Sarah thought quickly. It might be cruel and unfair, but she didn't want Calpurnia having anything to do with Davy. “I'd love to come, Callie, but Davy has friends visiting. May I bring my cousin Jesse?”
Calpurnia considered the suggestion. Finally she nodded. “Certainly. What's one more?”
“Damned car phones!” Max tossed it into the backseat. “Keep trying, Egbert.”
“It's all the traffic, I expect.” Egbert redialed.
“Can't you go any faster?” Jem demanded.
“Oh, I don't think that's possible, Mr. Jem.” Egbert pushed his employer off his lap and propped him against the seat. Max didn't believe in collecting unnecessary traffic tickets, but on this occasion he was driving with panache, cutting in and out of traffic and exceeding the speed limit whenever the chance presented itself. He wished a cop would pull him over so he could demand an escort. Naturally there were no police cars to be seen.
“I'm sure there's nothing to worry about,” Egbert said. “Mrs. Sarah is too intelligent to take chances. She wouldn't go over there by herself. Anyhow, what could the woman do?”
“I don't want to think about it,” Max said. “She's killed one man and tried to kill me. Alister or Dewey must have untied me while she wasn't looking. Try again, Egbert.”
It wasn't until after they had turned off the freeway and were tearing along the road to the Landing that Egbert got through. Max heard him say, “Oh, dear.”
“What?” he demanded.
“It's Mrs. Blufert,” Egbert reported. “Davy is fine, he's with her and the grandkids, they're making chocolate-chip cookies.”
“Where's Sarah? Tell Mrs. Blufert to put her on the phone.”
“I'm afraid she's not there, Mr. Max. It seems Miss Vickery came by and invited her to tea. But don't worry, Jesse has gone with her.”
“How long ago?” Max put his foot down.
“Just a few minutes.”
“Faster,” Jem urged.
A tree branch lashed the windshield. Egbert moaned and covered his eyes.
At least the phone call had saved a few minutes. Max turned straight into the rutted path that led to the Zickery place. They bounced along the road and came to a crashing halt in front of the house. Max was out and running before the engine died. Rising over the roofline was a big round thing striped in bright colors.
He crashed through the overgrown bushes next to the house. Behind it was a pasture-size open space, knee deep in nettles and weeds, and in the space was the balloon. No wonder he had had hallucinations about the Fourth of July. What he had heard as he'd floundered around in the cold water was the whoosh of the engine that heated the air for the balloon. The flare of flame had suggested rockets and fireworks to his dazed brain. How they'd got the damned thing back here he didn't know, but Dewey was a wizard with balloons, according to his brother.
Dewey wasn't visible. Calpurnia was in the basket of the balloon, which was anchored only by two ropes. It rocked wildly as Calpurnia pulled at Sarah, trying to drag her into the basket. Sarah dug in her heels and resisted, but she was losing the struggle.
“Hit her!” Max yelled. He jumped a recumbent body, saw that it was Jesse's, and ran faster. “Slug her!”
Sarah heard. She'd never hit anybody in her life, but this seemed to be the time to forget her Back Bay training. Calpurnia's grip loosened when Sarah's fist smacked into her nose. Sarah fell back, rolled, and scrambled away on hands and knees. Calpurnia leaned over the side of the basket. Two quick slashes, and the balloon was free. It rose ponderously into the air.
A tatterdemalion figure reeled out of the house, holding its head. “Stop her,” Dewey gasped. “She doesn't know how it works!”
Max couldn't have cared less. He was holding Sarah, and she was holding him just as tight. But Sarah wouldn't have been Sarah if she had thought only of herself. She raised her head from his shoulder. “Jesse. She hit him with the gun and tried to make me get in the balloon. Is he all right?”
Jesse sat up. “What the hell happened? Ouch. My head!”
The balloon had cleared the treetops. It rose higher, drifting south across the {Celling acres, heading seaward, sailing beyond the sunset and the baths of all the western stars, until …
“Oh, my God,” Max said.
