The Tower of Evil (Bye-Bye Mysteries)

by Robert A. Liston

  “Was he alone, that last night?”

  “Yes, he and I worked on weights, then came over here to the treadmill.”

  “Did anything unusual happen?” Kay Shelley shook her head. “Did he say anything different or act strangely in any way.”

  “No, Harry was his usual self, you know, kind of quiet, intense. That’s why he came here. Working out relaxed him.”

  “Did he leave alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was that?”

  She looked at the clock on the wall, as though it could reveal time in the past. “Now that I think of it, he left early. He got a phone call—I guess you might say that was unusual.”

  “He used a cell phone?”

  “He didn’t have it with him, working out and all. I think he wanted to get away from the phone while here. I remember he was annoyed by the interruption.”

  “Where did he go to take the call?”

  “Over there at the desk, where Margo is.” She pointed. “It didn’t take long. When he came back he said he had to go back to his office.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “I don’t think so, he just went to the locker room and left.”

  “Kay, this is important, did Harry happen to say who was on the phone?”

  She shook her head. “No, but Margo did. Lots of people heard her. She hollered, ‘Harry, you got a phone call from somebody named Vic. Do you want to take it?’ Harry groaned, I remember, but went to the phone.”

  Lupe had trouble suppressing her glee.

  “What I really regret, Detective Hernandez, is that I had no idea Harry was going to kill himself. I should’ve seen it, said something, gone with him—anything.”

  She touched her shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done, Kay. Harry was murdered.”

  20: Domestics

  THE NEXT MORNING DeeDee tried on her maid’s uniform. It was gray and formless and she felt like bawling. Walter’s laughter didn’t help. “God, I look like a frump!”

  “And you so wanted to be a saucy French maid.”

  “At least something better than this.” In the bedroom mirror she cinched the belt at her waist. “I look like a sack of potatoes. No, two sacks of potatoes.”

  He laughed again, then put his arms around her. “I doubt if the Dragon Lady wants the sort of competition you provide.”

  “I refuse to let you make me feel better.” She sighed. “The worst is yet to come.” She pulled on a black, curly wig, stuffing her red locks inside. “Do I have to wear this? I’m not me.”

  “That’s the idea, love. The Ninjas may not recognize you, but they surely will remember your hair.”

  “Are you going to wear a wig?”

  “I’ll keep my cap on. A dark mustache should help. And what can they do to me if it doesn’t, kick me off the property?”

  They drove to Elite Placements in separate cars and entered the van to be driven to the castle. She professed not to know Susan or what happened to her. Fortunately no one was awake enough to be talkative.

  When she first glimpsed the castle fear gripped her. She expected something out of a Disney film, not this dark gray, low to the ground edifice, all roof, no apparent windows. And the stone tower was not at all as she envisioned, but broad and squat, not much higher than the roof with a pointed steeple of gray tile. It looked forbidding and utterly impregnable. Tower of evil, yes.

  She shivered and Walter patted her arm. “You can always change your mind,” he whispered.

  “Be still, we don’t know each other.”

  The van drove through light woods and stopped at a wrought iron gate. “Elite here,” the driver said.

  In a moment an unfriendly voice said, “Okay, you know where to go.”

  The gate opened and the van turned off to the right and drove around to the back. “Okay, folks, happy slaving,” the driver said, “see you at seven.”

  She was the last to alight. Walter was already shuffling off behind the other male toward a greenhouse. She braced herself and entered the steaming kitchen. It was large and quite modern.

  “Who are you?”

  Hildegard Uberreich was masculine to say the least, built like a bouncer, even deep-voiced. All the woman needed was a swastika. Imperious was a word coined just for her. Her black uniform fitted her, too. Oh well. “Irene, ma’am.”

  “Where’s Susan?”

  “I believe she’s sick, ma’am.”

  The woman looked her up and down. “Elite sure is dragging the bottom of the barrel. How old are you?”

  “Forty-seven, ma’am.” It had been a very good year. William had entered college.

