Lark! the Herald Angels Sing

by Donna Andrews

  Soon we’d be passing the Caerphilly Inn. Of course! Normally, a snooty five-star hotel wouldn’t be the first place I’d think of to hide a fugitive. But the Inn’s assistant manager was a good friend of mine. I’d known Ekaterina Vorobyaninova since she’d been merely a junior member of the housekeeping staff.

  And not only was she a friend but, as the daughter of a self-professed former Russian secret agent, she had a fondness for subterfuge and intrigue.

  I turned into the Inn’s mile-long lane, pulled out my cell phone, and broke my normally stern policy against phoning while driving. I rationalized that as long as I followed the Inn’s five-mile-per-hour speed limit, it was almost indistinguishable from phoning in a parked car.

  “Meg! Merry Christmas! What happens?”

  “Merry Christmas to you, and can you hide a woman in peril for a little while?”

  “Of course. Why are you in peril?” Odd, how matter-of-fact she sounded about the notion.

  “I’m not in peril—at least I hope I’m not, now that I’m safely out of Clay County. But I just finished rescuing someone, and she needs a place to hide. She and her cat,” I added. “Can I bring them in the back way?”

  “I will meet you at the loading dock.”

  Janet was a little surprised to find herself being hustled past the Dumpsters and through the somewhat industrial back corridors of the hotel. But once we had her and Sammy installed in a room—small, by the Inn’s standards, which meant it was still almost the size of Rachel Plunket’s entire bungalow—she relaxed a little.

  “This is rather nice,” she said. Clearly she had a talent for understatement.

  “You can stay here for the time being,” I said.

  “What about An—Lark?” Janet said. “I can’t leave her at the shelter.”

  I decided not to point out that she already had, when she’d taken off to rescue Sammy.

  “I’ll make arrangements either to sneak you back into the shelter or to bring her out here, whichever will work better,” I said. “But later. Let’s give it a little time to make sure no one followed us here.”

  Janet didn’t look as if she liked the idea, but she didn’t argue with me.

  Ekaterina and I left her and Sammy to settle in.

  “Can we expect pursuit?” Ekaterina sounded as if she rather liked the idea.

  “It’s possible. Her husband’s the one accused—probably falsely—of that murder in Clay County. She escaped with her baby, but she left her cat behind.”

  “And you helped her rescue him. Very good!”

  I remembered that Ekaterina was herself a cat lover, and had recently engineered a repeal of the Inn’s no-pets policy. Her two Russian blues, Alexei and Tatiana, could now usually be found in the Inn’s lobby, basking by the fire and gazing superciliously at the guests. I decided not to mention that I would have vetoed the cat rescue mission if consulted.

  “It would be nice if you could make sure she doesn’t leave.” Maybe I was too suspicious, but I still had questions about Janet’s story.

  “I anticipated that possibility.” Ekaterina nodded with satisfaction. “I have placed her in one of the rooms that can be adapted to guests with special needs. Guests who should not, for one reason or another, be permitted unsupervised access to the rest of the property.”

  “Seriously? You have rooms like that?”

  “From time to time, we have requests to accommodate, for example, a family party that includes a member who is less capable of independent action. Someone of advanced age and diminished mental capacity, for example. We can also provide a suitably discreet and safe environment for someone undergoing certain courses of medical treatment.”

  “Like sobering up?”

  Ekaterina nodded.

  Fascinating. The idea that the Inn also doubled, for its most elite clients, as a five-star residential treatment center for substance abuse or dementia was a new one.

  “So she can’t get out?”

  “Of course she can get out,” Ekaterina sounded shocked. “The fire code would not permit us simply to lock her in! She can get out by pushing the emergency exit bar on her door. But then of course the fire alarms would sound, our security office would see it immediately, and the appropriate staff member would be dispatched to deal with the situation. So it is preferable for her to use the house phone to request assistance. I will explain this to her in a few minutes when I take up her lunch.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I said. “I’ll try to get her out of your hair as soon as possible.”

