by Sylvie Kurtz
“You sit here a lot?” Lucas asked.
“Better than watching soaps all day. The wife, she likes ‘em, but me, I can’t stand all that melodrama.”
“Yeah, you’re right there,” he agreed, man to man, and nearly blew his attempt at rapport with a chuckle when Juliana raised her eyes to the sky and shook her head slightly at the overt male chauvinism. He’d have to show her later that he had the utmost respect for her gender. “You see everything that goes on in the neighborhood.”
“I do all right.” The old man glanced at his watch again, scowled. “Eleven o’clock. Sunset Beach. She’ll never hear me now. Stella!”
“Anything wrong?” he asked.
“It’s the wife. She’s probably glued to that TV of hers by now.”
“Do you need anything?” Juliana asked, sliding her hip off the rail. “I’ll be glad to get it for you.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, thank ye.”
“What’s he like, the boyfriend?” Lucas asked, getting the conversation back on track.
The old man snorted. “Well, I ain’t one to pass judgment, but it seems to me a pretty thing like her could do better than an old coot like him.”
“He’s old.” The fact the Phantom had a girlfriend at all went against profile and instinct. Both had indicated he’d be a loner.
“I said that already, didn’t I?” The old man tapped the glass on the face of his watch, put the dial close to his ear, and jiggled his arm. Some of the color was draining from his face. Was he all right?
“Yes, you did. Forty? Fifty? Sixty?”
The old man scrunched his face. “You know that’s the odd thing about that one, now that I think about it. He looks like sixty, but walks like forty.”
A zing of interest flashed through him. Juliana reacted with a jerk, as if she’d felt the almost electric jolt that had gone through his body. “What makes you say that?”
The old man shrugged. He scrunched his eyes to mere slits. “You asked for my opinion, I give it to you straight. Stella!”
“Did he ever give you a name?” The mailbox had been empty, but somehow Lucas doubted Willy had received any correspondence here.
“Nope, never talked to the feller.”
“Did he go out every day?”
“Takes that little dog of his out a coupla times a day, he does.”
“Does he come and go regularly?”
“Naw, he’s in and out all the time. Not like her. She’s reg’lar as clockwork. Makes it interesting. The wife and I, we try to figure him out. Spends a lot of time at the library, he does. The wife, she’s seen him there. I’ve seen him with a load of books more than once.” He twisted his body around even further, half-rose out of his chair, disturbing his casted leg, and promptly plopped back down. His face took on an ashen tint.
“What’s he look like?” Lucas continued, knowing he didn’t have much time before his opportunity to gather information shut off.
“He’s about her bigness,” he said looking at Juliana, squirming in his seat a bit, in a way Lucas recognized. “Maybe smaller. A little feller. Skinny. Gray hair. Blue eyes. Glasses.”
The short stature fit with the other descriptions they’d gathered. Short, and a bit of a chameleon, it seemed. A book lover. A storyteller.
The old man’s brow pleated. “You know, he don’t have many wrinkles. Maybe he ain’t as old as I thought. The gray hair. That’s what got me fooled.”
“What does he drive?” Lucas asked.
“A big boat of a car. Cadillac, I think. Silver. Never thought to look at the plates. She in trouble?”
“Maybe.” Give a little, get more.
He nodded, frowning. “He’s the one, then. I had a feeling about him the first time I seen him.”
“How come?”
He shrugged. “Because.”
Juliana hid a smile under one hand and attempted to cover her giggles with a cough. She would find that amusing. A measure of his own vague knowings? It was something he could accept.
“What does he usually wear?”
“Mostly dungarees, T-shirts, and tennies.”
That didn’t seem like the uniform of a sixty-year-old. Most of the people that age he knew tended toward a more conservative dress unless they worked the land, even then, T-shirts weren’t usually part of the garb.
“Stella!”
Distress etched more deeply on the old man’s features with every passing minute, and Lucas understood his misery.
“Do you want me to go find your wife?” Juliana volunteered.
The old man glanced at her, studying her up and down as if judging if she were up to the task, then shook his head. “Naw, the wife, she don’t take too kindly to strangers.”
“How long has he been living with Cindy?” Lucas asked, resuming his interrogation. A couple more questions, then he’d help him to the bathroom.
“A coupla months. His car stayed the night for the first time on Valentine’s Day. They’re gone now, the both of them.”
“When did they leave?”
Impatiently, Juliana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. He’d have to move fast—before she did.
“Day afore yesterday. Right after lunch time. He packed the car right quick, and she never came back from work. You know, I ain’t seen the dog for a few days afore that neither.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Juliana asked, moving forward to touch the old man’s hand.
“I-I,” he stammered. “Stella!”
“Can I do anything for you? Get you anything?”
He considered her offer, shook his head. “Thank ye kindly.” He squirmed in his seat.
“This needs a man’s touch, Juliana,” Lucas said.
He stepped forward and helped the old man up. Needing help to go to the bathroom was bad enough, but having a pretty woman like Juliana do the helping would be mortifying beyond words. A man had his pride.
