Lineage Most Lethal

by S. C. Perkins

  Thankfully, my grandfather knew I didn’t want to be fussed over, just like he didn’t. We’d get enough of it from my parents, who were flying back early from Turks and Caicos to take care of Grandpa, and would no doubt add me to their nursing list once they saw me. Instead, Grandpa and I joked and laughed—but only after I gave him the minute-by-minute lowdown on everything that had happened since his accident.

  “You know,” Grandpa said, shaking his head, “I should have trusted my gut. The way Mrs. P. responded to me about there being another George Lancaster. It was overacted, a bit fishy, I have to tell you. But I was too determined to get that pen in case the microdot happened to be already on the viewer.” He sighed. “I should have mentioned it to you, my love. It was the mistake of one who’s been away from the game too long.”

  “What amazed me was how she used your rule of staying as close to the truth as possible. There was almost nothing Mrs. P. lied about, Grandpa,” I said. “The truth became her weapon, keeping her under everyone’s radar for so long. She only began to slip up when she started to rush.”

  Grandpa arched one white eyebrow. “Do you know how her grandfather, Reinhard von Pöllmacher, slipped up to Judith—Nell Davis, I mean—which led Nell to have to seduce him to get into his confidence?”

  I’d given Grandpa the list showing all the real names of the spies he’d served with on Operation Greenfinch. It had moved him to see their names, and he’d run a finger down the list of code names, nodding at each one like he was seeing a list of old friends. Now I sat forward, all ears. I couldn’t wait to hear more of the story. “How?”

  Grandpa smiled. He’d already told me how much he’d admired Nell Davis Sutton, calling her “outstandingly smart and capable, with the courage of five men. I was proud to call her my friend, even if I didn’t know her real name until today.”

  I could see the warm memories of her shining through the bruises on his face. I already had plans to videotape Grandpa discussing his wartime memories of Nell and her heroics so they could be added to the Sutton family video. With Pippa’s permission, I would also submit the video to the Library of Congress’s Veteran’s Oral History Project, to be saved and viewed for generations to come.

  That was, I’d videotape him once he recovered from his injuries and no longer had various shades of black, blue, and greenish yellow on his face. Until then, he had a date with Pippa on the second of January to meet at his favorite diner in Wimberley and tell her about her ancestor.

  “Nell had just met her boyfriend,” Grandpa was saying. “Pippa’s great-grandfather, that is.”

  “James Sutton,” I said.

  “That’s right. They met in the Dorchester Hotel, and they’d fallen in love. Soon after, she was paired with von Pöllmacher on a mission into France, where they had to play lovers. She told me she thought of James every time she looked at von Pöllmacher, and it worked a little too well. He misread her signals and confessed that he’d been in love with her—and her Aryan looks—since their first meeting.”

  “No,” I breathed.

  “It’s true,” Grandpa said. “She’d been a little suspicious of his allegiances for a time already, and one night of feigned passion on her part and a few hints about how brilliant she thought Hitler was, and Operation Greenfinch came into being.”

  “Wooooow,” I said. “Wow, wow, wow.”

  “That was pretty much my reaction, too,” Grandpa said. I noticed he was starting to blink more and I could see his energy was beginning to wane. I still had a couple more questions that couldn’t wait, though.

  “Any chance you’ve figured out who your good Samaritan was, the man who helped you the night of your accident?” I asked. “Which we now know wasn’t an accident at all, but Mrs. P., wearing a wig and driving a rental car. She confessed, and they found the rental-car reservation on her computer when it was searched.”

  Mrs. P.’s anger and loss of control were such that when she was led away in handcuffs, she screamed about the Greater German Reich, how she had killed to avenge her grandfather and his love for the fatherland, and even sold out her cousin as being the driver of the car that had run over Alastair Newell when Mrs. P. had last been in Germany.

  Dupart later told me that, once in custody at the APD, Mrs. P. had boasted of how easy it had been to kill Penelope Ohlinger once she convinced Penelope to come to Austin. They’d met for a walk when Penelope couldn’t sleep and Mrs. P. had brought her tea laced with sugar and heart meds.

