Drayco decided it was time to talk to Graham Tibbs’s childhood friend, Ezra Layton, again, not at the track this time, but at the man’s glass shop. Between Leon Sable’s metal supply store and Layton’s glass shop, the former seemed a more appropriate business choice for an adrenaline junkie like Layton.
Stained-glass windows fronted the place, which was a cliché, albeit an attractive one. Maybe it was the time of day, but when Drayco walked inside, he was the only other person there besides Layton.
Drayco strolled over to the counter, where Layton said, “If it isn’t the private-eye pilot. Surely I answered all your questions last time.”
“Mostly. But here’s one for you. How in the world did you decide on a glass business?”
Layton laughed and said, “It’s something I fell into. I bought the business from an elderly woman eager to sell it at rock-bottom prices. I needed a job, this seemed pretty easy, so I just went with it.” He added with a grin, “You’d be amazed at how many sexy women are into glass.”
Drayco looked around the shop, noting the glass theme was everywhere, from the stained-glass front windows to the rainbow-colored ceiling light fixtures. A locked display case held an assortment of figures grouped by color—turquoise, red, amber. An even more impressive variety of glass vases, plates, and some contemporary-looking blobby things perched on wall shelves and square display stands throughout the space.
Drayco said, “I’m afraid to walk around in here.”
That made Layton chuckle even harder. “I’m insured. Feel free to move about the cabin.”
“Aria D’Angelo told me about the glass piece you’d given her. Unfortunately, she also said she’d broken it recently.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll have to get her something to replace it. She really liked that piece, too.”
“Are you also an opera fan, Ezra?”
“Reminds me of cats in heat. I hate opera music.”
Drayco grinned. “That makes two of us.” Okay, so maybe hate was a little too strong. Plus, as long as composers and arrangers made opera transcriptions for the piano, Drayco was okay with it.
At Layton’s raised eyebrow, Drayco added, “Well, I appreciate the skill, the musicianship, and the drama.”
“Kinda wish she were into something else, even ’60s rock, that would be fine. Or folk or country.” Layton thought for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be something if she was one of those Madonna or Lady Gaga types?”
“Perhaps she would have had more success in those genres late in her career. They’re not as picky about voices as opera. If that were the case, she could probably even get away with singing after her vocal injury.”
“She deserved better than having it all end that way.” He beamed as he said, “And she’s still in her prime. Could have gone on a long time. Or as they used to say when I was growing up, she’s ‘fine as frog hair split four ways.’ ”
Drayco smiled briefly at that. He’d have to write that one down. “Did you know Johnny Burdell?”
“Not personally. But him and Graham were into those tree-hugging causes. Wasn’t really my thing. Plus, I’m not a fan of games and all that. Way too dull. I like my hobby a lot better.”
“Have you heard from Burdell lately?”
Layton grabbed some stock and rearranged it on the counter, explaining, “Too close to the edge. A hazard around here.” After he seemed satisfied, he replied, “I’ve never talked with him directly. Maybe I should, since Graham was killed outside Burdell’s shop. Maybe he’d have some answers for me.”
“You’re going to have to find him first since he quit the shop suddenly. I haven’t been able to track him down yet.”
“He quit? Now, why would he do that? Graham said Burdell loved that place.”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Nope, sorry. But if for any reason he should contact me . . . ”
“Do let me know.”
Drayco mustered the courage to pick up one of the glass blobby things. Looked a little like a rainbow-colored Klein bottle, folded in on itself. “Did Graham ever mention the name Alistair Brisbane? Or Joyelle Babineaux?”
Layton scratched his head and sounded out the names slowly. “Briz-bane? Bab-in-know? Nope, sorry again. Never heard of either one.”
Drayco took a step back and bumped into a square display stand. In desperation, he reached over just in time to catch a glass sculpture as it slid off toward the floor.
Layton didn’t seem phased, like a man who’d seen it all. “Nice catch. But you can understand why I don’t want kids in here.” He pointed to a sign near the door that read, “No children under twelve without a parent or guardian.”
He walked around to inspect the glass figure, and for the first time, Drayco saw he had a limp. Layton followed Drayco’s gaze and said, “Horse-riding accident. My first attempt at horse jumping. You know, rails, hedges, and the like. I told you I was an adrenaline junkie.”
Drayco was relieved when Layton inspected the glass piece and was satisfied. Drayco said, “I spoke with Christi Allingham.”
“Ah, yes, Christi. I suppose she told you they were an item in high school. Hooked up again not too long before Graham’s first ‘death.’ ”
“She mentioned it, yes. I’m surprised you didn’t.”
