Ollie laced his hands behind his neck. “Not that Pichard is the most reliable source of information, but he might have something there.”
I tapped my finger against the photo. “Would you mind if I kept this?”
He hesitated, and then nodded. “Okay, but if you want my advice, you’ll leave well enough alone. That woman’s got some sort of secret and mark my words, finding her can only lead to disaster.”
FOUR
Back in my SUV, I turned on the ignition and then slid a glance at Nick, curled up in a ball in the passenger seat. I crooked a finger in his direction. “Well, what do you think? Would finding this mysterious Angelique lead us to your former human, or just stir up more trouble like Ollie thinks?”
Nick swiveled his head toward me, made a little grunting sound.
“Yep,” I said as I eased the SUV into the late-day traffic, “that’s what I thought. So let’s concentrate on Violet’s mystery instead. Louis has been after me for another article for Noir, right? Maybe this can fill the bill.”
I turned onto Main Street and realized I was only a few short minutes away from the Cruz Museum. I made a quick right and then another left, and ten minutes later I backed into a parking spot at the far end of the Cruz Museum’s parking lot. Things were certainly hopping here: Several black cars were parked near the rear entrance, some of them taking up two prime spots, and a silver truck was backed up against one side of the building. I walked across the lot and up the front steps, pushed through the heavy oaken door and into the high-ceilinged foyer. A cherrywood reception desk was angled off to the left, and I could see Nellie Blanchard’s white curly bob bent over the middle drawer. She rifled through it quickly, then slammed it shut, jerked open a bottom drawer, and proceeded to rifle through that one as well. I approached the desk and cleared my throat loudly. Nellie’s head jerked up, and her watery blue gaze fastened on me. She slammed the drawer shut with a bang and a barely concealed grunt, and reached up to straighten her wire-rimmed glasses on her beak-shaped nose. “Nora. Hello.”
I gave her a bright smile. “Hello, Nellie. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought today was your day off?”
“It was supposed to be, but it seems there’s a lot to do lately.” She pushed the chair back and stood up, smoothing her magenta-colored skirt. “Between getting the exhibit set up, the volunteers decorating the main hall for the gala, and half the Cruz police force milling around, a body can’t even think straight around here.” She glanced at her watch, and then peered at me over the rims of her glasses. “Do you need help with something?”
“Nan Webb asked me to drop by and pick up the key to the kitchen entrance.”
She rifled through a pile of envelopes on the desk, opened a few drawers, and then shook her head. “There’s no key here, and no one mentioned anything about you stopping by, as usual. Nan is with the security detail and I have no idea what Ms. Martinelli is up to.” She slammed the center desk drawer shut, a bit more forcefully than necessary I thought, and then she added with a tight smile, “If you’ve got a few minutes, I can get it for you. I know where the spares are kept.”
“No problem.” I thrust my hands into the pockets of my fleece jacket and eased my hip against one corner of the desk. “Is Ms. Crenshaw around?”
“I haven’t seen her, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here somewhere. They’ve both been busy as beavers with this exhibit.” She glanced at her watch again and cleared her throat. “I’ll be right back.”
She glided off and I paced in front of the desk, my hands shoved into my pockets. I heard noise and laughter coming from a doorway down the hall and ambled over. I peered in and saw a jumble of tables covered with boxes, and decorations scattered across the polished floor. Several girls were dressing a large mannequin in a regal-looking cape with a sword, laughing and giggling. I chuckled. Seeing the decorating committee at work definitely brought back memories. I’d been in charge of a decorating committee or two in my college days, and they’d been great fun.
A sliver of light far down the darkened hallway beckoned to me, and I ambled in that direction. As I drew closer, I could hear voices and footsteps and a few seconds later, two figures stood framed in the doorway.
“I totally disagree,” said a clipped voice with a trace of an accent I couldn’t quite place. “The grimoire is the focal point of the exhibit. It should be in the main room with all the other artifacts, the centerpiece.”
“I personally am not against that, but our security team thinks otherwise,” said the second speaker, a decidedly feminine voice. “They believe it will be much more secure off by itself in that little alcove room.”
The figures took a few more steps forward and I hesitated, thinking they might not appreciate a third party listening in on what was obvioiusly meant to be a private conversation. I glanced around, saw a small niche, and ducked into it just seconds before they passed within three feet of my hiding place. In the pale light of the hallway, I could see their features more clearly. The woman was a petite brunette in a trim suit, her hair caught in a French twist at the nape of her neck. Large gray eyes snapped behind massive tortoiseshell-framed glasses, and her full lips were drawn into a taut line. The man who towered over her reminded me a bit of the actor Caesar Romero in his prime: tall and thin, with a clipped moustache and goatee, his oily black hair slicked back in a style reminiscent of fifties movie idols—or bikers. His suit was Italian and expensive, not a wrinkle to be seen, and his loafers, polished to a black spit shine, looked well made and had a sleek line to them. An image came instantly to my mind: the old comic strip Mandrake the Magician. If Johnny Depp didn’t snag the part, maybe this guy could play him in a movie version. And like Mandrake, his gaze seemed oddly . . . hypnotic.
