by V. M. Burns
Ruby Mae stood on the stairs. “Them police better get here soon or there ain’t going to be nothing left to lock up.”
“I’m gonna knock your brains out if you make one move, you crazy mother—”
“Irma!” we all shouted.
“Sorry.” Irma broke into a coughing fit. “I guess I got carried away.”
“Put down that shoe and take this gun.” Nana Jo handed Irma the gun. “Point it at his head. If he moves, blow his brains out.”
George Parker looked like a caged rabbit, but he didn’t move one muscle.
Nana Jo found a length of rope. Dorothy rolled Parker onto his front. Nana Jo used the rope to hog-tie George Parker. And I do mean hog-tie. Nana Jo wrapped the rope around his legs and tied them to his wrists. She worked fast. The whole thing took less than a minute. When she was done, Nana Jo raised both hands and stepped off of George. Cowboys roped cattle in seconds, but Nana Jo hog-tied a killer in less than sixty seconds.
Ruby Mae went up the stairs to wait for the police. The police cars arrived, sirens blaring.
I looked around in amazement. Irma hovered over the trussed-up George, holding a shoe in one hand and a gun in the other. Dorothy stood nearby, still in her Aikido stance, ready to pounce if the situation required.
Nana Jo ignored George and went to me. “You okay?”
I nodded. I was shaking and gripping that ladder like it was a lifeline.
“It’s okay. You can let go now.” Nana Jo pried my hands off the ladder and enveloped me in her warm embrace. With my nana’s arms around me, I was safe. It was over.
After the police had removed George Parker from the cellar, Dawson and the poodles joined us in the café. Dawson made coffee and produced cookies to assuage his guilt at missing all of the action.
“Until I heard the sirens, I didn’t know anything was happening,” he said.
Detective Pitt showed up about forty minutes after the uniformed police. He wore sweatpants, loafers with no socks, and a T-shirt. He had bed hair, which stuck up defiantly in the back.
After a few cups of coffee, my hands had finally stopped shaking, but my insides were still on a slow quiver.
Detective Pitt had the decency to look sheepish. “So, George Parker killed his brother David and his nephew?”
I nodded. “Yes. I believe so.”
“But why?”
“I believe it all started when Robert Parker died suddenly.”
Detective Pitt shook his head. “Don’t tell me he killed him too.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I called Diana and she said Robert died from a stroke.” I took a sip of coffee and tried to organize my thoughts. “But, when Robert died, Clayton inherited his father’s share of the real estate company. And he sold it.”
“That’s what my son said,” Dorothy said proudly.
“Yes. But how could Clayton sell the business without consulting George?” Nana Jo asked.
“I wondered that myself. But then I remembered you said when the Parker brothers came back from the war, they suddenly had all this money. You said Robert Parker bought a lot of buildings and opened a real estate company. George went to school to study accounting. Later he came and joined the company. That’s when Robert changed the name to Parker & Parker. I’ll bet George didn’t own any of the business.”
“That’s right,” Nana Jo said. “George told us that they never drew up any papers about ownership.”
Detective Pitt scribbled on his notepad. “Okay, so Robert dies and Clayton wants to sell the business. Big deal. No reason to kill Clayton.”
“That’s not why he killed Clayton.” I took another sip of coffee. “Irma found out that Parker & Parker had financial problems. George Parker was a gambler. He told Diana Clayton was the gambler, but no one at the casino remembered him gambling. George planted that lie with Diana because he owed the casino a lot of money. Then David came back. He was sick. He needed money. He wanted to go to a tropical island and live out his last days. But, there was no money and Robert was dead. Clayton sold the company. It was gone and there was no money. But David had money. He’d hidden this money for decades, waiting for just the right time.”
“What money?” Detective Pitt looked up from his notes.
“Well, Nana Jo said when the Parker brothers were young, they were poor. But then they went off to fight in the war and when they came back, they had money. Obviously something happened during the war.”
