"Oh, I see. Yes, I guess I've always heard Cuban cigars were the best. By the way, do you know if Horatio Prescott smoked? There were ashes found in his ashtray, which the investigators seem to think is a little strange," I said. Or, at least, I was certain they would have thought it a little strange had they noticed the ashes and known Horatio was a non-smoker. Boris gave me a curious look and shrugged nonchalantly.
"The ashes were probably mine," he said, after a long silence. He continued in his usual annoying way, spouting ten-letter words at will. "I'd stopped by his room to expostulate his proposal for a highly speculative investment. It was an ephemeral visit, you understand, but it stands to reason I was smoking at the time. I usually enjoy several cigars after supper."
"What was Horatio's physical condition at the time, that evening when you spoke to him in his room?" Stone asked. "Do you recall?"
"He did seem a bit inarticulate and disjointed at the time, now that I think about it. In retrospect, I suppose I should've questioned him about his condition since he was kind of wobbly. I just assumed he'd had one too many scotch and waters after supper, which was standard operating procedure for him. He cast aspersions on me about smoking all the time, but he habitually drank a lot more than I ever did. Thinking back, I'm convinced it may have been the poison making him acting so anomalously."
"Anomalously?" I asked.
"Queerly, abnormally, strangely, oddly" he said, in simpler terms.
Was the grapevine in full operation? Were all the guests now aware of the attempted poisoning of Prescott? Could the word have spread that rapidly since I mentioned the matter in the parlor? I wondered how Boris knew about it. Perhaps Stone had told him. He'd spoken with Boris on several occasions, both this morning and this evening.
"In what way was Mr. Prescott behaving queerly last night?" I asked Boris.
"Oh, he seemed kind of ill, light-headed and dizzy. His speech was nearly incoherent. It was out of character for him to show any kind of weakness at all. He normally handled his liquor better than that. He was reacting much like I was told you reacted to the tansy oil someone slipped you."
"So you heard about the tansy oil incident, huh? It's nasty stuff, let me tell you."
"Yes, and I'm sorry to hear you also had an encounter with it." Boris didn't sound sincerely sorry, but I had to give him credit for trying.
Boris and I checked our watches simultaneously. I realized I'd have to get the master key from Crystal and up to Boris's room soon if I were going to try to eavesdrop on his important phone call. I'd tell Stone about the manuscript later. Excusing myself, I returned to the kitchen.
Crystal was standing at the stove arranging wings, thighs, and breasts in a skillet of sizzling grease. I noticed her ring of room keys lying on the counter next to her purse. I picked them up and crossed to the door. "Stone needs to borrow your keys for just a few minutes, Crystal," I said. "He can't seem to find his at the moment. It seems as if keeping track of keys is a recurring problem today."
I rushed away without giving Crystal an opportunity to respond to my confiscation of her keys, as if her approval was without doubt. I glanced out on the deck to make sure Boris hadn't already left. He was snubbing his cigar in an ashtray, so I knew he'd be going to his room soon.
Praying that opting to eavesdrop wasn't a decision I'd live to regret, I raced down the hall and used the key marked "#3" to unlock the door to Boris's room. As quickly as I could, I slid under his bed, positioning myself as far to the back as possible, on the opposite side of the nightstand that held some personal items he'd unloaded from his pockets. He was a flabby, heavyset man, and I didn't want to be flattened under the springs if he sat down on the bed.
I scarcely had time to find a comfortable position when I heard Boris enter the room and unclip the cell phone from his belt. He placed it on the bed. He muttered under his breath. All I could make out were two words: "bitch" and "nosy"—and not necessarily in that order. Aha. It seemed his opinion of me was no more flattering than my opinion of him.
I could hear the ticking of his alarm clock as I tried to remain still under the bed. It reminded me of the one time I'd had a CT-scan at the hospital. I suddenly itched in places I didn't know a person could itch, and I felt as if I were afflicted with restless leg syndrome. Even my eyelashes developed instant nervous tics. Soon I felt myself gasping, as if all the oxygen under the bed had been depleted. I was sure Boris could hear my labored breathing. I thought I might be experiencing an ill-timed panic attack. The next five minutes dragged on for at least two and a half hours, or so it seemed.
