“I’m going to go feed him,” I said. “Okay if the boys stay at your place, though, when we go out? I hate to admit it, but I’m just the tiniest bit nervous about leaving them home alone.”
“I was going to suggest it. I already put some food on the washer for Leo.” Goldie kept a litterbox at the ready, as well as a supply of cat food, the kind I bought, and dog treats.
Once we were cleaned up and dressed we still had plenty of time, so I offered to treat Goldie to breakfast at Panera Bread, using its proximity to Coldwater Road as an excuse. “You get that bear claw because it’s close to Coldwater Road, too?” asked Goldie, who had limited her carbosplurge to a chocolate chip bagel with one pat of butter.
“Yes.”
“Say, isn’t that your doctor friend?” Goldie was looking past me toward the cash register.
Without turning around I said, “Oh, crap, really?” She nodded at me and I said, “Maybe if I don’t turn around …”
“Maybe, but he’s coming this … no, false alarm. He left.”
I leaned forward from my little corner and looked out the window. It was indeed “my doctor friend,” Neil Young. He had a Panera Bread shopping bag that, judging by the way it moved, seemed to be loaded. “Goodies for the staff lounge, I guess,” I said. He folded his long legs into a little red sports car and pulled out onto Coliseum. “Jeez, one big-ticket car isn’t enough for him?” I muttered, and told Goldie about the black sedan he had been driving the last time I saw him. I watched the car, vaguely interested and expecting him to turn right onto Parnell to drive to the hospital, but he moved into the left lane and made a U-turn instead. “That’s weird. He’s not headed for Parkview.”
We both watched the car go by in the far lane and turn north on Coldwater. Then Goldie looked at me. “Maybe he’s going where we’re going.”
“Great.” Just what I needed, two weird guys around.
When we had finished our breakfast goodies, I snapped the lid onto my coffee and said, “Let’s go. I’d just as soon sit around in the Kroger parking lot as here, and if Peg is early we can swing by Heron Acres and see Tom and George. They might be on the island, but …”
Peg was already there, reading something on her e-reader. We climbed into her car and I introduced Goldie. “Oh, you’re the one who drove Janet to the emergency room after she was mauled at the clinic,” said Goldie.
“Oh, great, here we go,” I said. “Must I remind you that we wouldn’t have these tickets if not for my misfortune?”
“Did you bring your Tiffany deflector in case the little darling is there?” asked Peg.
“Why would she be there?” Goldie asked.
“She won’t be.” Why would she be? “Her family is involved with Treasures on Earth. Her mom wears a pendant with their symbol, you know, the cross with the two heart thingies? And Neil knows them. But there’s no reason for them to be there on a weekday morning.” I hoped not anyway. I’d forgotten my chain-mail undies.
Goldie and Peg chattered away for a bit, discovering that they had several friends in common, which is not unusual in Fort Wayne. I let my thoughts go where they would. I didn’t really want to think about death and loss, but every time I tried to steer my mind toward something happier, it fought me and won.
It was obvious that something very shady was going on at Treasures on Earth. Was that Moneypenny’s game? Smuggling rare tropical birds and selling them for big bucks? Between what I had read and what George had to say, I knew there were profits to be made. Big profits in some cases, assuming the birds survived long enough to make it to a buyer. But how cynical would someone have to be to run a group that claimed to be dedicated to spiritual renewal while exploiting endangered species behind the scenes? And what was a “spiritual leader” doing hooked up with someone like Rich Campbell? Campbell had proven himself a liar and cheat long ago, and he might even be a killer. Then again, Moneypenny might not know that.
Peg turned onto Cedar Canyons and pulled me out of my speculations. “Janet, where’s the lake?”
“Tappen Road. A bit farther, on your left. The turn is hard to see, the sign nearly impossible. Slow down a little.”
We turned onto the gravel road. Tom’s van was parked just inside the property, on the driveway into Heron Acres, so I had Peg pull onto the berm and said, “Goldie, careful getting out. Hard to see the edge of the ditch for the weeds.”
