“Them, too.”
She tried to shift so that she could see his face, but he tightened his grip.
“I’ve torn out the list. You must try to forget everything you might have gleaned from it. Forget that you’ve ever seen it. I’ll take it from here.
“I did leave you the rest of the book. It’s back under your pillow. Really, Countess, your pillow?”
“It always worked with my governess.”
He laughed quietly, standing so close, she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“Now this is what you’ll do. When someone comes to ask for it—and they will, make no doubt—give it to them. Do not resist. They’ll stop at nothing until it’s in their possession. So hand it over. I wouldn’t want you to meet an untimely demise; I’d rather like to get to know you better.”
She felt him shift slightly and it set off fire in her skin.
“I see you’ve been reading Sherlock Holmes.”
Phil glanced toward the table where the Holmes book sat on top of the stack of books.
“Did you enjoy the Silver Blaze story?”
Phil’s breath caught. “Very much.”
“I thought you would.”
“How did you—?”
“Unfortunately, as much as I would like to stay, I must get these pages to the proper, shall we say, eyes.”
He released his hold, turned her around and, to her astonishment, kissed her … deeply, passionately, and much too quickly.
Then he was gone. She was hardly aware that his hands had released her and she was free. But she couldn’t move.
He, however, was moving toward the window. She stretched out an ineffective hand to stop him, when he leaped to the sill and jumped.
She made a sound and rushed to the window. Grabbed the sill and looked out. Thrust her body forward until she was afraid she would pitch to the ground below. The drop was straight down, not a ledge or tree or anything to break his fall.
It was impossible. The only way out would be the roof of the brownstone next door. But it was a good six feet away. No one could possibly …
Not even Mr. X—because Mr. X he must be—could have made that leap. Could he?
She peered into the darkness and saw a moving shadow gliding across the roofs.
She touched her lips where the taste and feel of his kiss still lingered. And she remembered something else. The kiss. The clean-shaved skin. Herr Schimmer wore a beard. But if not Schimmer, who was he?
She kept watching long after he’d disappeared into the night. Then she turned on the lamp and pulled the diary from under her pillow.
He had left the diary, like he said. The last pages were gone. In their place he’d left a note.
Sweet dreams, Countess, until we meet again.
20
“I think I met the elusive Mr. X last night.” Phil sat up in bed and waved away the coffee tray that Lily was about to set down.
She pushed back the covers. “I’ll have coffee while you do my hair. Many things to do today.”
“Yes, madam.” Lily followed her over to the dressing table, set down the tray, and poured Phil a cup of coffee.
“Who is this Mr. X, then?”
“Well, I’m not sure exactly. But I think he is the Austrian cultural attaché.”
“No. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. Nor why he should be. What I do know is that when I arrived home last night, my room was dark.”
“I left the lamp on for your return just as you said.”
“I am quite sure you did. Because as I stepped inside I got a whiff of pipe tobacco. And…” She shook her head. “And then I was grabbed from behind, his hand clamped over my mouth.”
“Are you hurt? I will sleep on the floor tonight. If he comes again I shall slit his throat.”
Phil resisted a shudder. “No slitting of throats. We’ve had quite enough murder around here.”
“But why do you think it was that Austrian?”
“Because once my initial shock and fright receded, the experience was rather like waltzing with the attaché.”
“He was that awkward?”
Phil smiled. “Au contraire. Not awkward at all. In fact, rather … exhilarating.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Did he steal your jewels?”
“Strangely, no. He stole the list from Mimi’s diary. And told me when someone comes and asks for the book to give it to him without question because they were very dangerous.”
“Who is he? Why did he want the list?”
“I have no idea. Except he said the oddest thing right before he left.” She decided to keep the kiss to herself. It might inspire Lily to reach for her knife at the least provocation. “He saw the Sherlock Holmes book. And asked me how I enjoyed the story of Silver Blaze. I told him I liked it, and he said, ‘I thought you would.’
“How did he know we had read that particular story? I never mentioned it in the attaché’s presence. In fact, I don’t believe I mentioned it to anyone.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Of course not.”
“Sorcery.”
Phil looked at her maid in surprise. “Certainly not, but I did have the oddest notion.”
“What is that, madam?”
“It’s absurd.”
“What is?”
“Remember the old man in the bookshop I told you about? He recommended the story to me.”
“The old gentleman in the shabby suit?”
“That’s the one.”
“But you said the attaché was a handsome younger man.”
“But could he be both?”
“Like a spirit!” Lily’s hand rose automatically, she snatched it down. A warding-off sign or a sign of the cross?
“I was thinking more along the lines of Mr. Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. He often used disguises in his investigations.”
“Why would the Austrian attaché and an old man be interested in Mr. Reynolds’s murder?”
“He—they—whoever were interested in the list. And the list—”
“Is gone,” Lily said.
“But the copy isn’t,” said Phil. “I’d put it in my skirt pocket earlier today. In the excitement of my intruder, I forgot about it. Then much later I woke up and remembered. I was afraid he’d found it, too, but it was still in my pocket. Et voilà.” She reached beneath her pillow and pulled out several sheets of folded paper.