  “You sure do look every day of it. Oh well. Can you serve food?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Get rid of your things over there, and I’ll show you how we serve breakfast. People will be coming down shortly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You may call me Mrs. Uberreich.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She followed the woman into a baronial dining room, with a high, beamed ceiling, heavy oak furniture and a groaning board surely once used in Ivanhoe. She was to arrange trays of food on the sideboard. Guests would eat buffet style. She was to pour coffee and make herself available.

  “How many guests are there?”

  “You’ll see. Miss Fielding will eat later in her suite.”

  They came in twos and threes, some singly, several minutes apart, and DeeDee discovered what it was like to be invisible. No one greeted her or even glanced at her. Even when they asked her about the food or wanted tea instead of coffee, she might have been R2D2.

  She didn’t mind. The three Ninjas were sullen and paid no attention to her. She had worried needlessly. As for the others, she picked up a few names and got an idea of who they were. Some were secretaries, helping Dr. Joy with her column. Others were associated with her radio and TV shows. A couple did make-up and wardrobe, but she simply could not figure what three others did. Could be houseguests. Joy Fielding, a.k.a. Mrs. Kinkaid, certainly had an entourage, mostly young. But Walter was right. None had the plumage of the head peacock.

  After breakfast, DeeDee was put to cleaning and straightening the downstairs. She wielded the feather duster some, but mostly she explored. The place was cavernous, everything suggesting the medieval without being it. All was posh, plush, dripping luxury, yet somehow trite, straight out of the Warner Brothers prop room. The only thing missing was Errol Flynn.

  She found the tower, at least a curved wall suggesting a tower. It lay off the entrance, to the right of the grand staircase leading upstairs. Its stone wall rose past the second floor landing, even the third, disappearing through the roof. There was no door or window. Yet, there had to be some way into it.

  The Hispanic fellow who rode out with Byerly went straight to his mowers, leaving him standing there. He felt like a nomad hunting a bus stop in the Sahara. Finally he entered the greenhouse. The humidity and odors assaulted him at once. The place had to have orchids they hadn’t discovered yet, and that was just for starters.

  He saw no one until he reached the back of the greenhouse. There in a small room was a human being with a coffee and Danish, pouring over seed catalogs. “Hi, I’m Walt, the gardener.”

  The person who looked up at him was young and bookish behind horn-rimmed glasses. He surely read for a part in Revenge of the Nerds.

  “I’m Darryl, the floriculturist here.” He offered a hand. “Care for a donut?”

  “I had breakfast. Do you give me my marching orders?”

  He laughed. “The last thing I am is military, but we do need to take out the summer flowers and put in mums, asters and snaps for fall. Let me finish my breakfast and I’ll show you where things are.”

  “No rush.” He looked around. “This is some place.”

  “Yeah, a regular castle.”

  “That’s the word for it. Have you ever been in that tower?”

  “I
stay away from the house and the people there as much as possible. You will, too, if you’re smart.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Does anyone live in the tower?”

  “I guess so. Someone called out once, but I couldn’t’ understand them.”

  Byerly walked outside and looked up at the tower. C’mon, Jamie, look out. No one showed.

  At midmorning Uberreich summoned DeeDee to the kitchen. “There are two breakfasts to be served this morning. You take this tray and follow me—and keep your mouth shut unless spoken to.”

  Yes, mother.

  Uberreich led her up the staircase, past the tower to the second floor, down a hallway, through double doors and into a large parlor or sitting room. Queen Anne furniture abounded. In a room to her right she saw secretaries at work at desks and consoles. To her left was an exercise room. Other doors were closed. Ahead lay double doors. The sanctum sanctorum no doubt.

  Uberreich knocked, then entered. They were in a large, fussy bedroom, with acres of frilly drapes everywhere and a canopied bed large enough for a pair of amorous hippos.

  They passed by the foot of it and out on to a sun-drenched terrace.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Uberreich, such a lovely day.”

  “It certainly is, Miss Fielding.”

  Dr. Joy sat at a wrought iron table, painted white, wearing a pink negligee and matching mules. The skirt had parted over her lovely thighs, leaving an eyeful under the glass tabletop.

  “Miss Fielding, this is Irene, she’s new today.”

  Dr. Joy looked at her but did not see her, showed teeth but did not smile. She delved back into her morning paper while Uberreich laid out her breakfast.

