Alice went out the back door to inspect the lock from the outside. Then she walked through the house, and Nicole heard her open and shut the front door. When she reappeared, she said, “It doesn’t look like anyone has tampered with the locks. You know, Freddy keeps this place secured like a fortress. You’re sure you locked up?”
Nicole remembered coming back from the store and finding the back door unlocked but decided not to mention it. “I double-checked the doors before I went upstairs,” she said. “That guy had me spooked.”
“Then someone else has the keys. You’re absolutely certain it wasn’t your husband?”
“I told you,” Nicole said, beginning to lose patience. “He’s at the office.”
“He could have popped back for something he needed.”
“He never does that. I don’t even think he took the key. Once he gets involved at work…”
Alice appeared deep in thought, leaning against the refrigerator and staring into the distance. “You know,” she said. “There are three possibilities: It could have been your husband, but you’re certain it wasn’t. It could have been a burglar, perhaps that chap who came ‘round asking for Freddy. But I’m thinking—maybe it was Freddy himself.”
“Freddy?” Nicole repeated.
Alice nodded. “Frederick H. Lowry.” The way she said this made it clear she didn’t think much of him. “What if he forgot something important and came back for it?”
The conversation was beginning to make Nicole dizzy. “But they’ve left the country,” she said.
“Oh, they told me about their trip to the States,” Alice said.
Nicole stared at her. “But you think he’s still here?”
“No, I suppose not,” Alice said slowly. “It’s only...” Another pause. “You can’t ever tell with Freddy.” Then to Nicole’s puzzled look, she added, “What he’s up to, if you get my meaning.”
Before she could ask Alice to explain, Nicole found herself being ushered to the kitchen phone.
“While the tea is brewing,” Alice was saying, “we might as well put in a call to the police.”
Alice dialed the number. Nicole described the incident to a man at the other end of the line. He promised to send a constable as soon as possible.
By the time they sat down and Alice poured the tea, it was as black as coffee. This seemed to suit her. “Gorgeous,” she said, as she took the first sip. There was also a dish of chocolate-coated wheat-meal biscuits, which Alice had put on the table at the last moment.
Even after Nicole added milk and sugar, the tea was so strong that she could only take small sips. As they sat in companionable silence, drinking tea and munching chocolate biscuits, she studied Alice and was struck, once again, by how much she liked her. There was something profoundly comforting about the woman. Just being in the room with her made Nicole feel calm and safe.
Soon they were rehashing the break-in. When Nicole described Reinhardt, Alice was sure she’d never seen anyone like him visit the Lowrys. “They have very few visitors,” Alice said, “and no social life to speak of.” When she heard about the arsenal of pills Nicole had found, Alice said, “Really?” without a bit of interest.
“You don’t understand,” Nicole said. “There were at least several dozen bottles filled with pills: red ones, blue ones, rainbow assortments—none of them labeled.”
She waited for a response, but there was none.
“I mean,” Nicole continued, “that’s a lot of pills, and if she got them from a pharmacy—you know, a chemist—they’d be labeled, wouldn’t they?” Just thinking about it made her feel anxious. She had a sudden vision of the Lowrys shuttling her new Volvo between the pawnshops in Santa Monica and the seamier part of Venice, swapping components of her home entertainment center for the latest in pharmaceutical highs.
“Now that I think about it,” Alice finally said, “Muriel does have allergy problems. She’s always dosing herself with one thing or another. But I never saw her acting strange, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She was quiet again and seemed to be considering this. Then she added, “On the other hand, I’ve never spent much time with her. Or Freddy. To tell you the truth, I prefer not to know much about them.”
Nicole gave her a puzzled look. There was nothing she didn’t want to know about the people she met, including Alice.
“Let me put it this way,” Alice went on. “Some folk you prefer not to get pally with—especially when you share living quarters.” Her tone was dismissive. “Besides, I’m away a great deal for my work. It isn’t as if I have the opportunity.”
“Mrs. Lowry said you’re a nurse.”
