by Jane Tesh
“Okay, they’ve all got motives. What about opportunity?”
I stopped at a red light at the intersection of Maple and Main. “Rachel and Jacey were the only ones on the loading dock when Amelia died. I need to hear what Warwick has to say—if he found out anything. It’s possible she really died of a heart attack. And then there’s the problem of Nathan.”
“Nathan? How’s he involved?”
“I’m pretty sure Amelia was at his apartment not long before she died.”
“Nathan and Amelia. Give me a moment to visualize.”
“Unless Nathan’s decided to wear Purple Passion lipstick when no one’s watching. I found her brand of cigarette butts with her distinctive purple lipstick on them, and I found a paper like the ones at Nathan’s house in a stack of Amelia’s textbooks.”
“Why would she be visiting Nathan?”
“A better question would be why did she write, ‘Nathan, you need to check this’ on the paper.”
“A threat?”
“No, I think she was trying to help him.”
“We’re talking about Amelia Lever here, hated and feared throughout the land.”
“Yes, but Ronald Brown liked her, and I’m pretty sure the mysterious Rusty liked her. There could be a good reason she wanted to help Nathan.”
“Or ruin his chances. She seemed to be good at sabotage.”
“If that’s the case, then Nathan has a motive, too.”
Tori must have been waiting at the door because she opened it the minute we rang the bell.
“Come in, come in! Oh, Jerry, I love your tie!”
Jerry had worn a blue tie with yellow light bulbs on it. “I hope it’ll give us some bright ideas.”
“I love it! Can you stay for lunch? I’ve fixed something.”
“Sure, that sounds nice. And I brought some things for a new scrapbook.”
She was enchanted with the programs and ticket stubs. “Oh, this is wonderful! I never thought about making an opera scrapbook.” She examined each program. “Paul Bunyan, Faust, Tales of Hoffmann. You’ll have to tell me what all these are about.”
“I’ll be glad to.”
“These must have been fantastic productions.”
“Even better live and in color. You’ll have to come with us and see one.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, maybe.”
“You’d really like Tales of Hoffmann. It’s like a bizarre fairy tale.”
She nodded. I could tell she was afraid he was going to pull her out the door and make her go see the opera right this minute. She set the programs and ticket stubs on a small table in the foyer. “But first let’s continue our treasure hunt!” She practically bounced down the hallway. “Now, where did we stop? Oh, yes, Aunt Rescinda.”
Jerry took down the portrait of the scowling Aunt Rescinda. There was nothing behind the picture, nothing hidden in the frame, and nothing very inspiring about the aunt’s angry look.
“She must not have wanted her picture painted,” Jerry said as he maneuvered the portrait back on its hook. “Who’s next?”
“Elijah’s cousin, Barnaby Fenton. Oh! Oh! There’s a bird in the tree!”
I thought Tori was having an episode until I realized she was pointing to a small brown bird painted on the tree behind Cousin Barnaby.
“Is that the sparrow from ancient times?”
Jerry took a closer look. “It could be. How ancient is Cousin Barnaby?”
“I think he lived in the Eighteen Hundreds.”
“Do you see a river?”
“What’s that just behind his head?”
Jerry took the picture down so we could see. Cousin Barnaby, like all of the other relatives, was scowling. He stood with his hands folded. He had on a fine black suit and tie, and his white hair fanned out like a lion’s mane. He’d been painted outside, or in front of a nature backdrop. In the background, a dark flow of water cascaded over rocks and around trees.
“West to east?” Jerry asked.
I looked around. “Tori, which direction does your house face?”
“North,” she said.
“So if we’re standing here, and your front door is behind us, then the river in this picture is going west to east.”
“Oh, my goodness, this is it! This is it!”
I thought she was going to explode. “Take it easy. It has to fit the rest of the riddle.”
“‘Listen where the portrait lies,’” Jerry quoted. “Okay, I’ll listen.” He put his ear to the wall where the portrait had been hanging. “I hear nothing but stone.”
She giggled and actually touched his arm. “Why don’t you bring the portrait to the dining room? We can examine it while we have lunch.”
Tori had made salad, some sandwiches, and had a variety of cookies. We put Cousin Barnaby in a chair and looked at him while we ate.
Tori nibbled on a lettuce leaf. “I can’t believe we’re so close.”
I wanted to make sure she understood about the so-called treasure. “You know anything we find goes to Nathan.”
“Yes, and I want him to have it. This has been so exciting for me, though. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”
“Mac and I have this kind of fun all the time,” Jerry said. “You’re welcome to join us.”
She gave him a wistful smile. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’m fine right here.”
I decided to come right out and ask the question. “Tori, are you afraid to leave your house?”
The lettuce leaf trembled in her hand. “No.”
“Maybe you need something to wear? We could go shopping.”
“No, thank you. I can’t, that’s all.”
She looked as if she might cry. Jerry changed the subject. “Tori, are you sure that’s Cousin Barnaby?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“I’ve been thinking. The riddle says, ‘And listen where the portrait lies.’ What if it means ‘lies’ like ‘not tell the truth’?”
