part0019

“Oh, trials! Oh, tribulations!” Princess Destiny paced the bare wooden floor in her bare feet as Mars Covington stared in awe. She had such lovely feet! How had he never noticed? Nay, what with all her other charms—

“Mars!” The princess stomped her lovely right foot. “Whatever shall we do?”

“About Mr. Jekyll.” Destiny pointed to the door, where the butler of Griffondale Castle had just vacated the cottage, and the tunic Mars had draped over her in his haste to shield her from the vile man’s eyes fell to the floor.

She leaned forward to retrieve the garment, but Mars reached out to stop her and lifted a lovely hand to his lips. As he kissed each delicate and perfect fingertip, he assured the princess he would think of something to thwart the butler’s evil plan. “Forthwith!” he proclaimed. But as he raised his own determined fist, his gaze fell on Destiny’s bosom, and his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

He pulled her close, and she too allowed Mr. Jekyll to drift from her mind.

“What’s Pluto got in mind?” Wilson asked, and I allowed my gaze to drift to my left.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to know Mr. Jekyll is vile.”

“Then you should know our hero’s name is Mars, not Pluto. But either way, he has no idea what to do. The butler has been spying on them. He intends to blackmail the princess!”

“Threatening to tell her parents her secret?”

“Indeed.” I pointed to my computer. “But at the moment Destiny’s secret—Mars Covington, that is—is rather distracted.”

Wilson nodded to the cats. “The trembling bosom gets these guys every time. ”

“This time it’s her toes,” I said. “Destiny’s toes are so lovely Mars cannot resist kissing each and every one.”

“Kind of kinky, Adelé.”

I tossed my head. “Mars Covington is nothing if not a thorough and imaginative lover.”

A grin from my favorite critic, and Wilson sat up. “We got a nosy butler, a melodramatic princess, and a hot-to-trot gardener. This fairy tale have any resemblance to real life?”

“At Pierpont’s?” I mentioned Gerald, Coco and Caesar right off the bat. Coco certainly was as spoiled as a princess, and Gerald took a prize at the nosy butler thing, And Caesar Newland as an overly amorous lover? “Perhaps,” I said. “Nowadays he rivals Al Kapinski in the curmudgeon department, but once upon a time, I think Caesar had a thing for Pierpont’s mother.”

“So that’s why the gardener is Destiny’s hero, and not, say, the stable hand?”

I shrugged and mentioned I had yet to actually meet the person in charge of Pierpont’s stable. “But the stable hand at Griffondale Castle would likely live above the stable.” I wrinkled my nose. “Whereas Mars Covington has a charming cottage. The ideal love nest, as it were.”

“Like our place at Lake Lookadoo,” Wilson said.

Well, sort of. We do own a small country home few miles out of town, and the lakeside setting is ideal. But the interior wasn’t always so perfect. Enter Karen Sembler and her Skilsaw, and our rustic shack was transformed into something almost akin to charming—

Wilson asked who else I had “harassed” the day before.

“Observed,” I corrected as we climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen. “Speaking of which, guess what I observed at Karen’s place.”

“Al told me you were snooping without authorization.”

“Observing,” I repeated and turned on the coffee pot. “Did Al mention my brilliant revelation?”

Wilson stood up from feeding the cats. “Karen was kidnapped on Wednesday. Good job, Jessie.”

“Al agrees with me now?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. ”

While I let it go to my head, Wilson asked if I had followed up.

“Did you ask everyone where they were on Wednesday?”

I scowled. “I never thought of that. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re not a cop.”

“But sometimes I think like one,” I said. “For instance, when Mallory gave me a tour of the garage, all I could think of were the locks.”

I poured the coffee and did so. “The garage isn’t locked,” I said. “All the keys to all of Pierpont’s fancy cars are just hanging on a hook inside the door.”

“So anyone and his brother could waltz in there and take any car they chose.”

“They’d have to get past Gerald Witherspoon first, but yes.

Wilson frowned. “Al says he’s as nosy as you.”

I smirked and reported Gerald and I had something else in common also. “Think PBS,” I said.

Wilson scowled. “Don’t tell me Gerald watches that stupid show?”

“Honey, he takes lessons from that stupid show.”

Captain Rye got ready for work, and I regaled the shower curtain with other news from the Rigby estate. “Abigail’s in an uproar about the hounds,” I said. “Are they as big and ungainly as she fears?”

Wilson poked his head out. “They’re bloodhounds.” He disappeared again. “But Lucy and Goosie are smarter than some people I know. Same’s true of Haird.”

“Another dog?” I asked, but as he stepped out of the shower and began shaving, Wilson identified Haird Richardson as the local hunter who loans his dogs to the Clarence PD whenever needed .

“Think hillbilly,” he said. “But Haird’s a good guy, even if he is a little uncouth.”

