In her abdomen, Linda felt a few twinges from muscles that had been strained in her contraction. But there were no more viselike labor pains.
The announcer, a woman, sounded breathless as she came on. “In a shocking development, a housekeeper this morning discovered the bodies of real-estate broker Granville Lyme and his son, Avery, at their home. Police have not revealed the causes of death except to say that they were homicides.
“Police Captain Harvey Merkel has asked for the public’s assistance in locating a suspect who was seen in the house around the time of the murders. He is identified as Wick Farley, who is also a suspect in the slaying of private investigator Sarah Walters.”
She gave a brief description of Wick. Tall, with brown eyes and hair. It could have been anyone.
“We have Captain Merkel on the phone now,” the announcer said. “Captain, any new leads?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” At the sound of Harvey’s voice, Linda shivered.
She could picture him, stocky and down-to-earth, standing on the doorstep to collect Janet for a movie date. And she could still hear his reassuring calmness at Granville’s last night. His voice on the radio, cold and official, made her feel more in exile than ever.
“Have you found the murder weapon?” asked the announcer. “Was it the same as in Sarah Walters’s slaying?”
“Until the coroner finishes his investigation, I can only say that we believe neither Granville Lyme nor Avery Lyme was killed with the same weapon as Ms. Walters,” Harvey said. “We have, however, found another piece of evidence at the scene.”
To her dismay, Linda knew what it was before he said it.
“We discovered a diamond earring in the room where the bodies were found. From the setting, we believe it may be one of a pair worn by Linda Farley when she was kidnapped.”
“Are you saying that Linda Farley is a suspect in the murder of Granville and Avery Lyme?” The announcer was actually gleeful at this juicy bit of information.
“Not necessarily,” Harvey corrected. “The earring could have fallen from Wick Farley’s pocket, or it could have gotten there by some other means. But we would like to talk to Linda Farley.”
He gave her description, one that must have become familiar to listeners during the two days since her abduction.
“Thank you, Captain Merkel.” The announcer couldn’t disguise her excitement at this scoop. “So, matters have taken an unexpected turn in these latest homicides! Not since Patty Hearst has there been a case in which a kidnap victim was suspected of joining her abductor…”
The voice stopped abruptly. Linda guessed that the station’s news director, who no doubt possessed more mature judgment, had ordered the announcer to stop gloating and reminded her that two men lay dead.
For whatever reason, the news segued into another item, and Wick turned off the radio.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Now you’re in this mess deeper than ever.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Linda had never even considered the possibility of separating herself from Wick, once she became convinced of his innocence unless the baby’s safety required it. “They were bound to realize sooner or later that I wasn’t just a helpless hostage.”
“How are you feeling?”
“No more pains,” she said. “Wick, unless things get a lot worse, I’m not going near a hospital. There’ll be an all-points bulletin for us throughout the region.”
“Then we’d better figure out some other place to go. As you pointed out, this house is becoming too obvious.” He started up the stairs. “I’ll pack for both of us. You should eat breakfast and then, if you’re feeling okay, throw some food into a bag.”
Linda hated to leave the comfort of her family’s cabin, but she knew he was right. Not only was it possible that someone might guess their whereabouts, but her parents might drop by.
Moving gingerly, she fixed herself a light breakfast and left some food out for Wick. As she was packing a cooler with plastic bags of ice, someone tapped at the front door.
A dark rush of panic clouded her thoughts, until she remembered that Mina had promised to come by to collect the costumes. A peek through the window confirmed their visitor’s identity, and Linda let her in. By this time, Wick had arrived at the head of the stairs and stood poised with fists clenched until he saw who it was.
The usually ebullient Mrs. Barash wore a grim expression, her green eyes lacking their usual sparkle and her gray hair covered by a frayed scarf. “I heard,” she said. “Oh, how awful about the Lymes. Your poor bridegroom! I never expected such a thing.”
“Neither did we.” Linda’s chest tightened at the reminder that Avery was dead. It didn’t seem possible that she would never see him again.
“You must have dropped the earring when you took off your panda head, yes?” Absentmindedly, Mrs. Barash picked up the costumes that they had placed on a chair. “But, Wick, the housekeeper said she saw you. Were you really there?”
“We were both there,” Linda said, “only I was waiting outside. Wick went in when he heard a gunshot.”
They explained about Avery’s visit and his plan to confront his father. “We never thought he would be in any danger,” Wick said.
“So many terrible things.” The woman looked pale, and unlike last night, it wasn’t because she was suffering from claustrophobia.
“Are you all right?” Linda helped Mina into a chair. “This must be putting a strain on your heart. The last thing we want is for anything to happen to you.”
“I want to help!”
“You’ve done as much as anyone could ask, or more,” Wick said. “The best thing would be to forget you ever met us.”
“It is too late for that.” The woman shivered. “Last night, I awoke to hear a noise outside my window. It is lucky I am not a deep sleeper.”
“What kind of noise?” Wick asked.
“A man’s footsteps.” Mina hugged herself as if fighting a chill. “Very soft, though. Like a prowler.”