“What?” Detective Pitt asked.
I had been thinking about this. “Dawson, can you do me a favor, please. Will you bring me the gargoyles you found in the basement?”
Dawson looked surprised, but didn’t ask questions. He turned and went outside. Oreo and Snickers looked up, unsure whether to follow him or not, but decided to stay with the cookies and wait for crumbs to fall their way. Dawson was only gone a few minutes. We munched cookies and drank coffee until he returned. He placed two gargoyles on the table in front of me.
“What’s that?” Detective Pitt picked up one of the gargoyles and turned it around. He almost dropped it. “Heavy.” He examined it and set it on the table.
“That, if I’m not mistaken, is the source of the Parker brothers’ wealth,” I said
“Ugly little booger.” Irma broke into a coughing fit.
I picked up the gargoyle and looked at it. Everyone watched intently while I raised my hand and threw the plaster gargoyle to the floor.
They jumped at the crash. Bits of plaster flew all over the floor. As the plaster hit, the outer shell broke off. Amongst the pieces of plaster that littered the floor, were several bright, shiny coins. There were about forty coins on the floor. I picked a few of the coins out of the plaster and placed them on the table.
Detective Pitt’s mouth hung open.
“Close your mouth, Stinky. You’ll catch flies,” Nana Jo said.
“Are those real?” Dawson asked.
“I think so. I think the Parker brothers must have come across either a hoard of Nazi gold or they confiscated the coins from a concentration camp. Remember Ruby Mae said their father used to plaster houses. He must have taught his sons the trade during a sober moment, and they used that knowledge to get the gold out of Europe.”
Ruby Mae picked up a stray coin. She dropped it on the table and wiped her hands on her handkerchief.
“How did you know?” Nana Jo asked.
“I didn’t, at first. It wasn’t until I thought about the day I found David Parker upstairs. He was looking at the ceiling, but it’s a loft, so there’s nothing up there. George Parker did the same thing.” I took a sip of coffee. “Clayton Parker was fine with selling this building until his father died. I don’t think Clayton knew about the coins. After his father died, David came back. David must have told him there was something valuable here because, after that, Clayton did everything he could to prevent me from buying this building. I had to get an attorney and put a lien against the property to prevent him from selling to someone else. George told us he overheard David and Clayton arguing. That’s when he found out where David had hidden his share of the loot.”
“George didn’t know about the gargoyles?” Detective Pitt was so intent on my story he’d quit taking notes.
“I checked the title for the building. David bought the building after the war. He must have hidden the money in the gargoyles, intending to return and get it. Then he was arrested for armed robbery and went to jail.”
Ruby Mae shook her head. “He always was a bad seed.”
I continued, “George was the accountant. He would have been responsible for paying the taxes. But as his gambling problem got worse, he started taking money from the business. The more in debt he got, the more he let things slide. I’m guessing the taxes on the Gargoyle building must have been one of the things he didn’t pay. He probably intended to pay them at some point but got in over his head. Anyway, the building was foreclosed and bought by the previous owners. When they decided to retire, I b
ought it.”
“But why did George kill Clayton?” Detective Pitt asked.
“I think Clayton found out George was embezzling from the business. Diana said Clayton and George had a big fight. Plus, George was under a lot of pressure to pay the money he owed to the casino.”
“So, Clayton and George get into a fight and George stabs him and leaves him in the back courtyard. Why kill David?”
“I think David suspected George killed Clayton. When you arrested David, he must have argued with George. I can’t imagine he wanted to go back to prison. He was dying. He planned to get his gold and leave. I think he threatened to tell the police it was George.”
Dorothy said, “So, George killed him.”
“That’s what I think, but you’ll have to ask him,” I said to Detective Pitt.
Detective Pitt and the rest of us sat in the café until Chris and Zaq showed up for work.