  “No worry.”

  “Can you find me a quiet corner so I can make some phone calls?”

  “You can use my office,” she said. “And have you eaten?”

  “No, but—”

  “I will send up a tray,” she said.

  Ekaterina’s office, like her, was elegant, serene, and efficient. I sank into her butter-soft leather desk chair, pulled out my cell phone, and made a mental list of calls.

  I’d start with 911.

  “What’s your emergency, Meg?” Debbie Ann said.

  “I’d like to report a car theft,” I said. “Not my car. Robyn’s.”

  “She already reported it,” Debbie Ann said. “Although she did add that it’s possible she merely forgot who she lent it to. Which probably means that she suspects one of her stray lambs has taken it, and if we find it she’ll suddenly remember having told the culprit they could borrow it any time they wanted.”

  “She probably will,” I said. “As it happens I know who borrowed it—Janet Caverly.”

  “We were wondering about her.”

  “And I have at least a general idea where the car might be now.”

  “And that is?”

  “Wherever Clay County deposits towed vehicles.” I gave her as brief as possible an overview of my pursuit of Janet and our adventures in Clay County. About halfway through what was still a longish tale, a smiling uniformed maid delivered a tray laden with some of what Ekaterina knew were my favorite delicacies from the Inn’s kitchens. As I finished my story I nibbled on the chocolate-covered strawberries, taking tiny bites that would not only make them last longer but also wouldn’t interfere too badly with talking.

  “Hang on a sec,” Debbie Ann said when I’d finished. “I think the chief will want to talk to you.”

  I heaped clotted cream onto a scone as I waited.

  “You’ve had quite a morning,” the chief said when he got on the line. “Will it work to leave Mrs. Caverly at the Inn for the time being?”

  “I think Ekaterina will enjoy taking care of her,” I said. “And given all the dignitaries who stay here, I imagine the Inn’s security is pretty good.”

  “And Mrs. Caverly herself? Is she content?”

  “I haven’t asked her, and I don’t much care,” I said. “If you ask me, she lost her vote on the matter when she stole Robyn’s car and very nearly got herself captured while trying to rescue her cat. I’m not criticizing her for wanting to rescue the creature, mind you. But if she’d told us about it, we could have arranged something. Sent a couple of Shiffleys to fetch it.”

  “Or one or two of my deputies. Water under the bridge now. Still, a good idea to have Ekaterina keeping an eye on her.”

  “I gather Debbie Ann gave you the headline version of our adventures,” I said. “I left out a couple of bits that would have bogged down the story, but I should tell you.” I rattled off the information Rachel had shared about why her brother had been killed, and her suspicions that someone in whatever agency Mark Caverly had consulted had been either crooked or careless.

  “Great,” he said. “So one of the agencies I’ve been nagging to come and deal with the situation in Clay County might have a Dingle mole inside. We just don’t know which one.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, it’s not as if any of them have been falling all over themselves to deal with Clay County.”

  He fell silent, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I
was. What if Clay County did have a mole inside some federal agency? A mole who was not only warning the Dingles but even working to prevent or at least delay any federal involvement?”

  “Well, it can’t be helped,” he said. “And I always operate on the assumption that anything you say to an agency is out there in public. Most of the Feds I deal with directly are career law enforcement and have their heads on straight, but sometimes the political appointees are a disaster.”

  “So I shouldn’t hold my breath waiting for the Feds to swoop in and rescue Mark Caverly.”

  “I’m not optimistic that anything will come off until after Christmas,” he said. “And yes, I know that’s only three more days, but if Mrs. Caverly’s fears are true … well, it’s not as if the Dingles are going to observe any kind of Christmas truce on a guy who knows enough to put them in the slammer for a very long time.”

  Not much useful I could say about that, so I said nothing.

  “At any rate, thank you for the update. You might tell Ekaterina I’ll drop by later today to talk to Mrs. Caverly.”

  “Will do.”