“But why did the old man come to the bookstore?”
“I think he was giving me a clue. Pointing me in the right direction.”
“What direction?”
“Devil’s Thunder. Bring me that copy of the mystery stories.”
Lily fetched the book, her face full of puzzlement.
“The Silver Blaze story is about a stolen horse,” Phil said as she flipped through the pages. “Let’s see. Holmes and Watson go to find this missing horse, Silver Blaze.”
“But Devil’s Thunder isn’t missing.”
“No. Not yet, anyway. But the jockey is. And what about the dog that didn’t bark in the night?”
“I didn’t see a dog at the stables.”
“Nor did I.” Phil ran her finger along the page. “But it wasn’t about the dog.”
Lily just frowned at her.
“The dog didn’t bark because he knew the thief.”
Lily’s frowned increased. “No one stole Thunder.”
“No,” Phil said. “But I’m sure the lists and the horse are somehow tied to some nefarious doings at the stables. Someone who has access to the horses. Now if we can figure out how the initials and Devil’s Thunder and Silver Blaze come together … It’s daunting. But I have no doubt that between you and Bev and I we will get to the bottom of this.”
Phil pushed the covers away. “I think my lilac faille morning dress. I can’t think of a single reason to avoid any more of poor Bev’s condolence calls.”
“But how are we to find out? It makes no sense.”
Phil shoo
ed her toward the dressing room and began unbraiding her hair.
“No, It doesn’t, not yet, but I have no doubt it will.”
Lily returned with the lilac gown. “So then what happened?”
“They covered Silver Blaze’s mark with shoe polish to hide his true identity.”
“Not with Silver Blaze, with the intruder?”
“Oh. He left.”
“How? How did he get in in the first place?”
“Ah, through the window.”
“But it’s too far to the ground.”
“He came and went, clever man, over the rooftops.”
“Oh, mon Dieu.”
“Quite. Let’s keep this visit to ourselves. No use alarming Bev or the others. I don’t think he’ll be back now that he’s gotten what he wants.” And if he was tempted to come back, Phil certainly wouldn’t want them to be interrupted.
Silver Blaze. The old man had specifically mentioned that story. Not a friendly recommendation. He wanted her to read it. Because he wasn’t just a charming old man; he was a devious younger man who was manipulating events. She didn’t know why. Or which side he was on. But she intended to find out as sure as she intended to solve Reggie’s murder.
In the Silver Blaze story, they had a missing horse and a dead trainer. What they had here was a dead owner, a missing jockey, and a list of initials, but no missing horse.
Missing horse … missing horse …
Things were beginning to come together. Something was still missing, if she could just figure it out.
She reached for the Holmes volume. A little light reading while her mind went to work.
* * *
Bev and Phil had barely finished breakfast and settled themselves in the parlor when the door opened and Tuttle announced John Atkins.
Bev groaned. Phil stood to meet him. “Well, this is a surprise, Detective Sergeant. Do you come bearing news?” she asked as she tried to quell the undercurrent of anxiety that his visit was causing. “Won’t you be seated?”
He crossed the room, nodded to Bev, and sat down. “I do have news, rather unpleasant, I’m afraid. Mimi LaPonte was found beaten and close to death yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Phil squeaked. She cleared her throat. “How on earth?”
“I thought perhaps you might tell me.”
Phil raised an eyebrow, her stomach was threatening mutiny.
“How would we know anything about that woman?” Bev snapped.
“Because she was found in the gated park across from this brownstone. Would either of you know why she might be there?”
“Good heavens no,” Bev said. “Why on earth would she be out there? She wouldn’t dare show her face here.”
Atkins changed his focus to Phil. She glanced at Bev, who was staring at her hands, so Phil took the opportunity to give the detective a pointed look.
“Detective Sergeant, Mrs. Reynolds is expecting condolence calls any minute, perhaps we could step into another room to discuss this.”
A flicker of annoyance, then understanding. “If you wish.”
Bev looked up. “Phil?”
“I’ll return shortly. No need to worry. This way, Detective Sergeant.”
He followed her out to the foyer, and she was momentarily stymied. The servants would still be cleaning the breakfast room. She had no desire to be in the library in the company of John Atkins. “Tuttle, is the morning room being used?”
“No, my lady.” He led the way down the hall, past the library to the morning room. When Tuttle had left, she turned to face Atkins.
He walked past her to look out into the garden, which was quite nice, though she couldn’t imagine how sunlight managed to squeeze past the surrounding buildings. She watched his back as he continued to ignore her.
And she wondered how she could ever have thought that John Atkins might be Mr. X. He was tall, strong, muscular, not finely honed, and agile like a cat. John Atkins would never be accused of skulking. He would make a bold entrance, dominate a room, and leave by the door, daring anyone to stop him, not jump out the window and disappear into the night.
He turned abruptly and she barely had time to wipe the smile from her lips. “Now what’s this about Mimi LaPonte?” she asked.
