by A. L. Knorr
14
The police sent two officers to inspect the basement and take our statements. We brought Adalbert and Sera up to speed—they were both more shaken than either Georjie or I had been, and we didn’t even tell them about the way the metal was broken. The police inspected the metal and took photos of it, conversing quietly among themselves about it in Polish. Georjie and I, now bundled up against the cold, watched from the doorway, sharing glances and observing their reactions. If they were shaken by the evidence, they did a good job in not showing it.
Adalbert had a contractor on the scene by late afternoon, installing a new door with an electronic code lock on it. I doubted a code would stop someone with supernatural strength who was determined to get inside, but it was better than the previous door with the glass windows.
Georjie and I went for a beach walk before lunch, and afterward curled up in the big parlor on the main floor with books and tea. It had begun to drizzle while we were on the beach, and as the gloom of a tenacious storm settled in, the early spring rain came down in fat drops. We were putting off the inevitable—Georjie’s packing—and were seated on one of the big sofas together, facing each other with our backs against the armrests and our noses in our respective books, Georjie’s legs against the edge of the couch, and mine against the inside. I was just thinking of adding another log to the fire when we heard a car pull up in the drive.
Hoping irrationally for it to be Antoni, whom I had called about the break-in, I leapt from the couch and headed to the window. He wasn’t due until evening, but my heart surged with hope anyway.
“Easy there,” Georjie said, “the springs in this couch are already poking me in more than one unwelcome location. Is it Antoni? I thought he would be at work.”
“He is, and no, it’s not him.” I frowned through the wet glass at the blurry figure of the slender behatted museum curator as he stepped from the car and an umbrella blossomed over his head.
We met him in the foyer before he had a chance to ring the doorbell and call Adalbert or Sera to the door.
“You’re on top of things today,” he said, index finger pointed at the doorbell. He put his hand down. “Sorry for the sudden appearance.”
He didn’t smile, and his dark eyes held a grim, troubled expression.
“That’s all right, Abraham. Come in out of the rain.” I stepped back to leave room for him to pass and shut the door. “You seem upset.”
“That’s because I am. I don’t suppose there is a way to reach your mother?” He set the pointed end of the umbrella into the oversized vase meant just for the purpose and took his hat off, cradling it to his chest. He looked hopefully into my face.
“She’s working on a containment job, and not available, I’m afraid. But I can pass along any news as soon as she reaches out.”
Abraham was unsatisfied by this, but didn’t push it. He ran his fingers through the thinning hair at his scalp. “I feel badly. Your mother put her precious artifacts into my care, and we’ve had something terrible happen. At the same time, I’m baffled by what has transpired, and hope that perhaps you might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
Georjie and I shared a look at this. I suddenly remembered my manners and introduced her to Abraham.
Abraham took the brim of his hat between both index fingers and thumbs, fingers splaying out. He looked sheepish and contrite. “The museum had a break-in last night.”
“Abraham, we had a break in ourselves here, also last night.”
“Yes, I know. That’s part of why I came. I wanted to make sure you were all right. The police told me when they came to take our statements, that the Novak manor had likely been breached by the very villain who had successfully breached our own security.”
“Yeah.” Georjie crossed her arms. “How much are you willing to bet that it was the same person?”
“That does seem likely at first blush,” the museum director replied, letting his hat fall to the side. “But there are strange factors at play. The police said that you had glass windows smashed, and a padlock broken.”
Georjie and I nodded.
“But whoever broke into the museum had the code.”
There was only the sound of the rain while that sank in.
“That’s whacked out,” said Georjie, finally breaking the silence. “Why would they bother coming here if they had the code for the museum?”
“Yes, this situation is most bizarre, not the least of which is that only one item was stolen, and not even the most precious item, at that.”
This was news. “What was stolen?”
“A pendant set with an aquamarine.”
“I remember it,” I said, surprised. “There was a lot of nice jewelry in that case.”
He nodded. “Indeed, but nothing else was taken, though they just as easily could have cleaned out the entire display. The thief had access to everything in the case, and yet took only the pendant. There were several more valuable pieces left untouched.” Abraham took a breath. “Could I ask you to either allow someone to go through the Novak family archives, or would you be willing to do so yourself, to look for anything that might shed some light about the pendant?”
“Isn’t that something the police should do?” Georjie asked.
“Perhaps in cases where the value of what was taken was greater, yes,” Abraham replied. “But the police are hesitant to put more resources than they deem necessary toward this particular scenario. They believe the perpetrator to be one of our own staff, or one of your own staff, someone who knows the Novak family history and might want the pendant for personal reasons.”
“But the pendant wasn’t necessarily Novak property,” I ventured.
“That’s true, but it quite likely was, given that the manifest contained only a small amount of jewelry and the pendant was not listed as cargo. Also, none of the history we have of the sailors on board points to families of affluence.”
“Even if they had the means to own such a gem,” Georjie ruminated, “why would they bring it on board a ship?”
“A good question,” Abraham agreed.
“I don’t mind looking,” I said. “Martinius’s office is full of interesting stuff, and I suppose someone will have to go through it sooner rather than later.”
