Lori crumbled into a chair. “Honey, I am so sorry.” She began to cry. “All of this is my fault. Someone is looking for something they think I have, and I don’t know what or why, except it must have something to do with Josh. All I wanted was a nice vacation with my granddaughter. "
Cate, shaking, took out her cell phone and called Joseph, who told her first off to remain calm, touch nothing, and leave the flat in case someone was still there, then once outside, call the police. He would be home as soon as he wrapped up what he was doing. Frowning, Cate hung up and called the police.
Cate was still holding Tigger, who didn’t want to leave her arms, when she ushered Lori out of the flat and toward the flat next door. They knocked on her neighbor’s door. A ruddy-faced, stout gentleman somewhere in his eighties answered the door.
“George, can we stay with you until the police arrive?” Cate spoke rather loudly.
“Sure, me love, what’s going on? Did you say the bobby?” George tugged on the suspenders holding up his baggy pants and welcomed the two women inside.
“We’ve been robbed. Did you hear or see anything?”
George shook his head. “Never wear me hearing aid when I’m home. Did they take a lot? Haven’t had a robbery in this area in years. Better start locking me doors.”
“It doesn’t look like they took anything, but they really made a mess.”
George smiled at Tigger, who had made herself into a small little ball of fur in Cate’s arms. “Aw, they scared you, didn’t they, love?” George cooed as he stroked the cat’s head. “What a sweet thing.” He looked up at Cate. “Oh, your mister won’t be liking this situation. I was just fixin’ meself a nice hot toddy. Can I offer you ladies one as well? Calm the nerves, set things to right!” he offered enticingly.
Cate declined, but Lori eagerly accepted. A hot toddy sounded just like the thing for a chilly rainy day, and she figured it would calm her nerves, make this ordeal easier to handle.
George smiled and pointed to his sofa. “Have a seat on the chesterfield, and I’ll fix you the best hot rum toddy you’ve ever had! I got the kettle on.” He rubbed his eyes before lowering his eyeglasses from the top of his head and heading toward the kitchen.
Lori smiled. Being close to his age, she understood he’d just realized where his glasses were hiding. She was sure Cate thought he was just eccentric.
She took a seat on the sofa, but Cate walked over and sat down on a chair near the living room windows where she could watch for the police. After a few minutes, George returned with two hot toddies.
“Catie, me love, you needn’t be sitting by the window. You’ll hear the panda car when it gets here.”
He handed one toddy to Lori and kept the other for himself. Hitting Lori’s mug with his, he uttered, “Cheers.”
“What’s a panda car?” Lori asked, taking the warm mug between her hands.
“The small police cars used in the village,” Cate answered.
Shortly, a small, round car, resembling a black panda, pulled up to Cate’s building. Cate rose from the chair, Tigger in arms, and took Lori by the hand, pulling her towards the door. Lori hurriedly took the last sip of her toddy, put down her mug, and thanked George before leaving the flat.
Three policemen clad in white shirts and black ties entered Cate’s flat, weapons in their hands. They wouldn’t let the women in until they cased the place for anyone hiding inside. Then two policemen went right to work, checking the house for fingerprints and clues, while a third, a tall, plump gentleman, questioned Cate.
“Do you have an alarm system?”
“No, not since we’ve been here.”
“How long has that been?”
“We’ve lived here for about a year,” Cate explained. “We’ve never had any trouble. This is a very quiet, safe neighborhood.”
“Might be a good idea to think about one, and a safer front door lock should be installed. Looks like they either had keys or just jimmied the lock on the door. Are you sure nothing is missing? This place is really messed up. How long were you gone?”
Before Cate could answer, Lori broke in with, “Officer, the break-in was my fault. The criminals were looking for something they think I have, but I don’t know what it is.”
The officer scowled, giving Lori a skeptical look. “Who are you?”
Lori realized this was getting confusing. “Maybe you should call Scotland Yard?”
