The streets of Bayfield were empty; there was no pedestrian traffic and no vehicles of any kind. I walked slowly around the block. No one asked who I was or where I was going, no dogs barked, and I heard no tap, tap, tapping, only the sound of leaves trembling in the light breeze.
I reentered the Queen Anne. This time I moved slowly and carefully, as a thief might. I mounted the wooden stairs, transferring my weight from foot to foot in search of a creak. There was none. I walked all the way up to the third floor. The door to the Queen Anne Suite was at the far end of the corridor. It was closed, as I would have expected. I carefully gripped the doorknob and tried to turn it. It was locked. I rested the flat of my hand against the wood and counted slowly to ten. No one shouted, no one screamed, no one demanded to know who was out there. I stepped back and slowly made my way to my own room. I had heard no one, and apparently no one had heard me.
It could have been done like that, my inner voice told me. Assuming Paul Duclos wasn’t a light sleeper, the Countess Borromeo could have been taken just that way.
So why didn’t I believe it?
* * *
My alarm went off again. This time it was 6:00 A.M. I opened my door and stepped into the corridor. There was movement in the room occupied by the sixty-something couple. I liked the idea that they were getting some early morning delight; I thought it spoke well for my future.
I took the staircase up. There was a morning news program playing softly from a TV behind the door of Victoria’s Room, yet nothing from the Queen Anne Suite.
I took the staircase all the way down. This time I heard noises emanating from the kitchen and a woman’s voice singing that she was all about the bass, the bass, no treble. Not Connor, I decided. Probably a cook he hired to prepare breakfast. I would have to learn when she arrived in the morning and what her routine was.
I returned to my room. True, I didn’t see anyone, and no one saw me, yet the likelihood of encountering traffic made breaking into Duclos’s room and stealing the Stradivarius while he was on his morning walk less viable. ’Course, I never cared for that theory anyway.
SIX
The four couples I had met the previous evening, plus one more, were all sitting at the dining room table and chatting amiably among themselves when I came down the stairs again at eight o’clock. A woman, standing at the buffet with her back to me, was pouring coffee from a silver pot into a china cup. There were murmurs of recognition as I entered the room. Alice said, “Good morning, McKenzie”—and the woman turned abruptly, an expression of shock on her face that quickly turned to pleasure.
She was wonderfully wholesome-looking, a twenty-eight-year-old Nordic princess with perfect teeth in a perfect mouth formed into a perfect smile, eyes glittering like liquid azurite, hair as lustrous as spun gold, skin that reminded me of fresh buttermilk. She was wearing khaki shorts that revealed long, sculptured legs, and a short-sleeve scoop-neck T-shirt made from stretch-fabric that clung to her athletic body like damp cloth. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met in person, although I would never admit that to Nina, and easily the most treacherous.
“Heavenly,” I said.
Connor chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen with a tray of mimosas that he doled out to the other guests. He heard the word and from the grin on his face obviously thought I was referring to the woman’s appearance instead of her name—Heavenly Elizabeth Petryk.
“McKenzie,” he said. “Have you met Caroline? Caroline, this is McKenzie.”
Heavenly crossed the dining room with the coffee cup in her left hand. She extended her right.
“Caroline Kaminsky,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Her eyes sparkled with humor.
“Ms. Kaminsky,” I said. “The pleasure is mine.”
She exhaled softly—apparently relieved that I hadn’t given her up.
“Caroline is with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources,” Alice said. “She’s investigating the Lake Superior shoreline for … what was it again?”
Heavenly paused at an empty spot at the dining room table. She looked at me with that beatific grin of hers. I stepped over and pulled out the chair. She answered as she sat.
“I was sent to conduct an inventory of aquatic invasive species in coastal wetlands,” she said.
“To what purpose?” I asked.
Heavenly knew I was testing her.
“To determine which of the region’s canals and waterways are most susceptible to invasion by AIS such as Asian carp,” she said. “And to prioritize those areas for invasive species management and control.”
“What have you discovered so far?”
“My research remains inconclusive. I’ll need to remain here for a few days more.”
“We’re delighted to have you, Caroline,” Connor said.
I bet, my inner voice said.
“I don’t know if you know it, but McKenzie, he’s also some kind of an investigator,” Alice said.
“Is that what he is?” Heavenly said.
“He’s trying to recover the Stradivarius violin that was stolen last week, but he won’t let us help.”
“I’d be too frightened to get involved with something like that,” Heavenly said.
Yeah, right.
By then I was sitting comfortably at the table, a scone on my plate.
“May I trouble you for the marmalade?” I said aloud.
The fifty-something woman whose name I had forgotten passed it to me without comment.