  “Where do you want the other breakfast, Miss Fielding?”

  “Right here.” She patted the chair to her right. “Mr. Dragon will be along in a moment.”

  DeeDee almost dropped her tray. Dr. Joy had never seen her, only Walter, so she had no fear. But Victor Dragon had been in her home and helped snatch a screaming boy out of her arms. Lord! She was finished before she hardly started.

  She smelled his cologne even before she heard his voice behind her. “Good morning, darling, I could eat a hippo.” He was dressed, but tieless and coatless.

  “You’ll have to settle for bacon and eggs, I’m afraid.”

  As much as she wanted to disappear, there was nothing to do but lay out the great man’s breakfast. She tried to keep her head down and her back toward him. No such luck.

  “And who have we here this fine morning?”

  She ignored him.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Me, sir?”

  She looked down at her shoes. “Irene, sir,” she said softly. She even curtsied, sorta.

  He looked at her a long moment, squinting a little. Here it comes.

  “Irene. That’s a nice name you don’t hear much anymore. Well, I’ll say good morning instead of good night.” He thought that worthy of a good laugh.

  “You may take the trays and go now, Irene.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Uberreich.” God was the one to be thanked. She had escaped, but barely.

  “Are you sure he didn’t recognize you?” DeeDee tossed the salad while Walter served leftover stroganoff. They ate at the kitchen counter.

  “If he did he’s a better actor than I am.” She shrugged. “At least we know he and Dr. Joy are acting out significant positions from The Joy of Sex and don’t care much who knows.”

  “Are you sure? He could’ve dropped in for breakfast.”

  “She in a diaphanous negligee, he just out of the shower? The bed looked like someone performed River Dance on it.”

  “Clogs and all.” He laughed. “There’s somebody living in the tower, Babe, at least the gardener—excuse me, floriculturist—states it as a fact. Did you find a way in?”

  “It’s not going to be easy. I talked to Maria Angelo—”

  “And how is she?”

  “Scared, everybody’s scared. I don’t know why they work there. Money must be good. Anyway, Maria says she thinks the tower’s reached through a locked door off the kitchen. She’s never tried, but she’s seen Uberreich go inside, carrying food.”

  “I suppose Uberreich has the only key.”

  “They hand them out to all the employees, don’t I wish.”

  “Maybe you should take it up with the shop steward.”

  She howled with laughter. “Unionized drudgery indeed.”

  The phone rang and Walter answered. She heard, “Hi, Sid,” then, “Already? How’d it go?” Finally, “I agree, nothing will probably come of it, but I appreciate your efforts. … Sure, I’ll let you know what happens, if anything. Bye.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “I’m trying to find a better way to help Jamie than planting petunias.”

  “I thought it was mums.”

  “Asters, actually. I asked Sid Rankin to help me get through to Justin Wright.”

  She stared at him. “But why? He’ll go right to the enemy.”

  “We don’t know that—not for sure, anyway. He might be a nice guy, a decent guy, eager to know his son, hold him, talk to him and…give him a life.” He swore under his breath, muttered, “When so many people want kids, how can a man….” He sighed deeply, then poured heavily into his wine glass.

  She touched his hand, said softly, “I’ve never been big into throwing cold water, hon.”

  “It could do some good, you know, he might want to.”

  “I’m on your side, love.”

  Later he yawned. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with age, only exertion, but I’m pooped, how about you?”

  “I thought you’d never admit it. Yes, let’s go to bed sooner than later.”

  “How about now?”

  “You always had the best ideas, darling, that’s why I let you sweep me off my feet.”

  “As I recall I kept suggesting the sack to you regularly, but you needed a piece of paper.”

  “The times, dear, the times. And you weren’t enamored of my father’s shotgun any more than I was.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Lord, we’re Grand Central Station.” DeeDee went. It was Lupe.

  “Where have you guys been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  “We’ve been out at the Kinkaid castle, trying to find some way to rescue Jamie.”

  “You went out there like that?”

  She giggled. “Yes, this is my maid’s costume. Walter is a gardener. We’re pretty good at it, too. Walter’s already learned somebody is in that tower.”

  “We still haven’t figured out how to get up there, though.”