“Hey, how far are we going?” asked Peg. “These shoes aren’t made for this. I dressed for an art show.”
“Not far.” I glanced at my own footwear and thought better of taking my only pair of decent pumps onto the beach. “Just let me see if I can spot them. They may be out on the island anyway.”
There was no sign of George or Tom other than Tom’s vehicle. I knew they’d be using Collin’s bass boat, and it was nowhere to be seen either. They must have beached it on the other side of the island. I was more disappointed than I thought I’d be, although I realized that I had no idea what I would tell Tom if I did see him. You’re slipping, MacPhail, I thought. I don’t actually lie to Tom, at least not about anything important, but I didn’t see any reason to let him in on every little thing, especially if doing so was likely to start a row, which any plan that took me near Rich Campbell was sure to do. And he’d likely have George Crane’s support in this one.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said, turning back toward the car.
“Hey, look!” said Peg. “Someone’s waving.”
I looked across the water to the island. Sure enough, two men, one of them waving his arms like a windmill. I waved back, and suddenly wanted to get out of there quickly so I wouldn’t have to dodge any questions. “Okay, ladies, let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to say hi?” asked Peg. “I mean, isn’t that why we came?” She was still waving at Tom. “We have plenty of time.”
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said.
Goldie got it. “Right, let’s go. We don’t have a good cover story.”
“Oh, gotcha.” Peg looked toward the island. “He’s yelling something.”
“Can’t hear him,” I said, trying to get them moving.
“Wait,” Peg said. “He’s yelling ‘wait’.”
“Can’t hear him, Peg. Let’s go.”
forty-one
We hightailed it back to the car and drove to the Treasures on Earth entrance on Cedar Canyons. Two pillars built of rough-cut limestone stood like Colossi on either side of the driveway. They each supported an enormous wrought-iron gate, now swung open, away from the road. A sign just inside the entrance invited us to find our treasures here on Earth.
“Moneypenny seems to be the one finding the treasures. What do people have to pay to be in his crowd, anyway?”
“No idea how this works,” I said. I thought of Giselle, and realized that I still hadn’t called to apologize for breaking our coffee date on Sunday. “Rats.”
“What?” asked Peg.
“Nothing. Never mind. I forgot to do something. Come to think of it, I doubt if they charge much to be part of this.” Giselle wasn’t rich. “Maybe they have membership levels or something.”
“I could ask about joining,” offered Goldie.
“They’ll never buy that,” I said, and they agreed.
We parked in the same lot that held the Beemers and Jaguars and Lincolns when they had things going on out here. Now there were only a couple of cars besides ours, both big and shiny new.
Goldie tapped my arm and said, “Isn’t that your friend’s car?”
“Could be.” It was definitely the car Neil had been driving at Panera Bread, but part of me still hoped he wasn’t involved in whatever was going on out there. “And stop calling him my friend.”
We walked up a series of shallow steps to a massive double door. The wood had a warm golden glow, and the main panels were intricately carved with birds of all sorts.
“Wow.” I’m not sure which of us said it. Goldie ran her fingertips up the long tail feathers of a peacock,
and then stroked a cockatoo’s crest. “Amazing. This is hand carved.”
“Gorgeous,” said Peg.
It was. If I had to guess, I’d say there were some thirty birds carved into the panels of each door, and I don’t think any were repeated.
“So, then, birds are a theme?” asked Goldie. “I have to say, I can think of worse things to worship.”
“Oh, we don’t worship birds,” said a deep voice behind us. We all jumped and turned. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you lovely ladies.”
Peg pressed her hand to her chest. “Didn’t hear you coming, is all.”
“Yes, so sorry. These new shoes of mine,” he looked at his feet, which sported clunky looking black slip-on shoes with thick soles. Definitely not a fashion statement despite his pricey looking suit. “Very ugly, very comfy, and very quiet.” He chuckled, then asked, “Going in?” and, stepping past us, held the door open. At least the gatekeeper doesn’t look like an ogre, I thought.
