CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

I nudged Maizy. "It's twenty after two. Where is he?"

"He'll be here." She looked up from her cell phone to squint out the front window at the street. "He's here every afternoon."

We were at Starbucks in Center City, Philly, waiting for Harvey McWirth to show up for his daily iced cinnamon dolce latte. Outside, the day was overcast and chilly, with snow flurries in the forecast. Inside, we were finishing up a slow second round of coffee cake muffins in an effort to hold onto our table.

"What went on with you and Uncle Curt last night, anyway?" Maizy asked. "It took my dad like a half hour to calm him down."

I broke off a small piece of muffin. "He called Cam?" I wondered when he'd found the time. We'd been up until past midnight talking and straightening up my apartment after the police search. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared, since, thankfully, it seemed they'd left my underwear untouched. It had all gone in the hamper anyway, just in case. And I had to say, the whole going commando thing was a lot better in theory than in practice. That's why I was currently wearing a pair of Curt's Jockeys, those cute, form-fitting ones that looked like bike shorts, in electric blue. Curt really had it going on, underwear-wise.

"Oh, yeah, he called all right," she said. "I could hear him yelling for ten minutes straight."

I liked the sound of that. "The police executed a search warrant on my apartment," I told her. "He was a little upset by everything that's been going on."

"I should hope so," Maizy said. "How come you didn't tell me this before? Did they take anything?"

"My laptop," I said. "And it needed taking. You can help me buy a new one. When I get another job, that is." Curiously, I'd woken up feeling a lot calmer about the search warrant, if not about the whole I'm-a-murder-suspect thing.

"Cool. I can do that." Maizy glanced at the clock on her phone. "Huh. You know, he might not show up today."

We both turned to look out the window, as if we expected to see Harvey McWirth stroll past. He didn't.

Maizy tapped impatiently on the table. All her nails were burgundy colored except for her middle fingers, which were painted black with a single cubic zirconia glued to each. "So are you making dinner for Uncle Curt or what?"

I nodded. "Tonight. I hope I can pull this off. Remember, you promised to help."

"Tonight!" She stared at me. "Is the turkey defrosted?"

I stared back at her. "What are you talking about? How long does it take to defrost a turkey?"

"Wow." She shook her head as if to clear it. "You really aren't the domestic type, are you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Pity me later," I said. "Help me now. Do I have a problem?"

Maizy slumped into her oversized puffy coat, burying her face in her ginormous scarf, which I was happy to note was footprint-free. She may or may not have been giggling. "No. No problem at all." She tapped away at her cell phone.

I scowled at her. "What are you doing?"

"Texting Uncle Curt that he'd better bring a pizza to dinner." She grinned at me. "I hate to tell you, Jaim, but you aren't having turkey tonight."

"He can't bring pizza!" I protested. "I'm supposed to cook him a meal like a…" I trailed off, thinking the whole "normal woman" thing had pretty much flown out the window. Curt hadn't even remembered saying it, hadn't realized how much it angered me, and had spent the week in blissful ignorance of the whole thing. I was off the hook, dinner-wise, and feeling better about it by the minute. "Tell him to order mushrooms," I said.

 

*   *   *

 

We gave Harvey McWirth another fifteen minutes before admitting he wasn't going to show.

"What now?" I asked after we surrendered our table and hit the sidewalk. The never-ending stream of pedestrians flowed around us while we zipped up.

"Now we go to Kinley Associates." Maizy yanked a knit cap down to her eyebrows. "I'm tired of getting no answers. They got a warrant for your place. It's getting serious."

Oh, it was getting serious?

"What's Kinley Associates, and why will they have answers?" I asked, hurrying along in her wake as she set sail for Locust Street, a few blocks south of where we stood. With the wind whipping around the corners of the tall buildings and sluicing down the narrow streets, it felt as if we were navigating through a growing maelstrom.

"Harvey McWirth works there." Maizy stepped off the curb without looking and a taxi screeched to a halt inches from her hip, its horn blaring. She paid it no attention. She was on a mission. I gave the driver a wave of apology and got an obscene gesture in return, which was pretty much to be expected when you acted crazier than a taxi driver.

