I opened the door. Mike strode in, followed by Francesco. Joey stood on the sidewalk, hands folded, watching the street.
“Joey is going to scare the neighbors,” I said.
Mike glanced back. “Joey, come in.”
I gave Francesco a quick hug. He was taller than Mike and had a mustache that reminded me of Tom Selleck. His eyes were the same glacial blue as Mike’s, but a bit warmer. I looked warily at Mike. “What’s this favor going to cost me?” The last favor had come at a steep price.
“This one’s not on you. Someone else asked, and I’m helping that person out.” Mike had icy blue eyes that were as direct as laser beams.
I managed not to squirm. “Who?” I thought about Awesome again. How had he become involved with Mike? Or was it Seth, which meant I owed him even more than just staying in his house.
Francesco handed me the keys.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mike said. “It looks old but has a V8 engine and a few other toys should you need them.”
“So I’m about to become 007?”
“Hardly. Just take care of yourself. I heard you’re in a mess.”
The again was implied. Or my guilty conscience or lack of sleep put it there. “What kind of toys? Does it spurt out oil slicks and have rotating license plates? Rockets to launch?”
“You’ve been watching too many movies. It has heated and air-conditioned seats. I thought you might like that in this heat.”
I was a little disappointed. But hey, air-conditioned seats sounded pretty nice.
“It also has a hidden dashcam that runs on a three-minute loop. If you need to record and save something, there’s a button by the radio dial. It has a sensor that automatically records and saves if you get in an accident.”
“I hope I won’t need that feature. Thanks.” I at least needed to be gracious. “I appreciate having a car to use.”
“One of these guys could stay here with you.” He jerked his head toward Joey and his brother.
A mob babysitter? No, thanks. “I’ll be fine.”
Mike gave me a lingering look before he nodded. He flicked his head toward the door, and they all left. After I closed and locked the door behind them, I felt another pity party starting up. I could sit here and wallow, or I could get out there and do something. I looked down at my grass-stained dress. It was also wrinkled and a little smelly from my earlier nap in West Concord. I took it off, turned it inside out, and cut the tags off. After I gave it a good shake or two, hoping the wrinkles would fall out, I slipped it back on. I checked to see how it looked in the hall bathroom. The dress only had two side seams. I hoped they looked like a fashion statement and not a dress turned inside out. No matter. I had things to do. So I snatched up the car keys and left.
* * *
The car had a fancy Bluetooth system, so I only had to do a few voice commands to call Carol. “I wanted to swing by to talk. Does that work for you?”
“I’m full up with customers right now. They chose a picture of Orchard House to paint.”
The home where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women and most of her other books. “Are any of them wearing tweed or hats?”
“All of them. How did you know?”
“I’ll explain later.” I disconnected the call. I flipped on the switch for the air-conditioned seats. Air moved my dress and tickled my thighs. This I could get used to.
I pulled to the curb and Googled myself. Me this time, not the missing manuscripts. I should have thought of it earlier, when I’d realized how much of my life was on Instagram and Facebook. Story after story appeared. How I’d helped Carol when someone had been murdered in her store, a picture of me with the DiNapolis at a lasagna cook-off in June, an old police blotter from May when someone had broken into a neighbor’s apartment. It was scarily easy to put the pieces of my life together. Add my own social media into that mix, and I was screwed. Out of an abundance of caution, I did a search of my name with Seth’s. There didn’t seem to be any stories linking us, at least not out in the public domain. Staying at his house for a couple of days should be okay.
I decided to drive to Boston and visit the Blackmore Agency. Starting with where Kay had intersected with Miss Belle seemed like a good idea. I hoped my dress looked good enough so I could pass myself off as a perspective client.
I spotted a garage sale as I drove through Bedford and decided to stop. It was late in the day for a sale and a Thursday. I wondered how that was working out for the seller. Maybe I could find something to dress up my outfit and a good bargain at the same time. Or even a new dress to wear. Things were neatly displayed, and I headed over to the rack of clothes. There were only ten dresses out, all good-quality, but unfortunately none of them were in my size. They had cute labels on them. One said, “Talbots dress only worn once.” It did look brand-new. Another said, “feel me I’m soft.” Of course I had to touch the material.
As I turned from the rack, a woman with curly red hair came out of her house and hung up two more dresses. Smart move; if you jammed everything on racks at once it often discouraged people from going through things. Clothes could be hard to sell, and selecting a few good pieces and pricing them higher could make you more money.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.
“I was looking for something to dress up my outfit.”
She ran her eyes over my inside-out dress but didn’t turn up her nose. “How about a scarf?”
“That’s a great idea.” I wasn’t really a scarf person, but there was a time and a place for everything.
She led me over to a table with scarves and vintage jewelry. I wished she didn’t have the jewelry. It was a recent weakness of mine. I sorted through the scarves, piling possibilities to one side. When I hit the bottom, I’d set three scarves aside.
The woman pulled one from my pile. “This is a vintage Elsa Schiaparelli.”
“I’m not familiar with her.”
“She was an Italian designer whose rival was Coco Chanel. In the sixties, she designed mod scarves.”
