“Have you placed people in her household?”
“I have, yes.”
“Well, perhaps you can explain why Mrs. Spinks took it upon herself to slap the general’s face when he mentioned your name?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t.” He tried to suppress a chuckle, but failed. “You saw this? Where?”
“At her house. But I didn’t exactly see it. They were having a private conference. With Easterly.”
“What fools.” He shook his head and looked over his shoes. Then he rose to his feet. “Well, Mr. Reese. I have some business to attend to. Perhaps another time?”
“Yes. Another time.”
In getting up, I knocked a hat off a stand. I reached down and picked it up. It was a sort of helmet, made out of gold brocade.
“A present for a child,” he told me.
I walked back to the hotel. Chappelle obviously knew what was going on, but I didn’t see much chance of persuading him to share that knowledge with me. His comment about Mrs. Easterly had given me an idea. Maybe she was the weak link. Given the right prompting, she might inadvertently provide the clue I needed. I telephoned the house, but was told she would be out all morning.
Of course that left Sesbania—unguarded. I stopped by a bookstore in order to purchase the proper guidebook for an excursion to the Land of Oz, and during the long car ride acquainted myself with the strange habits of the various peoples of the Wizard’s domain. They weren’t much stranger than what I’d encountered in the Eastern District of Brooklyn. But at least in New York the apes were earthbound, and the trees relatively docile.
The Easterlys’ governess wasn’t prepared to allow me to see the girl. But while I was wheedling her, Sesbania overheard us and intervened. Appreciating that she’d been outmaneuvered by a superior force, the governess—apparently a student of Clausewitz—ceded the field.
“Hello, Harry.”
“Hello, Sesbania. I come as messenger from the Witch of the North.”
“Why didn’t she come herself?”
“Oh, she has other business to attend to,” I said. This didn’t seem to satisfy her, so I added some detail. “The Munchkins have gone on strike.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, they refuse to go back to work until… until improvements have been made in their working conditions.”
“Munchkins don’t work.”
“Don’t they?” Little parasites. “Well, that’s just it. Their lives lack structure. And they resent the paternalistic nature of the system.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“I’m not altogether sure. I’m just repeating what I was told. The point is, the Witch of the North needed to attend to matters Munchkin this morning.”
“Oh.” She still wasn’t completely satisfied, but I’d worn her down. “What was her message?”
“Her message?” She was going to want something good and my brain wasn’t cooperating.
“You forgot, you silly Winkie!” She offered me some help. “Was it about the red hair?”
“Yes, that’s it, the red hair. That’s it precisely.” Inspiration struck. “She’s made contact with Glinda, the Witch of the South.”
“Really?”
It’s rare I manage to excite a female in this way and I relished the moment. Granted, this one was just six years old. But one has to take one’s conquests as they come.
“Oh, yes,” I confirmed. “I met her myself. Charming lady.”
“Did you meet the Quadlings?”
“Yes, I met them, too. German speakers.”
“Will I be able to meet Glinda?”
“Oh, yes. But first we need to solve the riddle.”
“What riddle?”
“Who took your mother’s jewelry.”
“The winged monkeys! I told you.”
“Glinda suggests that’s not the case. And as you know, she was here.”
“Because I have her hair.”
“Exactly. And she has generously said you may keep that. But she wonders if you know a lady named Mrs. Spinks?”
“Oh, yes. She comes to see us often.”
“Does she bring any friends when she does?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“Well, last time there was a general. And a French man, whose name I don’t remember.”
“Did you hear what they were talking about?”
“No, it sounded very boring. But I do remember the place.”
“The place?”
“Yes, Kalorama. Father said it’s like Oz, only nearer. Do you know it?”
“No. But what did they say about this Kalorama?”
“I don’t know! I told you it was very boring.”
“Yes, you did,” I said. “Was Mr. Chappelle there?”
“No, not that day.”
“But you do know him?”
“Of course I know him! He’s the lion.”
“The Cowardly Lion?”
“Only he’s not really cowardly.”
“No, a malignant rumor. How about the Scarecrow?”
“Mr. Grieber, of course.”
“Who is Mr. Grieber?”
“The postman. And Mr. Clapp is the Tin Woodman. He delivers the milk.”
“Of course. It slipped my mind for a moment. Well, thank you for the help, Sesbania. But we should keep our meeting a secret.”
“Why?”
“Well, Glinda would prefer it.”
“When will I meet her?”
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Don’t forget.”
“Oh, no. I won’t forget.”
Then she went off to torment the governess and I returned to the hotel. At the desk I was given a hand-delivered letter from the countess. She informed me that I would be escorting her to Mrs. Spinks’ again that afternoon. Then I went up to the room, where I found Emmie attending to her toilette. Elizabeth was there as well, slouched down in a chair, one finger playing lazily with a blonde tress that had slipped out of place. And evidently she was in an amiable mood.