I hustled across the street to catch up to her. "We're just going to show up at his office?"

"Yep. I want to shake his tree and see what falls out." She grinned at me. "I heard that on Turner Classic Movies last night. I kind of like it." She pulled out her cell phone and tapped away at its screen. "Should be right over there," she said, pointing at a tall skinny building that looked like every other tall skinny building along Broad Street, only this one housed Kinley Associates and Harvey McWirth. We hurried the final block and revolved ourselves through the door into an expansive marble lobby with a bank of gold elevators in a corridor behind the security desk.

I hesitated at the sight of the uniformed guard sitting at the desk. Maizy clomped straight up to him. "Kinley Associates," she told him.

"Sixteenth floor." He pushed a sign-in clipboard across the desk at her. Maizy signed with an impatient flourish—Wanda and Myrtle Needleman—tossed down the pen, and with a curt nod, headed for the elevators. I followed her like an eager puppy, trying not to notice the guard's eyes following me. "Why do I feel as if I'm doing something illegal?" I whispered while we waited for the elevator to arrive.

"Get over it." A bell dinged to signal the elevator's arrival, and we stepped into the empty car. The ride to the sixteenth floor was quiet. No Muzak, no conversation, no stops along the way. I used the mirrored doors to try to minimize the wind damage to my hair. Maizy kept her cap on, pulled low, her blue hair poofing out from beneath it like a low-hanging cloud.

Soon enough the elevator deposited us in the lobby of Kinley Associates, which apparently occupied the entire sixteenth floor, although to what end, I still didn't know. A forty-something, rotund brunette sat behind a circular reception desk, slashing open a stack of envelopes with a lethal-looking letter opener, relegating their contents into six separate piles. She had a hands-free headset looped over her head with the mouthpiece extending along her cheek to her mouth and a little name badge that read Rita. She looked up from her work when we got off the elevator and had her smile fixed by the time we reached her desk. "Can I help you ladies?"

"We want to see Harvey McWirth," Maizy told her. I nodded in agreement while taking a wide-eyed look around the reception area. More marble, two huge arrangements of expensive-looking flowers, a glass-walled conference room behind a bank of plush wing chairs in the waiting area. Whatever they did, Kinley Associates did it successfully. Howard could take lessons.

Not that I cared. I was done with Howard. This place made Parker, Dennis look low rent. Maybe I could get a job here. I bet the woman with the headset had her pay direct deposited every week or two. She might even have a whole hour for lunch. And maybe the use of a company car. A pricey one.

"What exactly do you do here?" I asked her.

She smiled at me. "We're a telemarketing firm."

Oh, no. No way was I going to be a telemarketer. I'd barely had my pride working for personal injury lawyers. I didn't care how gorgeous the office was. I took another look around. And it was gorgeous.

"Harvey McWirth," Maizy repeated, a little more harshly. Maizy didn't like being ignored. It was the teenager in her.

I elbowed her kidney. She didn't feel it thanks to her sarcophagus of a scarf. "Be nice," I whispered in her ear.

"I'm very sorry," Rita said. "Mr. McWirth had a family emergency and is out on indefinite leave. Can someone else help you?"

Family emergency? That seemed too convenient to be true. My pulse started pounding wildly. His family emergency was Tippi's impending arrest, I was sure of it. "The police are finally on to her," I told Maizy, my voice high with excitement. "Why else would he leave so suddenly?"

"They're probably on their way out of the country," Maizy agreed. She looked at Rita. "Who doesn't have an extradition treaty with us?"

Rita's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"

"Of course," I said. "He found out what she did, and he's protecting her." I grabbed Maizy's arm. "We can't let them leave!"

Rita's cheeks went white. "But the McWirths only went to stay with Aunt Pittypat after her hip replacement."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, that was good timing, wasn't it?"

Rita's eyebrows shot into her hairline. "Isn't that a little mean?"

Maizy snorted. "Oh, come on, lady. It's got to be a lie. No one in the history of the world has ever had an Aunt Pittypat."

