Chapter 27
It was another day in paradise and this morning we were all packed into Sally’s car and headed up PCH to Malibu. Marisol was riding shotgun, somehow she always manages to score that seat.
I was flanked in the back by Peggy on one side and Penelope on the other. In the far back sat Bardot, breathing warm doggie breath into my ear, and a box of plant shoots from my garden. My cell phone rang.
“Hi, honey,” I said to Jack when I saw the caller ID.
“Hey, babe, I wanted to let you know that I’m finished with my training up here. I’m going to shower and I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Jack had been doing an early morning rescue drill up in the Santa Monica mountains, so this was perfect timing.
Since the whole sad Paula episode, we’d all kind of retreated into our own lives for a while. Jack and I and the dogs spent a long weekend at Lake Arrowhead, a popular ski resort in the winter and a peaceful escape in the warmer months. We rented a cabin and hiked, cooked out, went fishing, and cuddled by the fire. Bardot befriended a duck that we named Cecil, and for a while it looked like I was going to have another mouth to feed when we got home. But on the day we were to leave Cecil met a PYD (pretty young duck) and they swam off together into the sunset. I returned home rested but not entirely healed. That would take time.
Sally and Joe got the remodeling bug and were busy planning and consulting an architect. The ideas kept evolving and changing, but the main goal was to create a separate space for her cousin Jimmy, who was coming for an extended visit. They were excited to have him joining them as the majority of their relatives resided back East.
Peggy was dating! That was the big news for the beginning of summer. It seems that one of her buddies from the CIA, someone that she had actually gone out with a few times before she met Vern, was now a widower. They got back in touch when Peggy was doing research for me on the case. He lives in San Diego, which according to Peggy, is just far enough away for them to be able to miss each other. And for Peggy to have some Peggy time. When you are in your eighties, you’re less inclined to hop in the car at eight at night and drive an hour and a half just to be together. We’ve met him; you could tell that he was a hottie in his day.
Marisol continues to play hermano grande on Rose Avenue. I think I’ve finally broken her of the habit of entering my house at will with a carefully staged scenario that Jack and I conjured up. We were outside BBQing one evening with ribs on the grill. The aroma of sizzling pork is usually the Pavlovian stimulus needed to lure her over. When we heard her garden clogs clip-clop up my driveway, Jack and I both took our tops off. As the gate opened, we screamed and grabbed the towel we’d had waiting to cover ourselves, giving the impression that we were both stark naked. She made a hasty retreat and hasn’t tried to enter unannounced again. After a brief discussion, we agreed that the idea of grilling naked held no appeal whatsoever.
I looked at her profile staring out the window and I tried to imagine what was going through her head. I suspect that even someone as inventive as J.K. Rowling would have trouble with this exercise.
“Marisol, I keep forgetting to ask you, the day that Paula broke into my house, what caused you to come over and surprise her? Was she making loud noises?”
“No,” she said to me, always a font of information.
“So what was it?”
“Cheese.”
“Cheese?”
“Yes, I was out of that good kind that you always buy and I wanted to make a sandwich.”
“You really have no shame, do you?”
“Why should I, you had a big hunk of that cheese, so I was happy.”
I could see the sun reflect off her gold tooth as she looked out the car window and smiled.
“Penelope, what do you know about this property that we are headed to?” Sally asked.
“Well, it’s all happened so fast, hasn’t it? One minute Malcolm’s renovating his great-grand-mum’s house and the next he’s moved to Malibu. And I believe that I am partly responsible for it.”
“So I’ve heard, but not any details.” I wanted to hear the whole serendipitous story.
“You’ll recall, Halsey, that we left you in the gardens and Malcolm and I went back to my house for cocktails.”
“How I wish I’d gone with you.”
“After a couple of G&T’s, I’d loosened up a bit and asked if I could see Abigail’s house. You know how keen an interest I take in antiques and I’d heard from Paula that the house was packed with them.”
“I’ll bet; I only saw the tip of the iceberg the day I walked in looking for Malcolm.”
“And we’re talking real old artifacts,” Peggy said, “not mystery clocks and Singer sewing machines.”