A flight of birds”terns, seagulls, they were too far away to identify”swooped gracefully down, greeting a fellow flier or, more likely, curious about what the peculiar thing might be. The basket rocked wildly, spilling out an object that flapped and flailed its limbs as it fell, passing out of sight below the trees.
Dewey shook his head sadly. “I told her she didn't know how to work it.”
23
“Caroline Kelling wasn't the only woman who fell for Harry Lackridge,” Max said. “Calpurnia had carried a torch since the good old days, when the Zickerys and the Kellings and their guests used to spend summers here, Their paths diverged after that; Harry married Leila and became involved with Caroline, and Calpurnia went off and did whatever the hell she did all those years. When the law finally caught up with good old Harry, Calpurnia heard about it; it made headlines in every newspaper in the country, as you recall. Caroline was dead and Leila promptly sued for divorce, so there was Harry, womanless for the first time in years, and locked up in a maximum security prison, where he couldn't get away from Calpurnia. She visited him almost every week, and I expect he played up to her; why shouldn't he? There was nobody else.”
The police had come and gone, Davy was tucked into bed with his alligator, and the members of the Bittersohn Detective Agency had assembled in the living room with tea and coffee and, in Jems case, a large pitcher of martinis
“I've read about women like that,” Theonia said with a delicate moue of distaste. “It is not at all unusual for prisoners to receive proposals of marriage from women who've not even met them. Sometimes the poor fools actually marry convicted murderers.”
“There are a lot of weird people in the world,” Max agreed, trying not to look at certain members of the group. “In this case Calpurnia had known Harry before and, God knows why, taken a girlish fancy to him. It was a nice, bloodless affair, consisting solely of whispered endearments. That's about all you can pass through a sheet of Plexiglas with a guard watching you. It might have ended as harmlessly if one of Harry's other old flames hadn't died.”
“The lady from Amsterdam,” Brooks contributed.
“Mevrouw Vanderwoude. I wish I'd known her better, she was obviously quite a gal. She was smart enough to hang on to the original jewels instead of letting Harry pull one of his little switches, but they apparently had a closer relationship than I had thought. She left instructions that the parure should go to Harry after her death. It was meant as her last malicious joke; the letter she left with her lawyer stipulated that Harry had to collect the gems in person. If he was unable to do so within six months, they were to be returned to the original owner—Sarah Kelling Kelling Bittersohn, by name. She assumed Harry wouldn't be able to comply with the conditions, since he was safely locked up. In case Harry missed the joke, she wrote to him and told him what she'd done. I'll bet she was hugging herself with girlish glee as she pictured him in a frenzy of frustration.
“In the meantime, however, Harry had got religion. There are no atheists in foxholes, as the saying goes, and Harry wasn't getting any younger. He had a bad heart, and I'll do him the credit of believing he honestly did want to make peace with the people he'd swindled before he had to make peace with his Maker. He was due for another parole hearing, and figured he had a good chance of getting out, thanks to his reformed character and poor health. His intention was to collect the parure and return it to Sarah. Where he made his mistake was to tell Calpurnia what he meant to do.
“Calpurnia wasn't what I would call normal to begin with, and that news tipped her over the edge. All those years of visits and cake baking, and what was she going to get out of it? She'd assumed that if he ever did get out, he'd marry her. Instead he b
landly informed her that he meant to spend the rest of his life, what there was of it, in prayer and good works, beginning with the restoration of the Kelling jewels to their rightful owner. Calpurnia knew about the jewels, of course. The thought of those rubies made her mouth water. She lost her temper and told Harry what she thought of him and his plan. He told her what he thought of her, and she went wild. The guard remembered that last visit of hers; she started screaming at Harry and had to be dragged out of the room.
“Harry had got the message. He took pains to elude her after he was released, since she'd made it clear she intended to stop him from returning the parure, whatever it took. Alister felt he had to go along with her plans. He was terrified of her, and he had enough family feeling left to hope he could prevent her from doing anything drastic. Apparently Callie had also been a habitué of Danny Rate's; she remembered Louie from the old days, and figured a locksmith with few moral scruples might come in handy.”
“How did she get in touch with him?” Sarah asked.