“She was attacked right across the street from this brownstone. Left for dead. Fortunately, a nanny and her charges found her yesterday afternoon as they went for their afternoon walk. The children were traumatized. It wasn’t pretty.”
Phil sank onto the nearest chair. She must have been set upon as she left from meeting with Phil.
“Was she robbed?”
“Hard to tell. But I’d say yes. She had no money on her and her purse was gone.” He cleared his throat. “Her clothes were … mussed.”
“She’d been—?”
“We don’t think so. It appeared more like they were searching for something on her person. But strangely, she was dressed in black. Heavy mourning.
“Did she come here yesterday, Lady Dunbridge?”
She had to tell him. But when she did, she’d have to tell him about the book and the list, and she didn’t dare.
“I thought you were off the case.”
“The other case, but Mimi was found in my precinct. I’m on this case. And I think it’s time you told me the truth.”
Phil considered. Obviously Mimi’s diary was no secret, that must be what they were after. Or the two hundred dollars Phil had given her. But how could she tell him about the money without divulging that Mimi had given her the book only to have the list stolen? If he asked for it outright she would know that she’d been wrong to trust him after all. And if he didn’t?
Well, the list had been stolen and she couldn’t show him the other parts. Bev would never forgive her, nor would her father. He’d would probably insist on searching the brownstone, and that would put poor Bev right over the edge.
“Lady Dunbridge?”
She sat on the rattan chair. “She did come here. Yesterday morning. But Bev—Mrs. Reynolds doesn’t know.”
He cocked his head.
“Do sit down, it’s hard to think with you hulking over me like that.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. Ironically, Phil suspected. He pulled the mate of her chair to face her and sat down. He was just as intimidating when they were eye level. Though she could be, too.
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because you’ve seen how she is. Bev was made for fun, not tragedy. And she’s very fragile at the moment.”
“I find that hard to believe of either of you ladies.”
“Well, it’s true of Bev nonetheless.”
“Countesses are made of sterner stuff?”
“Needs must…”
“… when the devil drives,” he finished. “And what devil is driving you, Lady Dunbridge?”
“At the moment, finding out who murdered Reggie and the man in the library and putting this behind both of us.”
“I see. And before?”
“Society, Detective Sergeant.”
“And the earl?”
“The earl is history. And he died of natural causes, I assure you.”
He coughed out a laugh. “I didn’t suppose otherwise. Now tell me about this visit yesterday.”
“She came in the morning, Mrs. Reynolds was still in bed. She said she needed money, because they were going to kill her, and she needed to leave town.”
“Did she say who ‘they’ were?”
“No. At first I just assumed that they were some of Reggie’s fans. She’d gotten several bouquets at the theater that had threatening cards attached.”
“She told you this yesterday?”
Phil sighed. “No. I visited her there and saw them myself.”
“You what?”
“Well, you weren’t doing anything about it. I know you’re fettered by superiors and corruption, but I’m not. So I decided to try to find out for myself if Reggie was really planning to run off with Mimi. It was the l
east I could do for Bev.”
“We know he was.”
“We know he was carrying two steamer tickets. We don’t know that he was taking Mimi.”
“Her trunks were on the steamer.”
“Well, if you had shared that information … As it was, I had to learn that from Bobby Mullins.”
“You talked to him, too?”
“As it happens. He works for Mr. Reynolds, if you recall.”
Phil thought Atkins had a remarkable face. Most people went red with anger, but not Atkins; he went white.
“It was a very misjudged thing to do. It could have been dangerous, not to mention interfering with an investigation.”
“Well, I wasn’t molested, and as far as I can see, pinning the murder on some defenseless jockey is hardly investigating.”
She knew it was a low blow but, really, she hadn’t come all the way to America just to be told what she could and could not do. She could have stayed in England for that.
“Now, I think it goes deeper than a few hysterical fans.”
“Would you like to elaborate?”
Not really. She didn’t want him racing off to inform his superiors. From what she had learned so far, they might be part of whatever was going on. Certainly Charles Becker must be.
“About racing.”
He looked up sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Don’t you think it, too?”
He scratched his head. “You know, Lady Dunbridge, you’re an infuriating woman.”
“It’s a gift.”
“You need to mind your own business.”
“I assure you, sir, this is my business. And, quite frankly, I don’t see how you can expect me to cooperate when you refuse to give me the same courtesy.”
“Then I’ll tell you something. If Mimi LaPonte dies, you will be complicit.”
For a full minute she stared at him. “Ridiculous. She came to me for help. Though now that I think about it, I have an idea she thought she was being followed, and that’s why she was dressed in widow’s weeds.”
“Whew. When I first arrived, I was afraid it was Mrs. Reynolds. And when I discovered who it was … I’ve never seen a mistress in mourning.”
“Rather in poor taste,” Phil said. “I thought that myself at first. But I think she was using it as a disguise, the complete black, the heavy veil, someone might mistake her for Bev if they were watching the house. Good heavens, you don’t think they were after Bev?”
Ask Me No Questions Page 27
