s gun.’
‘Very true,’ Dorothy spoke the words loudly. ‘That’s my .22, and I’ll thank you to take good care of it.’
James swung around at the same time as his students, and Dorothy was greeted by the sight of three horrified faces. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself laughing. Then she held up her ear defenders and shook them tauntingly at James.
‘An expensive piece of kit, Captain,’ she remarked mockingly. ‘I look forward to seeing the invoice for these yokes first thing Monday morning.’
James lost some of his colour, and Deco shifted closer to Josh for protection. Marco unexpectedly yelled from his bunk. ‘You fellas would want to get a load of the size of the dong on this lad. Talk about Donkey Kong.’
He fell silent again and Dorothy realised her driver was blissfully unaware she was even in the room. She strolled over to the bedroom and peered inside for a proper look. The table tennis setup dominated the room, and a vintage juke box took over one corner. There was also an old drum kit, as well as a selection of guitars and amplifiers strewn around. She shook her head in disbelief and turned to leave.
James had still not uttered a word, and Josh and Deco clung together like a couple of teenage girls watching a horror movie. The imp that lived inside Dorothy made her stroll up to Jack’s bunk and rub her finger along the inside of his calf. He dropped the paper as if he had been shot and his eyes went wide. He lifted off the ear defenders and wrapped them around his neck without removing his eyes from hers.
‘How’s my favourite sugar cookie today?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘I hope I’m not overworking you and your boyfriend.’
Before he could reply, she turned on her heel and left without even glancing in Josh’s direction. Inside the funny little anteroom, she hung up the ear defenders on their special nail. Then she let herself out the front door and strolled back to the boot room, chuckling happily to herself.
Glenda was waiting in the kitchen, and almost fainted with relief when she saw her boss was not in tears. Dorothy explained what she had discovered and, once she got over the shock, the housekeeper dissolved into a fit of the giggles.
‘You had better go and take a break, Glen,’ Dorothy gasped, holding her side, which ached from laughing. ‘I have a feeling Commander Maddox might be about to pay me a little visit, and I want to milk this a bit longer before I let the big fecker off the hook. Seriously! What will he think of next?’
