I should've gone to Riley's office to see if he had anything on what Vernon was doing in town. But curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself in my old house, asking Hilly why she'd refused to work for the twins.
"You didn't want the money?" I asked the assassin, who appeared to be in the middle of an exercise routine in the living room. "It beats what you make with your government job."
Hilly started doing an impressive set of pushups. "I don't need it."
"Because you've saved and invested," I concluded.
She looked at me in surprise. "No, because my family is rich. I'm the heir to the Dr. Feel Good fortune. My great-great-grandmother invented an enema you can use at home."
My brain promptly exploded. I'd known Hilly for years! How did I not know?
"Oh yeah," she continued. "I grew up as a Van Vinton in New York. My family were in the Vanderbilt Four Hundred in the late 1800s. My family home is one of the very few Gilded Age mansions still in existence. We even still have a home in Newport."
I felt like I was having a heart attack. I pounded on my chest hard, as if that would help.
"My deb ball was very exclusive," Hilly went on. "My escort was a Kennedy, but I wasn't allowed to date him because his family money is nouveaux riche. Anyway, I inherited half a billion on my twenty-first birthday, with the rest coming when I turn forty."
Hilly was a socialite debutante? I'd been hit with stunning intel before, but this one made the room spin and I had to sit down.
"How did you not know this?" Hilly said the words forming in my mind. "I mean, I talk about it all the time."
"No you don't," I argued.
She rolled her eyes. "Uh, yeah, I totally do."
This was too much to take in. And then it hit me. "Ah. You're joking! You totally got me there! I actually believed you were a…" My words trailed off as Hilly showed me a picture of her at the Golden Ball, an event I knew was only for the families of billionaires.
"You photoshopped that!" I gasped.
"Nope. It's all real. Look." She showed me something called the Blue Blood Register. Hilly Van Vinton was there, in a ball gown, her long hair elaborately styled.
"I thought you were Hispanic?" was all I could think to say.
"My mother's family is Spanish." Hilly shrugged. "It was a huge scandal. But my father's family settled in New York from Holland back in the seventeenth century. We own a huge chunk of Manhattan. And then there were the railroads. But the invention of the enema is the big thing." She cocked her head to one side—an action that she always did. Somehow it comforted me a little. "Of course, the enemas then had lead in them and some people died before my great-grandmother fixed the formula. But still, enemas at home was real progress!"
I just sat there and shook my head in disbelief.
"Didn't you wonder why I didn't need the Beetle Dork money?"
"You said at the time you made money through beetle breeding!" I searched my memory to see if somehow I'd missed the fact that she came from old money and was filthy rich. I found nothing.
Then it hit me, and I started to laugh. Hilly as a socialite, saying inappropriate things, beating up the other debutante's escorts, telling her aristocratic parents she wanted to work for the CIA… The thought was hysterical as I pictured her doing jumping jacks in that elaborate gown.
"What's so funny?" Hilly stopped exercising.
"I'm just trying to imagine you as a blue-blooded debutante, with your penchant for things…" I searched for the right word. "Unusual."
The assassin put her hands on her hips. I thought I was about to get scolded. Instead, she said. "Oh yeah. My parents were more than a little worried about me. They tried everything to make me like them. But it was their idea that I either join an elite mercenary force or go into the CIA." She scoffed. "At least I'm not as boring as my twin brother."
For the second time in twenty minutes, I thought I was having a stroke.
"You have a twin brother?" I shouted.
"What's going on?" Roger came creeping down the hallway. "I can't get my beauty sleep, and I need my energy to test the babies today."
"Hilly just told me she had a twin brother!" I managed. I wasn't sure he'd know what a debutante was.
Roger finally reached us and nodded. From the creaking in his spine, it sounded like his skull was full of ball bearings. "Oh yes. Hamish. Nice boy. A bit different."
I gaped at both of them. "Hamish? You know Hilly's brother?"
How was it possible that Roger knew more about Hilly than me? It felt like the Earth had started spinning in a different direction.
"He was here the other day. Had to drop off something for Hilly. Nice boy. A bit posh." Roger made a face.
"Your twin was here and you didn't introduce me?" I screamed. This was too much!
"No." Hilly shrugged. "Why? Is that weird?"
Somehow I managed to get to my feet. I pointed at her, which was a dangerous move since she intensely disliked it and tended to throw people who did it. But still, she'd breached my trust.
"We will talk about this later!" And then I turned and walked out, slamming the door like a furious toddler.
