On his first visit, Reinhardt arrived in official capacity, with a list of questions, including the very ones she’d been dreading. What did she know about the disappearance of the inflatable motorboat they’d found in the boathouse? More significantly, what had happened to the key to that boat, which he’d left in her charge?
She gave the answers she’d rehearsed, praying that they sounded convincing. About the boat, she explained, “I have no idea what happened to it.” And, in a way, this was true. Of the key, she told him she’d put it in her make-shift knapsack before leaving the stable. “Later,” she lied, “I noticed the knapsack was gone. I’m not sure, but I think Chazz might have grabbed it when I was trying to get away from him.”
At that, Reinhardt’s eyes brightened, as if she’d just imparted an important piece of information. “You know, that does explain a great deal,” he said. “It’s entirely possible that our missing suspects escaped in that boat.”
She knew, of course, they had done no such thing, but she said nothing to Reinhardt.
Between Reinhardt’s visits, Nicole continued to work on the McGievers’ yard. When that was finished, she had some money left, so she replaced the charred rose bushes in the Lowrys’ front yard. If anyone had asked, she couldn’t have explained why she was doing this. Whatever the reason, it gave her a sense of closure.
Even then, she still had more than £100 left over. She changed it into £5 notes and took a last ride on the tube, handing it out, two or three bills at a time, to panhandlers and street musicians.
Her destination was the Knightsbridge Station. There, she got off and headed into Harrods for a stroll through the hat department. To her disappointment, the stock had completely changed since her last visit. In place of the wide-brimmed, flowered hats, the display tables were filled with exaggerated stovepipes, squashed flowerpots, and bullet-shaped helmets. All were made of a heavy felt that seemed to suggest summer was over, although July had yet to begin.
When a salesgirl approached and asked if she needed help, Nicole’s eyes inexplicably filled with tears. Unable to speak, she dashed out of the store and down into the tube. At the bottom of the long escalator, she blindly dumped the remaining bills into the open cello case of an old man sawing out a weary rendition of Ravel’s Bolero.
On her last day in Chiswick, Nicole was able to pack her things in her one remaining bag. Memory of that long-lost bag brought back the moment when she noticed it was gone, that first sharp stab of loss. She still had no idea if its disappearance had been a random mishap or the starting point, the moment when Frederick Lowry’s vanishing act took possession of her life.
Since then, of course, she’d lost countless other belongings, as if shedding bits of herself all over Britain. There had been the wonderful rose-trimmed hat, which had disappeared during her scuffle in the National Gallery. Gone, too, was her purse, her cell phone, the butter-soft leather suitcase she’d bought in Glasgow, and the lovely clothes inside. She’d even lost the things she was wearing when Chazz and Kevin snatched her from the hotel room.
There were high-ticket items, as well, such as her marriage. Nicole knew their relationship had been in trouble before she and Brad arrived in London, but these last few weeks had sent it well beyond hope. Perhaps even more than the end of her marriage, she grieved the end of—What was it? Her innocence?—which had vanished when she brought the bludgeon down on Kevin’s head.
She gave the house a final check before she brought her suitcase downstairs. The entry hall still reeked of fresh paint. She set the bag down by the hall table, where the Lowrys’ mail was stacked in two neat piles. Although it was doubtful anyone would ever claim it, she’d saved everything, even a few soot-smudged envelopes that had survived the car bombing.
At the sound of a key in the lock, Nicole looked up. The door opened, and Brad was standing there.
She stared at him. “Damn it, Brad. We both agreed not to make a big deal about my leaving. No goodbyes, remember?”
He shrugged. “I told them you were going home today. And, well, they gave me the morning off. Look, Nick, I was a fool. I made some pretty terrible mistakes, and you have a right to be angry. But you’ve got to let me make it up to you.” He gave her a pleading look. “I love you.”
Without answering, Nicole turned away and picked up her bag. She’d explained at least a dozen times, as clearly as she knew how, that the marriage was dead. As for his professed feelings for her—she knew it wasn’t love, but a fondness for the comfort and order she brought to his life.
Brad reached for her suitcase, and they struggled over it until he pulled it out of her hands. “At least you could let me take you to the airport,” he said.