  Later, Mrs. P. even ranted about her plans for killing Naomi Van Dorn and Fiona Kenland. Acting on my tip, Dupart had already contacted Naomi, who’d canceled her trip into Austin, but was recording her phone conversations with a British-accent-sporting Mrs. P.

  As for Fiona, she’d twice canceled plans to fly to Austin to meet with Mrs. P. From what Dupart told me, one of Mrs. P.’s last admissions before her lawyer showed up was to say she’d nearly given up on Fiona and was thinking of just “hiring a hit man and being done with it.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Such a waste to have so much hatred like that. It ate her up over the years. Did they find the Omega Weems aviator watch at her place as well?”

  “Actually, they found it in the pocket of her jacket. She already had a buyer lined up and had planned to meet with him and make the exchange after she’d killed Pippa and me. How did you know about her having the watch?”

  He shrugged. “Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Plus, she had a thing for watches. The Weems is extremely valuable. I’d bet she was hoping to cash it in before she left for Germany.”

  “Wow, right again,” I said. “You’re good at this, Grandpa.” I told him that Uncle Dave was so happy to finally be exonerated that he’d sat down on one of the green sofas and literally started crying.

  I snapped my fingers. “Speaking of Mrs. P., I found out why she was always called ‘Mrs.’ when she was never married. Pippa said she didn’t like being called ‘Ms.’ or ‘Miss,’ and she didn’t like her first name, either—which is Gertie, believe it or not—so Mrs. P. it was.”

  Grandpa just blinked bemusedly and shook his head.

  “So, I guess you haven’t met your good Samaritan?” I asked, bringing the subject back on track. “I was hoping to thank him for what he did to help you.”

  “Help me?” Grandpa repeated. “No, he saved me. Kept me talking, and wrote down what I asked and made sure it got to you. He’s also the one who put a guard on me. He’s a good sort, a truly good man.” His eyes twinkled. “But I expect you’ll get the chance to thank him soon enough.”

  He gave me one of his infuriatingly enigmatic smiles. I wanted to ask what he meant, and I also had a million other questions, but I could see he was rapidly becoming tired. I asked him one more question before I called Nurse Angelique back in to check him out and wheel me to where I could wait for Serena and Josephine to come pick me up.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you about the Montblanc Hugo left us. Do you still have the one that was issued to you? I don’t recall ever seeing it in your collection.”

  “No, my darlin’. Mine was lost in service to a brave young Frenchwoman,” Grandpa said with a grin and a yawn. “I caught a Nazi manhandling her just a couple of days before the Germans officially surrendered. I walked right up, pulled the cap off, and stabbed him in the thigh with the nib. Howled like a baby, he did. And when he yanked it out, he was so angry he threw it into the flames of his motorcycle, which the young Frenchwoman had set on fire in defiance. I helped her escape, and the Nazi was soon being marched out of town, limping badly, I might add. All in all, I feel like my Montblanc met a heroic fate.”

  I bent over and kissed his cheek. “You were the hero, as you’ve always been to us, and especially to me.”

  * * *

  Once I was released, Josephine and Serena took me straight to Big Flaco’s Tacos, where Flaco stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw me.

  “Ay, Lucia,” he said, taking one look at my bandaged wrist and generally b
ruised appearance and immediately going into Scary Mexican Second Father Mode. “¿Qué pasó?” Rapid-fire Spanish followed that, which Josephine translated for Serena.

  “To put it sans swear words, darling, he’s threatening to find whoever did this to his beautiful Lucia and make them pay in ways that will have them screaming for their mummy and wishing they’d never been born.”

  Serena feigned an exasperated look. “I’d prefer to hear it with the swear words, please.”

  In minutes, I was seated at my favorite barstool and plied with all my favorite tacos, plus guacamole, queso, and churros with Mexican-chocolate dipping sauce for dessert. Flaco hovered around me, giving anyone who accidentally passed too near me such a stare-down that they veered away, giving the three of us a wide berth.