“Through the kitchen.” The old man pointed toward the door on their left.
Juliana rushed forward to open the door. When he and the old man were through, she stepped inside and stood by the door like a good little soldier.
Adjusting to the gloom took a minute. From far down the corridor, came the blasting sounds of soap opera music. No wonder the invisible Stella hadn’t heard her husband call.
Stella didn’t seem like much of a housekeeper either. The smell of dust and grease filled the room. On the kitchen counters sat the congealed remnants of a breakfast. Crusted dishes lined the sink. A half-empty grocery sack stood on the table, along with a red-and-white striped prescription bag still stapled shut.
Lucas bumped the kitchen table with his hip, sending a small packet to the floor.
“I’ll get it,” Juliana said, just as he’d hoped she would. As she lifted the envelope, pictures slid out and cascaded to the floor.
* * *
Juliana stooped to pick up the pictures.
Before her, an Easter parade evolved. Three generations around a feast table, ham poised for slicimg by the old man. Youngsters frolicking in the park across the street, searching out colored eggs. Two gray-haired sisters, leaning shoulder to shoulder in their Sunday-best dresses.
Then everything in the picture faded, except for the background. Her heart sped. Adrenaline surged through her, zinged her just as Lucas’s almost imperceptible flash of interest had earlier. There, partially obscured by a basket held by one of the women, stood a silver Cadillac. The Phantom’s car. She scrunched closer and could make out part of the license plate. A, C, and what could be a three or an eight.
Yes! A clue. A direction. Something to exploit in their search for this evil specter. Was this thrill what Lucas felt when a piece of his case puzzle fell into place? The thought brought a frown, but she quickly dismissed it. She had found something. Lucas would be pleased.
She hastily stuffed the pictures back into the envelope, then headed back outside.
Both men came out talking abou
t the weather and the coming storm—which seemed highly improbable given the clear blue of the sky.
“Thank ye,” he said as Lucas settled him back in his chair.
They chatted for a few more minutes, then took their leave. As they headed back towards Lucas’s Jeep, she leaned close and whispered, “I found something. The Phantom’s license plate. Part of it anyway. On a picture in the kitchen.”
He beamed at her. “Good going, Watson.”
She was enormously pleased at his approval. “So what’s next?”
“A stop at the library. Ken—”
“Ken?”
“The old man we’ve just been talking to. He told me the library has Sunday hours. I’ll get a copy of Willy’s employment file.”
He took her hand and jogged across the road. When they’d crossed safely, he didn’t let go, but twined his fingers around hers. She shot him a glance, but his focus was on his path.
“He probably gave them a false name,” she said, willing her heart to slow its damning rush.
“More than likely.”
“Then what?”
He smiled. The glow of it went all the way to her heart.
“Then I’ll let my fingers do some walking in cyberspace while you get started on the replica.”
* * *
Bijou wasn’t ready to travel, but he’d put off their departure as long as he dared. He needed some time and distance—fast. Not to mention that his next acquisition waited for him in Connecticut. A black opal with a predominantly red fire. Its sunburst setting of platinum and diamonds made it appear like a midnight sun. Absolutely delicious. A thrill zinged through him, making his fingers tremble. The window of opportunity to acquire it was short, but feasible. A bit soon after the other, but when opportunity knocked, who was he to turn it down?
He wrapped the velvet collar around Bijou’s neck, allowing a finger of space before he sewed the two ends together. She licked his fingers in a pathetic attempt at her usual friendliness. Her tongue felt hot and dry.
“Soon, old girl,” he said, straightening the brooch on Bijou’s chest. “You’ll be feeling like a puppy again. Let’s give the Sapphire a day or two to transfer its power. What do you say?”
She licked his finger again, then rested her head on the pillow and gulped once. A day or two, that was all she needed, he assured himself. Then she’d be fine. He tucked a blanket around her thin body and gently lifted the basket.
“Cindy!”
“Right here!”
She appeared in the kitchen, lugging two hefty suitcases. Did she think she was going on a Caribbean cruise?
“What do you have in there?” he asked tersely.
“Clothes. You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“The less you know, the better off you are. Open the door for me, will you? I need to get Bijou settled.”
She yanked the back door open, then crossed her arms and scowled at him as she held the door open with her skinny body. “I don’t like this, Will. I don’t have that much vacation left to take. How long are we going to be?”
“As long as it takes.”
A most unbecoming pout drooped the lower half of her face. “I’m going to lose my job over this.”
“It’s a little late to start worrying about that.” He shifted the basket in his arms. “The car door.”
She humphed and stomped to do as he’d bid. “I can’t just leave forever! What about my mother? My sister? What do I tell them?”
Now she sounded like a shrew. Why had he ever thought he could care for her? “Do you really think you can just slip back into your old life?”
“Why not? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re more naive than I thought.” He settled the basket in the rear seat and secured it with a seat belt. “If you’re caught, you’ll spend time in jail. And you won’t be able to avoid serving time like I will.”
“You? What’s so special about you?”
He turned to look at her and smiled widely. “Now, Cindy, that should be obvious.”