  I thought about calling Michael, but I knew if I talked to him now, I’d probably give in to the temptation to vent about how idiotic Janet had been. And there was no need to interrupt the boys’ sledding with anything stressful.

  So I texted.

  “Still looking for Delaney,” I said. “How goes the sledding?”

  He sent back a couple of photos of the boys on the slopes. I allowed myself a brief pang of envy. Then I dialed Robyn’s number.

  “Meg!” she said. “You’ll never guess what happened.”

  “Someone stole your car.”

  “It was Janet Caverly, wasn’t it?” She didn’t sound angry—just sad and disappointed.

  “Yes, but it’s probably not what you think. She wanted to rescue her cat.”

  I gave her the highlights of my pursuit of Janet. When I finished, she was silent for a few moments.

  “If she’s going to stay at the Inn, we should probably figure out a way to get Lark over to her,” was all she said. I couldn’t have resisted the temptation to mention what an idiot Janet had been.

  “I’ll see what I can manage,” I said. “But I have a few other, more urgent things to do first. Like trying to find Delaney so I can convince her that Rob’s not a two-timing creep.”

  “You’ve been trying to find Delaney?”

  “In between bouts of rescuing Janet.”

  “She’s at the shelter. At least she was an hour or so ago. Has been since last night. She said she didn’t want to talk to Rob or even look at him, and the shelter was the one place she could be sure he couldn’t come.”

  “Blast,” I said. “If Janet had stayed put where she was supposed to be, I’d have found Delaney already. Any idea how long she’s planning to stay?”

  “She brought a big suitcase and her laptop. She was holed up in her room working on the computer all morning.”

  “You object if I go and try to talk to her?”

  “As long as you leave her alone if she refuses to talk to you.”

  And Delaney probably would tell me to leave her alone. Well, at least she hadn’t left town, I thought, as Robyn and I signed off. With luck, she’d be around when the news about the Caverlys came out.

  I snagged a bit of beef satay from my lunch plate and dipped it in peanut sauce as I dialed Randall.

  “Are your cousins still up on the roof keeping an eye out for infiltrators from Clay County?”

  “Last time I looked.”

  “Wonder how they missed Janet Caverly sneaking out.”

  A pause.

  “Are you serious?”

  Chapter 21

  Somehow I was no longer in the mood to give anyone chapter and verse of my morning’s adventures. Randall was going to get the CliffsNotes version.

  “Tracked her to Clay County and dragged her back,” I said instead. “And stashed her at the Inn for the time being. FYI, there are definitely Dingles slinking about Caerphilly looking for the Caverlys.”

  A longer pause.

  “Clearly I need to have a few words with Fred and the boys.”

  “Don’t be too hard on them,” I said, through a mouthful of pita bread and hummus. “They were watching for Dingles sneaking in, not damsels in distress sneaking out.”

  “Still. Maybe I’ll pull them off the roof and send them out to look for Mr. Caverly.”

  “Rumor has it Clay County’s already caught him.”

  “Rumor had it that way last night, but it turns out they’d just waylaid some poor random tourist who took a wrong turn when he left your grandfather’s zoo.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. Your idea about that warning sign on our side of the county line is looking smarter every day.”

  “The one that would say ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here’?”

  “Truth in advertising. Maybe I’ll get Fred and the boys to run one up, as a penance for letting their prisoner go.”

  “She wasn’t exactly a prisoner.”

  “Maybe she should have been.”

  “Well, she is now.” I set the phone on the desk so I could use both hands to remove the skewer from a steak kebab. “I’ve told Ekaterina to make sure she doesn’t leave.”

  “Good. Meanwhile, I think we should leave Fred and the boys on the courthouse roof for the time being, if there are apt to be Dingles loose in town. I’ll find someone else to make that sign.”

  We signed off. I surveyed my plate, trying to decide which delicacy to nibble next. One of the miniature quiches? The tempura veggies? The—

  “Good news!” Dad bounced into the office. “Ekaterina was right,” he called over his shoulder. “She’s in here.”