Abraham nodded and put his damp hat back on his head. “Thank you. And could I ask you to call me should you find anything of interest?”
“Sure.”
“That’s all right, then.” He gave a nod and reached for the door. “I won’t keep you any longer, and I can sort the details out of any insurance business with Marian. No need to trouble you with that.”
“Thanks, Abraham.”
“Least I can do.” He turned to leave.
“Do you mind if I ask,” Georjie said quickly, “how the thief broke in?”
“Through the back alley access, the same one the staff use.” Abraham paused, his hand on the door. “Just walked right in.” His face paled as though saying the words out loud made it even more embarrassing. His shoulders stooped and he seemed aged and weary. “I’ve never seen anything like it in all my days. I am very disappointed in my staff, I just don’t know who to direct my ire on just yet. The police are arranging to question everyone. It’s most disruptive, as you can imagine. Most upsetting.”
“I’m sure. Mr. Trusilo, is there any green space by the back door? Perhaps a little garden, or a patch of bare ground?”
He looked bemused, but nodded. “There is, actually. Why?” His face changed expression as a breeze of understanding blew across it. “Oh, for footprints?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Georjayna, face smooth as butter. I had to bite my cheeks to keep from smiling.
“There were a few dirty marks, but unfortunately not enough to leave a full footprint so they weren’t of a lot of help to the police.”
“What a shame,” she intoned.
“Yes, well.” Abraham readjusted the hat on his head and flicked the brim with his finger sendin
g a little spray of droplets into the air. “I’ve taken up enough of your time this afternoon.” He nodded at me. “Do let me know what you find, if anything, Targa.”
“I will.”
We said goodbye and he headed out into the rainy day. I closed the door behind him and leaned against it with my back. My eyes found Georjie’s.
“Up for a little after-dark investigation?” she asked, one fine eyebrow twitching up mischievously.
I smiled at my friend. “I almost pity the fool. Now, let’s get you packed and ready for tomorrow.”
Once Antoni and I had kissed one another goodnight, he turned to Georjie. “Have a good time in Scotland, whatever you get up to. I’m a little jealous. It was really great meeting you. I can see why Targa is so fond of you.”
Georjie colored a little. “Likewise, Antoni. Maybe I’ll see you among the highlands one day.” They hugged, and as she stepped back, I heard her say, “Take good care of our girl.”
As soon as Antoni slipped out the front door, Georjie and I put our outdoor gear on and went to the garage. Flicking on the light switch just inside the door flooded the six-car garage with fluorescent light. The cold concrete space smelled like rubber, oil, gasoline, and diesel, but it was shiny and clean. Four vehicles sat under custom black fabric cozies, and several times more than four sets of keys dangled from hooks on a corkboard over a workbench along one wall.
“Wow,” breathed Georjie. “So, these cars are all yours now? Your life is so weird.” She walked around one of the mysterious shapes and lifted the corner of the fabric to peek underneath.
“Says the girl who can see the past and turn into a tree,” I replied, lifting my own corner of fabric.
“Touché. Have you ever driven in Poland before?”
“Yes, but only an old truck to the dump when I was collecting garbage from the sea. They drive on the right-hand side of the road here, so I should be fine.”
“This is Europe, though, they don’t build cities on a grid. It’s more like someone threw a bunch of super-long spaghetti down on the terrain and then just paved it the way it fell…with cobblestones.”
I grinned. “That just makes it more fun.”
“Right.” Georjie didn’t look like she agreed with me.
“Do you want to drive?”
Her head was invisible beneath the fabric of one of the vehicles as she peered in through the window. “Nope. I don’t drive stick shift.” Her head appeared, her blond hair mussed. “Good thing your mom always drove stick.”
I agreed. “Which one looks the least expensive?”
“I’d say the little Fiat.”
“Fiat it is.” Rifling through the keys on the wall, I found the Fiat’s key fob while Georjie pulled the fabric off the sleek red body of the little car.
We got inside and I adjusted the seat, the steering wheel, and the mirrors. The little black device hooked to the sun visor was easy to spot, and I pressed the button on the remote. An electronic hum and movement in the rearview mirror signaled the rising of the garage door directly behind us.
Georjie took my phone from my bag and punched the museum’s address into the GPS. Backing the little Fiat out of the garage, I took a steadying breath, wheeling the car around to face the hill leading from the garage level to the main level and out the front gate. I guided the Fiat out onto the deserted nighttime street. The rain had let up a little, and now drizzled lazily against the windshield.
Georjie navigated us into Gdansk and to a side street not far from the museum. The night was cool and wet, the cobblestones of the downtown glimmered in the light of street lamps and broken patches of moonlight. After climbing out of the car, I could hear distant noises of laughter and music from the direction of the theatre district. Quietly, we slipped into the alley behind the museum and found the rear entrance. A small parking lot with a single car sat nestled against a narrow strip of scrawny saplings. The pavement ended and a short patch of earth sprouted with patchy grass below a rear door with a sign which read ‘staff entrance’ in several languages. The light of a single bulb over the door cast its eerie glow over the parking lot and patch of ground. A recycling bin sat against the fence separating the museum’s lot from its neighbor, an art gallery.