I got in my van and started to drive, not knowing what to do with all these pent-up questions that were ping ponging around my brain. All of this was almost too much to process. After a few minutes, I realized I was downtown. I parked the car, and my stomach rumbled. It's never a good idea to get soul-destroying intel on an empty stomach. I was just thinking about getting fast food and going home, or grabbing lunch somewhere alone, when I saw Eddie walk by.
What was Eddie Nixon up to? Why was she in Who's There? Was she finishing something Croyer started? This was the perfect distraction for the Hilly tsunami that had just bowled me over. I grabbed the University of Iowa cap I always kept in my glove box, and after tucking my hair up underneath, I pulled the brim down low and got out of the car.
Eddie was walking down Main Street, looking in the shops in a leisurely way. Either she was just in town to window shop, or she was trying to hide the real reason she was here if anyone was watching. Fortunately, there were enough people on the street where I could blend in.
Who's There's downtown wasn't usually busy, but with the recent addition of the Museum of Murder, tourism had picked up quite a lot. I hadn't been in there for a while, but I'd heard they were getting ready for a changeover in the nine exhibit halls. Hopefully at least one of the new displays wouldn't involve me, but that was probably wishful thinking since I always seemed to be involved in murders here. Would they just reuse the mannequins of me?
Eddie walked up to Oleo's, home of the best burgers in Iowa. She looked both ways (while I feigned interest in a pet store's window) then opened the door and went inside.
Great! I was getting hungry, and this seemed like the perfect place to surveil what the Tall Corn State Insurance exec was doing in town and who she was meeting…if anyone. She could be eating alone. I did sometimes. But somehow I didn't think Eddie would drive all the way here just to brows shops and eat alone.
Oleo's was packed, but I managed to get a table to myself in the corner. From there, I could see Eddie, but it was unlikely she would notice me. And if she did, I'd just say it was coincidental that I was here because I was literally almost always here.
I watched as she ordered. My waitress took my order and left. Eddie did the usual boring things you see on a stakeout, like glancing at her watch a lot and studying everyone who came through the door. Oh yeah, she was definitely waiting for someone. But who did she know in this town?
The door opened, and she snapped to attention. I followed her gaze to see a person I'd never seen before. The younger man wore a suit and seemed jumpy as he sat down. The waitress arrived at the same time and dropped off a bottle of beer for him and a glass of wine for her. Eddie knew what this guy liked.
So what? Maybe she was meeting with another insurance exec in town? Or perhaps she was in a relationship with this guy. No, the signs weren't there. She didn't greet him with a kiss or touch him in any way. And he certainly wasn't her twin brother. This was something else.
The waitress brought my hot cup of tea, and I stirred it slowly as I watched the two. They were leaning towards each other, talking low. Even if they used normal voices, I wouldn't be able to hear them, due to the fact I was too far away. I could change tables if one came open, but that would draw attention to me. It would be smarter to remain where I was.
The door opened again, but the two of them were too engrossed in conversation to notice. Ellie Croyer walked in wearing a huge floppy hat, a wig, and large sunglasses. I was a pretty good study of people, and in spite of the disguise, I knew it was her.
Ellie looked around and zeroed in on Eddie. Then she found a spot at the bar where she could see the two of them. Eddie and her friend, or colleague, had no idea they were being double surveilled. And Ellie was so intent on watching Eddie that she didn't know I was watching her.
So there I was, watching Ellie, who was watching Eddie, and no one was the wiser.
"Psst!" a voice hissed behind me.
I looked around and found Kurt, dressed as a sort of British banker, with a derby hat, monacle, fake mustache, and umbrella.
"There you are, Old Chap!" Kurt said as he sat down.
The waitress approached warily and asked what he'd have.
"Fish and chips, of course." He gave her a beaming smile. "That's a good lass!"
"What are fish and chips?" The waitress stared at him as if he was a centaur who'd just wandered in for lunch.
"He'll have what I'm having," I said quickly so she'd stop blocking my line of sight.
"What are you doing here in that getup?" I whispered, my eyes on Eddie and Ellie. "You stand out, and I'm on surveillance!"
Kurt leaned in conspiratorially, ignoring the criticism. "I'm on the hunt for a missing parakeet. In England, they call them budgies. That's why I'm in disguise."
That wasn't what I'd expected. "You thought you'd fool a bird by dressing like an extra from the Ministry of Silly Walks?"
"Well yeah…" He rolled his eyes. "Whatever that is. This disguise totally makes sense for this situation."
I waved my arms around us. "You also think the bird is in here?"
He nodded. "They said Nigel likes the smell of fries."
If that was true, it was unfortunate for Kurt because Nigel ran a real risk of being deep fried here.