“You think it was the killer?” Linda remembered seeing a light at Mrs. Barash’s house as they drove to the Lyme estate. “But why would he have gone there? How would he know you were involved?”
Wick let out a low whistle. “I hope this doesn’t mean what I think it means.”
“That he’s watching us?” Mina said. “I thought of that, too. I was afraid he knew that I had the list from Granville’s safe. Perhaps I did a foolish thing, but I was so frightened that I slid it under the back door.”
“You put the paper outside?” Wick regarded her dubiously.
“Yes. This morning, it was gone. It did not blow away. I looked all around.”
“What time did this happen?” Linda asked.
“About 3:00 a.m. Whoever took the paper was very quiet. I hope he got what he was after.”
She performed a few mental calculations. They had arrived at the Lyme estate around 4:30 a.m. That meant the killer had had time to review the papers before deciding to go after Granville.
“He must have been looking for the code,” she mused aloud. “Maybe he intended to break into the computer. He wouldn’t have expected anyone to be awake at that hour, not after the party ran so late.”
“So Granville and Avery both managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Wick’s voice was heavy with grief.
Mrs. Barash closed her eyes wearily. “Who knows what he will do next? So you see, I must help you catch him now. He knows where I live.”
“But Avery was pretty sure it was nothing more than a list of real-estate clients.” Linda explained about Granville’s bringing people into the country illegally. “Why kill for that?”
“It is possible,” said the older woman, sighing, “that last night was a mistake. Maybe he is looking for something else.”
“Then getting the list won’t stop him,” Wick said. “We’re planning to leave this morning. Mrs. Barash, I’d recommend you take a long vacation.”
“No.” The ol
der woman sat up, some of her color returning. “I am too old to run, and too stubborn. As for you, do you have a place to go?”
Linda shook her head.
“I have an idea.” In her lap, Mrs. Barash folded and refolded the chauffeur jacket. “A few days ago, a couple from the senior center left on a two-week trip. I water their plants and collect the mail, so I have a key. You can go there.”
It didn’t seem right to stay at these people’s house without their knowledge, but Linda sensed the usual rules didn’t apply at the moment. After a glance at Wick to make sure he agreed, she accepted the offer, with gratitude. Mina seemed relieved.
Wick lay down in the back of the car while Linda drove. She followed Mina’s BMW through town, feeling painfully exposed despite her tennis cap and sunglasses.
The home was located in Inland’s older section, three blocks from where Mina and Janet lived and less than half a mile from the Lyme estate. As they approached, several police cars sped by, and Linda felt her throat tighten, but the officers didn’t give her a second glance.
A boxy one-story structure with gingerbread trim, the house had been painted an overly bright shade of aqua. The landscaping consisted of evergreen bushes pruned into squares and globes.
With the car stowed in the garage, Mina escorted them inside. The small house seemed even smaller due to the welter of curio cabinets and bric-a-brac shelves. Figurines, plates and souvenirs covered every table except in the kitchen, where Wick set the cooler.
“It is a luxury to have so many fragile things,” observed Mina as she led them to the master bedroom. “I was lucky to leave Litvonia with a few clothes. Also, during the revolution, there were bombs. These little dolls would all be broken.”
In the bedroom, even the dressing table was covered with china figurines. For lack of any other clear surface, Wick set the suitcases on the bed.
“I’m afraid to move for fear I’ll break something,” he admitted.
“Me, too,” Linda said. “I feel so awkward these days.”
With their gear stowed, they adjourned to the kitchen. Mina insisted that Linda sit down while she and Wick put away the food. “You should not do too much, in your condition.”
“No more contractions?” Wick asked.
“No, thank goodness,” Linda said.
“You are ill?” Mina asked. “The baby is suffering?”
“No, no,” Linda reassured her. “It was just a false alarm.”
“I was never fortunate enough to have a child, so I will take your word for it.”
Mina poured orange juice into three glasses, each adorned with the name of a different tourist attraction. “Perhaps there is more news. Every hour on the hour, no?”
A radio in the shape of a cactus emitted static as Wick twirled the dial. They landed on a station, and finally the news came on.
Police were releasing the fact that Granville Lyme had been stabbed. Judging by the upward angle of the wound, the announcer said, he had been attacked by someone short.
“A person about Linda Farley’s height?” the announcer asked
“It’s possible,” Captain Merkel said. “Or the killer could have been crouching.”
The small-caliber weapon with which Avery Lyme was shot had not been recovered, Harvey said. He refused to speculate as to whether the attacks might be related to dealings at the Lyme Company.
“Could someone have hidden at the house during the museum fund-raiser?” pressed the reporter. “How else did the killer get past the security system?”
“We don’t know,” was the cryptic response.
If someone had hidden during the party, half the town could have done it, Linda thought. But that wouldn’t explain how the killer had sneaked out to threaten Mina and then returned.
She felt as if they were spinning in an ever-tightening circle. There had to be a point of reference, some kind of key that would make the basic pattern come clear. Why couldn’t they find it?
“We have to figure out exactly what he wants,” Wick said. “If we knew that, maybe we could flush him out.”
A trace of the old enthusiasm lit Mina’s face. “Flush him out! Just like a movie!”