The scarf was hot pink, black, and white in a bold graphic design that would go perfectly with my outfit. “How much do you want for it?” I asked.
“I have it marked ten. It’s silk.”
Ten seemed high, even if it was silk and from a famous designer. This was, after all, a garage sale. Because she said it was marked ten, I assumed there was room to negotiate. “Will you take five?”
“Sure,” she said.
I took five ones out of my purse. I glanced over the jewelry and spotted a big bangle bracelet in a gold tone that was intertwined rectangles of various sizes. “The bracelet too, please.” We settled at five dollars for it too. “Thank you,” I said. I hung the scarf around my neck.
“Do you want me to tie the scarf for you?” she asked.
“Yes, please. I’m hopeless at it and would have just let it hang.”
She draped the scarf around my neck and did some fancy knotting. “Here’s a mirror so you can take a look.” She handed me a vintage Bakelite mirror. “The mirror is for sale too.”
I laughed. “You’re a good saleswoman, but I’d better stop before I’m shoving everything you have in my car.” I looked in the mirror at the scarf. “It looks fabulous. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It’s late in the day for a garage sale.”
“I’m not a morning person, so I’ve been doing some from four to seven in the evening.”
“Interesting.”
“Turns out there are a lot of people who aren’t morning people.”
“Thanks again,” I said.
“Have a good evening.”
Geez, I hoped to.
* * *
I pressed the accelerator to merge onto the 95, and the car shot forward. Wowsa. That was impressive. That must be the advantage of a V8. I’d had no idea what Mike had meant when he mentioned it. I hadn’t wanted to admit my ignorance about cars.
Forty-five minutes late
r, I paid an exorbitant amount to park in a lot a couple of blocks from the Blackmore Agency. Before I got out of the car, I fluffed my blond hair and put on a fresh coat of lipstick. Hopefully, I looked like a confident woman in need of help and not a tired old hag who’d rolled down a hill that was definitely more along the lines of how I felt.
The agency was in a brownstone in the Back Bay area, another beautiful neighborhood in Boston. It was already five thirty, so I hoped someone was still there. I tugged on the fancy brass knob of the ornate walnut door, but it didn’t open. I found a doorbell and rang. A few seconds later, a voice came out of an intercom I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m Alicia Blackmore. May I help you?” The woman sounded polished and smooth and maybe slightly annoyed by my presence.
“Yes. I’ve just moved to town and find myself in need of staff.”
“We require an appointment and a reference.”
Really? I obviously didn’t know much about how rich people lived. Some people on base had help when they were posted overseas. Help was cheap in a lot of parts of the world. But most of us made do on our own. It wasn’t like we were rolling in money.
“Oh, what a shame. Mrs. Anderson of Beacon Hill and Nantucket recommended you. But I’ll just try the other agency she suggested.” Anybody who was anyone in Boston had heard of Seth’s family.
I heard a rustling noise.
“Because you’re here, we’ll see if we can juggle things to make time for you.” The woman put just the right amount of irritation and solicitousness in her voice, making sure I knew my place.
I tried not to smile in case they had a hidden camera pointing down at me. Moments later, the door opened. A woman in an expensive aqua suit with big honking diamonds in her ears gestured me in. She glanced over my outfit without comment. Whew.
“I’m Alicia Blackmore. And you are . . . ?”
We stood in a foyer. A walnut staircase was to our right. Alicia turned to the left, and we entered what had once been the living room of the home. There was nothing so tacky as a desk or file cabinets in the space. We settled across from each other on twin rose velvet couches.
“I’m Sarah Spielberg. Of the California Spielbergs.” I had no idea where that came from. Alicia’s facial expression barely changed. Only the slight raising of her left eyebrow. I couldn’t decide if she was impressed, had a BS meter, or too much Botox.
“How can we help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for someone to help run my household so I can concentrate on my business.”
“What duties did you have in mind?”
Very discreet. She didn’t bother to inquire what kind of business I ran. “Someone capable of doing everything from greeting guests to cleaning. Maybe some light cooking.” I thought that pretty much covered the bases of what Miss Belle had told me Kay had done for her. “And I’d prefer a woman.”
“When would you need her to start?” Alicia asked. She crossed her ankles.
If one didn’t know better, she could pull off being royalty. Maybe I needed to Google her. “As soon as possible.” Alicia didn’t seem like one to share tidbits of gossip, so I decided to take a direct approach and studied her reaction.
“A friend highly recommended Kay Kimble. She worked for a friend of a friend.”
Alicia’s mouth moved slightly, almost into a frown but not quite. I tried to decipher her reaction. Maybe she thought talking about murder was distasteful. Maybe she didn’t want to admit someone from her agency had done something so unseeming as stealing and getting killed.
She leaned forward. “I can assure you that no one by that name has ever worked for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I sat back, stunned. What did I do now? Confess? Pretend to get an important call and leave? Maybe she was lying. My phone binged just then. It was an alert that there’d been an accident on the 93.
