“That’s when you sent the invitation.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me to point the finger at Mr. Donatucci?”
“I wanted you to discover what happened to the Countess Borromeo. You knew Mr. Donatucci. You knew Heavenly Petryk. You enjoy tilting at windmills. The fact that he convinced you to undertake the identical task would seem to support my decision.”
“The scene you played in the parlor of the Queen Anne…”
“I wished merely to introduce myself.”
“Sure, and keep me motivated. What about the suggestion that Midwest Farmers didn’t want me or anyone else to actually recover the violin?”
“Ms. Peyroux—I contacted her, informed her that I was investigating her claim personally. I must admit I found her cool and calm deportment during this affair quite impressive. I told her it was necessary to complete a certain amount of paperwork before we could process her claim, and yet she seemed almost indifferent to my request. As far as I am aware, she never officially filed a claim.”
“There’s a reason for that, but put it aside for now.”
“Then tell me—why? Why did he do it, Mr. Donatucci? Why did he kill Trevor Ruland, have him killed? Why did he try to kill Petryk? Why continue working with Doc Young even after his original plan failed and the reward was taken off the table?”
“He did it for the money he thought he might make.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Pride, then.”
“Is that so important?”
“He lost his wife; he had no family, just his job. Something he was extremely good at. They took that away from him. Pride was all he had left.”
“You’re suggesting it was all to prove that even at his age he was still smarter than everyone else?”
“It’s as close as I can get.”
“Where’s the violin, McKenzie? You know, don’t you?”
“Yes, but do you really want to know?”
“Of course I do.”
“With no one going to jail? With no money changing hands?”
“What are you telling me, McKenzie?”
“Without charges for filing false police reports, without even a whiff of insurance fraud?”
Altavilla stared at me. Her eyes became large and bright with surprise, then narrowed considerably as she thought it through. She was one of those rare people—you could actually see her think.
“The violin was never actually stolen,” she said. “That’s why Peyroux didn’t file a claim. How did I miss it?”
Wow, she really does think intuitively, my inner voice said.
“Apparently, I’m not nearly as smart as I think I am,” Altavilla said.
“None of us are.”
Altavilla stared some more.
“Favors.” She spoke the word as if it were the answer to a question. “Favors for favors—that’s the coin of your realm.”
“I only do favors for my friends. Are you my friend, Maryanne?”
“What exactly do you want from me, McKenzie?”
I gave Altavilla a rough idea.
“You’re asking a lot,” she said.
“Not so much when you consider the big picture.”
“No one will ever know why Mr. Donatucci was killed. Or Weldon Lamm and Trevor Ruland either, for that matter.”
“That’s what I mean by big picture.”
“What favor will you do for me in return?”
“You mean besides keeping quiet about Mr. Donatucci and never ever divulging to anyone that you knew exactly what he was doing long before people started getting shot, yet neglected to tell a soul including your employers? Or that you engaged an ex-cop of dubious reputation to do your dirty work?”
“I admit that would make my next performance review go more smoothly.”
“Well, then, I suppose if you were to do a little of this for me, I could do a little of that for you.”
“You make it sound less like a favor and more like extortion.”
“That’s certainly one way to look at it.”
JUST SO YOU KNOW
It was a miracle.
A University of Wisconsin–Madison undergrad named Ellis was minding her own business, walking the Iron Bridge Hiking and Nature Trail in Bayfield, when she came across a suitcase that had been carelessly tossed into the creek bed. She opened the suitcase and—holy moley Rocky—discovered a four-million-dollar Stradivarius violin called the Countess Borromeo wrapped in towels and tucked inside. The authorities speculated that the thieves who stole the violin must have dumped it there as soon as they had learned that both the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group and the Georges and Adrienne Peyroux Foundation for the Arts had publicly refused to negotiate with them for its safe return. The violin became, the authorities said, too hot to handle.
World-renowned concert violinist Paul Duclos was so thrilled to regain his prized instrument that he gave Ellis the $250,000 reward, more than enough to pay off her student loans and give her a head start when she graduated. He also agreed to play another free concert in his hometown, this one thoroughly covered by the media. It was reported that the concert had attracted a crowd that was even larger than those that regularly attend the city’s annual Apple Festival. They all cheered when he played “shave and a haircut, two bits.”
The Maestro’s wife, the beautiful and spectacularly wealthy Renée Peyroux, had attended the concert with her husband. The happy couple stayed together at the New Queen Anne Victorian Mansion Bed and Breakfast. They were seen holding hands almost constantly on those rare occasions when they actually left their room. Photographs of the two, along with owner Connor Rasmussen, appeared in the Ashland Daily Press, on the B&B’s Web site, and in its promotional literature.
A raucous party was held following the concert at the Bayfield Inn. Everyone who was anyone in Bayfield was there, including Zofia McLean, whose contract as the city’s marketing and events manager had been renewed for another three years.
Heather Voight had volunteered one of her restaurants for the party. However, the offer was declined. And she was not invited to the party. No one seemed to know why. Sometime later, she and her husband of ten years separated pending divorce; Herb was last seen cruising in his boat somewhere on Lake Superior—without Maggie Pilhofer.
I wasn’t in Bayfield for any of this; Jack Westlund gave me the heads-up. Instead, I stayed home with Nina.
I told her what Heavenly had said before I left her on the plane.
“I can’t worry about her,” Nina said. “I have my own daughter to worry about. But McKenzie, the way she lives, the things she does—she might get … Something terrible might happen to her.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like the man said, only the good die young.”
ALSO BY DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT
Featuring Rushmore McKenzie
Unidentified Woman #15
The Devil May Care
The Last Kind Word
Curse of the Jade Lily
Highway 61
The Taking of Libby, SD
Jelly’s Gold
Madman on a Drum
Dead Boyfriends
Pretty Girl Gone
Tin City
A Hard Ticket Home
Featuring Holland Taylor
Penance
Practice to Deceive
Dearly Departed
Other Novels
The Devil and the Diva (with Renée Valois)
Finders Keepers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID HOUSEWRIGHT has won the Edgar Award and is the three-time winner of the Minnesota Book Award for his crime fiction. He is the current president of the Private Eye Writers of America (PWA), and he lives in St. Paul, Minnesota. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Just So You Know
Also by David Housewright
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
STEALING THE COUNTESS. Copyright © 2016 by David Housewright. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: bay © Wendy / Image Brief; sky © SJ Travel Photo and Video / Shutterstock
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request
ISBN 978-1-250-04966-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-5064-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466850644
First Edition: May 2016
Stealing the Countess Page 27
