by Barbara Paul
“Condo?” said Dorrie. “What new condo?”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Good lord—how did you know about that?”
“Bernstein,” Malcolm muttered.
“You had me investigated too?” Simon’s half-smile didn’t waver. “I must say, Uncle Vincent, you have been thorough.”
Dorrie asked, “What new condo, Simon?”
Her husband sighed. “I was keeping it as a surprise, darling, but Uncle Vincent has managed to spoil that too. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Tell her any time you like,” Uncle Vincent snapped, “but tell her somewhere else. I want you all out of my house. Right now. Go on—get out!”
“Gladly,” Lionel muttered.
“I’m staying here tonight,” Gretchen announced. Lionel didn’t try to talk her out of it.
There was a sudden exodus; Gretchen ran up the stairs to her old room and Lionel yelled, “Barney!” When the manservant failed to appear, Lionel opened the hall closet, half expecting to find the man passed out on the floor. Nothing out of the ordinary, however; Lionel took out Dorrie’s jacket. “Nicole?”
“I didn’t wear a wrap. Let’s get the hell out of here.” They got the hell out of there.
In the library, Uncle Vincent picked up Godfrey Daniel and caressed him. “Nice kitty,” he said. “You don’t want my blood, do you, Godfrey?”
Godfrey scratched him.
3
They went into the first bar they came to that wasn’t blasting music out at them; they had some serious talking to do.
And some serious drinking. Lionel Knox, Nicole Lattimer, and the Murdochs all startled the waitress by asking for two drinks each; Malcolm Conner ordered a fish sandwich and a beer. “I didn’t have dinner,” he explained.
When Malcolm had finished half his sandwich and the other four had one drink under their belts and were working on the second, Lionel said, “I sure came out the villain tonight.” He laughed shortly. “Whew! I had no idea the old boy hated me that much.”
“Oh, I suspect he hates everyone indiscriminately, Lionel,” Simon drawled. “You just make a convenient scapegoat.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Nicole agreed. “That bastard. He wants Ellandy’s for himself, no matter how much he denies it. You were just the excuse.”
Lionel scowled. “Still, he made me out to be some sort of Bluebeard—marrying women for their money and then talking other women into putting money into my business. Dorrie,” he asked worriedly, “you didn’t believe that stuff, did you?”
“Of course not,” Dorrie reassured him. “You were honest with me about the flower shops, and I did some checking on my own. I don’t regret the partnership one little bit, Lionel. Look how much Ellandy’s has grown in just the past six months! No one could have known Uncle Vincent would drop a bomb on us.”
Nicole lifted her glass. “To our enemies,” she said. “May they all have Uncle Vincents in their lives.”
Simon signaled for a third round. “I’m still hungry,” Malcolm said, and ordered a sausage sandwich and another beer.
“That mean-spirited old man!” Dorrie raged suddenly. “I could kill him! I could just kill him!”
“Now, Dorrie,” Simon said mildly. “Don’t get angry, darling. We’ve all got to keep cool heads.”
“How unbelievably naïve I was!” she raged on unhearing. “Thinking he would actually give us all that money! My head must have stopped working.”
“It wasn’t all that unreasonable an assumption,” Malcolm pronounced around bites of his sandwich. “It would have been a good way to assure Gretchen’s future—by helping Lionel. We didn’t know he was having Lionel investigated.”
“And me,” Simon said dryly. “I wonder what he hoped to find?”
“Yes, that is odd, isn’t it?” Nicole said. “I could see why he might have Dorrie investigated—the other partner. But Simon?”
“For all we know, he might have had me investigated too,” Dorrie said indignantly. “Who does he think he is, going around investigating people?”
“So what are we going to do?” Lionel worried. “Any suggestions?”