The police officer tersely answered, “Ma’am, this is a simple break-in in Mayfair, which is my jurisdiction. I’m certain we don’t have to involve Scotland Ya—”
Cate interrupted, “Call Inspector Holmes at Scotland Yard. My grandmother was involved in the Josh Wheeler case.”
The officer looked at Lori sideways, his big smile exposing a missing tooth as it stretched his full, rounded face. “The embezzler? Wellll, you don’t say. Sure enough, I saw you on the Fleet Street news. You couldn’t be the girlfriend,” he said, doubtfully. “Maybe the witness?”
Lori excused herself and retreated into the bathroom.
Cate immediately picked up the phone to call Scotland Yard. Why she had called the village police was beyond her. In a short time, Inspector Holmes was there with his men, and Joseph had arrived just in time, letting Lori back off from the interrogation.
Lori, Joseph, and Cate stayed at Joseph’s father’s apartment in London while Scotland Yard did a thorough sweep of their town house. When they were finally allowed to return, the three of them cautiously continued on with their lives.
By the second week’s end, Joseph remarked, "Cate, you can stop double checking the doors. I'm sure the burglary was just a random choice by a lot of young ruffians."
Lori was not that optimistic.
Chapter 10
Lori turned over and blinked twice to make sure she was reading correctly the neon lights on the clock by her bedside. It said 11:00 am. She pulled the pillow tight around her head to block out the bright sun piercing the windowpane. She had slept through the night, actually almost through the day. Those sleeping pills definitely helped. Her nights without them were filled with terror, sleepiness, and nightmares. She just didn't want to become dependent on them.
Lately she hated the mornings. Too many choices. Shower or bath, what to wear, and why am I here instead of in my home?
She readied herself for the day and dressed in a casual gray and pink jogging suit. The house was very quiet, except for Tigger’s occasional meow. She made her way down to the kitchen where she found a note from Cate next to the coffee pot. She smiled as she poured herself a cup of the fresh brewed coffee, thankful she didn’t have to attempt to figure out how to make a pot of coffee from this highly specialized, complicated machine. Pot, water, heat; that’s all she needed. She didn’t need a coffee pot to tell the outside temperature, and make one cup at a time. It was a perfect place to leave Lori a note; Cate knew Lori couldn’t function in the morning without her caffeine fix.
She’d left her reading glasses upstairs, so she picked up the note and held it away from her face. That cataract surgery reversed her eyesight. Now she could see distances, but not close. Everything was falling apart since her seventieth birthday.
Gram, Joseph went to work, and I back to school, but don’t worry. True to his word, Inspector Holmes has a man outside watching the house.
Lori stopped reading, moved towards the windows, and pulled the curtain aside. Sure enough, there was an unidentified black car sitting across the street. She could not make out who was in it. She moved away from the window and continued to read the note.
The day is yours, but the night belongs to Joseph. He insists we dine with his father and stepmother at the Ritz, which means we must dress to the nines and be ready to leave the house by 7:00 pm.
Cheerio!
“‘Cheerio!’ Dinner at the Ritz. What is wrong with them? Why are my kids trying to entertain me? I need this now like I need a loch in kup.” Lori said, referring to a hole in the head. I'm hanging on by
a twig, she thought as she threw the note on the table. She sat down heavily on a kitchen chair and put her hands on her head. A head that was beginning to throb.
Shaking off the headache, she stood up again and began to pace, then stopped in place and steadied herself. She reached for the cell phone in her pocket, called her friend Rain in Arizona, and talked and talked, ending with, "The only place I want to go is home."
"Lori dear, will the police let you come home?"
She laughed bitterly. "Of course not. I'm still a suspect. Oh, Rain! I don't know what to do. I feel so scared and lost. The last thing I feel like doing is dressing up and going to the Ritz. Help!"
"Okay, Lori. You need to get it together for Cate. You don't want to keep her from graduating from the prestigious London Law School or upset her relationship with Joseph. It may be good for you to go out on the town," Rain advised.
