part0012

I reached for the intercom buzzer and eventually Gerald Witherspoon saw fit to answer. “Rigby residence,” he informed me.

“Jessie Hewitt,” I informed him.

“Yes, madam. Mr. Rigby is expecting you.”

“I’m at the gate.”

Despite the fact he couldn’t see me, I pointed ahead. “May I come in?”

“Indeed,” he said, and the gate creaked open.

I blinked twice. Or could he see me?

I drove inside, stopped the Porsche, and climbed out to watch the gate creak shut. I looked up, down, and sideways. No camera. I slipped past the left gatepost to take a look from the outside—

Hey, wait a minute! Had I just escaped? I scowled at the twelve-foot high bars towering over me. “Ironic,” I mumbled and approached the intercom. I looked up, down, and sideways. No camera. I peeked inside the mailbox. Hadn’t I seen an old movie where a camera was hidden in the mailbox?

No camera. As Karen would say, N-U-N-nun.

At least the Cupid was watching when I parked a few minutes later.

I saluted in Wilson’s stead and rang the doorbell, and while waiting the requisite eternity for Gerald, took stock of the car in front of mine. The old sedan somehow reminded me of my husband’s truck. Both vehicles had long ago lost any claim to a discernible color, but the sedan actually surpassed Wilson’s vehicle in age. It had fins, for Lord’s sake.

“Good morning, madam. ”

I spun around, and the butler bowed. “The master is expecting you,” he said as he neatly blocked the doorway.

“Indeed,” I said and endured the prolonged ritual as Gerald slowly beckoned me inside, slowly inched the door closed, and slowly escorted me across the foyer toward the drawing room. Trust me, we had plenty of time to chat.

“Whose car is in the driveway,” I asked.

“The master already has a visitor.”

“Yes, but who?” I asked as we approached the halfway mark of our journey.

“A Lieutenant Allen Kapinski.”

Ah, yes. That explained the car. In my experience, cops drive ancient cars.

“One is to understand Lieutenant Kapinski is a colleague of your husband?” Mr. Witherspoon slowed to a complete stop. “One assumes Lieutenant Kapinski is here in an official capacity?” The butler raised an eyebrow and waited, and I glanced forlornly at the French doors.

“One really couldn’t say.” I waved at the doors. “Since one has yet to speak to the Lieutenant.”

Gerald bowed and started moving again. Moving being a relative term.

“Jessie!” Pierpont sprang up to greet me. “Lieutenant Kapinski and I were hoping the bell was you.”

Al Kapinski didn’t look all that thrilled, but he did look ridiculous. He’s a large man—not fat, but bulky. And for some reason he was sitting on a dainty Queen Anne chair more suited to Princess Destiny’s delicate frame than his own.

Maybe that accounted for the decided frown? I waved and smiled and apologized for Wilson’s absence.

“Lieutenant Kapinski has already explained,” Piers said. He remembered something and turned. “That will be all, Gerald.”

Piers smacked his forehead. “Of course,” he said. “Coffee. Now’s the time, Gerald. ”

The butler stood still. “If I may be so bold, sir, might I suggest something more substantial in the way of refreshment for you and your guests? Scones, perhaps?”

“Just coffee for me,” I said, and Al also declined scones.

“Sir?” The butler had yet to move.

“Coffee only.” Piers spoke rather forcefully, Gerald somehow got the hint, and my host guided me farther into the room. “I understand you two already know each other?” he asked, and as I stepped over to shake Al’s hand, I mentioned the police department’s annual holiday party.

He nodded, frowned, and lowered himself back into Princess Destiny’s chair.

Piers sat down beside me. “We think she was kidnapped, Jessie.”

“I know, Piers. I’m sorry.”

“Lieutenant Kapinski thinks it was an inside job.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I repeated.

“Anything you don’t know?” Al asked, and I looked up.

“Rye seems to think he can discuss anything with you.”

“Because he can.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“But she is my guest.” Piers spoke up. “And Jessie has great intuition. Karen always says so.”

Al continued frowning in my direction. “You’re here to observe, and observe only. You got it?”

I nodded vague agreement, and Piers asked if anyone would care to hear what his intuition was telling him. And to his credit, Al Kapinski listened patiently as the billionaire argued against the inside job theory. “No one on my staff would do such a horrible thing,” he insisted. “We’re all one big happy family.”

Okay, so that sounded a bit naïve, even to me, and I held my tongue while Al mentioned the west wing bathroom. “I haven’t seen it yet,” he said. “But Rye described it to me. Only someone who works here would have access.”