Malcolm wiped his mouth and said, “The first thing to do is try to talk Uncle Vincent into accepting a partial payment. Oh, I know, he said payment in full. But we have two weeks to try to get him to change his mind. I blame myself for your predicament, you know. I should never have allowed you to sign a promissory note calling for one lump sum repayment, plus interest. Uncle Vincent did give you a break on the interest, but that’s supposed to be the advantage of family loans, isn’t it? Nevertheless, loans for such large amounts usually require a staggered payment schedule and I should have insisted on it. But all that’s water under the bridge. The problem lies in devising an appropriate strategy for getting Uncle Vincent to accept a partial payment. Here we must be very careful, for there are all sorts of undercurrents at work that—”
“You are going to get to the point, aren’t you?” Simon interrupted. “Sometime before the bar closes?”
“Allow me to finish,” Malcolm said without taking offense. “The question is, who is to beard the lion in his den? Not you, Lionel, for obvious reasons. You wouldn’t get in the front door. I’m fairly certain we can’t count on any help from Gretchen now. I could do it, but I made a mistake tonight and called Uncle Vincent a malicious old man. I don’t think he’s going to forget that in a hurry. Nicole, you’re out for the same reason—you spoke to him rather harshly yourself, you know. I suppose Simon could approach him, as a semi-outsider with a vicarious interest to protect. But since he had you investigated too, Simon, that would indicate he looks upon you with a suspicious eye and might not—”
“Malcolm,” Lionel said impatiently. “The point?”
“The point is that Dorrie is about the only one Uncle Vincent didn’t come down hard on tonight. She’s the logical one to ask him to accept a partial payment.”
“Okay,” Lionel summarized, “Plan A is that Dorrie tries to talk Uncle Vincent into changing his mind. We can make a sizable partial payment—I’ve set money aside for that. Now listen to Plan B. We strip our inventory to pay back the loan in full and then go out of business. Dorrie—what do you think?”
“I think it stinks,” she said.
Simon asked, “Isn’t there any way you can repay the loan and stay open? Even if it means operating on a minimal basis?”
Lionel ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know—I don’t think so. We’re running pretty close to the line. It’ll depend on the exact market value of the stones we have in the vault right now. I’ll have to check the inventory. In fact, I think I’ll go in and get started. I’m sure as hell not going to get any sleep tonight.”
“We need a Plan C,” Nicole said.
“Darling,” Dorrie said to her husband. “I just remembered—what’s this condominium Uncle Vincent said you were buying?”
“Ah yes, the condo,” Simon sighed. “My anniversary present to you, prematurely revealed—thanks to Uncle Vincent.”
“How sweet! Tell me about it.”
“Six units, now under construction, overlooking the shore. I thought we would keep one and sell the others. It’s investment property as well as a weekend retreat for us. It’s in a magnificent location, darling—we’ll drive down and take a look this weekend. When it’s completed you’ll be able to stand on the balcony and watch the breakers.”
“Because you know I love the ocean!” Dorrie beamed. “How thoughtful of you. I can’t wait to see it! You are a darling, Simon.” The Murdochs exchanged a smiling kiss.
Lionel stirred restlessly. “If you two can stop playing Jonathan and Jennifer Hart long enough to pay attention, we’ve got some decisions to make here.”
“I have a Plan C,” Nicole announced. “How do you folks feel about theft?”
“Rob a bank?” Malcolm looked amused. “Be serious, Nicole.”
“I’m not talking about banks. That promissory note Lionel and
Dorrie had to sign—how many copies are there?”
“Just the two. Ellandy’s and Uncle Vincent’s.”
“Well, Ellandy’s copy is no problem.” She paused, letting it sink in.
Malcolm was horrified. “Steal the promissory note? You’re out of your mind!”
“Not practical, Nicole,” Simon objected. “Gretchen knows about it, for one thing.”
“Her word against ours.”
“There might be a third copy you don’t know about. With Uncle Vincent’s attorney, say.”
Lionel said, “If there is, it’s unsigned. We signed only two copies.”
Simon’s characteristic half-smile was in place. “And what modus operandi have you decided on, may I ask?”
“I hadn’t got that far,” Nicole admitted.
Dorrie giggled. “Maybe we could bribe Barney to steal it for us.”