They hung up and Lori thought about how life in Arizona’s quiet retirement community left Lori out of practice to meet the challenges she was facing on this holiday. Holiday… What a joke! Oh, there had been many times in her life when every day was a battle. Anyone who had lived with an alcoholic husband could attest to that, but she was much younger then. Yes, she thought, the young are very good at denial. To the world, the Brills had been a normal, upper middle-class family of four living in a beautiful home in a North Shore suburb of Chicago. The best cars, latest fashions, and tons of toys were part of the façade.
Behind that stunning carved oak door was hell: unpaid bills thrown everywhere; mother and children cringing with fear at the screech of wheels stopping short of plowing through the garage wall into the family room; family members ready to run and hide if their dad/husband entered drunk, staggering, screaming, and throwing things, or heaving a sigh of relief if he actually entered sober and loving.
It was those few times he came home loving that kept them together. Grasping at straws, always believing things would get better—that was the young Lori Brill. The Lori Brill before her daughter died.
A question formed in Lori's mind: Which Lori Brill will face this tragedy?
She sat for a while, slowly sipping her coffee and staring into space. The morning seemed to last forever. She went into the parlor where Cate had left some books, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her heart leapt in her throat each time her cell phone rang—and it rang all morning. But after checking the caller ID, she refused to answer the calls except the one from her son Barry, and of course, Rain. She couldn't bear to talk about Josh's death with anyone else. She forced herself to talk to her son only so he would not worry. He was such a stoic individual.
She tried the television but couldn’t figure out how to work the new-fangled digital remote control, which was fine, as it probably would show news about Josh. Afraid to venture outside by herself or to stay in the house alone, she found herself checking the locks on the doors and the windows. The refrigerator cycling, the creak of wood settling, the hum of the overhead lights, the purr of the cat, everything sent her frayed nerves into a frenzy. Lori never had a pet while growing up. Her mother was afraid of dogs and cats. So Lori moved around Tigger cautiously, which only made Tigger more interested in Lori. The cat sniffed and rubbed against her all day until Lori finally picked her up and petted her on the head until the cat grew bored with that and gracefully jumped from Lori’s lap and settled on the carpeted floor in the living room.
Hungry, Lori went back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A chopped chicken salad had a note on it saying: Gram. It was very good, but she had a hard time eating it. Seemed with each swallow, food managed to get caught in her throat. She just couldn’t relax, couldn’t swallow, and or take a deep breath. She felt like a hand balled up into a fist. She tossed the uneaten part of her salad in the trash bin, poured herself another cup of coffee, and reached into the fridge and found a bag of bagels.
Lori nicked her finger while cutting a bagel in half, and then froze at the sight of blood running down her hand. She had heard of post-traumatic stress disorder, an affliction some military personnel suffered after experiencing combat. The condition could also affect otherwise normal folks caught up in some kind of traumatic event, like an auto accident, abuse, or a violent crime. She was certain she was now in the throes of it.
Add mental illness on my list of things to get past, she thought bitterly as she left everything on the table, ran back upstairs, and popped some pills. She crawled into her bed, fought the painful, jarring images of Josh’s dead and bloodied body on their hotel bed, and slept the afternoon away.
When she awoke a few hours later, the last thing she wanted to do was get dressed up and go to the Ritz. At least she wasn’t made to deal with choices; there was only one suitable outfit among her things. She realized Joseph and Cate couldn’t empathize with the ordeal she had been through. She thought about a story she had read years ago called, I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. It fit her life now.
***
The flat came alive the moment Cate pushed the door open. One hand was busy texting on her Mobil, the other reaching for cat food out of the cupboard, while at the same time she issued orders. "Joseph, your tux is in the car. I've just picked it up from the dry cleaning establishment. Gram, we barely have forty minutes to get out of here. Do get upstairs and dress. Traffic today was horrendous. Where did I put that black beaded dress bag from her highness?”
At 7:00 pm they left the flat, pulling up in front of the Ritz about forty minutes later; they were only seventeen minutes late for their dinner with the senior Lunts. Lori felt more relaxed than usual. She found she enjoyed London at nightfall. She felt safer, anonymous, almost normal under the blanket of night.
