Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil

by Barbara Silkstone

  London? Queen? I felt like I’d been smacked in the head with a smart stick. A picture was forming, but before it arrived, my phone rang. It was Roger. I hadn’t heard from him since I stormed off three days ago.

  “You sitting down?”

  Chapter 20

  I sat at the kitchen counter and held my breath.

  “Benny’s still missing. I filed a report with the Met. You’ll be called back to England as a material witness in the investigation of his disappearance.”

  “That poor dear man! Do you think he’s been murdered?”

  “Could be…” Roger’s response came out as a long drawn out sigh. “He does have a dark past that may have caught up with him.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “You were the last one to see him.”

  “I left him with Samuel… sort of.”

  “Samuel’s disappeared.”

  “It has to be Darcy. You said she was violent. And she knew him.”

  “Loopy violent, not murder violent.”

  “She’s a professional thief. I’m a respected real estate broker.”

  “It’ll look very suspicious if you don’t come back to face the police. Plus… I need your help.”

  This sounded familiar. Pacing the kitchen, I thought about the promises I had made to Matty. I had a child in a tent reading to a dog and a snoozing grandmother to help. Now here comes another U-turn into my life, and that U-turn rhymes with duck.

  “Come back and help me find the last Lost Boy. My greatest fear is that some regular bloke will trip across it, not know what he has, and stick it on his mantel or in the back of his closet.”

  I zeroed in on the nasty Ms. Bone. Not one to nag, I hated myself for repeating, but I did…“It has to be Darcy.”

  There was a transatlantic pause. I could feel it hit the back of my throat.

  “Darcy’s also missing.”

  “Is anybody left in London?”

  “Wendy, you’ve got to make yourself available to the police.”

  “Am I in danger?”

  “You could be. Fly back. I’ll pick you up at Gatwick.”

  The concern in Roger’s voice plus the loss he suffered as a child squeezed my heart until it hurt. I caught my reflection in the kitchen window as I spoke, “Okay. Today’s Friday. I’m on responsibility overload at this moment. I’ll be on the Sunday evening Virgin flight arriving Monday morning.”

  “How will I know you? It’s been so long. Are you still wearing that angry scowl?”

  “Are you still wearing that big-boned blonde? Oh that’s right, you’ve misplaced her.”

  “Funny.”

  “You’ll know me when you see me. I’m in the middle of the rat race, tap dancing like crazy.”

  I hung up feeling dizzy from the emotional high brought on by the idea of returning to broiling London as an investigator, missing person suspect, and possible archaeologist-lover. A little voice in the wee corner of my brain said… if there’s a murder, there’s a killer. I shivered.

  Chapter 21

  I needed to make sure my houseguests were taken care of before I left. It was time to run to the grocery and stock up on kid-friendly provisions for Treanna, crunchy stuff to keep Matty awake, and dog food for Tinkerbelle. They’d be safe with the guard on duty as long as they stayed inside or close to the buildings. Mr. Smith and his pet Ox shouldn’t be able to get at them. I prayed I’d scared off Smith for the time being.

  “Treanna, I’m running to the store. You take good care of our tent. Anything special you’d like for dinner or breakfast?”

  Her eyes lit up at the thought of having a choice of things to eat. She rattled off a selection I knew had to have come from television ads.

  “You sit tight. When I get back, we’ll take Tink for a walk.”

  I woke Matty, got her list of basic needs and extra treats, and grabbed my purse. I jumped in the car, looking both ways for dogs on strings, then put the vehicle in reverse. I exited the garage waving at the guard as I left our gated compound.

  So much to do and so little time. Half my brain was on food supplies and the other half was creating a mental list of lightweight clothing for my return to hot London. What to wear when you’re being interrogated by the cops? Basic black or innocent pastels? I don’t own any pastels.

  ***

  The supermarket was nearly deserted. I was racing so fast with the grocery cart and so deep in thought, I found myself absent-mindedly hitting a non-existent turn signal on the basket. Zipping toward the cereal aisle, I realized I’d forgotten the pet food. I negotiated a sharp U-turn and banged into a wall of steroids, otherwise known as Ox.

