Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  “Check. I know I usually leave the intuition to you, but I have a feeling about that cat.”

  The door dinged and I braced myself, but it was just some volunteers crabbing about being transporters. They got off on the next floor down and I asked, “What about the cat?”

  “I don’t know yet. I have to talk it over with Loretta. She focuses me.”

  “I don’t think it has to do with The Klinefeld Group,” I said.

  He looked down at his spotless loafers. “But there’s something…”

  The door dinged and opened to the lobby. “Well, let me know.” I left to head for the garage.

  Spidermonkey followed me. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to my parents’ house. Where are you going?”

  “With you.”

  “Because…?”

  “You can’t be alone. Somebody is targeting your family.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He continued to follow me as I walked into the garage. “To be blunt, I’m sure that’s what your mother thought.”

  I sucked in a breath. “I know.”

  “Don’t ditch me. I’m too old to chase you.”

  “I won’t. I might be crazy, but I’m not a fool.” We walked through the rows looking for my truck. “You said you wanted to talk to me and Chuck about something?”

  “I don’t think now is the time,” said Spidermonkey.

  “It’s the perfect time. I need something else to think about.”

  He took my arm. “I see the roof. Your Chevy is unmistakable.”

  “I hate being short.”

  “You’re not short. You’re travel-size, like Wallace.”

  “Please do not compare me to that incontinent pug.”

  He grinned. “She’s a good pug.”

  “She’s okay. What do you have?”

  “The police report on Agatha and Daniel’s accident, for starters,” he said.

  We turned onto the right row and I asked with a sick feeling, “Is it interesting?”

  “Only because it’s practically useless. The investigation was done by Jeff City and it appears they didn’t have the resources to investigate properly or much interest.”

  “I thought the NTSB investigated crashes.”

  The NTSB did do a cursory investigation. Apparently, the crash wasn’t quite as cut and dry as Aunt Tenne had said. Something to do with the wing flaps. The wiring had broken in flight. The Jeff City detective had flight experience and he thought it was tampered with, but it could’ve been worn out and snapped. The NTSB report said the wiring was fairly new and shouldn’t have snapped, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. There were several crashes during that time with higher profiles and larger body counts. The NTSB had their hands full and the case got filed as Cause Undetermined.

  I stopped walking. “Do you think it was an accident?”

  “No. Not for a minute. I had a friend of mine take a look, confidentially, and he says that the NTSB dropped the ball.”

  “He’d be in a position to know?” I asked.

  “He would and, of course, there were the men seen in the hanger before Agatha and Daniel took off. No one followed up on them. There wasn’t a whole lot of state-to-state cooperation back then. Louisiana thought it was Missouri’s problem since they had the crash site. Missouri thought it was Louisiana’s as the point of origin.”

  “What about Nana and Pop Pop? Didn’t they want answers?”

  “Everyone was interviewed. No one imagined that anyone wanted Agatha and Daniel dead. The only ones who had anything to gain were your grandparents and the cops saw them as devastated with no real financial motive. They were clean. And remember, this is before Ace met Millicent and Myrtle. Before they knew your parents personally, either of them.”

  “You mean, maybe they didn’t know about The Klinefeld Group at the time,” I said.

  “The break-ins at the Bled mansion happened after the crash. I think The Klinefeld Group was following the trail that started with Dr. Bloom.”

  Dr. Bloom was an Oxford professor who’d inadvertently revealed the meeting of Stella Bled Lawrence and my ancestors, Amelie and Paul, to The Klinefeld Group. Once they discovered that Amelie and Paul shipped something home to New Orleans after their meeting in Paris, they went after Agatha and Daniel, thinking that they must’ve inherited it. Since The Klinefeld Group was still looking, I guess they didn’t.

  “There was a big break between all that and now. I wonder what got them started again,” I said.

  A strange look came over Spidermonkey’s face and he ran his fingers through his silver hair. “It is curious.”

  “But you have a theory.”

  “Let’s go to the truck. Your mother needs you back.”

  “Just tell me. This day can’t get any worse.”

  I really thought that. I am so stupid.

  Spidermonkey sighed. “I think it was you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you triggered Dr. Bloom. When you started making the news, your connection with the Bleds was mentioned. The Klinefeld Group is nefarious, but they’re not stupid. Maybe they thought they’d gotten it wrong back then. That Stella never sent it back to the States at all. There’s no record of your grandparents’ house here in St. Louis being broken into. The Klinefeld Group dropped it after they didn’t find anything on the Bled properties. I assume they went looking elsewhere.”

  “And if they stopped looking at St. Louis…”

  “They never saw your parents marry, your father’s involvement in Josiah’s disappearance, or your mother getting Josiah’s house. It’s a huge connection.”

  “Then I get into the news and they get interested again,” I said, feeling so tired I wanted to lie down on the garage floor, sticky spots and all.

  “I would,” said Spidermonkey. “I’d think I’d missed the obvious. That Agatha and Daniel didn’t have it. Your grandparents did. Agatha and Daniel were flying to St. Louis to tell them what was in their possession. Your being raised in the mansion would make me think that everyone now knew and whatever it was had been put back into The Bled Collection.”