“But what about the sparrow and the river? They’re both in this picture.”
“Is that really Cousin Barnaby?”
She gave the picture another long look. “Well, I don’t know. I’m just going by what Aaron said.”
“Maybe something else in the picture is a lie,” I said.
She brightened. “Like those pictures that have all sorts of things wrong in them, or hidden pictures.” She hopped up and put her little nose almost on the portrait. “What could it be?”
“Tori,” I said, “why won’t Nathan come to the chateau?”
She sat back. “He never liked coming here. He said it was too big and gloomy.”
“But having to solve this riddle by Monday, I would’ve thought he would have been over here every day examining the portraits. And he knows his family better than I do. Why hire a stranger?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “He’s not welcome here.”
“Why not?”
“He’s just not.”
I didn’t quite understand. Nathan, like Jerry, was not a threatening-looking man. “Are you afraid of him?”
“No. I-I’m mad at him.”
“What did he do?”
Her voice caught. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“Are there any more chocolate cookies?” Jerry asked.
She gave him a shaky smile. “I think so.”
My cell phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” I said. I left the table and went out into the hallway, mainly to give Tori time to recover. “Hello?”
It was Aaron Satterfield. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, Ms. Maclin. Someone tried to break into my home last night. I’ve been down at the police station making sure they have all the details.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine. I wasn’t home at the time, and I have a good security system.”
“Any idea why your home was targeted?” I asked, thinking it would be an amazing coincidence if he said, “Yes, to steal
my Bufo cards.” But he didn’t.
“Unfortunately, a lot of homes in the neighborhood have been broken into lately. The police say the thief or thieves are after TVs and DVD players, the usual. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Satterfield, did you receive some packs of Bufo cards in the mail recently?”
“Bufo cards?”
“Kids’ trading cards with pictures of dressed up frogs on them.”
He gave one of his amused snorts. “Oh, those things. My secretary said something about that. She checks all my mail.”
“Do you still have them?”
“No, I told her to throw them away. They must have been sent here by mistake. Why? What’s your interest in them?”
“They might have been part of Elijah’s game.”
Another snort. “Then I definitely didn’t want them. Sounds like his way of saying, ‘Jump when I tell you to.’ Was there anything else?”
“Do the police have a description of the thief?”
“No. Why? Is this relevant to Elijah’s riddle?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just a random break in, Ms. Maclin. I can’t imagine how it would connect.”
I couldn’t, either. He said good-by and hung up. My phone buzzed a second time. Misty May was returning my call. “Another question, Ms. Maclin?”
“Yes,” I said. “Did part of Elijah’s game involve packs of Bufo cards?”
“Bufo cards? The ones with the frogs on them?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s odd,” she said. “The last time I spoke with him, he gave me a card like that. I remember because he laughed, and he didn’t laugh often.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“It might be helpful if I could see it,” I said.
“I could mail it to you.”
This was Thursday afternoon. I probably wouldn’t get the card until Saturday, which was cutting it a bit fine. “Rossboro’s a short drive from Celosia, isn’t it? Why don’t I stop by later today? Would that be all right?”
“Of course. My office is on the corner of Clover and Fourth. I’ll be here till six.”
I closed my phone and went back into the dining room. As I expected, Jerry had cheered Tori with some sleight of hand tricks. He pulled a cookie from behind her ear.
“See? Told you there was another one.”
“That’s amazing! You should be on TV.”
Despite the brightness in her eyes, she looked tired and frail. I thought we should give her a little space. “I may have a lead in this case. You won’t mind if we come back later, Tori?”
“Oh, my, no. While you’re gone, I’ll continue to look for clues to the riddle.”
“Good idea.”
We left her staring earnestly at Cousin Barnaby.
“Did you make that up about having a lead?” Jerry asked as we walked down the dark hall to the front door.
“No, Misty May has a Bufo card in Rossboro we need to see. And I felt Tori had had enough for today.”
“Rossboro. That’s convenient. Didn’t you want to check it out?”
“We can go right now.”
Jerry opened the door for me. “Mac, I need to go to Parkland, remember? Check with Del?”
“Why don’t we see if there are some pawn shops in Rossboro?”
“Del will probably have exactly what I need.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I don’t know his number. He keeps changing it.”
“I wonder why.” I unlocked the car. “Okay, get in. We’ll swing by Del’s. You know where it is, right? Or does he keep moving?”
“Pot Luck Alley.”
“Oh, good. The classy part of town.”
We got into my car. “Now I have to figure out exactly why Tori’s mad at Nathan,” I said.
“Maybe he sided with Elijah against her. Maybe they had a knock down drag out fight.”
I started the car, and we drove down the long driveway. “I can’t imagine her getting mad at anyone.”
“Maybe she and Nathan had an affair. A torrid affair, get it?”
“I get it, but I can’t see it. She’s so timid.”
“Bet she wasn’t always timid.”
“All right, suppose she and Nathan had a fling. Aaron doesn’t sound like the kind of man who’d just give up and leave town.” I stopped at the end of the drive. “Pot Luck Alley? Are you sure?”