“Hello, Harry,” she said.
That might not sound particularly friendly, but with Elizabeth, that was as good as you are likely to get. And when it wasn’t immediately followed by some sarcastic morsel of mockery, I thought perhaps she was doing impersonations.
“Hello, Elizabeth. Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I was certain that if I raised the subject of her love life, the good mood would evaporate. So I kept to other matters.
“Do you have any idea where Kalorama is?”
“No. It’s Greek, you know.”
“It had that ring to it, that’s why I thought I’d consult you.”
“For God’s sake, don’t jolly me, Harry.”
“I’m serious.”
“It’s rather simple. Kalos is beautiful. Horama is sight. A place offering a beautiful sight. Emmie could have told you that.”
“Oh, Harry knows kalos. He wrote me a poem using ‘callipygian.’”
“Harry writes poetry?”
“One poem,” I clarified. Embarrassing moments were always a little more embarrassing when shared with Elizabeth.
“What did you rhyme with ‘callipygian’? The only thing that comes to mind is ‘pigeon.’”
“The penultimate line concluded with ‘callipygian lass,’” Emmie told her. “You can guess the end.”
“Oh, very well done, Harry.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. That’s high praise.”
“Well, don’t get a swelled head over it. Where is this Kalorama supposed to be located?”
“I’m not altogether sure, but I suspect somewhere near here.”
“Maybe a resort of some type,” Emmie offered. “Does this have something to do with the case?”
“I believe it might. But all I have is the word, and that it was something discussed by Mrs. Spinks, Easterly, the general, and some other fellows
. It could be there’s no connection at all.”
“What will you be doing this afternoon?” Emmie asked.
“Oh, this and that. Has the countess given you another task?”
“No. She gave us tickets for a matinee: Mistress Nell.”
“What task did the countess give you, Emmie?” Elizabeth asked.
“Harry’s making a jest of some sort.”
It always struck me as odd that their friendship seemed to involve such large doses of deceit and the sort of manipulative behavior one doesn’t usually expect of one’s friends.
Emmie had risen and was standing near the bed, looking down. When I entered the room, I had tried to hide my reading material by covering it with my coat. But one corner stuck out. And that was enough to trigger Emmie’s recognition. She pulled out The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and of course Elizabeth had to come over and see what had intrigued her.
“You went to see Sesbania without me,” Emmie cried.
“I needed to move forward. Besides, you were occupied with suppressing a revolt among the Munchkins. I hope you weren’t too brutal about it.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I more or less promised her an audience with Glinda. Just how game do you think the countess is?”
“What are you two talking about?” Elizabeth asked.
“If I were to stop and explain, we’d miss the show.”
14
While Emmie and Elizabeth rushed off to their matinee, I made my way back to the embassy to pick up the countess. We boarded the carriage and I could tell at once she was perturbed by something.
“Did you collude with your wife last night, Harry?”
“If that’s another euphemism, I’m not familiar with it.”
“I mean, did you reveal to her what I told you yesterday?”
“About the trip to Baltimore? No, certainly not. I made an allusion to a Frenchman, but only in aid of confusing our common antagonist.”
“Apparently it didn’t work. Then she never mentioned her outing?”
“No, but it was pretty unlikely she would.”
“Or the brooch?”
“No, not the brooch either. She didn’t return the package?”
“The damn girl beat me, Harry.”
“I know the feeling. What did she tell you?”
“She came by this morning and thanked me for the brooch. I said, ‘Did you meet the Frenchman?’ ‘Oh, yes, I found him,’ she said. ‘But you had the street name wrong—he lives on Hollins Street.’”
“Did the imaginary Frenchman send a reply?”
“Yes, that was all too easy. Miss Slyboots told me he said, ‘Tell Madame, merci.’ That was all.”
“You have my sympathy, but I warned you. I think your big mistake was to give her too much time to think about it.”
“Well, I won’t make that mistake a second time.”
“Going for a return bout?”
“Most assuredly,” she said. “By the way, remember that Boucheron brooch I mentioned?”
“The fake?”
“Yes. I saw the girl last evening and she was wearing it again. I made a point of getting her name this time. Sachs. Alice Sachs.”
“That’s the one. I suppose they could have had the fake made as a replacement.”
“Oh, this was no fake. I admired it closely.”
“Are you sure?” She gave me a withering look in lieu of a reply. After a suitable amount of withering, I tried again. “So the same girl who wore the replica previously was wearing the real brooch last night. Was her father there?”
“I don’t remember seeing him. She came with a younger man. I believe I saw him at Mrs. Spinks’ yesterday, but I don’t remember his name.”
“That sure was brazen of her. The alleged theft was in all the newspapers.”
“Alleged theft—it was fraud then?”
“Yes, there seems little question. Both that one and the other two I’m investigating. And they’re all linked somehow. And somehow Mrs. Spinks is connected as well.”