  “Except it wasn’t.”

  Spidermonkey was so excited he was bobbing up and down like Aaron. “Exactly. I think your parents have it.”

  “My parents don’t have it,” I said.

  “There have been attempts to break through your father’s security. They weren’t successful. The Bled Mansion break-in was a fluke.”

  “Yeah,” I said, reaching for my purse and then remembering I’d dropped it at the house. I needed a tissue in the worst way.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Just that I left Mom to go to Sturgis. I knew about those attempts. Aunt Miriam told me, but I went anyway. It’s my fault and, apparently, it’s my fault that Lester got killed.”

  Spidermonkey drew back in horror. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you meant. It’s what happened.” I started off for the truck.

  “I apologize for telling you that. You couldn’t have known what would happen any more than Dr. Bloom knew that his interview would cost people’s lives.”

  I said nothing.

  “Mercy, please forgive me.”

  “Quiet,” I hissed, going rigid.

  Spidermonkey tried to put me behind him, but nobody puts me anywhere. “I don’t see anything.”

  “There’s someone sitting in my truck.”

  Chapter Five

  THE PERSON SAW us, got out of my truck, and closed the door before leaning on the cab.

  Spidermonkey pulled me back. “We have to call security.”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  The figure was too big to be the guy from Sturgis. This person was taller, not to mention broader. Football player came to mind.

  “Mercy,” said Spidermonkey. “Come with me.”

  Curiosity overwhelmed my good sense. It wasn’t the stalker. Something abou
t the way they got out so leisurely intrigued me to no end.

  “Are you coming or what?” rang out a voice that was both deep and lyrical. Male or female. Could go either way.

  “Who are you?” I yelled.

  “Calpurnia sent me.”

  Crap on a cracker.

  “That could be good,” said Spidermonkey.

  “Oh, yeah. I need the Fibonaccis showing up like I need another stroke in the family.”

  “You’re boring me,” the person called out.

  “Leave!”

  “It’s my job to stay.”

  I rubbed my forehead. Calpurnia. Could you pick a worse time? I don’t think so.

  “I’m just going to call an Uber if you don’t beat it.”

  “Miss Watts, there’s nowhere you can go that I can’t follow.”

  I slumped and took the long way around the row to come in facing Calpurnia Fibonacci’s minion. As it turned out, minion wasn’t a good description at all. This person wasn’t small, yellow, or of indeterminate sex. She was a woman and holy crap she was big with a nice, rosy tan and a great makeup job. If John Cena had a sister, she would be this chick.

  “Hi,” I said, sounding like a twelve-year-old.

  “Hello,” she said. “Ready to go?”

  I straightened up to my full five-foot-two. Impressive, I know. “I can’t go see Calpurnia today.” Or ever.

  She got off the truck and cracked her knuckles so loud it echoed off the concrete. “She doesn’t need to see you.”

  I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Calpurnia Fibonacci was the head of a mafia family that went back generations in St. Louis. Her nephew called on me to do him a favor and I’d accidentally done it by saving his sister’s life. Once you get onto the Fibonacci radar, it was damn near impossible to get off.

  “Why are you here, exactly?” I looked for a weapon and none were obvious, but I wasn’t sure I needed one. She was wearing yoga pants and a form-fitted top from Lululemon. I didn’t know they made sizes that big. Her shoulders put Chuck to shame and I swear her thighs had to be bigger than my waist and I’m no twig.

  “I’m here to collect you,” she said in a voice that spoke of whiskey and good humor.

  “Okay then.”

  Why didn’t I call security? Seriously, why?

  “You ready?” she asked.

  To die?

  Spidermonkey had my arm in a vise-like grip. “We’ll just be going now. Have a pleasant day,” he said, tugging on me.

  “Wherever you’re going,” she said, “I’m going too, Grandpa.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You need watching and I’m going to watch you.”

  “Watch me do what?”

  “Do whatever you do,” she said with a sigh as if I was seriously slow. Maybe I was. It’d been a long day already. “Get in the truck.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Are you going to cooperate?” she asked.

  I shook off Spidermonkey’s grasp and crossed my arms. “I don’t really do that. Who are you?”

  “Fats Licata. Calpurnia sent me to watch you,” she said.

  That name was familiar. Calpurnia had threatened to give me a bodyguard when she sent me to Paris to find Angela Riley. I’d narrowly avoided it by getting stuck with Aaron and Chuck on the trip.

  “You’re Fats Licata?” I asked with a mountain of doubt.

  “You thought I’d be fat, huh?”

  “I thought you’d be a dude.”

  She maneuvered her tongue. A toothpick popped out between her teeth and she chewed on it like a ginormous beaver. “A little sexist, aren’t we?”

  “I guess so. Calpurnia just said she wanted to send you to Paris to protect me.”

  The toothpick snapped in two and she ate it. I swear to God. The woman ate the toothpick. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I could’ve used a trip to Paris. Instead, I got to watch over Calpurnia’s meatball nephew in Atlantic City. Atlantic City is no Paris, let me tell you.”

  “Who?”