The entrance hall was long and wide and well-lighted. The walls were covered with a lush jungle-leaf paper, and the gray marble floor gleamed. It also rang like a stone bell with every strike of our semi-dressy shoes. No wonder Mystery Man wore those silent soles.
When we were all in, our escort turned around and smiled at us. He took his time, making eye contact with each of us in turn and holding it briefly before moving on. Then he said, “Welcome, welcome.” He bowed slightly, and said, “I’m Regis Moneypenny. How can I be of service?”
The man himself, I thought, and caught a look from Goldie. Moneypenny’s tone was warm, but something about it made me want to back away from him. I forced myself to stay put, though, and held out my hand. “Janet MacPhail. Mrs. Willard invited me, well, us, my friends and I, to see the art exhibit.” He was still holding onto my hand, and his smile didn’t seem quite right. I pulled my hand from his grip and asked, “Is it open today?”
“Ah, Mrs. Willard.” He nodded, and something soft passed through his eyes. “Indeed, it is open. Let me take you there.”
As he turned away from us, I looked down the hall. Every fifteen feet or so there was a big pot, each one different, with an equally huge plant. Between each pair of palms and elephant ears and things I couldn’t name stood a flight cage, maybe eight feet long and three deep, and from each cage I caught flashes of movement and color.
I stopped at the first cage. I don’t know much about birds, but these I knew because I had photographed some at a bird show once and had fallen in love with their stunning plumage. Rainbow lorikeets. Blue and red and yellow and green and orange, all in one little bird. I had briefly entertained a fantasy of getting one, but when I read how messy the clean up is because of their fruit diet, I changed my mind.
“Shall we?” Moneypenny seemed determined to keep us moving, so I tore myself away, although part of me wanted to ask who appointed him to be our guide, head honcho or not. I kept loose track of which birds I recognized as we passed the cages. Cockatoo. A blue parrot of some sort. Several parakeets, or were they budgies? What’s the difference? I made a mental note to find out. Next was a gray parrot of some sort. A flock of gorgeous little finches. Cockatiels.
“This is quite an assortment of birds,” I said. “Why so many?” Our host had stopped at an open doorway and turned toward me.
“I have always loved birds.” Not exactly what I asked, but it was a start. “But to answer your question, the birds are here for several reasons. They represent hope and freedom, and that’s what we strive for here at Treasures on Earth. They are inherently beautiful, and as such eloquent reminders of the Creator who made us to appreciate the many treasures on Earth. And they are looking for homes.”
“Freedom?” asked Goldie? “They’re in cages!”
Moneypenny ignored her and continued walking.
“So you run a rescue program?”
“Of sorts, Miss MacPhail, of sorts.” He stopped and turned toward me. He was smiling, but he stepped into my comfort zone and stood there, looking at my face. I gritted my teeth, determined not to back away. From the corner of my right eye I could see Peg raise her hand to her mouth, and it seemed as if Moneypenny were the only one still breathing. Then he broke the impasse by saying, “And now, I believe you ladies are here to see the art exhibit?” There was an edge to his voice and my muscles, already tensed, tightened even more, rather as they do when I hear a low warning growl from a dog I’m photographing.
We stepped through the door and into an enormous art exhibit. Paintings and sculptures and textiles, all depicting birds, were displayed around the perimeter, which I estimated to be about the size of two obedience rings, say forty by eighty feet. A series of freestanding display units, like cubicles without the desks, ran down the center of the room. They held more paintings.
“Holy crow,” said Goldie.
Peg let out a low whistle.
Moneypenny swept his arm toward the display and said, “Enjoy.” He bowed slightly and made for the far end of the room, where two women emerged from behind one of the freestanding displays.
“Ohmydog,” I said.
“What?” Peg was right beside me. She looked toward the women and said, “Oh my … What are the odds?”
“Hundred percent in favor, I’d say.” I turned toward the paintings we were supposedly there to see and whispered, “Come on.”