Finally, Boris's cell phone rang with the sound of a 1940's show tune that seemed totally inappropriate for the circumstances. I had to bite my lip to suppress a giggle. At least the bout of anxiety had eased, and I was breathing normally again, for a short while at least.
"Yeah?" Boris said in a gruff, impatient tone. I could only hear his side of the conversation, but I had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
"Tomorrow? You positive, Shorty?" he asked. I listened to his responses as he conversed with a man called Shorty. I tried to picture Shorty, whom I figured was either four foot ten, or seven feet tall. It wasn't a nickname you gave to a man with average height, in the same way you didn't call an average-sized guy, "Slim."
"How many kakapos did you get?" I heard Boris ask. "Two pair? Good, that's damned good, kid! Any problem getting on or off the island? Good. Uh-huh, yeah I understand. Uh-huh. Where are they holding them now? Yeah, I see. I expect you to make an expeditious trip to get them back here."
He paused a moment to listen to the caller's response, and then said, "It means 'fast,' Shorty. Make it a fast trip. Okay? But take good care of them, you hear? One of them croaks, and I'll shove the dead parrot up your skinny ass. You understand me, kid?"
Dead parrot? Kakapos? I needed to go straight to Stone's room to use his computer as soon as I left Boris's room. I tried to picture my aunt's cockapoo, Max, with a parrot on his head, to use as word association, so I wouldn't forget the word he'd used: kakapo. Max was a cocker spaniel/poodle mix, and, strangely, I found it less confusing than picturing a cockatoo, which really was a parrot, with a crested thing on top of its head. But Boris had definitely said kakapo, not cockatoo. Oh, wow. I needed air. I felt as if I were beginning to hyperventilate.
I tried to take my mind off breathing, hoping I would resume normal breathing again if I didn't work so hard at it. Instead, I concentrated on Boris's voice as he spoke again. "I want to make the exchange tomorrow night. Pablo Pikstone won't wait forever, you know. I'm holding you to your promise, Shorty. Got it? Screw me over and when you wake up again, you'll think a loaded garbage truck has run you down. Yeah, yeah, okay. No, I'm not worried about him finding out. I told you, he's dead now, Shorty. No, I don't know who popped the old bastard, but I'm happy as hell somebody did. He was getting to be a royal pain in my ass. Trying to catch me in the act of screwing him over, while the whole time he was screwing me over every chance he got."
So, according to Boris anyway, he didn't know who killed Horatio, but he was pleased about his death. I'd figured as much. And basically, it turned out, Boris and Horatio were two crooks, trying to out-crook each other.
I was trying to use word association again to remember the name Pablo Pikstone and tried visualizing Pablo Picasso perched on a large rock, painting a picture of my Water-Pik, when I realized that Boris had ended the call.
I was just beginning to think that hiding under Mr. Dack's bed in order to eavesdrop on his phone conversation was an ingenious decision, when I heard him fold his cell phone in half and the room phone on his nightstand ring.
"Yeah?" I heard him say again. "No thanks, Stone. I had a late lunch, and way too many stuffed mushrooms and hot wings during happy hour. I think I'll skip supper and get a good night's rest tonight. I'll see you in the morning before I check out."
Uh-oh. I didn't like his comments at all. I looked out from under the dust ruffle just in time t
o see a pair of wadded up socks hit the floor. One sock was black and one was dark blue, so I gathered Boris might be afflicted with color-blindness. I'd read most people with the condition were male.
Next came the sound of a brass belt buckle landing on the throw rug with a dull, muffled thud. Then I heard the faint whir of a zipper being unfastened as Boris let loose a crude belch at the same time. Suddenly I felt a sick queasiness in my stomach, completely unrelated to the repugnant fart Boris cut as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
Just as I began to fear I was in for a very long night, I felt the beginning of a sneeze. I fought it as best I could, but it was a losing battle. I managed to stifle the sneeze to a dainty little "choo," which Boris would have definitely heard, anyway, had it not been synchronized perfectly with a loud rap on the door.
"Boris? Mr. Dack?" I heard Stone's voice outside the door. He sounded anxious, but his voice was the most welcome sound I'd heard in ages. When Boris opened his door, Stone said, "You have an incoming call on the kitchen phone. Crystal took the call but couldn't give the caller the private number to the phone in this room because she didn't know it."