“Home nurse,” Alice said. “Terminal cases. I take over in the last phase. See the family through, lay the body out and all.”
Nicole stared at her, trying to take this in. It was hard to imagine someone as wholesome as Alice laying out a corpse. She swallowed hard and groped for something to say. “I’ll bet that’s a very good field,” she murmured.
Alice nodded in agreement. “That it is. Given a choice, most folks would choose to die at home, close to their own people, the things they love. So I’m doing them a good turn, the way I see it. The money’s grand, and I’m never starved for work.” She yawned and stood up. “Sorry. Finished up a case last night. Didn’t get much sleep. If you’re all right then, Nicole, I’ll just pop back upstairs for a wee lie-down.”
On her way out of the room, Alice stopped and glanced back. “Oh, by the way—I may have a few days before my next case. You said your husband would be tied up with his work. Maybe you’ll let me show you ‘round.”
Four
After Alice went upstairs, Nicole remained seated at the table. She thought of that moment at Heathrow when she’d first noticed her suitcase was gone. In retrospect, this first glimmering of dislocation seemed like an omen—if she’d known enough to recognize it—that this trip might be a mistake.
She glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation. It hardly seemed possible she’d been here less than nine hours. The thought of the Lowrys—and the fact that they’d soon be in L.A.—set off a new wave of anxiety. Hearing Alice’s opinion of Freddy had altered Nicole’s view of him and his family. They were no longer the respectable Brits who could be trusted with her property. My God! What was I thinking?
She tried to summon back the terms of the agreement they’d signed, whether it was possible to change her mind and toss the Lowrys out once they established themselves in the condo. She hoped the papers were upstairs in her remaining suitcase, but she made no move to go up and see. No matter how unreliable the Lowrys were, she wasn’t about to give up her plans for the summer. If she let this opportunity escape, it would be gone forever.
At that moment, a clattering sound brought her to her feet. She rushed to the front door and looked out, but no one was there. She walked from room to room through the lower floor, but the house was silent and benign. Still uneasy, she made a second tour, inspecting windows and doors to make sure they were locked.
Outside, daylight had faded and early evening threatened rain. The house was quiet, and she decided the noise had been the building settling as the temperature dropped. Her nerves were shot; that was the trouble. It might be a while before the police arrived, and she was too jittery to wait down here alone.
As she tiptoed up to the second floor, she was aware of the creaking stairs and the fact that this was the same noise she’d heard while she was locked in the bathroom.
In the Lowrys’ room, she felt better knowing that Alice was asleep just down the hall. Even so, her hands shook as she peeled off the green knit and dressed again, this time starting with the bra and panties she’d omitted in her earlier haste. As she was brushing her hair, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. The door to the closet that held the safe was slightly ajar. She was certain she’d closed it.
For a moment she debated whether to go down the hall and wake Alice from her nap. She told herself she was being silly, bu
t her heart thumped as she walked to the closet and gave the door a pull. As it swung toward her, she saw that the door of the safe was open. Now she understood what the intruder had been up to.
She squeezed into the space in front of the safe and bent down to have a look. The main compartment held a medium-sized cardboard carton. On one of the shelves, a short stack of envelopes was secured with a rubber band. She pulled the carton out, unfolded the flaps, and peered in. It was filled with blue felt packets, the sort used for storing silverware. She untied the ribbon on one packet and unrolled it. Sure enough, it held a place setting of silver: a table knife, a butter knife, two forks (salad and main course), and two spoons (tea and soup).
The pieces were old and tarnished, but she could tell from their weight they were solid silver. The pattern was quite beautiful: a lush mosaic of flowers covered the entire handle. She rolled the felt up again and retied the ribbon. Then she opened a few others. More silver.
Judging by the size of the box, there were at least a dozen place settings, perhaps more. Silverware like this had to be worth several thousand dollars, and it struck her as odd that the intruder hadn’t taken it.