  Stopping dead in my tracks, I walked up to him and matched him toe to toe. “You better have a pet, big guy, or I am so going to have your butt for stalking me.”

  “Where’s the old lady and the kid?”

  “In Bermuda.” I grinned. That was an easy lie. I pulled my cell phone from my purse. “Wait right here while I dial 911.”

  I turned my back and pretended I’d made a connection and then spoke in a theatrical voice. “He’s right here. Big jerky looking guy, name’s Ox. He works for a Mister Smith, a shoe salesman and gambling racketeer.” I continued my imaginary conversation for a minute longer, turned, and Ox was gone. Smiling, I tucked my phone back in my purse.

  By the time I’d loaded up on dog food and finished the kid-food shopping, the cart was full to the brim. I hit the check out and ran up a four-hundred dollar tab. That should hold Treanna, Tinkerbelle, and Matty for a week. The whole thing felt as if I were preparing for a hurricane.

  The bag boy walked me to my car and put the packages in my trunk. I stood with my cell phone to my ear as if I was still in touch with the 911 operator. No sign of Ox or the hamster-man.

  I drove straight back to my condo. No need to be evasive, as Mr. Smith would have looked up my address in the property ownership records. He probably knew where I lived; he just couldn’t get at me. I nodded to the guard at the gate and told him under no circumstances was he to let anyone in. I was not expecting guests.

  The garage door rolled open and I drove the rental inside. Treanna came racing out. We unloaded the groceries singing “Hi ho! Hi ho!” When I walked into the kitchen, Tinkerbelle yelped with delight, triggering an echo response from the rest of the captive pooches eighteen stories up.

  Right now I needed to process the emotions and slow down my fibrillating heart. Tomorrow I’d break the news of my travel plans to Matty and Treanna, but tonight was for settling in with my temporary family.

  We ate dinner in the tent, rigging the sheets and pinning them so they covered the back of the sofa, allowing Matty to join us from the comfort of the couch. We dined on pizza with extra pepperoni and white grape juice on the side. I sprinkled a few more nursery rhymes into the evening and a touch of Peter Pan, excluding the violence for Matty’s sake. Like most kids, Treanna loves scary villains.

  At eight that night, we dismantled the tent. I tucked Tre into the air mattress bed and Matty took the convertible sofa. Once they were asleep, I hit the Internet. That nursery rhyme was bugging me. It was a clue from a crazy lady archaeologist.

  Once I slowed down, the full impact of Benny’s disappearance hit me. I’d known him only a day, but I’d come to really like the man. The thought that he might be suffering lurked at the edges of my mind. What was it he said that night? “Death is the sad conclusion to life. And frequently death is violent.”

  A tear crawled down my cheek as I hit Google and entered Benny’s name. Headlines from two months earlier proclaimed Benny Hannah as the man paying for the recovery of The Lost Boys.

  …The artifacts are death images of the infant sons of Pharaoh Kjoser. They are some of the most valuable treasures to have come from ancient Egypt. One Lost Boy remains missing and is presumed to have been in the possession of billionaire antiquities collector, Charlie Hook. It is believed Hook died at sea while trying to escape federal agents. British Museum bene
factor Benny Hannah is financing the return of the Lost Boys. Only when all thirteen are reunited will the museum authorize payment of the reward – Hannah was quoted as saying…

  Scrolling down, my name came up as assisting Dr. Roger Jolley in the return of the legendary Lost Boys. The article referred to me as an adventurer. I grinned as I clicked off – I was an adventurer.

  Chapter 22

  Matty, Treanna, and I sat at the breakfast table. My third cup of coffee had me running like a wind-up toy. “I’ve got to fly back to London for a few days.” I said the words spilling from my lips rapid fire.

  Tre dipped her spoon into her bowl of confetti-colored cereal. It made my teeth ache just looking at the sugar floating in a cloud above the dish. “Can I come too?”