“So we need some classy music.” Jerry turned on the CD of Tales of Hoffmann.
I recognized the tune. “This is the I Have Eyeballs song.”
“‘J’ai des yeux.’ Not eyeballs. Eyes.”
In the opera, a very strange man gives Hoffmann special glasses so he sees a doll as a living woman. The man has a long song about all the eyes he has, eyes of flame that can see into the depths of the soul, things like that. It’s peculiar.
As Jerry hummed along, I wondered again why this opera was the feature presentation. When we first came to Celosia to see the house, he was listening to Paul Bunyan. Its themes of once in a blue moon fit perfectly with our new situation: his new house, my new agency. During the Mantis Man case, he listened to Faust, its passionate arias underscoring our growing attraction and final declarations of the love we’d always had for each other. But I couldn’t make Tales of Hoffmann fit. It’s his favorite opera, so maybe this meant he was feeling good about life in general.
“What’s this part?” I asked.
“‘Take them and you will see what you want to. Take my eyes, my living eyes, my eyes of flame, my eyes which pierce the soul, take my eyes.’”
“Okay, I’ll take them. Can’t Hoffmann figure out this woman is just a mechanical doll?”
“Not until he breaks his glasses.”
“So weird.”
“His friend tries to tell him, but he won’t listen. He’s in love.”
Take them and you will see what you want to. “I like the next song better.”
We drove on to Parkland with Olympia’s sparkling “Doll Song” playing. Jerry attempted to sing along, but was overcome with fake coughing as the aria’s high notes became too difficult.
“Stick to the Eyeball Song,” I said.
***
Del’s place in Pot Luck Alley looked a lot more like a pawnshop than Foster’s, dark and cramped. I expected Del to be along the lines of Bilby, but he was a surprisingly tall and handsome man who looked as if he belonged in an upscale clothing store.
“What’s up, Jerry? Whatcha need?”
“A gold pocket watch, preferably with an ‘S’ engraved on it.”
“Let me see what I got.”
There was just enough room in the corner for a Plexiglas counter, a stool, and a cash register. Every other inch of Del’s shop was crammed with appliances, guns, and things I didn’t recognize. Del reached into the dark recesses behind the counter and pulled out a faded cardboard box. He put the box on the counter.
“Should be a few in here. Who’s the lovely lady?”
“My wife, Madeline. Mac, this is Del Costello.”
We shook hands. “A pleasure,” Del said. “Are you part of Jerry’s scheme?”
“No,” I said. “I’m a private investigator.”
His eyebrows went up. “Really? We might be able to do each other some favors in the future.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Too bad you’re not in on the game, though. You’d make a stunning distraction.”
“Thank you.”
“Del,” Jerry said. “Wife.”
“Force of habit, pal.”
The box was filled with pocket watches. Jerry took each one out, examined it, and then set it aside. Most of the watches were made of what looked like tin and were dented and scratched. One that looked as if it were made of bronze fell apart, little springs bouncing everywhere.
“Whoops,” Jerry said, trying to retrieve the bits.
Del laughed. “That’s o
kay. I doubt the owner’s coming back for that one.”
“This all you got?”
“Yep. What about that one?” He pointed to a watch that looked gold, but when Jerry took it out of the box, the gold color came off on his fingers.
“I don’t think that one will work.”
“That’s the only gold one I have. Although, there might be some in another box.”
While Del rooted through the mounds of boxes, Jerry took out more watches, each one more pitiful than the last. “This is just junk.”
“Well, there’s been a run on pocket watches lately. I think some of our acquaintances are shooting for a Jam Auction at the furniture market next month.”
“Former acquaintances.”
Del paused in his search. “Really?”
“This is my last.”
Del gave me a look. “Any particular reason?”
Jerry saw the look. “I’ve had a good run. I need to get out while I can.”
“So you need to go out in style.” He blew the dust off another box and brought it to the counter. “Who’s the mark?”
“A couple of women in Celosia.”
“Celosia? Slim pickings there, I’ll bet.”
“I’ve made a lot of friends.”
“Why not tell these women you can’t find what they’re looking for?”
Jerry looked through the second box. “I may have to.”
“Have they paid in deep?”
“I’ll be giving their money back anyway.”
This was news to me, but I didn’t say anything. Del looked equally surprised.
“You’re serious?”
“Like I said, I can only push my luck so far.”
“So you don’t want to hear about the Jam Auction. Or Toby’s Charity Raffle?”
“No, thanks.”
“Charity Raffle?” I said. “That almost sounds honest.”
Jerry took out another sad looking watch and put it back in the box. “Not this one, Mac. Toby gets a big stuffed animal and a roll of tickets. People buy the tickets for a chance at the toy, somebody wins, and all the money goes to charity. Well, maybe a third of the money.”
“And I take it a Jam Auction isn’t about preserves?”
“Nope. It’s a similar scam. Usually involves watches, too. Excess stock. Special Sale. One Day Only.”
“On that one, the mark actually ends up buying back his own money,” Del said. “It’s a thing of beauty. I’d tell you all the details, Madeline, but we have to keep some professional secrets secret.”