“What? Oh, if you’re thinking she’s the one who mowed Graham down, you’re wrong. She was out of his league.”
“Why do you say that?” The way Layton’s expression turned both wistful and angry made Drayco think Layton had a thing for Christi, too.
“Heaps smarter than he was. Graham and me were buds, but doesn’t mean I’d call him a genius.”
“If she’s that smart, couldn’t she have arranged an untraceable hit-and-run?”
“No way. They broke it off before the fire at his business. She’d moved on with her life. We all did.”
Wary of making another wrong move, Drayco stepped closer to the counter. “Speaking of that fire, a possible arson, Leon Sable had a previous store burn down from arson. Did you know about that?”
“Sable didn’t discuss it, but Graham mentioned something. I thought nothing of it.”
“And it didn’t occur to you after Graham’s fake death that maybe Sable was involved?”
“Okay, okay, so maybe it did occur to me. What, you think since Sable tried to kill Graham once but failed, he made sure he got it right this time?”
“I didn’t say that. But I have to keep all options open.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Last time I spoke with you, you said you partnered with Sable for a time, but it didn’t work out. Differences of opinion.”
“It wasn’t like I suspected he was a lunatic murderer or anything. Still, he does have a bit of a temper. And he wasn’t quite as broken up about Graham’s death as I was.”
“Then you think he was glad or, at least, relieved Graham had allegedly died?”
“Maybe. But if Graham was alive this whole time, then maybe Leon and Graham were in on it together, you know?”
Layton picked up a glass stein on the counter and held it in his hands. The letters “G” and “T” were etched on the side. “In high school, Graham and I used to sneak out of class. Had an older friend of a friend who owned a bar and let us have beer. So I had this made for Graham. It was to be a birthday present the same year he ‘died’ in that fire. God, I miss him.”
Drayco thanked Layton for his time and threaded his way around the various displays to avoid knocking another one over. Once outside, he mused over Layton’s possible interest in Christi Allingham. Maybe they’d been partners in more ways than one.
He also thought again of Layton’s assertion that Graham Tibbs and Johnny Burdell “were into those tree-hugging causes.” The Potomac Conservancy Pact staffer had helpfully verified it, and that fact seemed to put a lock and chain on the whole Burdell-didn’t-know-Tibbs line. But why had Burdell tried to hide their connection?
Everyone also denied knowing Alistair, but plenty of lies were swirling around this case already. Maybe one player in this drama actually did know him, but wasn’t about to admit it.
Drayco’s uncle hadn’t been as apoplectic as Drayco feared over his and Brock’s little recon mission. What in the world had possessed his father to even come up with that crazy idea? It’s not the kind of thing Brock went in for anymore, so why did he want to do it? In retrospect, it was an insane thing to do.
Brock said he was motivated to find answers to Drayco’s kidnapping. And what had Drayco hoped to gain from their little island “excursion?” It wasn’t like he’d find his mother ensconced there in a kitchen baking cookies. Yet, they hadn’t had the chance to explore the rest of the compound, had they?
Maybe it was an insane move on their part, but Drayco took a little bit of comfort in it. A sort of proof his father loved him in his own weird way. Not that he’d really doubted it. But the tensions from years of distance between them wouldn’t be easily massaged away. Not then or now.
§ § §
Drayco stood in front of the chain link fence and studied the property beyond. After checking the real estate records, he was shocked to find the ruins of the burned-out hardware store, formerly owned by Leon Sable and Graham Tibbs, were still standing. The place was a recent target of a Fairfax County public hearing on blight abatement and scheduled to be demolished soon. But not yet.
Part of the problem was trying to get back taxes from the woman who owned the land, currently living in Greece. When Drayco tracked her down, though, she was perfectly fine with him looking at the property. But without a key to the padlock on the fence, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. That is until he found an enormous gaping hole in the fence around the back.
Judging from graffiti on the former parking lot and some walls, he had a pretty good idea local teens frequented the place and were possibly the source of the hole in the fence. That would also explain a rusting barrel filled with empty beer cans and a few bongs.
Even with twilight half an hour away, Drayco could easily see his way inside the husk and examine what was left. The charred main walls were still standing—barely—thanks to being constructed from reinforced masonry and a bit of extra help from the “minimal sprinkler system” Leon Sable had mentioned. But they also looked like they could give up the fight and collapse at any minute.
Several of the twisted steel joists and girders still hovered above the building, forming the “bones” of a steel skeleton. They almost gave the impression of arms holding the carcass together to keep it from falling apart.