Though he was as sane as the next person, he’d kept in regular touch with the psychiatrist his father had forced him to see as a teenager. Dr. Rawls would come in handy should “the Phantom” ever come to see the inside of a courtroom.
Cindy snorted and muttered under her breath as she lugged her suitcases to the car. Throwing one, then the other in the trunk, she said, “What’s obvious is that I made a terrible mistake when I let myself think you were different.”
“I am different.” From the inside of the kitchen, he took a small case and a duffel bag, and stowed both in the trunk next to his computer. “Will you fetch the two letters on the small table in the library while I check the oil?”
“Sure, Will,” she said, but there was no warmth in her voice. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.” And more than he’d bargained for at this point. Losing her would be a relief—after Stamford, of course. He still had a use or two for her. He checked on Bijou again and scratched underneath her jaw.
“Break the pattern,” he said, smiling. Fire for fire. “Keep them guessing.”
Chapter 12
“I have to go to Boston,” Lucas said, sending out the last response to the e-mail messages he’d had waiting for him this morning. One bulletin in particular, forwarded by Harris, looked promising—the missing Blackstone Opal from a museum charity benefit in Stamford, Connecticut. He wanted more information on the suspect.
In the past two and a half weeks, he and Juliana had been like two out-of-synch chronometers finding their rhythm. At first they’d stumbled, bumping into each other, mumbled apologies, and tilted off into different directions. Then gradually, they’d started working in harmony.
He’d pick her up in the morning. She’d have coffee ready for him. They both talked to Briana. Then they headed for her workshop where she ran her business and worked on the replica, and where he plugged into his computer, following threads of a complicated web, adding strands of his own. Although they didn’t see Albert and Ella, the couple had returned, and Ella usually had dinner waiting for them. After dinner, they spoke with Briana again to read her bedtime stories and tuck her in long distance.
They’d also done what they hadn’t done all those years ago—they’d talked, really talked. In the evening. Over a backgammon board. Each move seemingly giving them license to express thoughts, impressions, memories—but not feelings. They veered away from that subject as if even touching upon it would give them the plague. But avoiding discussing their feelings didn’t completely hide them. Their mutual attraction hung between them, electric, waiting to spark.
The evenings got longer, the goodnights more hesitant, the fire in his blood harder to tamp down before he could attempt sleep. And he looked forward to morning with more anticipation than he’d had in a long time.
The depth of feelings Juliana could draw from him was strange. The way she could crowd logic out of him with just a tilt of her head, a flash from those blue-gray eyes; the way she could arouse him with a movement of her hand, and calm him with a smile. What she did to him was both a weight and an escape. And he didn’t want to let her down. Not this time.
Which was why Regs’s phone call mid-morning concerned him. He hadn’t liked the tone of Regs’ voice as he’d barked his command to show his face at the office ASAP. Something was wrong.
“Oh?” Juliana glanced at him from her workbench, then immediately bent back to her work—not fast enough though for him to miss the concern in her eyes.
He stepped behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged the stiff triangle between her intriguing blades of bone. She gave a small moan of appreciation, biting it back halfway, as if by her instinctual response she’d revealed to him something he didn’t already know. “I’ll be back.”
“Of course.”
He shifted the bound silk of her ponytail, exposing her neck. Then because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her there, fel
t the bump of her pulse rise up to meet his lips, and nearly lost the train of his intention.
“Something wrong?” she asked, her voice a little bit on the husky side, her eyes whirling pinwheels of blue and gray.
“I’m not sure. I should be back by dinner.”
“The Phantom?” she asked. Her hand shook, and she propped it against the side of her workbench.
“I don’t know. I have other cases, too.”
She nodded. He could swear he felt her fear ripple ice in the muscles beneath his fingers. “I’ll be back.”
She nodded again. “I’ll save some dinner for you.”
“That’ll be great.”
He was strangely reluctant to leave. Stopping at the door, he looked at her so serious over her work. In that moment, he realized she wasn’t as tough as she pretended, which made it that much harder to leave. “Do you need anything from Boston?”
“I have everything I need.”
That stung. She was shutting him out, crawling inside her shell where no one could hurt her. He worried the different angles of her words all the way to the One Center Plaza building.
Regan didn’t bother with preliminaries and shoved a letter encased in a tagged evidence bag at Lucas before he’d even closed his boss’s office door. “I want an explanation.”
Typed on generic computer paper with a laser printer, the words brought a sharp reminder that Lucas wasn’t dealing with a stupid thief.
Dear Sir:
This is to advise you that there have been some improprieties in your Phantom case. Mr. Lucas Vassilovich and Ms. Juliana Shales have had a previous relationship where they created a child, one Briana Shales. The child was used as a pawn in order to manipulate Mr. Vassilovich. These facts might taint your evidence should you bring the Phantom to face court charges.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen
Short, sweet, to the point. Purposeful in its intent.
“Vassilovich?”
“He wrote this. The Phantom. The lab won’t be able to lift any prints.” And the postmark on the envelope was conveniently smudged, Lucas noted.
