by Joan Smith
“I don't believe this!” I said to Ronald. “He thinks Victor took the violin and ran. That's what he thinks. He sure doesn't know much about my uncle if he thinks he'd spend a fortune on a violin he can't play in public."
“The man's an idiot. I'm going to phone the Attorney General's office and lodge a complaint. But first, Cassie, I wish you'd tell me exactly what's been going on between you and this Bradley guy. How did he know about the Carpani Strad before Bitwell told him?"
“He didn't know it was the Carpani Strad then or didn't admit it anyway. Bitwell's the one who identified it. He just talked his way around till it seemed logical to assume a Stradivarius violin was involved. He did it all so I'd lead him to it. He picked my brains clean, Ron."
While we had a Scotch, I told him about someone's having been in the apartment the night Victor disappeared, looking for the violin. I told him about the locker key from Union Station and how we found my Adidas in Victor's violin case when we opened the locker. I told him everything I could think of because I felt so guilty and needed to confess to someone.
Ronald listened quietly, assuring me that I hadn't been an idiot but just a little too trusting. “That's not a bad fault in a lady,” he said warmly when I had finished. “And Bradley thought the violin must be hidden at Casa Loma?"
“Yes, we went there and looked all over, but it wasn't there."
“It would take days to look all over,” he pointed out.
“All over the places Victor had been. He wasn't there long, you know. I figured the locker area and the music room were about all he had time for, and we looked there. Unless he met someone outside the place and handed it over to him for safekeeping, I just don't know where it could be. It vanished. Whoever kidnapped Victor didn't get it because my uncle had obviously disposed of it before he got to Union Station and hid the case in that locker. He carried the empty case to fool them. Crazy, huh?"
“Weird.” Ron sat puzzling for a while longer. “Hey, we were supposed to be going out for dinner tonight. Are you up to it?"
“My head aches like the devil."
“You don't look so hot. You're pale as a ghost. Do you want me to call a doctor, have him take a look at that bump?"
“I'm all right."
“Why don't you take a sleeping pill and go to bed? I'll call you later."
“Do you have to go?"
But of course Ronald was hungry even if I wasn't. And I couldn't conjure up an image of Ronald in a kitchen. The Scotch was making me pleasantly sleepy; I didn't need a pill. and didn't have one in the house for that matter. I'd rest for a few hours, then maybe when Ron called, he'd take me out for a late night snack.
“I want to make a few calls,” he said. “I don't care for the way Marven's handling this case. I'm going to speak to the super on the way out, too, and get your lock changed. Okay?"
My heart congealed. I was in enough danger that I had to start taking precautions for my safety, maybe my life. In my worst imaginings, it had never come to this. “Good idea. Meanwhile I'll put on the chain and wedge a table or something in front of the door."
“Call me as soon as you wake up. Promise?"
At the door he pulled my head against his shoulder and ran his fingers over my bump, while his lips pressed my forehead. “You should put an ice pack on that, darling,” he murmured. Ronald never called me “darling” before. His voice sounded sexy with his lips nibbling my ear. He put one finger under my chin and tilted my face up to his.
There in the shadowed hall, he looked very handsome in a refined, dignified way. Not macho and rugged like Sean but very sexy. What an idiot I'd been, virtually ignoring Ron. He had everything: looks, family, money, and now he was being kind. And in a pinch, he was the one who had the clout to extricate Victor if by any chance Marven was right. That, unfortunately, was a possibility, however remote, and however strongly I denied it in public.
His lips brushed mine gently, very gently. I put my arms around his neck and coerced him into a better kiss. He even offered to stay, but my head was aching badly, and I don't think he meant to stay anywhere but in bed with me, so I let him go. I went to bed alone as soon as I'd put the chain on and dragged an armchair in front of the door. Now anger mingled with my fear—anger that I should be in this position when I hadn't done anything wrong.
CHAPTER 14
Of course, as soon as I got between the covers, I was wide awake. My mind was not only active, but hyperactive. I went over all the happenings of the past few days, one step at a time. About an hour later, I had come to two conclusions. The first was that Marven was wrong to think Victor had run off so he could keep the violin. Not if he couldn't broadcast it to the world—no way. The second was that the darned thing was still at the Casa Loma. It had to be.
When you eliminate the impossible, then what's left is true, however improbable, as Sean had said. Victor had bought the Strad, he'd taken it to Bitwell and learned it was stolen. Whatever his ultimate plan, he didn't want to phone the police immediately. I thought he hoped to sweet talk it out of the contessa. A Stradivarius would get him good coverage for his European tour. He must have noticed someone was following him, and he hid the violin at Casa Loma and led his followers a merry chase, probably loving every minute of it. They'd managed to catch him, presumably in the parking garage right here at the apartment and were holding him captive. That much had to be true; there was no other logical explanation.