  “Lorenzo. Worst instincts I’ve ever seen. The guy’s a moron, but this time, I’m with you.”

  “What in the world for? I’m not going to Paris.”

  “I don’t care where you’re going. I’m along for the ride.”

  “Why did Calpurnia send you? Am I supposed to do something for her?”

  “You’re supposed to stay alive in case she wants you to do something.”

  “Huh?”

  “Calpurnia heard about the Sturgis situation and your mother. She likes you. She’d rather you didn’t get murdered.”

  “That’s nice, but—”

  “But nothing. I’m on you.”

  “You can’t come.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Not really.

  “Look, I’m just going to my parents’ house to get some things for my mom. It’s not a huge operation.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure you arrive alive. It’s what I do.” Fats opened the truck and said, “Keys? I can rip open your steering column, but it’s expensive to repair.”

  “I’m calling Oz for confirmation on your identity.”

  She nodded. “Prudent.”

  I called Oz, who told me he was sorry about Mom. I asked him about Fats and he laughed. He’d figured that Calpurnia would send someone to protect me. He just didn’t think it would happen so fast. Fats Licata was one of a kind and I had her for the duration.

  “Is there anything I should know about her?” I asked him.

  “She’s unbelievable in bed.”

  “Ew. Too much information.”

  He laughed. “You asked.”

  “I really didn’t.”

  We hung up and Fats grinned lasciviously. “Oz remember me fondly?”

  “I’d have to say yes,” I said.

  She held out a beefy hand. “Keys.”

  I tossed them to her and Spidermonkey said, “I guess you don’t need me.”

  “Who are you, anyway? I don’t remember you from the file,” said Fats.

  “I have a file?” I asked.

  “Everyone has a file.” She eyed Spidermonkey. “Who are you?”

  I turned Spidermonkey and pushed him toward the exit. “Never mind him. He’s leaving.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Go before you get caught in the Fibonacci web.”

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “We still have things to discuss.”

  I nodded and he headed off, happy to leave me in the care of a woman who should’ve only existed in comic books. I was less thrilled, but sometimes you just have to go with it.

  I got in the passenger side and Fats started the truck. “You smell like hotdogs and…chocolate.”

  “You smell like Shalimar,” I said.

  “Good nose. I think you and I are going to work well together.”

  “That’s good, since neither of us has a choice. I’m afraid to ask, but does this mean that I owe Calpurnia again?”

  “Now you’re catching on,” she said with a grin and pulled out of the garage and into the twilight.

  “My life sucks.”

  “Looks excellent to me,” said Fats. “I hear your godmothers have a leaf from the Gutenberg bible. Any chance of getting me in to see it?”

  That was the last thing I expected her to say. If she’d said, ‘I’m going to slit you open and eat your ovaries,’ I’d have been less surprised. She looked a lot more like an ovary eater than an art lover.

  “Um…they have three, actually, but they’re on loan to the Smithsonian for conservation right now.”

  “Damn the luck. Any first editions?” She gripped the wheel, her eyes glittering.

  “A few.”

  “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?”

  “They have it.”

  Fats beamed at
me. “How lucky are you to grow up in the Bled Mansion, surrounded by those books and the art? I’ve heard they have a Giacometti.”

  “They do. It’s really ugly. If I didn’t know what it was, I’d be tempted to toss it in the recycling bin,” I said.

  “You can’t be serious. Giacometti was a visionary.”

  “He had a vision to make ugly sculptures.”

  She snorted. “You are a philistine.”

  “I’m honest. The thing is ugly.”

  We bickered all the way to Hawthorne Avenue and that’s how I got a new partner, a woman who could crack walnuts with her bare hands and had the soul of an artist.

  “Stop the truck,” I said.

  Fats raised an eyebrow and stopped pelting me with questions about my travels with Millicent and Myrtle. She’d never been out of the country and was hot to go just about anywhere. “We’re not there.”

  “You can’t go. The entire avenue is swarming with cops.”

  She put her hand on her chest and said, “Are you ashamed of our relationship?”

  “And the winner is Fats Licata in the role of I’m not supposed to know you,” I said. “You want to be interviewed for half the night? I don’t. My boyfriend will take one look at you and he will never let it go until he knows everything.”

  Fats licked her full lips. “I’d like to know everything about Chuck Watts. He has a file, too.”

  “Don’t say everything like that.”

  “Everything,” she drew it out to a full five seconds.

  “You’re grossing me out.”

  “Nothing in your file said you were a prude, leather bikini girl.”

  Damn that Mickey. In a fit of insanity, I’d agreed to pose for a bikini poster for the band, Double Black Diamond, and had been regretting it ever since.

  “I hate that stupid poster,” I said. “Pull over.”

  She pulled over three blocks from Hawthorne Avenue and said, “My grandpa has you up in his rumpus room.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Grandma has a theory about what he gets up to in there.”

  “If I had a gun, I would shoot you,” I said, shoving her shoulder. It was similar to the punching bag at Chuck’s gym that he made me hit. It didn’t move either. “Get out.”

  “I’ve been shot before. Didn’t make much of an impression.”