The woman’s jaw thrust forward. “Security was tight in London, too, and yet it was almost stolen. I imagine if the thief is clever enough, no place will be totally secure.”
The man cleared his throat. “Well, you ought to know.”
The woman stopped dead and stared at him. A little vein bulged in her jaw. “And what does that mean, Henri? Don’t tell me you think . . .”
He held up his hand. “Did I accuse you of anything? You know as well as I that the alarm malfunctioned that night. It happens.”
“True. And Ms. Webb and Ms. Crenshaw are taking every precaution there is not to have a repeat. If there should be . . .”
The man’s face darkened, his features twisting into a scowl. “You almost sound as if you want something to happen to it, Daisy.”
Daisy? She had to be Violet’s new assistant. I strained to hear more.
Daisy laughed. “I most certainly do not want anything to happen to it. That is why I feel it is best where it is not too visible, or tempting.”
“Well, since neither of us are in charge of security, it’s moot, isn’t it?” Henri’s finger jabbed the air. “It probably would be best if you refrain from sticking your nose in where it does not belong. Unless, of course, you are willing to suffer the consequences.”
She arched a brow at him. “And what does that mean?”
“I think you can figure it out.” He turned on his heel and stalked off in the other direction. Daisy watched him go, then dipped her hand into her jacket pocket and withdrew her cell phone. She flipped it open and started speaking softly. She took a few steps nearer to my hiding place and I crouched down, flattening myself against the wall, and hoped the sound of my heart hammering in my chest wasn’t half as loud as I thought it was.
“Hey,” Daisy whispered into the phone. “I told you not to call me here.” A pause, and then, “No, it’s in the room by itself. It’s perfect.”
She turned her face away and spoke too softly for me to hear any more. After a few minutes she closed the phone and slipped it back into her pocket, then walked so close to where I was hiding I had to hold my breath. I stayed down low until I heard he
r footsteps disappear down the corridor, then slowly got up, flexing my left foot, which had fallen asleep from my cramped position. I managed to hobble back into the main hall just as Nellie exited a door at the far end. She extended her hand, and I saw a shiny brass key in her palm. “Here you go,” she said, dropping it into my outstretched hand. “One key to the kitchen entrance. Do you know where it is? Out back, just before the loading dock.”
My fingers closed around the key. “Thanks. I’ll just take a quick look to check out the freezer space, and then I’ll probably drop a few entree trays off later tonight.” I paused and then leaned in a bit closer to Nellie. “Who is the tall distinguished man I saw walk through here a few minutes ago? Black hair, fancy suit, dark eyes . . . Is he with the security detail?”
Nellie’s brow furrowed in thought, and then her expression cleared. “You must mean Henri Reynaud. He’s the exhibit director, so they tell me, but if you ask me he’s more of a pain in the . . .”
“Nora? Is that you?”
I whirled around and saw Violet standing right behind me. “Violet, hi. I was in the area, so I thought I’d drop by and pick up the kitchen key. Nellie was kind enough to get it for me.”
Violet threw the other woman a pointed glance. “How fortunate you were still here, Nellie. Don’t forget to mark the extra time on your card.”
The older woman gave us both a sharp look, and then muttered something under her breath. She elbowed past us and out the front door without a backward glance.
Violet shook her head. “She’s still a little ticked at me about the job, but she’ll get over it. Nora, do you have a few minutes? I’d like to discuss something with you.”
Encouraged by the melancholy look in her eyes, I decided to take a chance. “Your missing niece? Is she who you think might have been . . . murdered?”
The gaze behind her wire rims sharpened, and Violet’s thin lips tugged upward. She gestured toward the stairwell. “Let’s talk, shall we? First office on the right.”
FIVE
Violet’s office was large and comfortable and (not surprisingly) about three times the size of my den at home. A beautiful, polished cherrywood desk sat right in front of a large picture window, which afforded an excellent view of the town square. The two high-backed chairs that flanked the front of the desk were pale blue and lavender, and made of leather so buttery soft you felt like you were sitting on a cloud. I eased myself into the pale blue one, leaned back, and waited expectantly. After all, this was Violet’s show. The woman herself perched on the edge of the desk, right in front of me, crossed her arms over her chest, and regarded me with a stare of blue-edged steel.
“So you found out about my niece, eh? I must say, I’m impressed.”
“I found out from Nick Atkins’s partner that one of the cases Nick was working on at the time he disappeared was a society da—ah, woman’s missing niece. I just thought, from the remark I heard you make about Nick, that it might be you.” I was thankful I’d caught myself. I was pretty certain Violet would not appreciate hearing herself referred to as a dame.
“I knew you were a clever girl, Nora. Not many people could put two and two together and come up with six.” She regarded me for a few moments, then walked around the desk and eased herself into the captain’s leather chair. “I expect you’re curious to learn why I’d engage someone like him in the first place. Well, it’s like this.
