The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery)

by Victoria Abbott

  To my astonishment, the signora got out of the passenger door. Both of them ran toward the Saab. I closed my mouth and stepped out to meet them.

  “O Dio!” The signora clutched my hand, her round little body shaking. “Il demonio.”

  Demons were new to conversations with the signora. Speed demon, maybe?

  “How fast were you going, Kev?”

  Kev interrupted to translate. “It’s not my driving. She’s really upset. About you-know-what.”

  “Thanks, Kev. I can see that by the way she’s hopping around. But I don’t know why. If not your driving, what demon is she talking about?”

  “Demon?”

  “Demonio. That’s what she’s saying.”

  “Obviously, it must be the demon that’s moving in,” he said.

  I felt a little throb in my temple. Kev can bring that on. “Try to talk sense,” I said as kindly as I could.

  “I mean Muriel.”

  “What about her? Wait. Are you saying—? You don’t mean she’s—”

  “Yup.”

  “No!”

  “I wish it weren’t true, but Muriel Delgado has moved into Van Alst House. Lock, stock and barrel. Today.”

  The signora crossed herself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “MOVED IN?” I said stupidly. “Today?”

  “Yup.”

  “Really?”

  The signora did a little dance of desperation, wailing.

  “To Van Alst House? Am I understanding correctly? How is that possible?”

  “Truck pulled up. Two guys brought in her trunks and suitcases and boxes.”

  “Trunks?”

  “What can I tell you. That’s what we saw.”

  I swallowed. “Is she in my . . . the attic rooms?” I actually felt violated.

  “Ho ho,” Kev boomed. “No way, little peasant niece of mine. She gets the guest suite on the second floor.”

  “The guest suite? The one Vera’s grandfather had designed for visiting dignitaries? Governors? Wandering British aristocrats?”

  “That’s the one. The only guest suite that I know of.”

  The signora continued to dance around in distress, muttering things I couldn’t hear and probably wouldn’t have understood.

  I was just short of screeching. “I can’t stand it! The guest suite! The Art Nouveau guest suite with the gilded rococo mirror and the Roman tub?”

  Vera could have put royalty in that and no one would have felt shortchanged. It had a sitting room, bedroom, magnificent marble bathroom with the aforementioned Roman tub, dressing room and a writing alcove with a burled walnut and ivory table that fit perfectly under the faceted window and on the Aubusson carpets. I could go on and on and on. It was roomier than Vera’s own suite and a hundred times grander than my former digs in the attic or than Kev’s spartan accommodation over the garage or than the signora’s modest rooms on the first floor. Still I felt a surge of relief that the demonio hadn’t taken over my beloved spot.

  “A visit?” I said, getting my voice under control.

  Kev shook his head. “Permanent. Moved in. Period.”

  “Povera Vera!” the signora wailed.

  Poor Vera indeed. But how had this happened? Vera was tough as nails and not one to be pushed around, so if Muriel had moved in, then Vera must have okayed it. “I can’t believe that Vera gave her approval.”

  Kev said, “I wouldn’t say she exactly approved it, judging by the expression on her face when the truck showed up with those trunks. But Muriel said she was moving in and Vera seemed to accept it. She didn’t put up any kind of a fight.”

  “It’s hard to believe any of this. I mean, who is this woman?”

  “It’s all true,” Kev said, placing his hand over his heart. “I couldn’t make that up. I think she’s got some sort of hypnotic powers.”

  “This is so strange and sudden. And I think we all know how Vera feels about change. Wait, does she know you’re here?”

  “No!”

  “You don’t have to shout. I just asked.”

  “We’re under strict orders not to contact you.”

  “Vera told you not to contact me? How did she think that would work? I mean, you are still my uncle.”

  “She said we weren’t to call you or visit you or—”

  “I suppose that instruction included not having Signora Panetone squeeze my hands hard enough to cut off circulation.” I pried my fingers free of the signora’s grasp. “Call me crazy, but you are here.”

  “Well, you don’t think we could follow those orders. What’s the matter with you, Jordie? Do you think we would let you slip away?”

  Everyone else seems to have, I thought. Only the two least likely to solve my problem were there in my corner. But I was glad of them.

  “Thank you,” I said, my heart filling with gratitude.

  “For what?” Kev said, puzzled. “We really need your help. Something bad is going on. Vera needs you even though she doesn’t know it.”

  So, even their support had been too good to be true. Kev was still talking. “Vera thinks I’m taking the signora to get supplies. Do you know that Muriel Delgado won’t even eat Italian food?”

  “Dio mio!” The signora was now practically spinning. She managed to grab my hand again midspin.

  Kev said, “You’re going to be our secret weapon. We’ll feed you information and you can overturn . . . let’s see . . . whatever is going on. You’ve got to figure out what this broad has on Vera. It’s no good, Jordie, I’m telling you.”

  “Listen, Kev. Vera fired me. I don’t feel much like helping and I am in no position to overturn anything. It’s okay, Signora, please let go of my hand.” Any more squeezing and bones would start to break.

  Kev said, “Show a little spine, Jordie.”