She shoved the carton back then undid the rubber band on the stack of envelopes. The top one contained the deed to the house. It was in the names of Frederick H. and Muriel B. Lowry, dated a little over a year ago. It seemed a short time for the house to have such a settled look. She wondered if they’d bought the place furnished or had rented it first and lived here a while before buying it.
In the other envelopes were registration papers for the car and last year’s Inland Revenue statement for Frederick Lowry. His occupation was listed as “financial consultant, self-employed.” He’d paid £2,900 taxes on a reported income last year of £14,000. She did a quick calculation. Translated into US currency, that was less than $24,000 — hardly enough to maintain a decent-size house in a good area of London. And they had a lot of rather nice furniture, including antiques, the set of sterling, and a number of original paintings. Well, she thought, there might be family money. Maybe Muriel Lowry had come with a dowry. Still, if they had additional income, wouldn’t it appear on the tax form as earned interest or dividends?
It struck her that there should have been more documents, if these were the family’s most essential records, worth keeping in a safe. Where, for example, were the Lowrys’ insurance policies or their bank and investment records? Granted, she and Brad kept such things in a safe deposit box, but they didn’t have a heavy-duty safe in their bedroom.
Taking a second look at the tax form, she wondered what a self-employed financial consultant actually did. It could be anything from managing investment portfolios to laundering money. She made a mental note to ask Alice. Surely she’d know that much.
She put the envelopes back in the safe and straightened up. As she squeezed her way out of the closet, she heard a loud click and realized—too late—that the door to the safe had swung shut. She rushed back and tugged at the knob. It was locked, and no amount of pulling would persuade it to open.
At least she knew what was inside. All she had to do was call the Lowrys and describe what she’d seen. They’d be able to tell her if anything was missing.
She placed another call, got the same recording, and left a message describing the break-in. “I don’t think anything was stolen,” she said. “But I won’t know for sure until I speak to you. It’s urgent that you call me right away.”
She’d just hung up when she heard more knocking downstairs. This time the sound persisted, swelling to an insistent crescendo. As she hurried down, a cool rush of relief swept over her. This had to be the police. Here, at last, was someone who’d help her make sense of what had happened.
Instead of a policeman, she found Brad and Brenda waiting on the porch. Seeing them, Nicole felt a flurry of anxiety. It was as if something had disrupted a bees’ nest in her stomach, and the insects—smaller and more excitable than the ones back home—were buzzing around in there.
“My God, Nicole,” Brad said. “I’ve been half crazy. Where the hell have you been?”
“Oh, I’ve been right here.” Even to her own ears, Nicole’s voice sounded high and strained. Gazing at Brad and Brenda, she had a sudden revelation. It was as if she knew exactly what they were thinking. Perhaps it was Brenda’s expression—that look of composed innocence—and the fact that it was identical to Brad’s. Nicole could see that they were dissembling, pretending not to be in collusion against her. It wasn’t only their faces, but something about the way they stood apart, leaning in opposite directions. Brenda (her tiny purse slung from one shoulder) had her arms folded across her midsection, as if to protect herself from a quick punch. Brad was holding his laptop in front of him, at crotch level.
As Nicole regarded them, her stomach gave another flutter. Something had happened between them, something irrevocable.
The seconds ticked away, with no one venturing to speak. Finally Nicole glanced at her watch. “You’re late,” she said. “What happened?”
Brad shot a quick look at Brenda. “I — uh — I’m really sorry. We got tied up. I kept trying to call you, only nobody answered. I think maybe I wrote down the wrong number.”
While he talked, Brenda was blinking and fluttering her thick, dark eyelashes. She was dressed in a white silk suit that seemed more appropriate for dinner in Beverly Hills than a day at the office. The skirt was short and tight, and she wore no blouse under the jacket. Apart from her great cleavage, she was flat and elongated —like a teenager after a sudden growth spurt. With her widow’s peak, shaggy lashes and Cupid’s bow mouth, Brenda had the sort of face illustrators put on flowers in children’s books. While it was pretty in its own way, it didn’t quite work on a real person.
