“Dante, my friend, I mean that Dolly walked out of here on Sunday, after you pointed out how much Paisley looked like her. She told me to keep an eye on Paisley, and she was serious.”
“I caught that,” Dante said, “which is why I thought Paisley was ours.”
“Your granddaughter, you mean?”
“Yes. For one of our own, I’d accept even so ancient a title.”
“Dolly hired a physician’s assistant as a traveling companion, and she went straight to Paris.”
“She’s looking for Grover,” he said. “It’ll kill her when she finds her brother’s grave.”
“Why so sure Grover’s dead?”
Dante stated the obvious. “He’d be ancient.”
“He’d be sixteen years younger than Dolly,” I said. “Longevity could run in the family.”
“Are you taking bets?” Dante asked. “Based on what looked to me like the nomadic life of an espionage agent, he probably died around the cusp of fifty, like me.”
“Did you tell Dolly about that theory?”
“Back when we were going together, you mean? No. I didn’t want to hurt her any more than she’d already been hurt. You know, I can still see Doll the way she looked back then, even the last time I saw her. Young, vivacious, and all mine.”
My heart rose to my throat, and a niggling of personal hope stuck there. “That was some big love you two had.”
“Have,” he said, grin cocky, one brow going up, dimple showing. “Present tense.”
I sure hoped I was on my way to having that with my new life partner. “What else do you know about Grover?”
“The last Dolly heard was from Paris, an announcement of their son Grover the Second’s birth. Expensive engraved paper, like they owned the world. No note. Not a ‘How are you?’ or a ‘Missing you’ or an inked-in ‘G.’ Dolly, she kept turning that card over to see if she’d missed something on the other side, but it wasn’t there.”
“What happened to the Photography Studio?”
“Dolly closed it after it stood empty for six months or so. Last I knew, she kept his records and a stack of old uncollected photos in her basement.”
I made notes for Nick and Alex, peeked at Paisley’s little cloak in my Kors bag, and knew that I needed to learn more from it. I would try to be smart enough this time to look at faces, which I could not—‘scuse the pun—face at this point, after such an emotionally charged day and night.
“McShadow,” I said, “I’ve had it with clothes-reading vibes for the day. I need to chill. I’ll see what the cloak has to tell me tomorrow, when I can sort today’s psychometric jaunts into individual events. Right now, I’m headed for Nick’s.”
Dante saluted, his dimple giving away his definition of the word “chill.”
At Nick’s, I checked his computer to see if there were any results from his search for an eighties kidnapping-killing in Paris, the one I asked him to run, but no results had been found.
After that, I took a shower, grabbed the overnight bag I kept there, and the next thing I knew, the sun was up and I’d slept alone.
I’d brought a fifties two-piece bustier halter top and circle skirt sundress, printed with a blend of lavender, sea foam, and saffron brushstrokes. The outfit came to life with a gamine pair of saffron Bullocks Wilshire kitten heels, topped with a froth of matching starflowers.
As I fixed my hair, I saw Nick behind me in the mirror, leaning against the jam in the open bathroom doorway. “Are you upset with me?”
“For working all night?” I asked.
“No, for calling you my life partner in front of the guys. I guess I got a little possessive.”
“Ya think? Still, I’ve had butterflies fluttering around inside since you said it. So either I like it, or I’m coming down with something.”
I turned to meet him for a welcome home kiss, then he offered me his Frappuccino. While I sipped, he yanked off his tie.
“How’s the farm?” I asked, enjoying the brew.
He didn’t seem to care that I finished it. He knew he’d lost his caffeine fix the minute he handed it over. “Make any progress after we left?”
“We were exhuming before you cleared the gate. And we got a report on the way back, this morning, that the bodies were airlifted to DC in record time yesterday, and parceled out to FBI and other government labs in the DC area. Forensics examinations have already begun. Oh, and we found more bodies than we expected.”
“So those were cadaver dogs?”
“One van carried the search and rescue K-9 unit, the other transported the cadaver dogs. Speaking of which, most interesting by far was Dogpatch, the cemetery.”
“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, sitting on the bed against the pillows, yellow shoes hanging off the edge. “Don’t be too graphic. I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.”
“Men, not dogs, and it took no special unit to identify what was left of their clothes. Remember the shape and color of the sign?” Nick returned from his walk-in closet wearing sweats.
“Sure, a red polka-dot doggie bone. I was thrown by that.”
“Go you. Not a bone, but a red polka-dot bow tie. Each man wore one with a synthetic wig—red, multi, blue, green, orange. They stood the test of time. Each had a red rubber ball nose and hugged a pair of big-ascot floppy shoes to match their wigs. Yes, Dogpatch was a clown cemetery.”
Nick started down the hall, like that was a normal sentence.
I raised myself on my elbows. “Is that a joke?”
“My superiors weren’t laughing, but the coroner from New Haven was. Scanlon swore like a trooper. The whole case will look like a mockery, he said.”
I followed Nick. “Not if you uncover a clown crime family.”
Nick snapped his fingers, kissed me hard, and took the stairs, two at a time.
I followed at a more sedate pace.