  He also threatened to assign me a bodyguard, saying something about calling his son, and only backed off when Serena and Josephine promised they wouldn’t leave me alone in the coming days, and because I swore to come for breakfast every day until he was satisfied I was healing properly.

  Afterward, against my friends’ protests, I went to the office. “I have some work I need to do, including editing the video with the two interviews I did this week with Pippa’s cousins. And, to be honest, I could use a little bit of peace and quiet.”

  They relented, but only after seeing me safely into the office, where Serena laid out my next dose of acetaminophen and Josephine made me a big pot of Darjeeling tea.

  Once they left, I let the events of the day fade into the background, letting my work soothe me back into equilibrium. The first thing I did was get ahold of Sean, as it was nearing the end of his workday in DC. When he answered, I spent the first twenty minutes updating him on what had happened and explaining how he’d helped me uncover a murderer.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Sean,” I said with fervor.

  “Anytime, my friend,” he said.

  “If that’s truly the case,” I said, “is there a chance I could ask one more favor?”

  “Name it,” he said with a laugh, and I explained about some extra research I’d done weeks ago that I was pretty sure I was correct about, but I needed verification.

  “I’d love to do the verifying myself, but it will take longer. Any possibility you might have a researcher or two running around who could speed it up?”

  Sean’s voice was warm as he said, “You know, I think I just might.” He finished by saying he’d get back to me as soon as he could.

  FORTY-FIVE

  “It’s a good thing you were already planning to wear this strapless dress,” Serena said, pulling the zip up gently so as to not jostle my scraped and bruised right shoulder.

  Predictably, it had stiffened and darkened overnight, though the spa day the three of us enjoyed had helped, with the facialist carefully avoiding my scrapes and the massage therapist putting warm, moist heat on my shoulder while she gently worked out the rest of my knots.

  Except for Detective Dupart calling me to verify a few more details and the walk I took with Pippa where I filled in some gaps in the story and she fretted a little more about Roselyn, who’d disappeared yet again, it was a thoroughly relaxing day. While I didn’t let the cat out of the bag regarding Roselyn and her work with the FBI, I did say to Pippa, “Your mom loves you and will come clean. Just give her a little more time.”

  The best part was a long visit with Grandpa. I brought him some tacos and we’d discussed all sorts of things, including my hopes that Sean could come through for me again. I’d marveled at how much better Grandpa looked and felt, too.

  He would be able to go home tomorrow, and neither he nor I could wait. We spent the last hour deciding on gifts for Dr. Brozo, Nurse Angelique, and his still silent, still watchful guard, Tom, who’d leapt into action the moment he got my text and pulled a poisoned caramel from Nurse Angelique’s fingers just as she was about to take a bite.

  Now Serena turned me around to straighten my dress and nodded to my right wrist. “And you can hardly see the bandage with that silver cuff Pippa gave you as a thank-you. It complements this dress perfectly.”

  I touched the wide Tiffany cuff, thinking of the inscription Pippa had engraved underneath—three dots and a dash. She’d bought one for herself as well and would be wearing it tonight, too.

  “You don’t think I look too much like a disco ball, do you?” I said, slowly spinning under the lights of my room’s bathroom to where the multitude of silvery paillettes on my mini-dress cast nickel-sized orbs of light against the walls.

  Josephine held up my new heels. “Only if disco balls are beautiful, bad-ass genealogists who saved the lives of two women yesterday.”

  Serena put her hand on her hip. “Not to mention the lives of the other people that psycho Mrs. P. had plans to kill.”

  I smiled. Earlier, they’d already let me have a good cry about the fact that I hadn’t been able to save Hugo Markman, Chef Rocky, or Penelope Ohlinger. It was a hard thing to come to grips with, but they helped me to see that if I’d had true knowledge of what was going on earlier, I would have done my damnedest to save any or all of them, and that made me feel a little better.

  “Thanks, girls,” I said.

  “Now, how do you want to do your hair?” Josephine asked, pulling out a curling iron, a curling wand, and a straightener.