The odd thing was that everyone else seemed to think Brenda was beautiful. After meeting her, Nicole’s sister had asked Nicole how she felt about Brad working with such a stunning woman.
Nicole had been incredulous. “Stunning?” she’d said. “Brenda?”
“You don’t think so?” Stephanie had said. “Ask Brad what he thinks.”
It wasn’t in Nicole to do that. Instead, she kept an eye on Brad and realized Stephanie was right. Brad behaved differently when his assistant was around. Brenda had his complete attention. Even when he was speaking to Nicole, his eyes sought out Brenda as the audience.
Despite this, Brenda’s personality, which was both bland and coy, allowed Nicole to dismiss her as a threat—that and the fact that, as Brenda’s boss, Brad knew her limitations. He was always complaining to Nicole about Brenda’s screwups, mistakes she made at the office because (in his words) she was too “sloppy” and “distracted,” “immature” and “guy-crazy” to focus on work. Nicole thought it a wonder that he didn’t fire her or, at the least, put her on probation. His putting up with her seemed to prove what a good person he was. Now, however, Nicole understood how completely she’d misread the situation.
“We sat down with the Brits and went into the whole morale thing,” Brad was saying. “They got pretty steamed up, and I had to do some major negotiating. I’m really sorry we kept you waiting.” As he talked, he kept looking around. “Is something burning?”
“Not anymore,” Nicole said. It was an effort to keep her voice calm. While you were out there screwing Brenda, I came within a hair of being raped and murdered.
She took a deep breath. “I guess I’d better explain,” she said evenly. “You did have the right number, Brad. I heard my cell and the Lowrys’ phone ringing. Only I couldn’t answer because someone had broken into the house and locked me in the bathroom.”
Brenda gasped and said, “Oh, Nicole,” in a strangled whisper. “How awful.”
“Locked you in the bathroom,” Brad repeated. “My God, Nick. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Perfectly fine.” And she went on to calmly describe her conversation with Reinhardt, the break-in, and, finally, Alice’s arrival. As she neared th
e end of her story, she said, “We called the police. They said they’d send someone right out.”
Brad stared at her for a long moment. Then her words seemed to sink in, and a look of panic crossed his face. “Wait a minute! What about our passports? The cash?” By now he was halfway up the stairs.
“It’s fine. I checked,” Nicole called after him. “Nothing’s missing.”
He turned and looked down at her, his face troubled. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would someone bother to break in, lock you in the bathroom, and then leave without taking anything?”
“Maybe he did take something,” she said. “After he left, the safe was open, and it was locked when we got here. We won’t find out what’s missing until I get in touch with the Lowrys.”
By now, Brenda had disappeared into the living room. Nicole imagined her wandering around, looking at the pictures, running her hand across the backs of the damask-covered sofa and chairs.
She reappeared just as Brad reached the bottom of the stairs. “I hope I’m not butting in,” Brenda said. “I mean, I wonder if I could make just one teeny little observation.” Her voice was high and soft, like a little girl’s, and she had a way of pausing between sentences. “Look, Nicole—isn’t it possible you accidentally locked yourself in?” She stopped and cocked her head. “I mean, people are always doing that in strange houses.” She smiled, “I’ve done it myself.”
“Yeah,” Brad agreed. He nodded his head, and his scowl relaxed. “That makes a lot of sense. The door stuck, and you sort of panicked. Hey, it’s nothing to feel bad about. It could happen to anyone. You’re jet lagged, alone in an unfamiliar house…”
“Listen—I know what happened,” Nicole said. “Someone was in the house. He locked me in the bathroom. I wasn’t imagining things, and I’m not hysterical.” But her voice had gone all shaky again. And she did feel slightly hysterical, as if she were about to cry.
“It’s all right, Nick. Just take it easy.” As Brad said this, he reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Nicole sensed Brenda’s eyes on them and felt a surge of resentment. If Brenda weren’t here, Brad would have taken her in his arms to comfort her. He wouldn’t be doubting her like this.
The Swap Page 4