The police showed up with a warrant and collected all of the gargoyles. Seven total, including the one I broke. They provided a receipt, but I didn’t think I’d see those gargoyles again. I didn’t want to see them again.
My awesome nephews took over the store and sent Nana Jo and I upstairs to get some rest.
I tried to relax, but after the gallons of coffee I’d consumed, my mind was definitely overstimulated. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, but was only about forty-five minutes based on the clock on my nightstand, until I gave up and got out my computer.
Chapter 24
Everyone who attended the first party seemed pleased to receive another invitation to Wickfield Lodge. If they suspected the party had anything to do with Charles Parker’s death, no one let on. In fact, it seemed Charles Parker was all but forgotten. Lady Elizabeth had stressed she’d like to thank everyone who had been there during the unfortunate event.
All of the waiters, musicians, and guests were present and accounted for, and then some. The additional guests consisted of James, Sergeant Patrick O’Hara of the Chicago Police Department, and Detective Inspector Covington.
Lady Elizabeth had been tempted to invite additional ladies to balance out the party but decided against it. It was always good to have more men than women at a party, and she didn’t believe Covington or Sergeant O’Hara would actually dance. They were technically on duty, although they were supposed to be undercover.
Detective Inspector Covington was wearing a shiny new tuxedo for the occasion. It looked new. It lacked the quality of Seville Row but fit him well, nevertheless. If only he would stop fidgeting with the collar, he might blend in. Few of the guests remembered him, despite the fact he’d questioned most of them. They probably hadn’t paid him any more attention than they would a waiter.
Sergeant O’Hara was another matter. The American detective would stand out no matter where he went. He was short and stocky, with the build of a prize fighter. He hadn’t packed a tuxedo and wore a brown suit that had seen better days. The fabric was cheap and the elbows were worn. His shirt might have once been white but was closer to ecru now and bore the signs of meals long ago consumed. He chomped on the end of a cigar. Ashes embedded into the fabric might make a casual observer believe the suit was made of tweed, were it not for the trails of ash he left behind like breadcrumbs.
Once the party was in full swing, Lady Elizabeth breathed easier. Her guests ate, danced, and drank. James took the place of Charles Parker and danced with Daphne. Penelope and Victor danced as an engaged couple in love should. If anyone thought the party suspicious, one look at Victor and Penelope wiped all doubt out of their mind. They were clearly in love and all who knew the two thought it about time.
Sergeant O’Hara lurked on the outskirts, smoking and watching. Detective Inspector Covington tried to mingle and danced with a few of the women.
James and Daphne were a topic of interest. Daphne wore a new dress from one of her excursions into London, and she looked even lovelier dancing with James than she had with Charles Parker. Her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled. She appeared as deeply in love as her sister, and it appeared James was well on his way too.
The tricky thing for the small group of players in the dramatic reenactment was keeping as close as possible to the original timing. The two police officers had prearranged their movements as much as possible to provide coverage. When Daphne and James stepped out onto the terrace, Inspector Covington followed. Lady Elizabeth tried to remember where everyone was at the first party and note differences, but it was impossible, since the guests didn’t know they were supposed to act a certain way. Thompkins was enlisted to watch for anything that differed significantly from the last time.
Lord William hadn’t attended the last party. He sat by the fire with his leg propped up on an ottoman. He couldn’t compare the movements from the last party, but he could note if anything seemed odd.
Lady Elizabeth joined, and Thompkins came by.
“Yes, Thompkins?”
“Your ladyship, you said you wanted to know if we noticed anything that was different from the last party, no matter how small.”
“Yes, Thompkins.”
“Well, the orchestra plays what are called sets. There are eight songs in a set. Then they take a break. The leader explained this to me last time. He wanted to make sure it was okay for the musicians to eat or drink or smoke here with the other guests or if it would be better if they went down to the servants’ area.”
Lady Elizabeth hadn’t noticed any breaks. “Yes.”
“And I know you asked the leader to make sure they played the exact same songs in the same order as they did on the last occasion.”