“I’m so sorry. I have to take this,” I said as I stood. “Urgent business. I’ll be back in touch.” With that, I hustled out the door and down the street. I scanned the parking lot for my car but couldn’t see it. Then I remembered the Suburban was parked back at Seth’s house. I finally figured out which white sedan—who knew there were so many?—was mine and headed back toward Ellington, avoiding the 93.
I called Miss Belle, but Frieda answered the phone. Her voice was artificially high, as if she thought she sounded more businesslike. It made me smile.
“I need to talk to Miss Belle,” I said.
“She’s resting right now.”
“How’s it going over there? Are you still surrounded?”
“Na. Most people have drifted off because nothing’s going on.”
“Okay. Then I’m going to stop by. I’m in a different car.” I described it to her. “Let any of the people helping with security know so they won’t stop me.”
“Won’t they recognize you?”
“I’ll try a baseball cap and sunglasses to hide my face. Wish me luck.” I disconnected.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I sat in Miss Belle’s study. The door was closed, and Miss Belle looked at me wearily from behind her desk.
“Kay didn’t work for the Blackmore Agency?” Miss Belle asked. She put a shaky hand to her mouth.
“That’s what the woman I spoke to said. She introduced herself as Alicia Blackmore.” I worried for Miss Belle. She’d been through a lot these last few days, and while she was a strong woman, all these blows seemed to be taking a toll.
“But that’s who Rena called.”
“Do you still have the number she called?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll look.” She started scrounging around in the drawers of her desk. Miss Belle pulled out an old-fashioned Rolodex filled with typed and handwritten cards containing all the contact information I stored on my cell phone. I remembered how I loved to play with one my grandmother had. She plucked a card out of the mix. “Here’s the card Rena stuck in here for them.”
I leaned over the desk and took it from her. The card was heavy stock with raised lettering. I compared the number to the one I called. It was the same.
“What?” Miss Belle asked.
“It’s the same number. Maybe Alicia lied to me.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Have you heard anything from Roger?” I asked.
Miss Belle nodded her head. “Yes. I called when he didn’t arrive by ten. He said he’s busy. Reporters and those treasure-hunting people have descended on him too.”
“Oh, boy.” I stood. “I’m going to head out.” For some reason I didn’t want to say where I was staying.
Miss Belle nodded. “Take care, dear.”
* * *
I sat on the edge of Seth’s couch like a doe about to bolt. This was ridiculous. I leaned back and tried to settle in. I realized with all my running away from the literary treasure hunters, I’d forgotten to follow up with Rena. I did a quick search and found a phone number for her. I dialed and was surprised to get right through. I quickly explained who I was and that I was helping Miss Belle with a book sale.
“How is she?” Rena asked.
I wasn’t quite sure how much to explain to her, but then decided to plunge in to the story. It would be easy enough for Rena to look it up online. In fact, now that I thought about it, I’m surprised she didn’t already know the whole story. Surely she must still have friends in Massachusetts who would have heard and alerted her.
“I’m sorry all this happened to Miss Belle. She’s a dear. But why are you calling me? I’m not interested in going back to work for her.”
“It seemed you left her abruptly.”
“I gave her two weeks’ notice. And again, I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
Hedging around the issue didn’t seem to be working. She was either going to talk or hang up. “It just seems like a lot of odd things started happening not long after you left. Did you come in to money right before you quit?” I expected to either get shouted at or hu
ng up on.
“Yes. An inheritance that, along with my savings and social security, made it possible for me to move.”
What a coincidence that Rena inherited money that allowed her to retire and move to Florida.
“I can tell by your silence you’re skeptical,” Rena said.
I did a few quick calculations in my head. Some kind of inheritance would be a small drop in the bucket compared to the worth of the manuscripts and the limited-edition book. “It’s the timing.”
“I can send you a link to the obituary of my great-aunt if you want.”
“No. I’m sorry if I seem overly suspicious. I’m just worried about the toll this is taking on Miss Belle.” I could look up the obituary on my own. “How did you end up in Key West?”
Rena made a harrumphing noise. “My sister has lived here for twenty years. She had an empty apartment over her garage, and there’s no ice or snow in the winter. Is that good enough for you?”
Another theory bites the dust. “Does she have any other empty apartments, because now I want to move down there too?” I hoped by lightening the mood, I could get a little bit more information out of her.
Rena laughed. “Sorry, but you’re on your own. Please tell Miss Belle I’ll be in touch. I’m sorry for her troubles.”
“Before you go, I have a couple of other questions.”
Rena sighed but didn’t hang up.
“Did you help Miss Belle find your replacement?”
“I checked with a couple of friends, but no one was interested.”
She didn’t really answer my question. “Miss Belle said her mother-in-law recommended the Blackmore Agency to find a replacement for you. But that you made the call.”
Rena snorted. “It was really Mrs. Winthrop Granville’s companion Ruth who made the recommendation. That’s where Ruth originally worked. I did call. What choice did I have?”
So she didn’t like Ruth, but made the call anyway. All of this was making me very uneasy. “Do you have any thoughts on a possible replacement for Kay?” Not that I would suggest them to Miss Belle, but I was curious to see what she’d say.
The Gun Also Rises Page 15