Conversation picked up after that, none of it about the Countess Borromeo, I was happy to hear. Mostly, it dealt with the adventures the vacationing couples had already enjoyed in Bayfield and the ones that they were hoping to embark on. Meanwhile, Connor deftly served our breakfast. It consisted of poached pear with yogurt sauce, raspberry-stuffed French toast, baked eggs with tomatoes and basil, red new potatoes with dill, hickory smoked bacon, lemon-iced buttermilk scones, and orange and cranberry-raspberry juice. What I enjoyed most—the bacon. You can’t take me anywhere.
Connor had returned to the kitchen by the time I asked, “Have any of you seen a woman dressed in a black cloak and carrying a lantern and a long staff with a crystal on top?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” said the fifty-something woman. “The Ghost Lady.”
“Ghost Lady?”
“She conducts ghost tours of the city, pointing out those places that are supposed to be haunted. Tells stories—she’s wonderful.”
“She’s a real flesh-and-blood woman, then.”
“Oh, yes. What did you think?”
“I saw her walking late last night and I didn’t know what to think.”
“Did she frighten you, McKenzie?” Heavenly asked. “Were you sure you were seeing a ghost?”
“I was just curious,” I said.
“She claims that a man was murdered in the Queen Anne,” the fifty-something woman said.
“Don’t say that, Cassie,” her husband said.
Cassie, my inner voice said. I remember now. Her name’s Cassie. And her husband’s name is … arrrg.
Cassie leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“The man who originally built this house was very rich,” she said. “He owned a sawmill, fishing boats, a brownstone quarry, a hotel—a lot of things. Only he died without leaving a will—or at least no one found a will—so everything went to his eldest son, which started a family war that lasted over a hundred years.”
Cassie edged even closer to the table; we all leaned with her.
“People were murdered,” she said. “They say—the Ghost Lady says that some of their spirits still haunt Bayfield.”
She doesn’t care for a high-profile burglary, my inner voice said. But cold-blooded murder and ghosts—that’s something she can get behind?
We were so intent on what Cassie had to say that we didn’t notice when Connor reentered the dining room.
“Oh, no,” he said. “You’ve been on one of Maggie’s ghost tours
.”
Cassie sat back in her chair. She seemed embarrassed.
“Is any of it true?” Alice asked.
“Not very much,” Connor said. “But Mags was never one to let the facts get in the way of a good story. I’ll give her credit for one thing, though—she knows more about what’s going on in Bayfield than anyone.”
“Perhaps she knows what happened to McKenzie’s violin,” Heavenly said.
* * *
I was a little surprised that Heavenly was the first to leave the dining room. Soon the remaining guests followed suit, leaving me alone. When Connor retired to the foyer to help the sixty-something couple check out, I made my way into the kitchen. I found a woman cleaning pots and pans while she hummed to herself.
“Breakfast was wonderful,” I said.
“Thank you. But…” She wagged a finger at me. “No recipes.”
Her smile made me smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to re-create your meal,” I said. “I don’t handle failure very well.”
“Oh, it’s not that hard.”
“Have you been working here long?”
“A couple of months. I cook Wednesday through Saturday in the mornings here and then at Hill House in the evenings.”
“Long days.”
“No, no,” she said. “I’m here starting at about six and done by nine-ish. I’m at the restaurant from four through ten at night, when we stop serving, so it’s only a nine-hour day with a six-hour lunch break, and I get Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday off.”
“Were you responsible for the garlic chicken penne I had last night?”
“I wasn’t cooking, but … it is my recipe.”
“Delicious.”
“We’re going to be real good friends, I can tell.”
“My name is McKenzie.”
“Connor mentioned you. You’re investigating the violin thing.”
“I am.”
“What can I do for you?”
“You said you arrive here at six?”
“Usually. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, depending on how complex the menu is that day.”
“You were here at six when the Stradivarius was stolen?”
“The cops asked me that. So did the FBI. I was here at six, well, more like a quarter to. I didn’t see anything, though; I didn’t hear anything, either. Sorry. I was too busy battering pots and pans. Besides, I almost never leave the kitchen.”
“Did you see any strangers lurking about? Perhaps when you arrived that morning?”
The cook spread her hands wide.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“About the chicken penne recipe.”
She laughed heartily.
“Nice try,” she said.
* * *
I returned to the Peacock Chamber and reviewed the police reports that Mr. Donatucci had given me, just to be thorough. Everything the cook said coincided with what she had told the authorities.
I was deciding on what to do next when I heard a knock on my door.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Caroline Kaminsky.”
“Come in.”
The door opened and Heavenly swept into the room—it was the correct word, swept. She closed the door and leaned her back against it. Damn, she was a fetching lass.
“Good morning, Caroline,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“McKenzie,” she said.
Heavenly opened her arms wide and came toward me. She hugged me and I hugged her back because, well, like I said earlier, I’m nothing if not polite.
“It is so good to see you again,” she said.
“I wish I could say the same.”