  “This is business sweetheart.”

  “Where is London?”

  “Across the ocean.”

  “Can we swim there?”

  Treanna was playing her delaying game, deliberately being obtuse. We batted the child questions and grown-up answers back and forth a few rounds then it was time to get serious.

  “While I’m gone, I want you to take good care of your grandma.” I nodded to Matty, including her in my instructions. “When you walk Tinkerbelle… do it early in the morning and late afternoon. Stay close to the pathway in the back. Don’t go on the beach with her. Dogs aren’t allowed. And if any of the nice ladies here try to chat you up, just excuse yourself and walk away. The guard out front is to keep strangers away. You know what a stranger is, don’t you?”

  “A stranger is a person who doesn’t smile.”

  It took another thirty minutes of child questions to explain what a stranger is.

  “Why can’t you stay here and the business come to you?”

  “When you grow up, you’ll understand. Sometimes you have to chase after business… like when Tink runs from you. Right? You chase her.”

  “There’s dragons in England. They might eat you.”

  I smiled.” Give me a big hug for dragon-fighting powers.”

  She squeezed me till my ribs ached. “Is that enough?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can feel the power racing into my muscles. Thank you.”

  I rubbed my hug-damaged body and walked to my desk. A few clicks and I set up my international cell on my home phone speed dial. “Come here, sweet pea.” Treanna walked to me with question marks in her eyes.

  “If you feel you need to talk to me… you can call me in England anytime. Just push this button here. Sometimes it takes a few minutes to connect, but I’ll be on the other end. If I’m not able to answer just leave a message. I promise to call you back the very soonest I can.”

  “Thanks,” she said in a tearful voice. She flung her arms around my neck. “We’re going to miss you. Is it okay if I sleep in your bed while you’re gone?”

  I squeezed her until she said ouch! “I would like that very much. Be sure China, Hasbro, and Polyester sleep with you.”

  She nodded a brave little nod.

  Later when Treanna was sleeping, I shared a separate set of grown-up instructions with Matty.

  “Do not let anyone… not family, not friends, not bolita customers, know where you are. We can’t trust anybody right now.”

  She nodded, trying hard to stay awake. I was beginning to understand her narcolepsy; it was her away of hiding from conflict.

  I sorted through six voice messages from my office. Real estate agents are self-sufficient, except for the paperwork. Two of my agents were bringing in listing agreements by the end of the week. One mansion priced at ten million and a mini-manse was listing at six and half million. I needed to be back in Miami by the end of the week to approve the paperwork. I thought about cloning myself.

  That night as I packed for my evening flight out of Miami, I lay my lightweight cottons in neat piles on the bed. I found myself packing mostly black… won’t show the blood. What was I thinking?

  Chapter 23

  Monday morning found me in broiling London again. Rolling my bag from Customs, I felt that weird skin-crawling thing you get when someone is in your space. It couldn’t be Ox or could it?

  I stopped abruptly, and a guy plowed into my backside. He wasn’t as big as Ox but he cast the same aura. “Excuse me!” I said, hoping to call attention to his spooky behavior.

  The guy was a lump in a brown pinstripe suit and a beige or dirty white business shirt that barely buttoned over this stomach. His hair had that peculiar powdered thing going on. He looked at my lips as if he wanted to climb into my mouth.

  “Can I help you? Do you need to get past me?”

  “You’re that archaeologist’s assistant.” The nitwit looked hypnotized by my face. He was now staring at my nostrils.

  I ran my knuckle under my nose, as I looked him up and down taking in his rheumy eyes and pork belly. “I am nobody’s assistant. And what gives with the questions? Should I be screaming for security?”

  “I work with Algy Green.” He extended his hand. I avoided it. Lord knows where it was last. “Name’s Nobby Seemore, but you can call me Nobby.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to call you anything.”

  He stepped in front of me before I could walk away. “I represent a client who has an interest in finding … you know who.” His accent was Liverpool.

  “Listen, bub, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now get out of my way or I’ll scream.”