"Okay. Give me a moment then," Boris said with irritation obvious in his voice.
"Uh, Mr. Dack, you don't need to put your shoes on to go to the kitchen, but you probably should zip your zipper. Crystal said the guy sounded really impatient."
A few seconds later, Stone was peering under the bed, grabbing me by the ankle and sliding me out across the shiny wood floor. I felt like a human dust mop. I could tell by the angry look of frustration in his eyes that he was very upset with me.
"We'll talk later," he said sternly, and hurried me out of Boris's room and pushed me into mine across the hall. He closed my door soundlessly, leaving me inside. I was trembling, more in anticipation of Stone's response to my eavesdropping than in reaction to my close call in Boris's room.
A few seconds later, I heard Stone say, "Really? The caller must have been extremely impatient. Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Dack, but I'm sure he'll call back. I'll give Crystal the number for the phone in your room when I inform her that you won't be joining us for supper. Good night, Mr. Dack. I'll see you in the morning."
A few seconds later the door to my room was flung open, and Stone stepped inside. He whispered in a forceful manner. "What in the name of hell were you thinking, Lexie? As soon as Crystal mentioned you'd borrowed her set of keys, I knew exactly what you'd done. I just knew. And frankly, it scared me half to death. There's no telling what a man like Boris Dack is capable of when he's backed into a corner. My concern about who murdered Horatio Prescott on the opening night of this inn pales in comparison to my concern about your safety and well being. I thought I'd made it clear I didn't want you to attempt anything so risky, just in an attempt to determine Horatio's killer. "
"And I thought I'd made it clear I'm an adult and can make my own decisions," I said, knowing it was a stupid and immature thing to say. Stone was only concerned about me, and he had a good reason to be. He wasn't trying to force his will on me for his own amusement. I knew I was still trying to adjust to the novelty of having a man around to look out for me and protect me from the consequences of my impulsive actions. I'd been on my own for nearly twenty years, and I was very set in my ways. I was born under the sign of Aries, after all, and impulsiveness was a curse I was born with, according to all the astrologers. And saddled with forever, I had no doubt. Acting spontaneously was not something I could just give up the way I'd given up cigarettes.
"I know you're an adult. I just wish you would behave like one!"
I opened my mouth to make a crude retort and then closed it immediately. This was the first time the two of us had ever exchanged cross words. It occurred to me then that Stone wasn't upset because I'd behaved childishly or against his wishes. He was upset because I had placed myself in a precarious position, a situation that could have come to a lot more ghastly conclusion than it did. What would I have done if Boris Dack had heard me sneezing under his bed and Stone had not been there to rescue me? What would Boris have done?
"You're right, Stone—"
"Lexie, I'm sorry—"
"No, you're right. Eavesdropping on Boris Dack's conversation was a stupid thing to do, and I apologize. I just couldn't stand not knowing what the six o'clock phone call was all about. I'm still not sure, but I know more than I did before. Please don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you, and I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said as he put his arms around me and pulled me into an embrace. "I love you, Lexie, and the thought of anything happening to you... well, I didn't handle the situation very well, I guess."
"I love you, too, Stone. Thanks for rescuing me just in the nick of time. Remind me to have Crystal run a mop under all the beds tomorrow. The dust bunnies were launching me into a sneezing fit. And Stone, you handled this incident tonight like a pro. I'll try to be more careful in the future and not put you in the position of having to handle my problems so frequently. My actions tonight were thoughtless and reckless, and I'll try my best to see such a thing doesn't happen again, or at least not very often."
I stopped short of making any rash promises because I knew myself well enough to know my impulsiveness was sometimes impossible to keep in check.
"Thank you. I'd appreciate if you were more cautious, more often. That's all I can ask for, I guess. More often."
We shared a long kiss and an even longer hug, and then I reiterated what I'd heard Boris say on the phone. Stone had never heard of a "kakapo" either, and agreed I should perform a Google search on his computer. He handed me the keys to his room and office, which I shoved into my pocket.
"Would you stay with me in my room tonight, Lexie?"
