Brain Trust

by A W Hartoin

  After I checked the second floor and the third with the same results, I returned to Mom’s bedroom. Her fabulous bed, nicknamed the Oasis, was made, all the expensive linens in place. The glossy wood floor was dotted with oriental rugs that were probably expensive. I’d never thought about it. And in the corner was Mom’s favorite piece in the whole house, an enormous wardrobe that I’d once believed was the wardrobe from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I’d have given anything in that moment for it to be real. To escape into Narnia, even for just a little while, would’ve been an incredible gift.

  But it wasn’t real and there was no escape from what was happening at my parents’ house. I turned the big key and the door swung open with a squeak.

  “Well, that’s creepy,” said Sidney, coming up beside me. “What are you looking for?”

  I rummaged around and came up with a small carry-on bag. I handed it to Sidney and when he looked away, I leaned in to touch the wood at the back of the wardrobe, just in case.

  Sidney asked me some more questions while I gathered Mom’s PJs and some stretchy yoga wear. Mom never wore workout clothes when she wasn’t working out, but I hoped the hospital was an exception. She needed to be comfortable, not proper. I wasn’t packing skirts or dresses. No silk. It wasn’t happening. Just the quilt and comfort.

  “Got everything?” asked Sidney.

  “Almost.” I went to the dressing table and breathed deep the multitude of expensive scents in their beautiful bottles. Which one would she want?

  A hand snaked around my waist and I jumped.

  “Sorry,” said Chuck. “I thought you heard me.”

  I pressed myself back into him and kissed his hand. “I don’t know which one to pick.”

  “What does she normally wear?”

  I touched one of the plainer bottles, a tall, clear one with a pink tinge. It had pensive Roman ladies etched into the glass and a small amount of French perfume, a less-expensive scent for everyday.

  “Not that one,” said Chuck.

  “No?”

  “What’s the one that she saves for special occasions?”

  I pointed at the most impressive bottle. Millicent and Myrtle had given it to Mom for her fortieth birthday. It had a blue and clear-striped bottle, but the stopper was the fabulous part with a large spray of fat berries in blue that drooped down either side. It was nearly full.

  “That’s the one,” said Chuck. “Surviving is a special occasion.

  “You’re right, but I can’t pack up that bottle. It’ll break.”

  “The perfume didn’t come in that, did it?”

  “Not hardly. It was made in 1920.”

  We went through the drawers until we found the perfume itself in a nice bottle from Italy. I packed that.

  Chuck looked over Mom’s small collection while I got underwear and shampoo packed. “How much do you think this stuff is worth?”

  “I never asked. The Girls don’t do cheap. I’d guess several thousand apiece.”

  He whistled. “If he got in, he doesn’t know the good stuff.”

  I glanced at the door. Sidney had left at some point and his smell went with him, thankfully. “Not The Klinefeld Group, you mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure they would know what this stuff is worth, but what they want is a big-ticket item. Has to be.”

  Chuck gazed at the table. “I don’t think he got in.”

  “Maybe not, but those bottles aren’t the most expensive things in here,” I said, zipping up the bag.

  “No?”

  I pointed at the pair of framed cameos above the table.

  “Those? They’re so tiny.” He leaned in to get a better look. “Why?”

  “Painted by the Le Bruns and they didn’t do miniatures. One-of-a-kind doesn’t begin to describe them.”

  “How’d your mom get them? The Girls?”

  “Actually, they’re mine. They gave them to me for a couple of birthdays.”

  Chuck looked at me like he’d never seen me before. “Are you serious?”

  I shrugged. “So?”

  “Dr. Bloom is right. You’re a Bled. You have to be.”

  “Not necessarily. You know Millicent and Myrtle like to give presents,” I said.

  “Do they like to give art?” He pointed at the left miniature, the one by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. The Girls didn’t say.”

  “How much is it worth?”