  He bent down and whispered… “The last Lost Boy.” He sprayed spittle, and his breath was like a cuff in the face… a combination of ashtray and beer can.

  I turned and stomped my way through the crowd.

  Trotting along the main concourse toward an exit, I felt hands around my waist. I turned ready to bring up my knee or scratch some eyes. It was Roger.

  “Whoa… tiger!”

  “You came really close to some serious damage! I was just accosted by some limey clod. I thought you were him.”

  “Brits can’t resist Americans. You smell so good. Naturally good, no stinky perfumes.”

  “Get me out of here. I feel as if we’re being watched.”

  “The police want some quality time with you. Right now I’ve got better plans for us.”

  “I’ve been traveling for half a day. Please lead me to a shower and a Bloody Mary, and then you can update me.”

  “Take your time, but make it quick. I want to check out Benny’s house and reconstruct that last night with you. The cops haven’t been in there yet. Some fuddling thing about Benny not missing long enough.”

  “How long does it take for the London Police to look for a missing person?”

  “My chum Chief Inspector Angus Black may have had something to do with helping the delay.” He shot me a conspiratorial look. “We have at least today to snoop at Benny’s place before he’s officially gone missing seven days.”

  Traffic was light, but it still took almost two hours to get to Roger’s flat. When we pulled up at the curb, I caught a glimpse of what looked like the taxi that tried to kidnap me. It was yellow with a distinctive orange door. It drove by at three miles an hour and headed down the road. There were a few too many coincidences. I was sure someone was trying to kidnap me… again.

  I poked Roger in his side. “See that taxi? I think it’s the same one that tried to kidnap me.”

  By the time he paid our cab fare and looked in the direction of the yellow taxi, it was gone.

  Roger carried my suitcase as I led the way up the stairs. I never thought I’d be returning to this place after the way I stormed out à la Darcy. My favorite archaeologist put my luggage in his guestroom, not daring to ask if I wanted to share his bed.

  ***

  As I finished my shower, a familiar hand slipped discreetly through the door into the mist and placed a large tumbler containing a Bloody Mary on the bathroom counter. I chugged down the vodka and tomato juice.

  “More Tabasco!” I yelped wrapping myself in a towel. The hand snaked in the door and shot three spanks
of hot sauce into my drink, then retreated. I tasted it. Much better.

  Once I’d found my face in the mirror, I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my hair. I was wearing black cotton capris and a black tee shirt. I looked like a makeup-less mime.

  Exiting Roger’s bathroom, I swigged the last of the Bloody Mary. “I’m ready. Let’s rock.”

  “You’re a game chick,” he smiled.

  “What, do you live in a black and white movie?”

  “I’ve got a million of ‘em, baby.”

  Roger grabbed my shoulders turning me to face him. He pinned me with his Johnny Depp eyes. “Serious moment coming.” He stared hard at me. “I’m going to finish this job for Benny. Honor bound. We find the thirteenth Boy and return it to the museum.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me the reward was ten million dollars?”

  “Because we’re only keeping a small part of it. The rest goes to fund the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Deal?”

  The charity was special, and I hadn’t counted on making a fortune off this caper, so I agreed. “Deal. Where do we begin?” I asked.

  “Benny’s house. We’ll reenact that last night.” Roger stepped behind me and began to nibble kisses on my neck.

  My cell phone rang… two bars of the Pink Panther. I checked the caller ID. Unknown, which meant a call from the States.

  Chapter 24

  Roger stepped back shaking his head in disappointment.

  “When are you coming home?” Treanna’s voice sounded desperate.

  “Honey, I just got here. It takes a whole day to fly to London.”

  “Have you visited the Queen?”

  I could tell this was about keeping me on the line. She was lonely with only a yipping dog and a napping granny. “Haven’t visited the Queen yet. I have to get back to work. Be patient. Draw me a really detailed picture of what you think London looks like. Use all sixty-four of your new crayons… especially the magenta.”

  “I can do that!” she clicked off without a goodbye.