  “Show a little spine? Are you insane, Kev?” My outrage came out as a series of squeaks.

  Didn’t help my case much.

  “Nope. Just telling you straight. Vera was good to you. She gave you the perfect job. You loved everything about it. You gotta admit that. It was like it was made in heaven for you.”

  “Uh, yes, and then she took it away with no explanation, no severance, no talk of references. Nothing but a firing. Out by noon. No contact with you or the signora. That was a humiliating end after what I’ve tried to do for her. Not exactly a golden parachute, Kev.”

  “But you do have contact with us.” Kev was never all that hung up on logic.

  “Povera Vera,” the signora wailed.

  I said, “Stop wailing, Signora, and stop making excuses for Vera, Kev. Don’t you realize that if she did it to me, she can do it to you?”

  Kev blinked. “But I do everything she wants.”

  “Yeah, well. How did that work for me?”

  “You were teasing her at breakfast. Maybe she—”

  I snapped, “Hardly a firing offence.”

  Kev must have finally sensed my anger and frustration. He said, “None of this was Vera’s idea. I don’t think she wanted to fire you. That Muriel Delgado made her do it.”

  Even though I was sure all along that Muriel was behind my firing, I found myself arguing against Vera as the innocent pawn in Muriel’s game.

  “Have you ever seen anyone make Vera do anything?” I countered.

  “This is different. It’s like—”

  “Il demonio!”

  “You have to find out about this woman,” Kev said. “Where did she come from? What kind of a hold does she have over Vera?”

  “It’s not that easy. She doesn’t seem to leave any tracks. I’ve been trying to find her online.”

  Kev brightened. “You have been trying? So you do want to help. That’s the spirit, Jordie.”

  “I’d like to know what’s going on, that’s
all. I’m digging for information about this Muriel. There’s nothing out there. And I don’t have a lot of time for it. I’m going to have to get on with my life, get another job and figure out how to make a living.”

  “Come on. It’s not like you found yourself on the street. Mick would never throw you out.”

  “Of course, he won’t. It’s not a matter of being thrown out.”

  “You can stay with him forever. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “But I won’t be thrilled. I need to be independent.” Was that a whine creeping into my voice? Something else to be mad about. Archie Goodwin wouldn’t whine and I wasn’t going to either.

  “Whatever. But you’ll find out about this Muriel.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I already tried and it wasn’t easy.” Of course, I hadn’t tried hard. And I did want to know.

  “Try again. We are all depending on you. Vera will be too, although she might not know it. I don’t care what kind of cable channels we get now.”

  “Cable channels?” Whoa, hold the phone. Vera had always ranted against the evil “boob tube,” which she overenunciated and called a “boob tee-yube.”

  “Yeah, cable channels.”

  “But we, I mean you, don’t have cable. Vera would never allow it. All books all the time is her motto, except for the little black-and-white number in the kitchen.”

  “Used to be. But as soon as the moving truck left, they called the cable guy.”

  “They? Who’s they?”

  “Vera and Muriel.”

  “Vera actually called—”

  “Muriel’s totally addicted to cable channels. So Vera actually picked up the phone and spoke to them, Jordie. They were there pretty fast. The cable company, I mean. She was practically going through withdrawal symptoms.”

  “Well, I can’t think of much that’s more surprising than Vera agreeing to it.”

  “I can.” Kev’s eyes widened and he drew in close, as though he were about to share his magical knowledge of a hidden treasure. “Cherie,” he said, mouth open in awe.

  “What?”

  “Cherie.”

  “I repeat: What?”

  “The cable guy, much more surprising.”

  “Um, the cable guy’s name is Cherie? And why do you have that besotted expression on your face?” I wasn’t being judgmental. I only wanted it to make sense.

  Kev’s blue eyes danced. “Yeah, she’s awesome. She turned in off the road, driving that cable truck like it was on rails.” He made eye contact with me, as though I would have full appreciation for whatever that meant. “I’ve never seen a woman drive like that.”

  I let it go. Kev had his own standards for women and they were unique. I said, “So Vera ordered cable, for Muriel?” I glanced toward the signora, who was turned away slightly, her lips unusually pursed. I was sure she would have preferred to be watching her telenovelas on cable, instead of the snowy local programming that her digital antenna picked up through the stone walls for her ancient black-and-white television in the kitchen. But somehow, it seemed that her feelings were hurt. I assumed that it was by Muriel’s influence, but maybe it was this Cherie.

  “Yeah, she did. Right away. I could hear Vera on the phone yelling at the cable company from down the hall. Then, like an hour later,” his eyes glazed over again, “Cherie shows up.”

  The signora said, “Si, si, bella, bella!”

  Kev glowed. “You can say that again. And she was good too. She didn’t cut any corners or freak out about the spiderwebs in the crawl space or anything.” He was nodding, but clearly he’d drifted off to an imaginary place where he and Cherie could drive like lunatics and celebrate their lack of arachnophobia.

  While I’d been living at Van Alst House, I had made a bid or two for cable. The nights got kind of long sometimes. Vera had gone as far as to say that she would consider legal action against anyone who brought, and I quote, “that kind of filth and drivel” into her home.