“This isn’t a movie,” Linda reminded her gently. “Like Avery and Granville, we could get killed.”
“In my country, anyone could get killed,” she said. “I keep feeling…No, I am being a foolish old woman.”
“You’re anything but foolish,” Wick said. “Tell us what you were about to say.”
Mina brushed a wave of gray hair from her forehead. “It hurts me to remember. Under the dictator, Samarkov, there was terrible repression.”
“You believe these murders have something to do with your country?” Linda remembered that Yuri Capek, too, had had such suspicions.
“It is just a feeling,” she said.
“Go on.” Wick leaned forward.
“Two years ago, when Samarkov was overthrown, Litvonia fell into chaos.” Mina’s expression grew harsh. “People in the government stole all they could, and left the country. These people would not want to get caught.”
“Yuri Capek?” Linda asked. “He left Litvonia about that time. But he was just a customs inspector. I know he has a lot of money, but how do you suppose he got it?”
“Could he have stolen it from people who were fleeing?” Wick asked. “When they came through customs? Although people don’t usually go through customs when they leave a country, only when they arrive.”
“Maybe he wasn’t a customs inspector,” Mina said. “Who said so? Only his family!”
“What do you think he was, then?” Linda asked.
The older woman carried her empty juice glass to the sink. “Perhaps it is only an old woman’s meanderings. I have suspicions, but nothing to base them on.”
“I’d like to hear them anyway,” Wick said.
“So would I,” Linda seconded.
Mina washed her glass and set it aside. “There was a man who disappeared right after Samarkov was arrested. A man whose face was never seen in public, the head of the secret police. He was known only as II Capo, the chief. That is an Italian word, I think.”
“We use it in English, too,” Wick said. “It means the head of an organized-crime family.”
“Il Capo.” Linda couldn’t help noticing the similarity of names. “That’s close to Capek.”
“The head of Litvonia’s secret police?” Wick let out a low whistle. “It’s hard to imagine Janet could be covering that up. Or that Granville would have smuggled him in, if he’d known.”
“Il Capo would keep his real identity secret, perhaps even from his family,” Mina said. “He was a very smart man! Smart and ruthless, like your Al Capone.”
“When he helped Yuri, Granville may have accidentally caught a tiger by the tail.” Wick weighed this new development. “Yuri would certainly have had a motive to kill me for stealing his files. And Sarah, too.”
“But you read the files,” Linda said. “You didn’t mention finding anything about the secret police.”
“It wasn’t there.” Wick frowned. “I doubt Granville would have put something that sensitive in such an obvious place. That is, assuming he knew Yuri’s true identity, and that Yuri was this II Capo.”
“Yuri wouldn’t have known exactly what was in the file. I suppose he feared the worst.” Linda sighed. Was it possible Janet’s great-uncle could be so evil?
“In any case, there might have been some clue, some inconsistency in the file, just enough to unravel Yuri’s cover story if it fell into the wrong hands,” Wick speculated. “Maybe Sarah and I just weren’t smart enough.”
“Or maybe Yuri isn’t Il Capo,” Linda said. “After all, why should he kill Granville and Avery?”
Mina collected their glasses and began washing them. “If this were a movie—maybe he thought Granville planned to double-cross him!”
“Or maybe he wanted to eliminate any possible witness,” Wick said grimly. “Even a man who had
helped him.”
Dread filled Linda as she realized exactly what peril they had put themselves in. “Then he won’t stop. Not until we’re all dead.”
“So we have a suspect!” Mina chirped. She didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she, too, was one of the potential witnesses, and Linda preferred not to remind her.
“He can’t be doing this alone,” Wick said. “He’s in no physical condition to have climbed to Sarah’s window.”
“We still don’t know that it’s him,” Linda reminded him. “After all, someone hired Sarah to get those files in the first place. I can’t really believe it was only a matter of an inheritance dispute.”
“We need enough evidence. We must clear Wick of suspicion.” Mina set the glasses in a drainer and toweled off her hands. “At this man’s house must be clues to his true identity. Linda, have you been there? Can you think of anything that might help us?”
An image of Yuri Capek’s house flashed across her mind like a picture on a screen. Located just south of the city, the 1920s Spanish-style hacienda occupied several dozen acres that had once been the site of a bustling attempt at wine-growing.
But, by the 1980s, it had been vacated and had fallen into disrepair. The surrounding stone wall had crumbled, and in their teen years she and Janet had bicycled there to picnic and explore.
The house remained locked, but they had poked into old buildings used for wine processing and storage. Among their discoveries had been an underground room with earthen walls, its entrance hidden by overgrowth and a splintered trapdoor. Lying perhaps fifty feet from the main house, it might once have been used for storing ice.
When they returned a second time, bringing flashlights, they had discovered a tunnel leading from the back of the icehouse to the hacienda. Linda could still smell the dankness and feel the sticky residue of spiderwebs as, giggling and daring each other, the girls made their way through it.
They had emerged in the house’s wine cellar, behind an aging cask. From there, the girls had tiptoed upstairs, and emerged to gaze in awe at the arched doorways, colorful Spanish tile and faded murals.
And The Bride Vanishes Page 14