  “What’s the good news?” I asked.

  “Rob’s off the hook.”

  “So Grandfather’s lab finished the DNA?”

  “And Rob’s not Lark’s father.” Dad beamed, and began rummaging through the bowl of Christmas candy on Ekaterina’s desk. “It’s definite.”

  “You can never be a hundred percent certain where paternity is concerned.” Grandfather ambled into the office after Dad and slouched into one of the guest chairs.

  “The odds are a million to one against.” Dad’s words were slightly garbled by the candy cane he was sucking. “Good odds.”

  “Stranger things have happened.” Grandfather had also taken a candy cane, but he was just sitting and staring at it as if it were a dose of bitter medicine he was steeling himself to swallow.

  “I think this good news calls for a little bit of celebration,” Dad protested. “We can prove to Delaney that Rob’s not the father.”

  “Yes, that is good news,” I said. “The only problem is that while the DNA tests prove that Rob isn’t the father—”

  “They don’t prove that.” Grandfather sounded annoyed. Why was he sulking so? Did he want another great-grandchild that badly?

  “I stand corrected,” I said. “While the DNA tests indicate that, statistically speaking, Rob is highly unlikely to be Lark’s father—”

  Grandfather nodded with grudging approval.

  “—they do nothing to eliminate the suspicion that he could have had the opportunity to become her father, so to speak.”

  “Oh, dear.” Dad looked discouraged. “That’s true. You think that’s going to be a sticking point with Delaney?”

  I shrugged.

  “It’s vital to recognize the limitations of science,” Grandfather intoned. He had returned the unopened candy cane to the bowl and shifted his attention to my lunch tray. His hand was hovering over the plate as if undecided whether to sample a bite-sized quiche Lorraine or a prosciutto-wrapped melon ball.

  “I think I’m going to need Janet to help me convince Rob.” I grabbed one of the melon balls, before they all disappeared.

  Clearly possessed by a contrarian mood, Grandfather frowned at the remaining melon balls and selected a mini-quiche.
r />   “This would be much better with a nice white wine,” he said, as he nibbled it.

  “Ekaterina only brought me a light lunch.” I tried not to emphasize the “me” too hard.

  “You could ask her to bring up some chardonnay.” He picked up a kibbe. “And a larger plate.”

  “The restaurant downstairs is open,” I said. “I’m sure Ekaterina wants her office back before too long.”

  “Hmph.” He dipped the kibbe into the tahini sauce and polished it off. “Very well. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

  He strode off, wiping the excess tahini on his cargo pants as he went.

  “It’s not that you’re not wanted,” I called after him. “I just think Ekaterina’s been more than helpful and—”

  But he was long gone.

  “I’ll go join him,” Dad said. “One of Chef Maurice’s meals will calm him down.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to rile him up.”

  “Bear with him,” Dad said. “He’s a bit depressed today. He’s been brooding about the cougars.”

  I tried to decipher that for a few moments, then gave up.

  “What cougars? The ones at his zoo?”

  “No, they’re fine. Thriving, in fact. It’s the eastern cougars that have got him down.”

  “Because…?” Sometimes conversing with my family felt like interrogating hostile witnesses.

  “The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service removed them from the endangered species list in January.” Dad shook his head sadly.

  “Isn’t that usually a good thing? Or does Grandfather think they were removed prematurely?”

  “Nothing premature about it.” Dad sighed. “There hasn’t been a confirmed sighting since 1938. Fish and Wildlife made an extensive review in 2011 and couldn’t find any evidence of surviving individuals, much less a reproducing population. So this year they moved them from the endangered list to the extinct one.”

  “Took them long enough,” I said. “But you said it happened in January. Grandfather only just heard about it, then?”

  “He heard about it at the time. And he approves—declaring the eastern cougar extinct clears the way for introducing mountain lions from the western U.S. to take their place. We need a population of large carnivores in the ecosystem to keep the deer population down and curb the spread of tick-borne diseases.”