Lionel grinned. “If you can catch him when he’s sober.” At Nicole’s surprised look, he said, “He was drunk as a lord tonight. Didn’t you notice?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, he’s pretty good at hiding it,” Lionel shrugged. “His walk gives him away, sometimes.”
“Scratch Plan C,” Malcolm said emphatically. “I can’t believe you four are seriously considering stealing a legal document from its lawful owner!”
“We’re not,” Lionel smiled tiredly. “Relax, Malcolm. It was just a nice thought. I’m going to go on in now and start checking the inventory. Uh, I could use some help.”
“I’ll help,” said Nicole. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight either.”
“Darling, would you mind terribly if I went with them?” Dorrie asked Simon. “The sooner we know exactly where we stand …”
“Of course, dear. Do you want to take the car or—”
“I’ll drive her home,” Lionel said. “I’ll drive them both home.” He grinned. “That way nobody can leave before I’m ready to quit.”
They all needed to use the restrooms before they left. In the ladies’ room, Dorrie took advantage of their moment alone to ask Nicole about something that had been bothering her. She patted her Honey Ash Number Seventeen curls into place and overcasually inquired of the other woman whether everything was all right between her and Malcolm.
“Yes, why do you—oh. You’re thinking of Uncle Vincent’s little revelation tonight? Dorrie, that silly fling with Lionel was over long before I moved in with Malcolm. It has nothing to do with Malcolm and me.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Dorrie cried with obvious relief. “Nicole, I was so worried that … well, I’m truly glad it was nothing important. I think it would kill Malcolm if he lost you.”
“No danger of that,” Nicole smiled. “And I’m sorry you were worried, Dorrie. Uncle Vincent really is a bastard, isn’t he? Totally indifferent to how much anguish he causes.”
Dorrie was frowning. “I just thought of something. Isn’t working with Lionel every day a little, well, awkward for you? I mean, since you once …”
“As a matter of fact, we’re more comfortable together now than we were before it happened. Because it’s over and done with. We no longer have to worry about the possibility of its happening, you see?”
“I think so,” Dorrie said dubiously. “Well, if you’ve got it all worked out and Malcolm doesn’t mind your seeing Lionel all the time, I guess everything’s okay.”
“Malcolm is in no position to mind,” Nicole said slyly, “since he is guilty of a … a similar indiscretion, shall we say? With Gretchen, believe it or not.”
“Gretchen!” Dorrie’s mouth fell open. “My brother … and Gretchen Knox?”
Nicole laughed. “A strange combination, isn’t it?”
“And I always thought Malcolm had such good taste!” Dorrie flared.
“Ha—I like that way of looking at it. An affair with Gretchen Knox equals a lapse in taste. But don’t get angry, Dorrie. That too was over long before Malcolm and I moved in together.”
“Damn it!” Dorrie cried furiously. “First you and Lionel and then Malcolm and Gretchen and now Gretchen is after Simon! Every time she sees him, she’s all over him! Damn it all anyway! Everybody’s having affairs except me!”
“Well, consider yourself lucky,” Nicole said soothingly, not certain whether Dorrie meant it or not. “And you know perfectly well that Simon is not having an affair. Especially not with Gretchen—I don’t think he even likes her much.”
“Since when did that ever get in the way of sex?” Dorrie cried. Suddenly all the anger drained out of her. “Oh, you’re right. I don’t really suspect Simon—I’ve no reason to. Not Simon. I was just letting off steam.”
Nicole looked at her curiously. “Dorrie, you get mad faster and cool down faster than anyone else I know. I think we’ve had enough true confessions for one evening. Come on—let’s go count diamonds.”
They rejoined the men. The two women left with Lionel for Ellandy’s while Simon and Malcolm drove away in their own cars, the latter wondering why his sister had been glaring at him so darkly as she left.
Ellandy Jewels took up a great deal of expensive ground floor space in a new building in an old neighborhood. The neighborhood was considered quaint by the upscale segment of the population and was undergoing an extensive renovation process; chic and expensive new shops were sprouting like mushrooms. As an “in” location, it couldn’t be better—although long-time neighborhood residents were less than delighted by the invasion. Already graffiti along the lines of “Yuppie Go Home” had begun to appear.