I found him at his computer, and rolled another office chair his way, so I could sit beside him. “How did the clowns die?”
“The coroners found that more than a few had been shot. Couple appeared to have died of old age, and now they’re all on their way to forensics so we’ll know.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Crimes committed by clowns, anywhere, ever.”
Thirty-four
By far the best dressing up outfit I ever had was a wonderful pair of clown dungarees, which my Granny made.
—KATE MIDDLETON
“Do a search for clowns who have fallen off the face of the earth, why don’t you? Oh, and see how many SubZero freezers fell off appliance trucks in the past few years. Mam and Pap had to have a supplier.”
Nick chuckled. “Right, I don’t guess they fell out of the sky and washed up on shore.”
“Any leads on Mam’s or Pap’s identities?”
“No, that’ll take forensics. Somebody took much more care with the clowns’ final resting places than with Mam’s and Pap’s.”
“When will we know anything definitive?”
“Scanlon got the case preferential treatment, since we found a nursery in the house, as though a recent kid-napping might have taken place, but I think ‘recent’ was pushing it.”
“At least two kidnappings that I’m certain of were involved. Paisley’s and her mother’s. I think Scanlon was right to give it priority.”
“Could be, which means we could hear anytime.”
“What about the money?”
Nick shook his head. “They took pictures of the money caskets, then packed the money in boxes and took it and the caskets with them. Once they raised the caskets to carry them upstairs empty, they found traces of serial numbers on the bottom, which might help.”
“Is the farm now abandoned?”
“No, Scanlon left a contingent of guards.”
“Are the guards going to live in the house?”
“Crime scene is secure. The guards are moving around in boats on the water surrounding the island. Feds in fishing boats, vacation boa
ts, a houseboat, nothing too nice or obvious.”
“Why have the Feds been watching the island?”
“For spies.” Nick chuckled. “They’ve watched it for years. It was hot in the thirties, then again in the eighties. When it saw no action, it was like a frat joke. Send the low man on the totem pole to boat around the island once a month, check it off on the list. It was Paisley’s escape that got them interested all over again.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I watched while Nick did some dead-end searching. “The grave behind the shack. Bepah? I mean, did the corpse have a missing finger, right hand?”
“Sorry, Ladybug, that headstone was a fake, but I put in for the leather-bound sketch pad to revert to Paisley when it’s no longer evidence. I did the same with the house.” Nick moved to another computer, and started a different search.
“You’re a good man. She’ll love the sketches. The house, I’m not so sure.
“Looks like your workday will be a long one,” I said, leaving him to it. “I’ll make you a pot of coffee before I go.”
“Thanks, somebody stole mine.”
I kissed his brow. “Then I’m gonna head for the shop. People are still buying forties clothes for Dolly’s birthday party, though she may not be there.”
“What are you going to do if she’s a no-show party night?”
“Have a party, give Paisley a chance to meet some guys,” I said on my way downstairs. I started the coffeemaker and grabbed the newspaper off the stoop. When I saw the front-page picture of military Hummers and SUVs invading Coffin Farm, I went back to Nick’s office, and dropped the paper on his keyboard.
He whistled and picked it up.
“I thought you’d blow up,” I said.
“Oh, Scanlon’s gonna scream, make a big stink, but I’m not sure it isn’t bait to bring interested parties into the open.”
“And if they didn’t plant it?” I asked.
Nick raised his chin. “Then there was a spy among us. Big news.” He answered his phone, listened, asked a few general questions, and hung up. “Here’s one for the books. The money’s counterfeit. Mam and Pap were doing the world a favor by keeping it hidden all these years.”
Didn’t see that coming.
“They must have known it,” Nick said. “They didn’t use it.”
“Where would they use it? Oh, scrap!” I said. “Paisley used it. She’s been spreading it around for months. I can’t believe nobody caught it.”
“Good thing she’s frugal,” Nick said, chuckling despite Paisley’s pickle. “I’ll get the Bureau to notify the bank and the police right away. Nobody will press charges.”
I hit speed dial for my father’s house and got Paisley. “Can you help me in the shop today? We have some things to discuss.”
“Absolutely. I love your shop, plus I think your parents would rather be alone.”
“Tell them we’ll all three be at the house tonight, so they can move back to Fiona’s. See you in a few.”
“Why did you ask for her help in the shop?” Nick asked, going for that coffee I’d made.
“I’ll get her to list where she spent money, see how much it is, and maybe I can write a few checks to cover it. She can work it off in the shop.”
“You are a good friend.”
“I’m a good life partner, too.”
Nick answered his phone again as I was about to leave, so I waited.
When he finished, he shook his head and sipped his coffee. “Mam, Pap, and the clowns have no fingerprints. Looks like their prints were burned off decades ago when they were still alive. Forensics is looking at dental work now.”
Paisley Skye, who the Hermès are you?
I answered my own phone when I saw it was Ethel. I could barely understand her at first, then she started to make sense. “I’ll be right there,” I said. “You wait right there for me.”
“Since I can’t fly, I guess I’ll wait.”
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked, looking at his ringing phone, but he didn’t answer it.
“Ethel got a call from Lawrence and Memorial Hospital. An ambulance is at the airport to meet Dolly’s plane.”