Our erstwhile guide had reached the women and all three turned to look at us as he spoke to them. Mrs. Willard and Persephone Swann appeared to listen, then all three disappeared behind a display. We heard what seemed to be the click of a door closing, and we were alone.
Without taking her eyes off the painting in front of us, Peg said, “We knew they were both involved with Treasures on Earth, right? So it makes sense that they know each other.”
Goldie had stepped up on my other side. “So that’s Regal Moneypincher. He can’t decide whether to be charming or weird, can he?”
I grinned and said, “Regis Mo …”
“Janet!” Goldie elbowed me and Peg snickered. “I know that!”
“So I wasn’t the only one he made nervous?” I asked.
They both agreed that there was something unsettling about being in his presence. “And why did he try to stare you down like that?” asked Peg. “Still, I can see where he might be seen as, I don’t know, not attractive, but …” She seemed to be searching for the right word.
“Fascinating?” I asked.
Peg nodded, and Goldie said, “Like a cobra.”
The three of us moseyed along the walls as we spoke, taking in the artwork, which was consistently outstanding. I recognized only two or three names, but then I know only a handful of artists other than photographers. Unlike many exhibits, this one had not a single piece that made me wonder what it was doing there, and the pieces, as a whole and as individuals, were displayed with care. And every one of them depicted one or more birds.
We spent a good forty minutes admiring the artwork. I enjoyed that, but was disappointed that there was precious little chance to snoop around. The gallery had two main doors, the one we came in and another double door that led outdoors, but when Peg tried it, it was locked. A small alcove near the end of one long wall had a door as well, the one our host and the two women had used, but it, too, was locked tight.
We were almost back to the door we came in when Peg stepped close to me and said, “I think we’re being watched.”
“What?”
“Don’t turn around suddenly or anything, but maybe in a minute you can walk back to the center display and sort of look around. Over each of the end doors and halfway down each side.” She pointed and gestured in the general direction of the painting in front of us, as if commenting on the sweep of the white peacock’s tail. “Pretty sure they’re cameras, and that they move to follow us.”
I played along with the charade, rubbing my chin and cocking my head as if studying the painting, and said, “Okay, I will do that.” I stepped forward and leaned in, as if examini
ng brush strokes, which actually were fascinating up close. “Amazing how many colors go into painting a white subject,” I said. Then I looked around and made for one of the freestanding displays. Peg was right, there was something mounted high on the wall and it looked like a camera, albeit a teensy one. I memorized its orientation, then checked it again after I had moved to another display unit. The camera had moved, I was sure of it.
It made sense to have cameras in a gallery displaying expensive artwork, but motion sensors? To track visitors? Or were they managed manually? If they were, that meant they didn’t just keep a record they could review. It meant that someone was watching us right now. And that was creepy. It took all my self-control not to walk over
to the camera and swing my purse at it, but I managed to pretend I hadn’t noticed it.
Goldie joined me in front of a bronze of six California quail taking flight. It was a lovely piece, three feet or so in circumference, with the birds held, each at a different height, on supports made to look like tall blades of grass. Each quail seemed to launch itself on a slightly different trajectory, as if they were scattering to confuse
a predator. Not a bad tactic, I thought.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it? I think this is my favorite piece,” said Goldie.
“It is. Look at the feathers on the birds.”
She startled me by draping an arm over my shoulder and bending the two of us toward the sculpture. She whispered, “Don’t react, but we’re being filmed.”
“I know. I saw them,” I said. “They may be live feed.”
We stood back up, and I said in a normal voice, “Well, ladies, I think we’ve seen everything. Shall we?”
The long hallway was empty of people and, other than a few squawks and whistles from the cages that lined it and the clack-clack-clack of our shoes on the marble, it was deathly still. I stopped in front of a cage that held a small green and blue parrot. At least I assumed it was a parrot. I don’t really know what distinguishes a parrot from a lorikeet from a budgie. Whatever it was, the bird sidled to the edge of the cage and tilted his head to get a better look at us.
The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery) Page 19