Ellandy’s two owners and Nicole Lattimer had checked in with the nightwatchman. Now the vault door in Ellandy Jewels stood open as three nervous people tried to figure out whether they were going out of business or not. Dorrie was studying a printout sheet. “According to the list,” she said, “drawer E-3 is supposed to hold a hundred twenty-five stones. I count a hundred twenty-three.”
“Let me,” said Nicole. Quickly her forefinger flicked each emerald aside as she counted. “One twenty-one.”
“Lionel,” both women said.
Lionel counted. “I get one twenty-two.” The three exchanged a bleak look. “I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” Lionel said. “We’re so jumpy we keep making mistakes. We’ve been here over an hour and we haven’t really accomplished anything—let’s pack it in.”
Dorrie nodded but Nicole said, “It’s not going to be any easier tomorrow.”
“It might. After we get a little sleep.”
“Can you sleep? I don’t think I can.”
“I know how you feel,” Dorrie said. “I’m too keyed up just to lie down and close my eyes.”
“Let’s try again,” Nicole urged.
They counted the stones in drawer E-3 one more time, separating the emeralds into groups of ten and double-checking. The final count was one twenty-four. “One short,” said Dorrie.
The fate of Ellandy Jewels would not be determined by one missing emerald; but it was the sort of inconsistency that would have to be tracked down through the computer records—a chore none of them was up to at the moment. “Let’s go on,” said Nicole.
Two drawers later, Dorrie announced, “I think I’ve got a Plan D.” She immediately had the attention of the other two. “Suppose we hired whatsisname, Bernstein, or some other detective. To investigate Uncle Vincent. A man doesn’t get that rich without leaving lots of dirty footprints behind him. Suppose our detective was able to turn up something Uncle Vincent would rather not have known—”
Lionel was already laughing. “Blackmail him?”
“Well, yes, I guess that’s what I mean—”
“Oh, Dorrie, be realistic!” Lionel said. “Don’t you think if Uncle Vincent left any discoverable dirt behind him, someone would have had his claws into the Farwell fortune long before this?”
“How do you know someone hasn’t?” Dorrie said stubbornly. “Someone could have been blackmailing him for years and we wouldn’t know about it.”
Lione
l shook his head. “That old fox has covered his trail, you can be sure of it. Nobody gets the better of Uncle Vincent.”
“Oh, Lionel—don’t say that!” Nicole protested. “Actually, it’s not a bad idea at all. Shouldn’t we at least try it? It seems to me we ought to try everything we can think of—and I mean everything.”
Eventually Lionel agreed that it couldn’t hurt to hire a private detective. “I don’t know what he can find out in only two weeks—but okay, I’ll take care of it tomorrow. And Dorrie, you’re still going to try to persuade Uncle Vincent to take a partial payment?”
“I’ll try,” she sighed. “But I don’t think it’ll do any good.”
“Neither do I, but as Nicole says—we ought to try everything.” He looked at his watch. “It’s after midnight. I don’t know about you two, but I’ve got the heebie-jeebies so bad I can’t concentrate. Let’s call it a day.”
Nicole nodded. “I’m ready to quit now.”
They locked the vault and started turning off the lights. Then, as if driven by a single thought, all three of them headed toward the workshop, where Dorrie’s and Nicole’s designs were translated into finished products. They stood looking for a while at the benches and the tools, the bottles of nitric acid and the small storage bins of jewelry findings. Kilns, centrifuges, vacuum pumps, steam casters. The sawyer’s wheels, the brutter’s lathe, the expensive new Piermatic Automatic Diamond Polishing Machine. They stood looking, looking and wondering if they were going to lose it all.
Nicole was the first to snap out of it. “Enough of this sentimental journey. We’re all acting as if Ellandy’s is doomed. Well, it needn’t be! We’ve got a little time—we’ll think of something. We mustn’t be defeatist now!”