  I avoided his intense gaze. I was embarrassed and I didn’t want to say. Those pieces shouldn’t have been on our wall. They belonged in a museum or at least with the rest of the Bled Collection. I should’ve seen that, but I never thought about it.

  “Mercy, I’m not going to steal it.” Chuck was grinning at me.

  “It’s insured for two million. So is the other one.”

  “Holy crap! Why didn’t you tell me? We need to lock this place down. The house has been open to every dipshit with a badge for hours.”

  “They wouldn’t steal from my parents. That would practically be suicide.”

  “You know we have special procedures for situations like this.”

  “Not really.”

  He ignored that and started calling people. I looked back at the miniatures and wondered what Dr. Bloom could do with this information. He seemed like the kind of guy who could find out why these unusual portraits were done. And more importantly, who the girls in them were.

  Chuck poked me. “Why are they so expensive?”

  “The Le Bruns painted them.”

  His face was blank.

  “Court painters to Louis the Fourteenth and Marie Antoinette.”

  Chuck explained the significance to whoever was on the phone and I kissed him on the cheek before I left, trotting down the stairs to go out the front. I was halfway down the walk before something made me stop and turn around.

  I went to the side and was greeted by Dr. Grace. “Forget something?” he asked.

  “Something. I don’t know.” I tapped my foot, still in its booty.

  “You can go in. It might help.”

  I left the carry-on and walked through the side garden to the door with Dr. Grace trailing me. There were number markers on the bricks where Mom had been. I could still see her lying there helpless.

  “Where’s my purse?” I said.

  Dr. Grace looked up, startled. “Your purse?”

  “I dropped it here somewhere. Did you bag it?” I asked.

  He spoke into the radio clipped to his waist and the response was no. He called the EMTs and the firefighters. The answer was no.

  The doctor and I looked at each other. His face got more drawn by the second.

  “He came back,” I said.

  Chapter Six

  THE CRIME SCENE techs discovered why Mom’s assailant came back after they reexamined the entire scene. I have to hand it to them. I never would’ve found it. Neither would Chuck, although he’d be the last to admit it.

  Tucked up in the corner of the side door’s frame was a bullet hole. No. Slash that. Not a bullet hole. A repaired section of frame that had been puttied and stained to match the original wood. It was a pretty good job. Not perfect, but perfect enough that no one looked twice, except one rookie tech named Cindy Amendola. She spent a half hour on her hands and knees with a pair of magnifying goggles strapped to her head.

  Cindy found a splinter. One splinter. About an inch that was clearly from aged, stained wood, not anything in the garden. She went over the door frame inch by inch and finally found the putty. Mom’s attacker came back and dug a bullet out of the frame and covered it up.

  Chuck and Sidney thought that he’d disposed of the unknown victim’s body and returned, recovering the bullet and snagging my purse as a trophy. They sent out a fresh wave of uniforms to canvass the neighbors about the period of time after Mom went to the hospital. That was the only period of time Mom’s assailant had to get in and muck with the scene. The
first canvass, asking about the time before I found Mom, had turned up nothing.

  Sidney and Chuck stared at that bullet hole, silent and fuming. The nerve of that guy coming back to cover up. It really galled them. They knew very well that Cindy’s finding that splinter was akin to catching the Freeway Killer due to a traffic stop. She could’ve missed it. Two other techs did.

  Chuck was about out of his head. He felt the guy was taunting them, what with him being on camera stalking me in Sturgis. Everyone was convinced that it was the same guy, without any evidence, I might add, but it was a hell of a coincidence if it was someone else entirely.

  Sidney kept asking me questions about Sturgis, like if he asked the question a different way, my memory might change. It didn’t. What did change was my feeling about the crime scene. The more I stood there, being pelleted with questions, the more I felt something else was wrong about the scene.

  “Describe the man you encountered at the Bear Butte visitor center,” said Sidney, poised to write down something incriminating. I barely remembered the guy. Not gonna happen.

  “I think something else is supposed to be here,” I said, staring at the ground where I’d found Mom.