“Through the want ads, if you can believe it,” Jem said disgustedly. “That's how we found the verminous little wretch. He recommended his brother, Dewey, who'd run out of raffia and was planning his prison break, to Calpurnia. It was a pretty damned ineffectual bunch, in fact.”
“Very amateurish,” Brooks agreed. “One must make allowances, however. Calpurnia hadn't had enough experience with organized crime to find better material”
Max grinned at his second in command. “A pity she didn't ask our advice, isn't it? They didn't do that badly for a bunch of amateurs. Harry wasn't as careful as he might have been, either. Before the blowup he had told Calpurnia about his pretty fancy of returning the rubies in person. Isn't there something in the Bible about doing good without proclaiming your deeds aloud? You get extra points for anonymity, I think. When he heard about the wedding he decided his best chance of sneaking into the house was during the confusion of an event like that. He applied to Omar Inc, for a job, which they were happy to give him since they were having trouble finding suckers who'd work for pennies and no benefits.”
“He could have sent it by mail,” Brooks said. “Registered, of course.”
“Maybe he didn't trust the U.S. Post Office, or maybe he was afraid we could trace him that way, or maybe he'd got it into his head that he had to deliver the damned thing in person. Don't ask me to account for the actions of a religious fanatic. Harry was wearing a plain white shirt and black pants and bow tie under those coveralls; in that outfit he could pass as one of the waiters. After he'd managed to sneak the jewels into the library among the wedding presents, he changed back into his coveralls and hung around, in case Calpurnia had figured out what he meant to do. Which she had. Then the balloon descended, and there, to his horror, was dear old Calpurnia.
“According to Louie, who is not, I admit, the most reliable witness you could find, Harry then followed the Zickerys home and started delivering a sermon. Louie said if: was quite a performance. The more Harry talked about righteousness, the madder Calpurnia got and the more nervous poor old Alister got. He knew his sister had gone off the deep end and was capable of almost anything. He finally broke in and suggested Harry had better leave. The minute Harry turned his back she grabbed a two-by-four and let him have it.”
“Do you believe Louie?” Brooks asked skeptically.
“Oh, yes. He's no killer. Neither is Dewey. But she had them over a barrel; there was Harry, dead as a mackerel, and there was Dewey, an escaped convict on the lam, and there was Calpurnia, a respectable elderly female from a good family. Whom would the cops have believed? They had to do as she directed.”
“I suppose it was her idea to put Harry's body under the tent,” Sarah said.
“So Louie maintains. It took her till morning to think that one up, though, by which time the tent people were on their way here. The smoke bomb was Calpurnia's idea, too. Not a very bright idea, but it worked. They trundled poor old Harry up the back road on a wheelbarrow, with Louie carrying a lantern to guide them. He said it was one of the most horrible times of his life, feeling his way through that black fog, hearing the puffing and panting and the squeaking of the wheelbarrow following him. He decided he'd had enough. While the rest of them were dealing with the corpse, he went looking for transportation, recognized Jems car, and took off. He was too unnerved by his experiences to think straight, but after we'd had our little talk he came to the conclusion that he'd be safer in jail than with a madwoman on his trail. She scared the bejesus out of him.”
“So it was the rubies she wanted all along,” Sarah said.
“She wanted the money she expected they would bring,” Theonia said soberly. “And revenge on Max. She'd heard Harry cursing him before he saw the light, and in her twisted way she blamed Max for having Harry put in prison.”
“But she hated Harry, too,” Sarah protested.
“She hated both of them. She wasn't exactly reasonable toward the end,” Theonia said. “She'd come to believe the rubies were hers by rights, that she ought to have been Harry's sole heir. When Louie failed to get them back for her she thought, of another scheme. She persuaded the others to help her kidnap Max, telling them she meant to exchange him for the rubies. But once she had him in her hands she went completely berserk. She ordered Dewey and Alister to take him out in the balloon and drop him overboard to drown. They were afraid to disobey, but neither of them wanted to commit murder, so they untied him before they threw him into the water.”