“McKenzie!”
She pulled away. The shocked and outraged expression on her face lasted about two seconds before it was replaced by a smile.
“What are you doing here, Heavenly?” I asked.
“The same thing you are. I’m after the Countess Borromeo.”
“You mean you didn’t steal it already?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Based on past experience…”
“I’m hurt, McKenzie. Hurt by your insinuation.”
“Paul Duclos is offering $250,000 for its safe return.”
“I heard. I bet the thieves were expecting more.”
“How about you?”
“I’d be more than satisfied with a quarter of a million.”
“Sure you would.”
“Just as long as I come out ahead, that’s the main thing.”
“Heavenly—”
“I don’t have the violin, McKenzie. Honestly, I don’t. If I did, I’d make a deal right now and invite you to dinner. At least I’d buy dinner after you came up with the money. You do have the money, don’t you?”
She moved closer to me.
“It’s in the Cities,” I said.
“Oh? Is Nina holding it?”
“No, she’s not.”
“How is Nina these days?”
Heavenly ran the tips of her fingers under the collar of my shirt.
“Do you care?” I asked her.
“I do. I’ve always liked her, even if she doesn’t like me. What did she call me last time? A thug?”
“Actually, I called you a thug. In any case, Nina doesn’t object to your profession so much as the fact that you’re always hitting on her boyfriend.”
Heavenly kissed me hard on the mouth and smiled her irresistible smile.
“Stop teasing,” I said.
She thought that was funny.
I gave her a gentle shove. Heavenly found a comfortable spot on the corner of my bed. I sat in a chair far enough away that it would take an effort for her to attack me again.
“Seriously,” she said. “I really am happy to see you.”
“If you don’t have the Countess already, what are you doing in Bayfield?”
“Looking for it.”
“For whom?”
“Does there have to be a for whom?”
“You checked into a bed-and-breakfast under an assumed name.”
“There could be a lot of reasons for that.”
“Only one. You don’t want anybody to know that you’re here. Why? You’re not wanted, are you, Heavenly?”
“People have been wanting me since I was fourteen years old—except for you, of course. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”
“I meant by the police.”
“No, I’m not wanted by the police.”
“I could check.”
“What are you going to do? Call your friend Bobby? How is Commander Dunston these days? He’s still a commander, right? They haven’t made him chief of police or anything, have they?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s no paper on me, McKenzie. As far as I know.”
“Well, then…”
“There you go again, being all accusatory.”
“When did you get here?”
“I’m going to answer that question. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I know you’re going to check anyway. I arrived Saturday morning.”
By then the theft was national news, I reminded myself, but the Peyroux Foundation—and Midwest Insurance—had not yet posted the conditions for the $250,000 reward they were offering. That would come later in the afternoon.
“Do you think the Stradivarius is still in Bayfield?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Who do you think took it?”
“Connor Rasmussen.” Something in my expression must have given me away, because Heavenly quickly added, “You don’t believe it.”
“I walked the Queen Anne last night and again this morning—”
“So that was you outside my door at three A.M.”
“I don’t think Connor could have taken the Countess while Duclos was sleeping in the room. I don’t think he would have dared try it while Duclos went for his walk for fear of bumping into one of the other
guests or the cook.”
“I agree.”
“So…”
“He did it while everyone was at breakfast. He dashed up the stairs, took the violin, came down the stairs. Ninety-three seconds flat. I timed it.”
“How did Connor get the violin out of the house before the authorities searched it?”
“He had an accomplice.”
“Who?”
Heavenly waved a finger at me.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What do you know about a kid named Curtis Shanklin?”
“Teacher from Oceanside, California, works summers as a guide for Apostle Island Adventures. Fancies himself to be an extreme sports athlete. He’s not a kid, either. He’s only a year younger than I am.”
“Look at it from my side of forty. What does he teach?”
“Junior high English. Why do you ask?”
“Last night he offered to sell me the Countess Borromeo. All I needed to do was step outside with him.”
“Did you?”
“I might have if I knew where his two friends were.”
“I met Shanklin’s friends; don’t remember their names. How did you leave it?”
“I told him to e-mail me a photo of the Strad, and if I liked it, we’d talk.”
“I take it you haven’t heard from him.”
“Not yet.”
Heavenly glanced at the gold watch around her wrist.
“He’s probably on the lake with a tour,” she said. “Won’t be back until midafternoon.”
“You know his schedule, too? I’ll be damned.”
“McKenzie, I’ve been here five days. Every heterosexual male within a twenty-mile radius has hit on me, and a few nonheterosexual females as well.”
“Still.”
“Shanklin likes to talk about himself. Most men do.”
“Did you attempt to recruit him; get him to do your heavy lifting?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He reminds me a little of your last boyfriend.”
“The one you threw in front of a speeding car?”
Stealing the Countess Page 8