 

*   *   *

 

"They went to stay with their Aunt Pittypat for a while," the woman said. "I'm Brenda Szarniak. I live next door." She tipped her head backward toward the tidy yellow ranch home behind her. "You should have come by yesterday," she added. "I'm sorry you missed them."

Maizy and I looked at each other, then turned in unison to stare at the McWirth house. It was also a ranch home, less tidy, more nondescript with white siding, green shutters, and green front door. It looked empty. The drapes were closed, the exterior light was on, and no vehicles were in the driveway.

Brenda stood there in pink sweatpants two sizes too small and a Penn sweatshirt three sizes too big, clutching an armful of newspapers she'd collected from the McWirth front stoop. Her expression was filled with dismay. "Tippi asked me to take in her papers," she said. "I'm not stealing them or anything. My husband and I have our own subscription. Well, except for the Times. We don't read the Times. The crossword puzzles make my husband's blood pressure spike so we just stay away from them." Her anxious gaze moved back and forth between us. "Did I do something wrong?"

I smiled at her. "Of course not."

"It depends," Maizy said. "Are you harboring a fugitive?"

"Oh my." Brenda's arms went slack, and her bundle of papers slid to the ground with a soft rustle of plastic bags. "Are you a police officer?"

"Agent," Maizy snapped.

I frowned at her. If we were going to toss out random words, my choice would be certifiable. "There's no need to frighten the woman," I admonished her. "She hasn't done anything."

"I haven't done anything," Brenda agreed. She squatted to pick up the papers. Her hands were shaking a little. She peeked up at Maizy. "Are police officers allowed to have blue hair nowadays?"

"I'm undercover," Maizy said.

"Then you might want to think about brunette," Brenda told her.

"I'll take it under advisement," Maizy said flatly. "What time did they leave?"

"Last night." Brenda stood up, jostling the papers into submission in her arms. "About five minutes to nine. I only know that because Dr. Drew was getting set to come on. I always watch Dr. Drew. I think he—"

"How do you know they went to Aunt Pittypat's?" Maizy cut in.

I stuck my fists on my hips and glared at her. As usual, she ignored me. Which brought to mind another random word: maddening.

"Well, Tippi said that's where they were going." Brenda glanced at me uncertainly. "To tell you the truth, I was a little surprised. I didn't think Tippi cared for Aunt Pittypat."

"What makes you say that?" I asked her.

"She usually called her an old biddy. Only she didn't use the word biddy." Brenda flushed. "I don't use that kind of language, so I can't tell you what she really called her."

"What's Pittypat's real name?" Maizy asked. "Where does she live? Which side of the family is she from?"
Brenda worked an arm free and scratched her head. "Patricia, I think. She's on Harvey's side. They have weak hips, his side. I can't tell you how many broken hips they—"

"Where's she live?" Maizy interrupted.

"I'm sorry, I don't know." Brenda thought about it. "They had to fly to get there, if that helps."

Maizy perked up. "Are you sure about that?"

Brenda nodded. "I'm sure. Harvey was complaining about the cost to park at the airport."

I bet he was. He'd already given most of his money to Dorcas Beeber.

A sharp, stinging sleet had begun to fall. Brenda slitted her eyes against it and shivered. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Officer."
"Agent," Maizy said absent-mindedly. She already had her phone in hand. "Let me give you my e-mail address," she said. "I need you to contact me immediately if they come back. Can you do that?"

"Wouldn't a phone call be easier?" Brenda asked.

"I'm asking the questions here." Maizy jotted something down on a scrap of paper and handed it over. "There might be a reward for information leading to…information," she said.

"Thanks for your time," I said into Brenda's confused silence. And we practically ran back to the car before Brenda thought to ask why police officers were driving an Escort.

 

*   *   *

 

"They're not here," Maizy said ten minutes later. She looked up from her tablet with surprised eyes. "I can't find their reservation."

"That doesn't mean they didn't have one," I told her. "You can't hack them all."

She gave me an oh, please eye roll. "If they flew commercial, I can find them."

"So maybe they didn't," I said. "Maybe Aunt Pittypat's loaded and sent a private jet. Or maybe Brenda was wrong and they drove."