"I thought we'd agreed if we had guests in the inn, we shouldn't—"
"That was before all this happened. Now, with the current circumstances being what they are, I'd feel better having you where I can keep an eye on you. Besides, I've missed you." Stone reached around to cup the cheeks of my posterior in his hands and pull me toward him. He'd made his message quite clear. He squeezed my butt cheeks tenderly, and said, "I sleep better when I have you next to me."
"I've missed you, too. And I'd definitely feel safer and sleep more soundly with you beside me. The fingernail file I keep under my pillow offers a very limited sense of security."
"Okay. Then it's settled. By the way, you do know who Pablo Pikstone is, don't you?" Stone asked me.
"No, I don't think I've ever heard of him."
"He's the eccentric billionaire who lives just outside Blue Springs. He has a large estate off I-70, and he houses lions, tigers, monkeys, alligators, and all kinds of other wild and exotic animals on his property. A ten-foot tall fence surrounds the entire compound with razor-sharp barbs across the top. It looks like a prison yard. He has several zoo-keepers and animal trainers on his payroll."
"Oh, yes, I do remember the place now. Wasn't there a lot of controversy with the animal rights activists a few years ago? About him illegally keeping endangered species or something like that?"
"I wouldn't doubt it. He probably gave a huge cash donation to all their assorted non-profit animal rights organizations just to get them off his back. He certainly wouldn't contribute for the sake of the animals. But money can be a powerful incentive, you know. It's unfortunate, though, because something needs to be done to protect those animals. They shouldn't be forced to live in cages the way they frequently are. I can't even stand to visit a zoo for that very reason."
I agreed, and then excused myself to go to the kitchen to help Crystal finish the supper preparations. I felt guilty for having heaped so much responsibility on our already overworked young helper.
* * *
Crystal did not look overworked when I arrived in the kitchen. She was smiling and humming as she dished up the mashed potatoes with a large silver spoon. I noticed she'd already set the table. She waved off my apology and motioned for me to move the zucchini from the stove to th
e serving dish. I told her Boris would be skipping supper, and I removed one of the place settings when I took the zucchini and potatoes into the dining room. A large platter of fried chicken was already in the middle of the large table with smaller bowls of gravy, olives, sliced tomatoes, and celery sticks, arranged around it. The scene was so appealing and the aroma so enticing, it made my mouth water.
Crystal followed me in the room with a basket of hot, steaming dinner rolls and a tub of whipped butter. I looked up at the clock on top of the china hutch as it chirped half past the hour.
The guests began to enter the dining room to take their places at the table. Patty led the pack, as usual. I hoped she'd be able to force a little food down her gullet, even though she'd been off her feed recently. By the gleam in her eyes, and the licking of her lips, I didn't think this was going to be a major problem.
Chapter 12
"Agh! Eech! Bleeck!"
Everyone at the table stopped chewing to look in horror at Patty Poffenbarger, who was choking on something she'd just attempted to swallow. Soon the sounds of agony ceased when she could no longer draw any air down her windpipe. Her face began to turn a vivid color of purple as she grasped her throat in terror. Her multiple chins were quivering like a mouse in a snake's cage. It wasn't a pretty sight.
Otto sat beside his wife as motionless as a Vatican guard, in a state of helpless panic. The only one who didn't seem to be frozen in time was Stone, who jumped to his feet and darted around the table in a flash. He wrapped his arms around Patty's ample abdomen, his hands clenched together under her sternum. He then executed the Heimlich maneuver in one deft upward and inward thrust.
Nothing happened. Patty continued to flail her arms and turn deeper shades of purple. Stone tried again, and again, nothing happened.
Finally, on his fourth attempt, there was a distinct whoosh as a small piece of chicken bone flew across the table and landed with a muted splash in the gravy boat. Eleven pairs of eyes stared at the bone floating on top of the chicken gravy as if waiting for it to perform a soft shoe act for their entertainment. Almost in unison, everybody at the table placed their silverware across their plates and scooted their chairs back away from the table. Supper was officially over. I'd already put my silverware down and was thinking back to the comment I'd made to Wendy about chicken bones being hazardous to one's health. Had I somehow had a premonition of this near-tragedy? Or had I jinxed Patty Poffenbarger into nearly choking to death?
Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set Page 27