“Have you seen the gate?” I asked.

“What about it? ”

“I, umm, observed it this morning,” I said and described how easily I had slipped through the cracks. “As Wilson would say, anyone and his brother, or at least anyone and his relatively slim brother, could walk in or out of this place.”

Piers shook his head. “Karen noticed that months ago,” he said. “She wanted to fix it right away, but I insisted she start with Cupid.”

“The fountain?” Al was incredulous. “That fountain was the first thing you fixed?”

Piers cringed, and Al turned to me. “No one snuck in.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Yes, how?” Piers asked.

Al rolled his eyes. “Because Miss Smarty Pants here is suggesting some relatively skinny person slipped through the gate, marched up the drive, and then up those stairs without anyone noticing.” He pointed in the direction of the grand staircase. “Then this skinny person kidnapped your lady friend and marched her, probably at gunpoint, back down the stairs, and down the drive.”

“Without anyone noticing,” Piers mumbled.

“And then what?” Al addressed me. “A relatively fat person was waiting outside the gate in a getaway car?”

Well, when he put it like that.

I agreed the scenario did seem rather farfetched, and Al nodded. “The hounds will help us decide what happened.”

“Hounds?” Piers and I asked.

“Hounds?” we heard from the doorway, and Coco Rigby made her entrance.

Coco Rigby, I was beginning to gather, is quite skilled at making an entrance. In fact, her stroll across the room seemed choreographed to coincide with the grandfather clock as it struck the hour. And her outfit? She was wearing livery of all things.

She stopped in front of Al and extended her right hand. “Be a dear, and do stay seated,” she told him as Piers made the introductions. “And please call me Coco,” she added at the mention of her full name. She greeted me next. “Jessie, darling, always a pleasure.” She spoke as if we were lifelong friends, offered me an air-kiss on each cheek, and took the seat beside me.

Piers found himself another chair. “You’re up early,” he said, and my eyes darted to the clock.

Apparently Al’s did also, and he asked if she always sleeps until ten.

“My cousin’s not exactly known for rising early,” Piers answered, but Coco insisted she’d been up for hours.

“Riding.” She tapped her breeches. “And fretting about Karen. She hasn’t popped up yet?” She glanced around the room, perhaps expecting Karen to ‘pop up’ from behind this or that piece of furniture.

Piers waved to get her attention. “Lieutenant Kapinski is a kidnapping expert, Coco. We think she was kidnapped.”

It took her a moment. “Karen? Oh, Pee-Pie, surely not?”

“An inside job,” Al added.

“As in one of the staff?” She again faced her cousin. “Oh, Pee-Pie, surely not.”

Al also addressed Piers. “I take it you’re Pee-Pie?”

Piers nodded while Coco insisted it was “simply too horrid” to blame the staff. “The Rigby household is one big happy family,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Pee-Pie?”

“That’s right. But Jessie has another theory.” He waved to me. “Go ahead, Jessie. Tell Coco what you noticed at the gate.”

I did so, and she offered Al a firm nod. “There, you see?” she said. “It was a horrid, skinny person from outside the gate.”

The lieutenant grunted. “Let’s go with this outside the gate theory for a minute. You got any enemies, Mr. Rigby?”

“A wealthy influential guy like you’s got to have enemies.”

“None,” Piers repeated.

Another grunt, and Al turned back to Coco. “How about you?” he asked, and she let out another gasp.

“I’m not an enemy! I’m Pee-Pie’s best chum!”

The cop rolled his eyes. “I meant, did you see anything.”

“This morning, when you were riding.”

“Any clues about Karen?” I asked. This earned me yet another frown from Al, but at least Coco finally understood the question. She insisted she hadn’t seen anything unusual.

“Although I was thinking about dear Karen,” she assured us. “I do my best thinking on Nell.”

“Nell’s a horse,” Piers said.

“You should have come with me, Pee-Pie.” She reached over and patted my knee. “You also, Jessie.”

Me!? I shook my head vigorously. “I’m a cat person,” I said, and Al waved to get our attention.

“Where’d you go on your horse?” he asked Coco. “Out to the gate?”

“Heaven’s no, darling. Nell and I trotted out toward the reforestation area.”

Al asked what that meant, and come to learn it was exactly as it sounded—several hundred acres of what had been lawns and gardens at the edge of the Rigby property which were being brought back to woodlands.

“It’s good for the environment,” Piers explained, and Coco reported Karen had not popped up anywhere.

“But enough about little old me.” She smiled at Al. “Do tell me about these hounds of yours, Lieutenant.”