  Sidney ignored me. “Height? Weight? What was the ranger’s name?”

  “For crying out loud, be quiet.”

  Not only was Sidney quiet, but everyone else went silent as well. Chuck came to my elbow and followed my eye line.

  “I almost have it,” I said.

  “Describe finding your mother,” said Chuck so softly I could barely hear him.

  I closed my eyes and described being dragged to the gate by Wallace. I left out the cat. My credibility didn’t need to take that hit. I told them about seeing Mom on the bricks and opening the gate. I went on to my assessment and calling 911.

  “Stop,” said Chuck. “Rewind. Describe Carolina lying on the bricks.”

  I didn’t want to think about exactly how she looked lying there so helpless. If I could never think about that again, it would be okay.

  “Was her face turned toward you or away?” asked Sidney.

  “Away.”

  “Her clothes?”

  I could see it in a flash. Mom on her back, wearing a black tissue tee and a full silk flowered skirt. The skirt was hitched up, exposing her pale thighs. The heel of her working right foot was digging into the bricks, trying to push herself over so she could get up.

  My eyes flew open. “She was barefoot. That’s it!”

  The detectives looked at me. Their faces had so what written all over them.

  “You think he took her shoes?” asked Chuck.

  “No. There weren’t any shoes,” I said. “She was barefoot.”

  Sidney shrugged. “So…”

  “So, my mother doesn’t go out into the garden barefoot.” I pinched Chuck’s coveralls. “Look at all these snags. Mom likes heritage plants, the ones that haven’t had the thorns bred out of them. If you walk around here without shoes, you’re liable to get a thorn. I don’t listen, so I’ve had about ten thorns in my feet. It drives Mom crazy.”

  The wheels were turning behind the eyes of the detectives, but they weren’t quite there yet. I guess neither of them had mothers that were as predictable as mine.

  Beyond them, Cindy slowly raised her hand like she was in some horrible math class and thought this was the one time she might’ve gotten the problem right. “If your mom doesn’t go outside barefoot, something had to happen to make her change her pattern.”

  “We have a winner,” I said with triumph.

  Sidney wrote furiously in his notebook. “Are you absolutely sure about the shoes? No exceptions?”

  “Carolina Watts doesn’t make exceptions,” said Chuck. “Mercy’s right. Something made her come out here.”

  “The second victim being attacked,” said Sidney.

  “Possibly.”

  I bit my lip and then said, “I don’t know. That’s weird. Who is this person? Is anyone missing in the neighborhood?”

  “Not that we’ve discovered,” said Chuck. “Homeowners and staff are all accounted for.”

  The picture of Palfry’s smug face popped into my head and I told them about our brief conversation. “I have a feeling he’s holding something back.”

  Sidney smacked his lips and hunched his rounded shoulders, flipping a notebook page to write down my info. “You Watts’ and your feelings. Pisses me off.”

  “Why?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “I get sick of your father being right. It’s fucking irritating.”

  “I know exactly how you feel.”

  Sidney eyed me. “I bet you do. Alright. I’m going to go pick up this Palfry and see what he has to say.”

  He took off and Chuck said, “Call your Grandad and get the whereabouts of the rest of the family and friends. We have to find out who was here.”

  I called Grandad and was surprised to find out that Mom had relented after talking to the rape counselor and had let Aunt Miriam in. Aunt Miriam was so happy she cried. Since before that day, I’d seen Aunt Miriam cry exactly never, I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

  Between Grandad and Uncle Morty, we were able to account for everyone who was likely to be there on a weekend. Mom’s best friend, Dixie, had been with her sister in Pennsylvania, touring Amish country. Grandma J was out with Dr. Watts at Cairngorms Castle. Grandad insisted that they move in there so the owners, John and Leslie, could look after them. That was a huge relief. The two former spooks wouldn’t let anything happen to Grandad’s wife and ex-wife. If we were lucky, our guy might try and be neatly disposed of with no trouble to us. John and Leslie were more than capable of doing that.