The door attendant recognized Cate and Joseph and took their car while they followed another employee into the impressive, Neoclassical-style building. Built in the romantic Belle Époque of Pre-World War I elegance, the Ritz Hotel opened in London in 1906 with fanfare, and it had continued for over a hundred years to be the hotel for royalty and the finest in London society and the world. As soon as Lori walked into the lobby of the hotel with its opulent splendor and its dapper butlers standing ready at your service, she felt she had walked back in time. The ornate furnishings, the enormous sparkling chandeliers, the paintings, murals, and decorative staircases made her feel like they were in a private castle. A Tiffany stained glass lamp with blue birds in flight and bright colored flowers sat on an expansive carved mahogany wood and marble lobby table.
The staff acted as if their job was to take care of each person individually. Lori was so engrossed in the furnishings and splendor of the Ritz dining room that she almost tripped when the butler stopped at a large table and pulled out an elaborate red velvet and gold brocade armchair for her to sit on. The table was set with gold and white dishes and linen napkins surrounded by more silverware and crystal than Lori had ever seen on a table.
After Lori and Cate were seated, Joseph’s father stood up and introduced himself and his wife. Lord Roger Lunt, a tall, comely man in his mid-sixties with dark brown hair, a round, high cheek-boned English face, and a prominent stomach, was dressed formally in a black tuxedo and an impeccably white starched tuxedo shirt.
Lady Elizabeth, to Lori’s surprise, was much younger than she expected. She was a thin woman with a large head covered by a mane of pin-straight, bleached blond hair. Lori estimated her age to be around forty or forty-five—or else she was a master at getting face-lifts. Her lips were surely altered to be that exaggerated and overripe, and her features—long, aquiline nose, high, smooth, cheekbones—seemed factory-made. She was a living Barbie doll, the quintessential trophy wife.
She was dressed to the hilt like a member of royalty in a full-length, deep emerald green designer gown and long black leather gloves. She held what could be readily recognized as a small, jewel-encrusted minaudière, or clutch purse, designed by the renowned “Bag Lady of Budapest,” Judith Leiber. The clutch, shaped like a lady’s Japanese fan but looking more lik
e a stained glass work of Tiffany, was lavishly decorated with glass beads of blue, green, white, and bronze along with precious and semiprecious stones, like lapis lazuli and jade. An enormous emerald stone clasp sat atop the glistening fan, while a thick, black-corded tassel served as the bag’s strap.
Lady Elizabeth herself was extravagantly adorned with diamonds and emeralds dripping from her ears and neck, which almost outdid the room’s opulent furnishings. Lori’s black St. John knit and her gold necklace with matching gold earrings were no match for Lady Elizabeth’s outfit. Lori doubted if anyone at the hotel had anything that matched this obnoxious display. For heaven’s sake, it was dinner with future in-laws, not with Queen Elizabeth II. This was one Englishwoman who didn’t adhere to their proper understated dress code.
Lady Elizabeth held out her gloved hand to Lori upon introductions. Her small brown eyes critically scanned Lori’s outfit, and her bright red engorged lips opened on cue into a wide theatrical smile that sank into a stern grimace when a waiter bumped her arm.
Eyes flashing, she turned toward the waiter. "You bloody ars, do you know who I am?"
The poor man quickly apologized. If not, she would have had his head, thought Lori. By the way she treated the waiter and her guests, Lori felt like Lady Elizabeth was no lady, just a fake trying to act as if she had class.
Lori looked at Cate with pride. She looked flawless in her new formfitting black dress adorned with Lori’s long string of cultured pearls.
A full staff of waiters, porters, and kitchen helpers attended to them, appearing with trays of food obviously ordered ahead by Lord Lunt. The food was fantastic. They dined on caviar, canapé Diane, quail eggs, Cheshire cheese, and meat and fish dishes with rich sauces that were cooked to perfection. Rum cakes and summer puddings rested next to an elaborate antique silver tea and coffee server.
Murder Across The Ocean Page 7