“We should have asked Abraham if the police were watching the museum,” Georjie muttered quietly as we approached the back door.
“I doubt they are. What’s the point of watching where the crime was already committed? The thieves got what they were after, so they won’t likely be back.”
“I guess. But if I was in charge, I’d double up security just because it would seem stupid not to after a break in.”
“You have a point, and there is one car here.” I put a hand on her arm, holding her back as I scanned the visible windows for lights. “If someone does bother us, I may have to use my voice on them.”
“Fine, but if you addle my wits, you have Liz to answer to.”
“That’s a scarier prospect than it used to be,” I joked.
The soles of our shoes squelched onto the grass and Georjie bent down and drew out a handful of soft wet earth. “Ending my visit on a bang,” she muttered. “All right, Dark Hoody, let’s see what your face looks like.”
Her eyes phased to white and her lips parted as she faced the doorway. Her eyebrows shot up sharply and she uttered a surprised, “Oh!”
“What? What did you see?” I almost danced in place in my desperation to know.
“It’s not a guy, it’s a girl, and a young one!”
“What? Really?”
Staring at the residual I couldn’t see, Georjie described her to me. “She’s tall, almost as tall as I am. She’s got brown hair, shoulder-length, and a piercing in her right cheek.”
Shock sent the blood tumbling from my brain and I swayed for a moment from the surprise.
Georjie stood up and the white cleared from her eyes. She looked at her dirty hands and glanced around for something to clean them with. Dipping them in the rain-barrel under the drainpipe, she faced me. “Abraham was right, she had the code written on her hand. She walked right in.”
“Was she wearing a plaid coat with a skull patch on the shoulder, by chance?”
Geojire blinked in surprise. “You know her?”
I nodded, feeling sick to my stomach. My mind could not grasp why she would possibly have robbed the museum. “It was Antoni’s sister, Lydia.”
15
I elected to drive Georjie to the airport myself rather than have Adam drive us, so that we could talk freely. The day was a rare one for winter on the Baltic, bright though not cloudless, the sunlight streaming through a wispy bank of cloud over the city was bright enough to require sunglasses.
Georjie and I drove in silence on the freeway toward the city’s international airport, both lost in a thoughtful silence. The morning traffic closed around us and cleared out again as the majority of vehicles headed for the business center of Gdansk.
Feeling Georjie’s eyes on me, I sent a smile her way.
“You’re not fooling me, Targa,” she said, lifting her sunglasses off her face and into her hair.
“I know. I’m not trying to.” My knuckles were nearly white on the steering wheel, and I’d skipped breakfast, an act that alarmed even Sera and Adalbert, for I’d become famous for my appetite. I had tossed and turned all night, too.
“What are you going to tell him?”
I took a bracing inhale and let it out slowly. “I have to tell him the truth.”
“Even without any proof? Or any explanation?” Georjie reached for the handle above the Fiat’s passenger window as we took a curved ramp a little too fast. I eased off the gas a little. “He’s going to ask you how you know it was her.”
“I know.” I frowned. “I almost wish we hadn’t discovered the truth. That way someone else could tell Antoni.”
“You could call the police and give them an anonymous tip…”
I glanced at my friend, hearing the doubt in her voi
ce that her suggestion would be well taken. “That’s the action of a coward.”
Georjie lifted a shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. We used a supernatural ability to discover her. Maybe it’s just smart to keep yourself out of it? Avoid the questions you can’t answer.”
We lapsed into a thoughtful silence while I tried to follow the alternative paths into the future depending on which door I went through. An anonymous call to the authorities, who would subsequently question Lydia, who would more than likely lie to protect herself. And then what? Would they apprehend her? I didn’t watch enough crime television to know what they had a right to do, but I assumed they’d look for evidence and once they had it, they’d arrest her. She’d have to hire a lawyer, and most likely Antoni would have to pay the legal fees, since it appeared she was already having money troubles. Ugh. The more I thought it through, the less I liked option B.
But where did option A lead?
If Antoni believed me, it would give him an opportunity to talk to Lydia before the authorities got involved. Maybe she’d be honest with him, tell him why she’d done such a bizarre and stupid thing. I could only hope that she’d be honest with her brother, though her behavior of late wasn’t encouraging. It just didn’t make any sense. Why steal a moderately valuable item from a collection of them, while leaving the rest behind? She obviously had the key to the case which held all the jewelry from the wreck, so if she was hard up for cash, why wouldn’t she just take all of it? Was it a prank? Some inane dare that her friends put on her?
Taking the airport exit, I slowed the Fiat and guided it into the short-term parking lot. Turning off the vehicle, we got out and went around back as I popped the trunk with the button on the key fob.
As I reached for Georjie’s carry-on bag, she stopped me with a hand on my arm.
I looked up into her concerned face and she pulled me into a hug.
“I don’t like to leave you like this. Look at you.” She squeezed me and kissed the top of my head the way my mom used to do. The gesture made my eyelids rim with moisture. How much I wanted my mom with me today.