Speaking of uncouth, I had to ask about Al Kapinski. “Who does he suspect?”

“He thinks it’s an inside job.”

I rolled my eyes at the felines crowding the doorway and asked for something I didn’t already know. “Which employee?”

“Not just employees, Jessie.”Wilson waited until I looked in the mirror and suggested I keep an open mind.

“How about Karen?”

“Karen!?” I shouted.

“Trying to shave here.”

“Karen?” I hissed. “That is ludicrous.”

I am happy to report Wilson agreed with me. But as he moved to the bedroom to get dressed, he still felt compelled to explain that some kidnappings are staged by the supposed victim. “To extort money from a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, parent—”

“Okay, I get it,” I said. The cats and I took up residence on the bed, and I asked if Al had any other bright ideas.

“The boyfriend is always a suspect.”

Oh, please. I reminded him we had already covered that absurd possibility way back on Friday.

“And Friday’s the question.” Wilson sat down while he put on his Oxfords. “Why did Piers wait so long to report Karen missing?” he asked. “And even then, he didn’t report it officially.”

I let out a dramatic sigh and stated the altogether obvious—that Piers hadn’t known Karen was missing until Friday. “She told him not to bother her while she got the plumbing D-U-N-dun, remember?”

He stood up. “Did she?”

“Did she tell Piers not to bother her?”

I blinked twice. “That’s what he says.”

“And that’s what he told his staff.” He gave me a meaningful look. “But Al questioned the staff, Jessie. None of them—N-U-N-nun—got that message from Karen. ”

“So we only have Pierpont’s word for it?”

“Very good.” He gave me a kiss and headed for the door, and I reached out to Snowflake.

“No,” I said quietly. “Very bad.”

“No,” I repeated. “Very ludicrous.” I shook myself and stood up to get ready for my own day, and soon I, too, was headed for the door. I intended to stop at Candy’s, but heard Puddles barking in the lobby and hurried down.

I stopped short and stared aghast. Actually, everyone was staring aghast—Candy, Peter Harrison, and the dreaded Carter—at the bright yellow police tape blocking Karen’s door.

“Puddles and me almost fell over when we saw it,” Candy said. By unhappy coincidence, her outfit du jour was also yellow—from the golf-ball sized earrings to the straps on her yellow stilettos. “Puddles forgot all about his potty break, and we went upstairs to get Carter,” she added.

“It’s unsettling,” Peter agreed. “I watched Lieutenant Kapinski put it up, and I still can’t believe it.”

“Any new developments?” Carter asked me.

“Today,” I said firmly and turned to Candy. “Come with me to Pierpont’s?”

She shook her head and mentioned the Semi-Annual Storewide Extravaganza Sale. “I’m working, like, all the time till Wednesday,” she said.

“She has a double shift to help clean up tonight,” Carter added. “The Extravaganza Sale gets messy.”

Candy sighed. “I’d rather help you instead, Jessie. Karen and me have been friends, like, forever.”

True. I purchased my condo after my divorce about three years earlier, and by then Candy and Karen were already well-ensconced on Sullivan Street. And Peter Harrison had us both beat. Karen had been one of his music students way back when she attended Clarence High School.

“I must help find her,” he said.

“Me, too,” Candy said.

“Me, three,” Carter added, and Puddles wagged his tail .

I had no idea what Puddles or Mr. O’Connell might accomplish, but I did have a job for Candy. I mentioned my interest in Rigby family history. “Perhaps we could take Mrs. Marachini to lunch?” I suggested.

“Because she’s related to Pierpont!” Candy clapped. “That’s a great idea. I bet Mrs. Marachini has lots of stories. And she always takes me out around Christmastime, and I know her birthday’s coming up. I’ll say I’d like to treat her, for a change.”

I insisted it would be my treat. “But you’re in charge of arranging it.”

“Got it!” she said, and Peter tugged on my sleeve.

“What about me?” he asked. “I’m a good sleuth, too.”

Yes, he was. Peter had helped me out on several occasions, and I wracked my brains for something he might do. I pointed the police tape. “You’re in charge of reporting anything you see or hear over there.”

He slumped. “That’s it? I’d do that anyway.”

I promised I would think of something more, and Carter stepped forward. “What about me?” he asked. “It’s Sunday, so I have all day to help.”

I pursed my lips and studied Mr. O’Connell. “You can tell me where you were on Wednesday.”

“At work. Same as every Wednesday.”

“Then I came over here to—”

“Not now, Carter!” Candy offered me an uncharacteristic frown. “Why do you want to know where Carter was?”

“Just curious,” I sang, and that time Candy studied me.

“Puddles and me will walk you out,” she said. She took my arm with one hand and tugged on her dog’s leash with the other.