  “Y’all choose,” I said, shaking my hair back. “Do with me what you will.”

  “Hot damn. It’s like Christmas and Hanukkah all over again,” Serena told Jo, who gave a little excited squeal and began plugging everything in.

  An hour later, Serena transformed my long, straight, dark brown hair into voluminous soft curls that tumbled over my shoulders and mostly hid the bruises on my right shoulder blade. Josephine had given me a perfectly done smoky eye and a neutral, blush-pink lip.

  When Walter and Ahmad came up to my room and saw us three looking glammed up, they looked stunned in the best way and said all sorts of appreciative things to us. I was left as the fifth wheel, just as I’d known I would be, when we finally walked downstairs to the music coming up from the ballroom, but Walter offered me his other arm, and I took it, ready to thoroughly enjoy myself.

  At least, I would enjoy myself until we all shouted “Happy New Year!” Then I already had my escape route back to my room mapped out. It was my mission to be out of my disco-ball dress and into my pajamas by ten minutes into the new year.

  “Is it snowing yet?” I asked as we descended. I craned my head to look through the front door as another group of guests walked in, dressed to the nines.

  Josephine laughed. “You can’t tell by the fact that everybody is walking in without snow on them?”

  I grinned. “You haven’t been in Central Texas long enough to understand, Jo. It almost never snows here—and when it does, it’s usually just a light flurry. You could walk through it and be completely dry in the time it takes you to cross the porch.”

  Serena, who was looking out the window like me, added, “But it’s still snow, and we reserve the right to lose our minds over it.”

  “Then I’ll lose my mind over it with y’all,” Josephine said in solidarity, almost sounding like a true Texan. Serena and I looked at each other, then said, “Too bloody right!”

  As we reached the last step, Pippa came out of the bar in a metallic green slip dress. Her blond waves were straightened and pulled back into a sleek ponytail with a deep side part. She was laughing with Roselyn, and I confess I stared.

  I’d known Roselyn for almost two months now, and I’d never seen her laugh. Not a real, happy laugh, at least. It absolutely transformed her. She looked gorgeous in a shift dress of gold silk with her hair piled up in curls on top of her head. She was visibly limping, her hip having been as badly bruised as my shoulder, but she was looking radiantly happy.

  I turned to my friends. “Would y’all give me a few minutes? I’d like to talk to Pippa and Roselyn.”

  They wandered off toward the ballroom. Pippa hugged me gently,
but with feeling, and Roselyn said, “It’s over, Lucy. The man I told you about was arrested earlier today.” She looked at her daughter and found Pippa’s hand. “I’ve told Pippa everything, and she’s going to help me stay on track.”

  “I’m really, really glad,” I said, smiling widely.

  Now Roselyn held her hand out to me. Surprised, I took it as she said, “I’m free, and Pippa’s alive and safe because of you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You just did,” I said.

  Roselyn smiled, warmly and genuinely. “And now I think we all deserve some champagne and a damn good time,” she said, and ushered us into the beautifully decked out ballroom teeming with smiling revelers.

  I found my friends and finally, after a long week, let my hair down.

  * * *

  The five of us were in the bar as midnight approached. Pippa had joined us, holding the hand of a handsome guy she introduced as Alan. They’d known each other for many years, it seemed, and he’d come to the gala with his sister, who would be holding her wedding at the Hotel Sutton in the spring.

  The group of us had long since commandeered the little area of high-top tables and black-leather barstools situated just inside the bar, talking and laughing and enjoying ourselves for the last hour. Serena and Walter had just brought us all fresh flutes of champagne when Josephine’s boyfriend, Ahmad, said, “We’re one minute out. Get ready!”

  Serena caught my eye.

  “Stay,” she mouthed from across the table, but I shook my head.

  Ahmad and Walter had their respective arms around my two best friends. Alan did the same to Pippa. I was happy for all of them, but I was finding myself looking over my left shoulder to eye the staircase that would take me back up to my room. I knew all three couples would be getting their romance on as soon as the clock struck midnight, and I didn’t want to witness it for even a nanosecond longer than I had to.