“Nice of them,” Max grunted. “Dewey claims he was the one who thought of putting my old bathrobe into that plastic bag. He hasn't admitted it yet, but I'm pretty sure he was also the one who stole my wristwatch. That's what Louie would have done. Petty larceny runs in the family”
“Alister wouldn't have swiped your watch,” Jem said. “But he hadn't changed from the old days, when he'd pick a fight and then back off”
“Same old Alister,” Max agreed. “He was afraid to defy Calpurnia and afraid to cooperate fully with her. Having, as she thought, disposed of me, she needed another hostage to be exchanged for the rubies, so she lured Davy over there with promises of balloon rides and God knows what else. A trip to Mars, maybe. I don't think she'd have hurt him, but Alister was afraid she might.”
“He was chasing us to get us to run away,” Sarah said with a shiver. “To run away from Calpurnia. He knew she had a gun”
“And that she was crazier than a loon. It was the first time he had had guts enough to defy her. I have to give the guy credit, he acted to save you and Davy. Calpurnia had to shoot him. He knew too much, and after that she couldn't count on him to keep his mouth shut.”
“What are you going to do with the rubies?” Theonia asked.
“According to Uncle Jake, the question of legal ownership still presents a problem,” Max answered. “It may take years to work it out. In the meantime—”
“In the meantime they re going to the police,” Sarah said firmly. “They re evidence, aren't they? I don't ever want to see them or have them in the house again. If they do come to me, and I don't see why they should, l'll sell them and give the money to Dolph and Mary for the senior citizens' center.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jem said. “What do you say, Egbert? Shall we head for home? Brooks and Theonia can drop us off.”
“We can retreat with honor,” Egbert agreed. “Having done our duty like gentlemen.”
Sarah and Max exchanged glances. “If you're sure” Sarah began.
“They re sure,” Max said firmly.
“Quite,” said Brooks, rising. “We'll have a real celebration after we've caught up on sleep and office work and a few other things.”
“Miriam will certainly want to throw a party,” Sarah said with a smile. “I must call her.”
“Tomorrow,” Max said.
The hints were falling as thick as autumn leaves, not that anybody needed them. Jesse had been put to bed with an ice pack on his head and a hefty dose of painkiller
s. He'd sleep till morning. Max helped Brooks transfer Jem's and Egbert's suitcases from Sarah's car to the company vehicle Brooks was driving and stood waving till the taillights disappeared.
“Nice night,” Max said. “Are you cold?”
“No, I have my nice woolly sweater.”
He put his arm around her anyway.
“Do you think Davy's old enough now to have a puppy?” Sarah asked.
“What brought that on?”
“I was just thinking. They say, whoever they may be, that a properly trained and cared-for dog can be worth a whole kennelful of police. If you're having spasms about villains and vampires peeking in the windows, a watchdog might not be a bad companion to have around.”
“Who's going to train it?” Max wasn't ready to commit himself, and for cogent reasons.
“Why, you, my love.” Sarah was quite willing to take a chance. “Growing up in the city, I never had a dog of my own.”
“I always wondered why your mother-in-law didn't have a Seeing Eye dog. They can be trained to help the deaf as well as the blind, and she was both.”
“She wouldn't have wanted a smelly, messy dog around, fastidious as she was. Anyhow, why would she need a dog when she had Alexander?”
Max was sorry he'd brought the subject up. The moonlight was silvery bright and the air was cool, and Sarah was a warm weight against his shoulder. He was sick and tired of hearing his beloved talk about poor Alexander, but he'd never say so, not to Sarah.
“He didn't have much of a chance, did he?” Max tried his damnedest to sound sympathetic.
“I don't know about that, Max. I think you take your chances as they come and do what you can with what you get. Some people get more, some get less because they re afraid to hold out their plates for what they really want. I sometimes wonder what I'd have done with my life if Alexander and his mother hadn't been killed in the old electric car. Alexander would have been kind to me as he always was, he'd have puttered around with his odd jobs and visits to the relatives and waiting on his mother hand and foot. Eventually I'd have become an old woman and died without ever having had the chance to be young.
The Balloon Man Page 20