“Correct,” Penelope replied. “There was a box of antique brooches from the 1900s that I could tell were the real deal and a collection of posters and postcards from their original carnival days, all very desirable today. There were loads and loads of memorabilia that I guessed could be appraised at around one hundred thousand, but the mother lode was what we found in her freezer.”
“Dear God, now what?” Sally steeled herself.
“Nothing gruesome. It was quite marvelous, really and exquisite. Inside was a large metal box that took up almost the whole compartment. Malcolm and I needed to use hot water to pry it loose from the ice on the floor of the freezer. When we got it out and opened it, we found what must have been more than two hundred antique lighters of all shapes, materials, and sizes. There were Cartiers and Fabergés in gold, jewels, and enamels, DuPonts, Dunhills, even early Zippos. I knew that there was a fortune there.”
“Wow, I wonder where they all came from,” Peggy said. “I’m guessing that they were stolen, given the family’s history.”
“That’s what Malcolm thinks, which is why he is reticent to sell any of them. So he’s just hung on to them and occasionally looks at them guiltily.”
“So this property that we’re on our way to see, Malcolm hasn’t purchased it yet?”
“He has, Sally,” Penelope replied, “but it may be some time before he can carry out his plans for it. There are still some parts of Abigail’s estate to settle as well.”
“I wonder why someone would just steal lighters. I mean a pickpocket would go for the wallet first, right?” Marisol might be onto something.
I took out my iPhone and launched a search. While I was waiting for results, we turned off PCH and headed up hill into the mountains. When my phone pinged, I looked at it to see what had been returned.
“I knew it!” I shouted.
“What?” They all yelled, and Sally slammed on the brakes.
“Oops, sorry for shouting. We have good news for Malcolm; he’s going to be able to break ground right away.”
“How so?” Penelope asked.
“I’ve had a running search going on for Venice Beach in the early 1900s. I thought that I remembered something and I just confirmed it. The Abernathy family owned and operated a roller coaster on the pier at that time. One of the brothers had married Abigail Rose right around the same time.”
“And? Out with it, Halsey.” Peggy was getting impatient.
“And I bet that’s how she wound up with that vast collection of lighters and brooches for that matter. She probably stood under the section of track where the cars were turned almost upside down along with its passengers, shaking anything that was loose out of their pockets.”
“Well, that’s not stealing, technically.” Penelope smiled.
“It certainly isn’t,” Sally said as we turned into a wooden gate and pathway that led up to a stone house on top. Below were rows and rows of land that looked like they hadn’t been cultivated in quite a while. As we pulled up to the doorway, a beacon of red hair appeared from around back. Young Malcolm had shed his worn academic cords and bow tie for jeans and a black T-shirt that actually made him look kind of hip.
“I have the best news,” Penelope said, running up and hugging him.
“Love abounds,” I said to Peggy, who I swear blushed.
“Okay if I let Bardot run?” I asked Malcolm.
“Silly not to!” He wore a wide grin, clearly he’d liked the news that Penelope had given him. I let Bardot off leash and she went tearing down the hill to search for the Pinot section I suppose.
Jack pulled up in his truck a few moments later and let Clarence join Bardot to sniff grapes.
“Are we going to get the grand tour, Malcolm?” Jack asked, handing him the pallet of small plants from the back of my SUV.
“Of course, there’s not much to see right now, but I do have the plans pretty well worked out. I still have so much to learn about wine making and the entire growing process. Penelope and I have been taking some classes and visiting some of the other local vineyards. The owners are incredibly giving with their knowledge and learning from mistakes.”
“And Halsey has agreed to help us with her garden plot in town to experiment with varietals of grapes.”
“I see this as a win-win proposition.” I gave them a contented smile.
There was a large picnic table with benches at the side of the house and we all made our way over to it. Not only to enjoy the view down the valley to the ocean in the distant horizon but also because several bottles and empty wineglasses beckoned.
“Any ideas on a name for this operation?” Peggy asked. It was a funny word for her to use. I pictured her in her spy days naming a mission the Tabula Rasa Project or some such cryptic moniker.
“I have actually,” Malcolm replied. “And the sign was just delivered today.”
He pointed to a rectangular shape affixed to two large logs with a sheet covering the facing.
“Do we all have wine?” Malcolm asked.
We nodded.
“Then let us toast to the Abigail Rose Winery!”
Perfect.