Most of what was once been shelves, tools, and paint, all of which helped fan the flames, were long gone. Scavengers likely stole anything of value left—unmelted copper wire, silver, titanium, nickel, wrought iron. The place was now just a sooty concrete slab piled high with the detritus from a thermodynamics scientist’s nightmare.
Drayco wasn’t sure why he’d wanted to come here. Maybe because he had an increasingly empathetic link to the late Graham Tibbs. Or he was just feeling sorry for the poor homeless man who’d allegedly served as Graham’s “stand-in,” left behind, lost, and largely forgotten.
From the police report, Drayco had a pretty good idea where the body was found on the fateful day. He inched around a blackened pyramid of unidentifiable rubbish to what used to be the center of the store. That should have been another clue in the original fire investigation—the victim was in the middle of the store, not near a window or door trying to escape the blaze.
What type of trouble could Tibbs possibly have become involved with for him to take such a drastic step? Even if the homeless man was already deceased, the planning involved in dragging him into the store, planting Tibbs’s tooth on the man, then torching the building was complicated and risky.
But then again, it had worked, hadn’t it? Everyone believed Tibbs had perished in that fire, and with Alistair’s help, he was able to “disappear.”
Drayco did a three-sixty to size up the ruins. Even five years later, there were hints of the acrid smell of burned wood mixed in with black mold and urine-soaked cardboard, thanks to those “beer-soaked” teens. Not that it really mattered since the place would just be a memory soon like Graham Tibbs himself.
One thing did seem out of place, though, and Drayco headed for it. The wall behind the scorched former counter sported several uniform-sized holes with a pink powder around them. Upon closer inspection, the substance wasn’t ash but brick residue.
Each of the holes was roughly the same, and when he stepped back, he noted they lay in a regular pattern. That wouldn’t happen naturally, fire or no fire. It was far more likely from someone drilling holes looking for something, plus the pink powder—free from mold, dirt, rain, or soot—indicated a recent search.
It might just be thieves searching for any remaining copper wire, but he doubted it. All of that would have been stripped out long ago. This looked like it was done within the past week, give or take—and Graham Tibbs’s death was just a little longer than that. If someone believed Tibbs found Alistair’s mysterious treasure, would they think he hid it in a wall safe here?
It seemed pretty far-fetched. But eager treasure hunters had been known to dig up graves, dive into sunken ruins, and climb down treacherous mountain cliffs. Well, if Tibbs did hide something here, it was long gone, too. A dead end in more ways than one.
As Drayco headed toward the back of the ruin and the rear wall, his feet crunched on some paper, and he reached down to rescue a sheet that looked new. It was the newspaper page with Graham Tibbs’s obituary. Well, now. Drayco’s hypothesis about the brick-treasure connection was looking a lot less far-fetched.
Just then, he heard more crunching. But this time, he hadn’t moved, and the sound seemed to come from the back of the property. More of those teens coming returning for another party? Or another scavenger, maybe.
A brief movement caught his eye. He looked over in time to see part of a sneaker-clad foot withdrawing through the same opening Drayco entered earlier. He started to run after his mystery visitor, but an instinctive forewarning made him stop in his tracks.
With a loud rumbling, bricks in the remaining rear wall cascaded down like dominoes as that section of the wall caved in. Drayco jumped back to avoid being buried but ended up slipping on some of the burned boards and almost fell forward head-first into the tumbling debris. He regained his balance just in time to take another step back and just missed the clay-and-mortar avalanche by inches.
As dust and mortar from the bricks swirled around him, he held his breath and staggered out the opening into the old parking lot. But he couldn’t stop the coughing fit the dust brought on, and by the time he straightened up again, there were no signs of the intruder. Was it just another teen and a stupid prank gone wrong? Or had the person who’d excavated the holes in the wall returned for another try?
Drayco entered the building again long enough to take a few photos with his cellphone camera of the wall behind the counter, as well as the new rubble pile and the remaining ruins of the building. He looked in vain for the newspaper obituary in hopes he could get some fingerprints off of it. But it flew out of his hand during the wall collapse and now lay entombed somewhere beneath the rubble.
By coming here in the first place, he’d risked danger and failure and ended up with plenty of both. But it somehow reminded him of Graham Tibbs’s favorite saying, that necessity is the mother of taking chances. Drayco had looked up that quotation when Aria D’Angelo mentioned it, and it was attributed to Mark Twain. But wasn’t it Twain who also said a person with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds?
With one last look at the wreckage of the ill-fated hardware store, Drayco headed toward his car, still keeping an eye out for anything, or anyone, suspicious. He couldn’t count out a teenage prank or just bad timing. But if Drayco was the real target of the wall collapse, then maybe he’d hit a nerve with someone.