"What are you doing here?" Kurt asked.
"Like I said, I'm on surveillance." I pointed at Ellie at the bar and Eddie and her company. "They're murder suspects."
"Cool!" Kurt said as he shifted in his chair to study Eddie's table. "She's pretty but looks like she could beat the crap out of me. I wonder what she's doing with Carlson?"
"You know him?" Kurt's interruption might actually be a blessing.
"Oh sure." Kurt turned back to me. "He's another Bladdersly boy who made good. Like me. Except he's in the Bladdersly Hall of Fame, and I'm not." He suddenly looked depressed.
Bladdersly was another small town ten miles away, and it was a stinking cesspool populated by the dregs of humanity and Who's There's biggest rival. The main event every year was the football game between the Fighting Who-rish, and the Raging Bladders. Neither team was very good, so the game was usually over when one team scored at least one point.
People from Bladdersly didn't like people from Who's There, and vice versa. Kurt was one of a few Bladders I could tolerate and even liked.
"Bladdersly has a Hall of Fame?" Who did they have famous enough to be in something like that?
"Yeah. Harold, my uncle, was the only one in it because he was a hero in the CIA and now runs the community theater group. Now Carlson is an honoree. Man, I'd love to get in there."
Heartburn spiked, even though I hadn't yet eaten. Harold had been in the CIA for one mission only, and he blew it so badly he was promptly kicked out. I know because I was there and had to clean up the mess. He moved back to Bladdersly and ran the world's most unsuccessful community theater. No one joined, so he basically did one-man shows that extended the goal post for complete boredom. Harold was also delusional, in thinking he'd been a great spy and was now a great actor.
But I didn't tell Kurt that because he looked up to the guy.
"Back to Carlson," I said with renewed interest in Eddie's lunch date. "You said he was from Bladdersly and in the Hall of Fame."
"Yup!" was all he said.
That was my mistake because I realized I hadn't phrased it as a question and asked again.
"Carlson McQuaddy," Kurt started, "is the world's foremost expert on the history of paper clips. He wrote a book on it, and it sold almost one hundred copies!"
Our food arrived, and Kurt dug in. It was a burger, not fish and chips, but he didn't seem to notice. Did he even know what fish and chips were?
"Paper clips?" I pressed the pet detective.
Kurt nodded. "He did his master's thesis on them. It was fifteen hundred pages long. Then he got an online Ph.D. on the subject from one of those colleges that advertise on cable, late at night. He's super famous in Bladdersly."
But considering the subject matter, probably not famous anywhere else. I looked over at his table. Whatever they were talking about… I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with office supplies.
"What else can you tell me about him? Surely he doesn't make a living off of a book that sold only a hundred copies."
"Let's see." Kurt thought as he twirled a fry in a lake of ketchup. "He just moved to Who's There like a couple of months ago. He used to have a pet frog named Linus, and he's left-handed. The frog, not Carlson. He's right-handed."
"Not valuable intel, I'm afraid." I pointed to the table. "I want to know why he's here, meeting with the most likely CEO of Tall Corn State Insurance."
Kurt turned in his chair and held his monocle up to the other eye. "Hmmm…must be about the other thing." He turned back to me and popped a fry into his mouth, oblivious that he was eating a "chip."
"What other thing?" My patience was growing thin.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just assumed it's for some other thing."
I looked over at Ellie at the bar, who had two empty wineglasses in front of her and was ordering a third without any food. Why was she here? If she thought Eddie was having an affair with her dead husband, what would following her prove now? Wait, was she investigating his murder?
An argument seemed to be breaking out at Eddie and Carlson's table. I ate quickly, anticipating an exit any moment, but they just sat there, hands flailing, whisper fighting.
Ellie set down her half-drunk third glass of wine and watched with interest.
There was obviously something going on here, and I wanted to know what it was. At any moment, Eddie and Ellie might leave. Would I be following Ellie or following Eddie with the paper clip expert in tow? That could be a bit challenging.
I had just motioned for the bill when several things happened at once. Ellie fell off the bar stool and lay unconscious on the floor. Eddie shouted, "Liar!" at Carlson, and a parakeet flew past the window next to our table.
The other diners looked from the unconscious widow on the floor, to the red-faced insurance executive and her confused date, to the British man in the bowler racing out the door screaming, "Nigel, wait!" And then they went back to their lunches.
As true Iowans, they had their priorities straight. Nothing should interrupt you from eating the best burger in the state. Which was why I shoved the last huge bite into my mouth in anticipation of what might come next.