  Aunt Tenne and Bruno were flying back from Miami as soon as they could get a flight and nobody else was missing. Flowers were pouring into Mom’s hospital room once word got out and Grandad had been on the phone almost constantly with people who knew and loved Mom, everyone from her manicurist to the committee members of her various charities. All of Dad’s detectives had checked in, except for Denny, but he was undercover on a ranch in Montana, roping steer and trying to figure out how the owners were connected to some drug outfit.

  “I’ve got to go, sweetheart,” said Grandad. “Miriam’s coming out and she wants something, probably a new cane.”

  “Wait,” I said with a sinking feeling that plunged to my feet and bungeed up into my throat. “What about Claire?”

  I heard Grandad ask Uncle Morty and he started a cursing streak that impressed me with its sheer volume and incredible foulness. Technically, a lot of the words he used weren’t actually cuss words, but he had a way of making them seem like they were.

  “We don’t know where Claire is,” said Grandad, his voice tight and throaty.

  Chuck nodded at me and called in Claire Carter’s name and sent a squad car over to her apartment. I looked at where the blood was in the hosta bed and barely managed to hold down a heave. Claire was my dad’s transcriptionist and secretary. He referred to her as his Girl Friday, whatever that meant. Claire ended up working for Dad because of me. A while ago, I’d traded my investigating skills for her transcription skills. The exchange was for tracking down her bigamous husband. Claire turned out to be just what Dad and I needed. He needed someone with her passion for organization and I needed to never file for my father again. It was a win-win until now.

  “We don’t know it’s her,” said Chuck gently. “She doesn’t come here on Sunday, does she?”

  I perked up. “That’s true. I don’t know why she’d be here. Dad’s out of town. Claire usually works at home, doing the calendar and transcription there, if he’s not around.” I leaned on Chuck’s shoulder. “Thank God.”

  “We still have to find her. I assume Morty’s tracking her down.”

  “Yeah.” My stomach went queasy again. “But it’s weird that she hasn’t called.” I checked my phone to make sure. “Grandad says it was all over the news”

  “We’ll find her,” said
Chuck. “It’s not Claire. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Things didn’t always have to make sense. Chuck knew that as well as I did. Somebody was at my parents’ house at the wrong time and they paid for it with their life. It could be Claire and the thought made me feel sick all over. Claire was my old high school rival. I scared boys and she attracted them like gnats around a brown banana. Since I tracked down her so-called husband, we’d become friends. She understood what dealing with my father was like and was one of the few that sympathized with me. If I got her a job, that ended up killing her…

  Chuck rubbed my back. “Go back to the hospital. There’s nothing you can do here.”

  “I can’t. I have to go talk to Millicent and Myrtle,” I said.

  “Didn’t Ace call them?”

  “He did about an hour ago, but I should’ve done it. They’re really upset.”

  He kissed me lightly. “Of course, they are, but your being the one to tell them wouldn’t change that.”

  “Still, I’m going over and then I’ll go back to the hospital.”

  “I’m sending a uniform with you,” said Chuck.

  No. No. No.

  “I’m okay. I don’t need a watchdog,” I said quickly. Too quickly, as it turned out.

  Chuck gave me the stink eye. “Why? What are you up to?”

  I’m ashamed to say that I batted my eyelashes and got teary-eyed, but I did and it worked. What a sucker my boyfriend was. “I’m going to Millicent and Myrtle to calm them down and then to spend the night in the ICU on a foldout something.”

  He hugged the breath out of me. “Did I say I was sorry this happened?”

  I snuffled into his shoulder, pretty convincingly, if I say so myself. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I am and I’m sorry about the Pete thing.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll call you from the hospital.”

  “He shook his head. “You can’t run around alone.”

  I tried to work up some more tears to distract and then it hit me. I didn’t have to. “Tiny,” I said.