  Something was really bothering me about this news. That anyone could waltz in and be watching Duck Dynasty all day on A&E within twenty-four hours was astounding. This Muriel woman must have had dark powers.

  I hesitated. I did want to know what had happened to me and why. And I didn’t want the same thing to happen to the signora and Kev. Surely the signora was safe. She’d been with the Van Alst family since Vera was a child. Kev would land his feet somewhere, hopefully not in jail, and create chaos in someone else’s life. But if this woman was trying to separate Vera from the people who cared about her, I had to do something.

  And first I needed to find out more about her.

  “The truck,” I said. “What company was it?”

  “What truck? Cherie’s truck?”

  “Not the cable company truck,” I said patiently. “I mean the truck that delivered Muriel’s trunks and boxes and suitcases.”

  Kev frowned. Details were never his best thing. Actually, he doesn’t have a best thing, if you don’t count being fairly irresistible to older women who should know better.

  “Dunno,” he said.

  “You want me to act, you’d better give me something.”

  “Um, green.”

  “That’s a start. So I assume that Muriel doesn’t own this truck. Did it have a company name on it?”

  Kev looked wounded. He specialized in that. “Why do you need to know?”

  “Because if I can find out where she came from, I can dig around and learn a lot more about her.”

  I didn’t mention that I had a couple of addresses from the city directories. C. Delgado. And how many Delgados could there be in Harrison Falls? I didn’t want Kev showing up at either address and attracting the type of disastrous attention that he had such a knack for.

  “Work on remembering. I’ll see what I can do in the meantime.”

  Kev nodded. “You’ll let us know what you find out?”

  “Sure. But you’re also supposed to be finding out something. We need information about the green truck. If you remember anything or if you see it again or if it comes back, get some details. License number. Company name on the side. Anything.”

  “There was a company name on it.”

  “That’s great, Kev. What was it?”

  “I don’t remember, but there was one. And Jordie, if you find out anything, don’t call me about it. I told you that we’re not supposed to speak to you. Or make any contact. Including seeing you. Which we’re doing right now. Against orders, if I make myself clear.”

  “You do. I’ll text you.”

  Kev’s voice went up a notch. “What if she sees your name on my phone?”

  “It won’t be my name, you goofball. Uncle Mick will have a burner phone that I can use. We’ll use that to stay in touch. Let’s use some code name for Vera and another one for Muriel.”

  “Good idea. How about Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf?”

  “Let’s use real names that won’t sound like obvious code if Vera or Muriel snoops on your phone.”

  “They might do that. They’re really serious about keeping you out of whatever’s going on. That reminds me. Don’t try to sneak back in for any reason. They changed the locks. And they changed the alarm code.”

  Huh. “What did they change the code to, Kev?”

  “Well, my password is ‘HANDYMAN.’”

  That was all I needed. Locks are nothing.

  After some haggling we settled on Cruella for Muriel and Wheels for Vera, and for no reason at all, Kevin insisted that he now be referred to as the Eagle. I was Bo, as in Peep.

  As I watched Kev and the signora pile back into the Caddy and rocket down the street, I wondered what we had all gotten ourselves into.

  On a bright note, I found myself with a couple of additional large containers of the signora’s food. Every cloud and all that.

&n
bsp; * * *

  IT WASN’T LIKE I had anything else to do. I headed back to the rooms behind Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques and checked the usual spots for a spare burner phone. A childhood favorite, an industrial storage unit with fifty drawers, loomed behind one of the glass-topped counters. From the bottom left, I counted five drawers in and five up, but that hiding spot was bare. Things had changed more than a little around here. But I guess a few sprays of bullets into your business and homestead can inspire reorganizing. Had Vera forgotten about that whole incident? I’d put my life on the line for her. As I lamented my shabby treatment by Vera, my eye settled on a copy of Moby-Dick on top of the storage unit. Bingo. I chuckled and opened the hollow book and removed the burner phone and left a note for Uncle Mick promising to replace it, although I knew he’d tell me not to worry about it.

  Then I headed back to my bedroom to check out my wardrobe. If I was going to be hunting for a trail to Muriel Delgado, I needed to do it as someone other than Jordan Bingham. Okay, I don’t need much urging to don a disguise; wigs are fun, and I thoroughly recommend them. I still had the kicky red shoulder-length wig I’d used during our Sayers adventure. The hair takes all the attention and no one even notices my face. Even if they did, the red picks up my blue eyes and seems to brighten and intensify them. It changes my appearance completely. I look nothing like the real me with my dark hair and blue eyes “put in with a sooty finger,” as they say. Black Irish, they call that coloring. The wig gives me a “Pippi Longstocking gone wild” vibe. I picked a pair of jeggings with my knee-high leather boots, the tunic again and a shrunken jean jacket. I looped my vintage Pucci scarf around my neck and headed out, red hair blowing in the breeze. I left my deep-orange purse at home, as it would be too distinctive. I used a serviceable but boring black bag that might suit the person I would be pretending to be.