"Either way," Maizy said, "we're at a dead end if we can't find them. Maybe even if we can." She shook her head in frustration. "I was so sure it was Tippi."

"We were sure it was Artemis Angle and Roger Marrin, too," I reminded her. "And don't forget Seaver Beeber's whole prince of darkness thing." I stared gloomily through the windshield. "At least we know he's back in New York."

"We do?" Maizy blinked at me. "How do we know that?"

I told her about my conversation with Detective Bensinger.

Before I was done, Maizy's fingers were working her tablet. "Let's just see about that," she muttered. A moment later she dug around in her backpack and pulled out an innocuous looking cell phone. She noticed me looking at it. "The prepaid," she said. "We never used it, remember?"

I shook my head. "Anybody ever tell you you'd make a great criminal?"

"I've had some offers," she said. "But I'm a force for good." She punched in a number and held the phone to her ear. I could hear ringing, then the ringing stopped, and I heard Seaver's voice expressing his regret at being unable to take the call due to being called out of town unexpectedly.

Maizy hung up the phone. "Pretty stupid to announce you're out of town." She dropped the phone back in her bag. "He must've forgotten to change his voicemail message."

Sure, that must be it. He forgot. No one paid attention to landlines anymore. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "He's home, right?" My voice sounded tense and thin.

"I don't…" Maizy's voice trailed off. She studied her nails. "Probably. Sure, he's home. If Brad Bensinger said he's home…"

"He could be wrong," I said. My stomach lurched. "Maybe Weaver gave him bad information."

"Maybe Seaver told Weaver he was going home," Maizy said slowly. "Only he didn't."

"What's he up to?" I said. We looked at each other. We knew what he was up to. There would only be one reason for him to say he was going home, then not go home. He hadn't finished framing me for killing Dorcas. What could he possibly have in mind to finish the job? The hairs on my arms prickled at the answer that came to mind.

"I can stay over tonight," Maizy said. "If you want."

I shook my head. "I can't let you do that. I won't put you in danger."

"Okay, then you stay over at my house," she said.

I kept shaking my head. That would only work if I were seventeen. Otherwise it would be too weird. Besides, I'd have to go home sooner or later. And there was Ashley. I couldn't leave Ashley on her own. In fact, maybe I should let Curt keep her for a little while, until Seaver showed up.

Or Artemis, or Roger, or Tippi, a nasty little voice whispered in my ear. How can you be sure?

"I know," Maizy said. "You stay downstairs with Uncle Curt."

As much as I liked the idea, it would never work. Both Curt and I liked our own space. I liked cereal for dinner. Curt liked steak for breakfast. Plus he washed his dishes after using them, kept up on his laundry, and vacuumed more than once a month. I just couldn't live with someone like that.

"You know what?" I gave a weak grin. "We're probably both overreacting. I bet I'll have a great night's sleep and wake up tomorrow ready to…" I hesitated. To what? I didn't really know where to go from here. I couldn't track Artemis, or Roger, or Tippi, or Seaver throughout their day. We'd done what we could do, and we'd come up empty. "Work on my resume," I finished.

Maizy nodded. "I'll come by after school and help you get started." She powered down her tablet and stuck it in her bag with a sigh. "I hate this. How did we get here?"

What I hated was the feeling that we must have missed something along the way. In my gut, I knew that no stranger had killed Dorcas. She'd given too many people too many reasons to bash her in the head with her crystal ball. Which meant it had to be one of the people we'd suspected all along. But who? And what had we missed?

"Our chances were always slim," I reminded her. "We're not trained detectives. We did our best."

"Are we giving up?" Her voice was small and sounded disappointed.

"I can't think of where to go next," I said. "Can you?"

She was quiet for a moment. "I can look for Aunt Pittypat."

I shook my head. "What's the point? If she's real, Tippi's off the hook. If she's not, we don't know where they went anyway."

"I don't want you to go to jail," she said stubbornly. "You're my best friend."

I blinked, surprised and touched. Before she could see me getting teary, I told her, "Brody Amherst doesn't know what he's missing."

"Yeah, he does." She grinned. "I told him yesterday."

Maizy was going to be just fine.