“Yes.” Lady Elizabeth and Lord William looked expectantly at Thompkins.
“Well, it’s just that one of the housemaids noticed one of the band members.” Thompkins turned toward the orchestra. “That young man on the end with the cello.”
Lady Elizabeth and Lord William glanced discretely at the orchestra. A very thin young man sat with his head bowed. Between the angle he held his cello, the hair obscuring his face, and the placement of his music stand, he was barely visible.
“Odd that he seems to be the only one with an instrument case,” Lady Elizabeth said. “It’s unsightly and takes up so much room.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Thompkins said.
“What did the housemaid notice?” Lord William asked.
“He has spent a lot more time downstairs this time than he did before. In fact, none of the staff remember him. Of course, this may not be important. Mrs. McDuffie is inclined to believe the silly girl has a crush on the young man.”
“We should notify Sergeant O’Hara.” Lady Elizabeth spotted the sergeant standing alone. With a regal inclination of her head, she signaled him to join her. “Sergeant. This may be nothing but—”
“Everything is important. No clue too big. No clue too small,” Sergeant O’Hara interrupted in his fast-paced, brusque manner.
Talking to the American detective, in a hurry in everything he did, left Lady Elizabeth out of breath. She and Thompkins relayed the housemaid’s comments.
Sergeant O’Hara stared openly at the cellist. Perhaps he sensed the extra scrutiny because, at that moment, the cellist looked up from his music and locked eyes with Sergeant O’Hara.
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” O’Hara let out a low whistle.
Thompkins stiffened and cleared his throat.
“Out with it, man. I take it you know the man?” Lord William banged his hands on the arms of his chair.
O’Hara smirked. “Oh, yeah. I know him. That’s Sticky Fingers Johnson, that is.”
“Sticky Fingers?” Lord William frowned.
“Trigger man for La Cosa Nostra and the Simpliano family. That’s our killer or I’ll eat my hat.”
Sergeant O’Hara looked more likely to eat a certain cellist than a hat. With a determined stride to his step, he made his way toward the orchestra. Weaving around the dancing couples and careful to keep his eyes on his target, Sergeant O
’Hara approached the cellist like a hungry tiger stalking his prey.
“Dear me. I hope there won’t be any unpleasantness,” Lady Elizabeth said. “Thompkins, perhaps you should find Detective Inspector Covington. I believe Lord Rumpagle had him cornered in the billiards room.”
Thompkins nodded and silently left to find the detective.
Penelope joined her aunt and uncle. “What’s going on?”
Just as Sergeant O’Hara reached the orchestra, Sticky Fingers reached down into his cello case and pulled out a large Tommy gun.
He knocked over the music stand, threw his cello at the detective, and pointed the large machine gun at the crowd. “One more step, copper, and I’ll blow all these people to smithereens.”
Sergeant O’Hara stopped in his tracks. Women screamed. Sticky Fingers fired a round into the ceiling. The staccato roar of the machine gun silenced the guests.
“Everyone against the wall.” Sticky Fingers used the gun to indicate the wall and the direction. “Move. Or next time I won’t aim so high.”
The guests fell over each other in their rush to obey. All except Sergeant O’Hara, who stood rooted to his spot.
“You too, flatfoot.”
Sergeant O’Hara marched defiantly to the wall and stood with the others.
“Good. Now, I’m just gonna walk outta here. As long as you all stay here, no one gets hurt.” The gunman sneered and slowly backed away, careful to keep everyone in sight. He swung his gun from side to side, like a pendulum on a clock, ready to fire at any minute.
“You’ll never make it out of here alive, Johnson,” O’Hara yelled.
“You better hope I do, copper.”
O’Hara stepped forward and gunfire erupted feet in front of him. Someone screamed. Lady Honorah Exeter fainted. Her husband caught her before she hit the ground.
At the door, Johnson stopped, smiled, and made a formal bow.