“Ethel’s name was down to be notified…in case…”
Thirty-five
Fashion anticipates, and elegance is a state of mind…a mirror of the time in which we live, a translation of the future, and should never be static.
—Oleg Cassini
Nick said he’d meet me at the hospital.
Dante said to tell Doll he’d be waiting for her. I shivered every time I thought of it. In my car, before I went for Ethel, I called Fiona to get me out of the soup. There it was, Nick’s proof that I did get myself into it, not that I’d share the realization.
“Your father and I will both go work at the shop today,” Fee said, “and we’ll take Paisley with us to help. Do you think we’ll need Mrs. Meyers?”
“Yes, only because Olga knows what’s on sale and what forties outfits will work best for Dolly’s birthday party next Saturday. Can you call her, ask her, and pick her up?”
“Has there been a break in the case?” Fiona asked before I hung up.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry for not telling you up front, I’m so freaked, but it’s Dolly. She’s on her way to Lawrence and Memorial Hospital from the airport, and Ethel is waiting for me to pick her up and take her over to meet the ambulance.”
“Dolly’s being transported by ambulance?” Aunt Fiona repeated.
“Yes, and that’s all I know. I promise I’ll get back to you and Dad as soon as I hear something more, or after I see or speak to Dolly.”
“Yes, dear, you go ahead. We’ll keep the vintage sale fires burning.”
Hopefully not, but her attempt to cheer me nearly made me smile.
I found Ethel waiting on her curb—literally balancing herself on that narrow ledge of cement, wearing her best black suit, a Chanel I’d talked her into—she who only wore housedresses. Not today. Today she was the definition of elegance, a tall, thin woman in black jersey, a bow-crossed handbag hooked around her arm, at the elbow, and black squash-heeled spectator pumps.
Definitely prepared for a funeral.
By the time I slipped from the driver’s seat to go around the car and help her in, she was sitting there, looking up at me, as if I were wasting time.
I leaned over to buckle her in, and she slapped my hand away. “I’m not five. What’s next, a sippy cup?”
Red-faced, I ran back around the Element, got in, and gunned it.
“That’s it, baby,” Ethel said. “Burn rubber.”
I gave her a double take. “This is a whole new side of you.”
“Well. I’ve wanted to send the old shrew to the moon a million times, but I’ve never worried that she’d get there without my help.” Ethel released half a sob, a sound that cut straight to my heart.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t do that,” I said. “You’re breaking me here. If a town’s rock foundation crumbles, what happens to us poor schlubs who’ve been building on that foundation our whole lives?”
I saw Ethel’s hard-won smile as she patted my hand, then the smile she’d reserved for the little girl in her lap whose mother had just passed. That caught in my throat, too, because I was that little girl. Her little girl some days.
Ethel cleared her throat, sniffed. “Dolly’s so…dear. Such a…special…pain in the ass.”
My own sob bubbled out sideways, having been crossed with a bark of laughter, so I sounded a bit like a mouthy frog with a speech impediment.
“Okay,” I said, “we gotta stop feeling sorry for ourselves. Um…I’m sleuthing. Trying to find Paisley Skye’s past, which you might not know. Help me with a few weird words, ’kay?”
Ethel straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, and agreed to help.
“Did you ever hear of anyone named Jolie?”
“Never.”
Just then I remembered the garbled adjective I’d heard a life-worn woman use in a basement nurse
ry. “Privyet,” I said. “Have you ever heard that used to describe anyone?” I felt like I said it with a French accent, but that’s how I remembered it. “Do you think it might be a form of the word ‘pretty’? Like in another language?”
“Don’t know what it means, but it sounds Russian. Dolly knows a few Russian words, and she uses them when I tick her off.”
I nearly missed a stop sign, slammed on the brakes, and about sent Ethel through the windshield.
Gucci bless seat belts.
Ethel gave me a bland look as she settled back against the passenger seat. “That was fun.”
I pulled into a gas station on the corner. “Are you all right?”
“Your seat belt hugs harder when it’s tested. Down, boy,” she told it as she tried to unbuckle herself with trembling hands.
This time she let me lean over and unbuckle her, and she wagged a finger at me. “But no sippy cup.”
I dropped her at the hospital door a short while later, got out, and sat her on a bench. “Wait for me. I have to park the car then we can go in together.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, and don’t take candy from strangers.”
Russia. Nesting dolls. A Mam and Pap who could both play piano. A cemetery of clowns. Russian performers. Circus performers?
On my way across the parking lot, I called Nick. “Baby oh baby,” I said. “Do a search for Russian clowns who defected.”
“Are you and Werner drinking Dos Equis again in the middle of the day?”
“Middle of the morning, you mean. No, long story, and I have to get Ethel into the hospital and up to Dolly’s room, wherever in the hospital that may be, so take my lead and run with it. Russian clowns.”
“Thanks, baby oh baby. Be there soon as I can.”
I could still hear the smile in his words as I slipped my phone in my pocket. Ethel stood to meet me. “You just can’t go ten minutes without talking to that man, can you?”
“Who, Werner?”
Cloaked in Malice Page 17