“I told you. I have a ride.”
Brad refused to be discouraged, following her out the front door, down the stairs, and along the path. From here, Nicole could see the new hedge that now separated the Lowrys’ yard from the next. She stopped a moment to admire the red and white blossoms on the bushes in the front garden. Then, leaving Brad by the front gate, she continued along the sidewalk until she had a good view of the McGievers’ yard, now brightened by the flowers and the square of perfect, velvety turf.
Somehow this activity had restored her soul. It seemed strange that a task as mundane as gardening could become a holy mission, yet, as she packed dirt around the roots of the new shrubs, it had felt as if she were setting the world back in orbit after finding it seriously off course.
After a long look, she returned to the Lowrys’ front gate, where Brad still waited with her suitcase. Nicole glanced at her watch. It was 12:03, and her ride was late. She felt a sudden flutter of anxiety. What if he’d been called away at the last minute? Just then, a black sports car appeared around the corner and rolled up to the curb. Reinhardt got out and walked around to take her suitcase from Brad, who handed it over without a fuss. With a nod in Brad’s direction, Reinhardt opened the door for Nicole and put the bag in the trunk. Until they turned the corner, she could see Brad in her rear-view mirror, staring glumly after them.
Reinhardt drove expertly, weaving in and out of the narrow streets along an unfamiliar back route. At first they passed houses much like the Lowrys’. After a few blocks, they turned in another direction, entering a business district where modern crackerboxes alternated with ornate brick Victorians and more austere Regency graystones.
They turned onto a block packed with tantalizing boutiques, as well as several large bookstores. Shoppers strolled up and down, looking in windows, while others queued for lunch at a packed wine bar. “What a wonderful street!” she exclaimed. “Will you bring me here when I come back?”
“Done,” Reinhardt said. He looked up from the road and smiled, releasing the gearshift to caress her right knee. She placed her hand on his and gave it a squeeze.
They zipped past a great green park ringed with a black wrought-iron fence featuring a gilded motif of lions and thistles. Next, they made their way through a dizzying labyrinth of roundabouts. Cars sped by, jockeying for position according to a rule of the road that everyone but Nicole seemed to understand. Then they were on the main motorway bound for Heathrow.
They passed the same bleak-looking brick high rises Nicole had seen on the ride in. She recalled the way she’d felt that morning, debilitated from the long flight and feverish with anticipation. That ride, less than three weeks before, seemed a lifetime ago.
Despite all she’d been through, she felt restored. Except for the flashbacks, she was almost herself again, ready to put her life back together. She could barely remember the Nicole who had embarked on this trip, the innocent who’d sat up late at night, composing a list of all the sites she was going to visit: museums, historic monuments, theaters, restaurants, shops. She’d done almost none of it.
But she would be back once the dust settled. This was something she’d promised herself. Oh, yes, she would be back.
About the Author
The Swap is Nancy Boyarsky’s debut novel and th
e first of the Nicole Graves Mystery series. Her second novel in the series, The Bequest, is scheduled for release Summer 2017.
Nancy has been a writer and editor for her entire working career. She coauthored Backroom Politics, a New York Times notable book, with her husband Bill Boyarsky. She has written several textbooks on the justice system as well as written articles for publications such as the Los Angeles Times, Forbes, and McCall’s. She also contributed to political anthologies, including In the Running, about women’s political campaigns, and The Challenge of California by the late Eugene Lee. In addition to her writing career, she was communications director for political affairs for ARCO.
Nancy is a graduate of U.C. Berkeley with a major in English literature. She lives in Los Angeles. Readers can connect with her online at her website nancyboyarsky.com.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my family, especially my husband Bill, for their continuing support for this project. I also thank the many friends who helped and encouraged me along the way, most especially my sister Susan Scott, brother-in-law Jeff Boyarsky, Cathy Watkins, Claudia Luther, Joyce Brownfield, Keri Pearson, Chuck Rosenberg, Layne Staral, Sid Spies, Ed Wright, Larry Pryor, Nadine Leveille, Carol Finizza, and Tony Finizza.
Nicole Graves Mysteries
by nancy boyarsky
The Swap
Book 1
The Bequest
Book 2
(Summer 2017)
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