“I’ve been a loner for most of my life. I had no use for my family. Most of them were shifty, lazy, no-goodniks anyway. I’m from New Orleans originally. Did you know that? My parents moved out here when I was twelve. It was just the four of us; them, my brother, Durwood, and me. I lost all trace of a Southern accent and my father did very well in real estate, so good in fact that we were able to trade in our modest Cape Cod dwelling for the castlelike mansion I live in today.” She let out a humongous sigh. “If Durwood had only seen reason, he and his daughter and I—well, I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Whereas I studied and got good grades and was accepted into one of the best colleges the state had to offer, Durwood was lazy. Typical of young boys, I know, but Durwood was really lazy. He took after our mother’s side of the family, I’m sorry to say. He started out shoplifting, then buying exam answers. By the time he was twenty-five my brother had a criminal record.
“In the meantime, I married Roger Crenshaw and began carving out a life for myself as a socialite wife. Unfortunately I could not bear children. It bothered me in the beginning, but Roger was so good about it. ‘I don’t need progeny, my little petunia flower,’ he’d say to me. ‘We have each other.’
“Well, my parents died and so did Roger’s. Roger was an only child and for all intents and purposes so am I. After my brother’s arrest for robbing a jewelry store in Van Nuys, I disowned him, literally and figuratively. Many years passed, and I was very contented with my life. And then, three years ago, my husband passed. I became much more active in charity work, took this position on the museum board, but I still felt my life lacked something. There’s a great deal to be said for family, Nora, even bad ones.
“I hired an investigator, Paul Mitchell, to find my brother. I found out that Durwood spent his declining years in prison, once again arrested on robbery charges, but I also found out that he’d had a child out of wedlock, a little girl. He never married the woman, but apparently he kept in touch, and all because of the child. When the mother passed from cancer, Durwood, who was in between prison terms at the time, took the girl to raise and brought her back to Louisiana. She was thirteen, an impressionable age. He tried to stay on the straight and narrow, but being uneducated and unskilled, it wasn’t long before he resumed the only career he knew: a premier thief.”
Violet paused for a breath, and I leaned forward. “Violet, that’s so sad. I understand why you never speak of your family.”
“Yes.” She put a hand to her eyes, brushed away what looked to me like a tear. “To be honest, I never gave Durwood much thought until Roger died, and I was rattling around in that big old house all alone. By the time I decided to contact him, it was too late. He’d died in prison. I learned his daughter was by his side. Shortly after that Alexa just seemed to vanish into thin air.”
“Her name is Alexa?”
“Yes. Alexa Martin is my only niece, my only living relative and someday, please God, my only heir to all I’ve created. If she’s still alive, that is.”
“What makes you think she might have been murdered? Did Nick Atkins tell you that?”
Violet exhaled a deep breath. “When Mitchell retired and moved to Florida, he suggested Atkins take over. He didn’t wait for my approval, which ticked me off; he just turned all his files over to him. Atkins contacted me at that point, an introduction you might say, and then a few weeks later left a message on my machine that he’d gotten a lead on Alexa and was going to track it down. He called me on the phone a few days later, said there had been what he termed an ‘interesting development’ that needed to be investigated. He was acting rather strange—I guess I should say stranger than usual—so I got a bit aggressive with him, and he finally blurted out there was a possibility my niece might have been murdered. Well, you can imagine my reaction! I pleaded and then I threatened, but I couldn’t get any more out of him. He said he shouldn’t have told me as much as he had, and to give him two days, and he’d call me back with more details. Well, that call was the last I heard from him. I tried calling his cell and got no response. I called the office several times, and was told he was away. Then the next time I called his cell I was told the number was no longer in service.” Violet shrugged. “I hired two other PIs who turned up nothing. Then, today, when you said he’d been missing for several months, well . . . that put a whole different light on things.” She was silent for a few minutes then bit out, “Think he’ll ever show up again?”
“His partner has his doubts on that score,” I admitted. “Do you
think his disappearing could have anything to do with your case?”
“I don’t know. But I see in the past few months you’ve become quite the detective.” She pinned me with her gaze. “That’s why I need you, Nora. You’re the only one I can think of capable of picking up where Atkins left off. I need you to find out once and for all if my niece is alive . . . or dead.”
SIX
For a minute I was so startled I couldn’t speak, and then I found my voice. “Violet, I’m flattered you would put such trust in me, but if you truly suspect foul play, it really is more of a matter for the police.”
She pinned me with that hawklike gaze. “And I’d agree with you one hundred percent, if I had an iota of proof she was dead, and if the cause of death were foul play. At the moment, all I have is a cryptic statement from a missing detective. Make no mistake; if Alexa was murdered I won’t rest until her killer is brought to justice.” She laid her hand on my arm. “How about this? Suppose you just make some casual inquiries, as a personal favor to me? No pressure. And don’t soft pedal whatever you might find out for me. If you do find some evidence that what Atkins said was on the level, then I’ll take it to a higher authority.”
I had no doubt she could, even though right now she looked as if she’d lost everything in the world that meant something to her—and maybe she had. My heart went out to her and I reached out, let the tips of my fingers brush the back of her hand. “Sure, I can do that. After this huge catering contract you’ve awarded me, it’s the least I can do.”
Crime and Catnip Page 4