“Really?”
“Are you surprised?”
“Not shocked, I suppose. But I wouldn’t have thought she was involved in something so sordid.”
“Oh, I doubt she’s mixed up in the fraud. I think the insurance claims were made to raise cash to finance a deal of some sort. She might be another party to that deal. By the way, does Kalorama mean anything to you?”
“It was an estate of some sort. If you go up Massachusetts Avenue, a little past Dupont Circle, you come to another circle, but with only a few houses on it. Just beyond that was some sort of estate called Kalorama.”
“How do you know about it?”
“The count pointed it out to me. It’s where we go riding. Emmie can show you.”
“She didn’t know the name. Neither did Elizabeth.”
“There’s nothing there really to see now.”
As we left the carriage I stopped her.
“There’s something else I should mention. Do you remember meeting Easterly yesterday?”
“Yes, I do.”
“His little girl is expecting a visit from Glinda.”
“Is she?”
“Yes. I just thought I’d mention it in case you run into her. She found a red hair and she’s convinced it belongs to Glinda.”
“I hadn’t intended to make a career of the role.”
“No, of course not. I just thought you might run into her on some occasion or other.”
Inside, there were already a fair number of guests milling about. I didn’t see anyone I knew except Mrs. Spinks, who was her usual graceful self. My presence might have worried the general the day before, but it wasn’t enough to throw her off her game. While she was explaining the rules of the house to some newcomer, the countess pulled me aside.
“Let’s see what’s upstairs, Harry.”
“Upstairs?”
“Yes, come along.”
I couldn’t fathom what she had in mind. The first stop was a large bedroom, with hulking, carved mahogany furniture and a matching mantel over the fireplace. The wallpaper featured little cherubs running about a dark maroon landscape with the odd columned ruin here and there. The ceiling held a tasteful depiction of a bacchanal—even the satyr was well-mannered—surrounded by a gold cornice of intricately molded plaster. But the finishing touch was the china basin at the side of the bed. It took me a moment to figure out what purpose it served, as it displayed workmanship rarely found in a spittoon.
“What an odd room,” the countess said.
“I’ve seen this sort of thing before. Gilded Age Baroque. This is more restrained than some I’ve encountered.”
I noticed she was jotting notes on a piece of paper.
“Decorating ideas for the embassy?” I asked.
She laughed. “Can you imagine? No, this is for my own purposes.”
We went to a second bedroom, which was the opposite of the first. Much smaller, but bright and cheery, with a simple four-poster bed. It could have been in the house of a prosperous farmer.
“What do you think of Mrs. Spinks’ establishment, Harry?”
“Well, I could imagine getting used to any one room, but moving about the place is a little disorienting. It’s like living in someone else’s opium dream.”
“Do you partake of opium, Harry?”
“No, I was speaking broadly.”
“Perhaps you should try it,” she suggested. “But I wasn’t addressing the house. I meant her business.”
“You realize the gambling isn’t where she makes her money?”
“Oh, yes. She explained the outline of her enterprise yesterday.”
“That was very forthcoming of her.”
“We had a long chat after you left. But it all seems so uncertain. I just can’t imagine this type of operation back home.”
“Of course, in England, the poor man can’t vote.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with it.”
“Such as Mrs. Spinks?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t be concerned about that. An American’s right to vote for the rich man’s lackey of his choice is sacrosanct. There will be Mrs. Spinkses in Washington long after we’re dead and buried.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Is it? Not the word I would use. But I suppose a country is nothing without its traditions.”
It was at that moment that Mrs. Spinks came upon us. Rather than being offended at the invasion of her privacy, she seemed to welcome it, leading us into her own bedchamber. The furnishings here weren’t what you would call tasteful, but they were at least less jarring than some other parts of the house. She began describing everything in detail and the countess would now and then make a note or two. I excused myself and wandered about on my own. I came to a study and was looking about in a vague sort of way when I heard Mrs. Spinks at the door.
“Can I help you find something, Mr. Reese?”
“No, just admiring the desk here. Walnut, isn’t it?”
“English walnut, the butler says. But let’s go down and enjoy the afternoon’s entertainment.”
As we descended, I posed a question.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you. What do you know about Kalorama?”
“Kalorama? It was the home of some rich man. Built almost a century ago. It was a very large piece of property. I believe this whole area is carved from it. But that was years back. The house burned down long ago. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason.”
I was hoping to give her a jolt, but either I was too obvious about it or she just wasn’t easily jolted. We went into the large room where the races were listed and I was handed my card. I put five dollars on The Giver at twelve to one. I could never bring myself to bet on the favorite. But The Giver wasn’t in a giving mood that day and I quickly lost interest in the horses. Dr. Gillette arrived and I cut a path to him.
Kalorama Shakedown (A Harry Reese Mystery) Page 12