He must have the heart of a Samurai not to have revealed to them where he hid the violin. Oh, but he didn't have the body of one, poor little Victor! At least they couldn't be torturing him, or he would have told. Victor hates pain. He carries on like a baby when he gets a little burn or cuts himself shaving.
Maybe he figured his silence was all that was keeping him alive. Once they got the violin, then they wouldn't need him ... and he could identify them afterwards.
The longer I thought, the wider awake I became. I had already identified one of them, and if Sean learned that, how long would I go on breathing? The phone suddenly rang, upsetting my train of thought, but a call from Ron was welcome, and I ran to answer it.
“Hi, Cassie. How are you?” Sean asked, as calmly as though he didn't know I had a welt the size of a large walnut on my head.
Speech failed me. I just looked in disbelief at the receiver, and wished Sean were there, so I could throw it at him. While my blood seethed, I began planning how to trap him. “Just fine. Where are you?” This was very necessary to know, not that I could count on him to tell the truth.
“Sure you're all right? You sound a little funny."
“I'm all right. Any special reason for calling?"
“Just checking out a few things. I took another tour of Casa Loma. I'm on my way back to the hotel now. Can I come over later—after your dinner date?"
He was pretending he hadn't been back to his room, didn't know the pictures were gone, and therefore had no reason to have koshed me. I played along with it for my own reasons. It occurred to me that as he did know, I should perhaps intimate something of the attack, but not, of course, hint that I thought he was involved.
“I decided to cancel on Ron. I was hoping you'd call. Actually a little something did come up. I'll tell you about it when you get here. I've got the steaks marinating. Let's dress up and make a gala affair of it. I don't suppose you have an evening suit in your room?” I had to get him back to the hotel where the police were waiting for him.
“No, but I have a clean shirt and tie."
“It'll have to do. How long will it take you to shower and change?"
“Ten minutes. I'll be there within half an hour. You can open the wine to breathe. Or am I bringing the wine?"
“It's already breathing away. Hurry up now."
“I will. And Cassie.” The pause that followed could best be described as about nine months pregnant. I held my breath and listened.
“What is it?"
“Are you alone?"
The question sent a co
ld scalpel of fear through my vitals. “Yes."
“I hope you've got the lock on that door?"
“I have. Why, are you worried about me?” My attempt at lightness fell resoundingly flat.
“Yeah, kind of. Because of your breaker-in having Victor's key. We should get that lock changed."
“That's a good idea, but meanwhile the chain is on.” And I thought I'd put another chair in front of the door, too, as soon as he hung up. Ron had spoken to the super, and presumably the lock would be changed in the morning.
“Keep it on till I get there. I've had another unsettling idea. Do you want it now, or later?"
There wouldn't be any “later.” “Let's hear it."
“I don't want to scare the bejeebbers out of you, but I've been thinking. They haven't managed to break Victor down, to get him to tell them where the violin is."
“I know. I thought of that."
“Yeah, did you think of the only other lever they have? You. I'll be over in two shakes. Meanwhile, keep that door locked and bolted. Maybe I should bring my pajamas. I don't like to think of you there alone. You and me together now—that'd be—uh—safer,” he said, and gave a lecherous little laugh.
I felt about as safe as a woman with a switchblade at her throat. “We'll see. You don't have to wear your jammies, do you?"
“As a matter of fact, I don't own a pair. I sleep in my BVDs.” He even lied about brands. His Fruit of the Looms were what he slept in. “You can put the potatoes in the oven. I'll be there soon. I like mine rare—the steak, that is."
“Do you mean red, or pink?"
“Just so it's not brown all the way through. But as long as you're serving it, I'll even eat it burned.” His voice had turned to marshmallow.
“This line is pretty well-done too. How do you like your potatoes?”
“You decide—I suggest you decide well-done, like my line.” And intimate rumble of laughter lurked along the line.
“Got it."
I didn't even bother hanging up the receiver, but just pushed down the lever to get a dial tone, and phoned Marven.
“This is Miss Newton. What have you done about Bradley?"
“I have two men at the hotel; one in the lobby, one in his room. He hasn't showed up yet, but he hasn't checked out."
“He's on his way there—if he's telling the truth. I just had a call from him."
“What did he say?"
I told him, and he listened politely. But when I finished, he threw another scare into me. “There's no reason to believe what he said. Nothing else he told you checks out."
My body went into a state of shock. “What do you mean? What have you found out?"
“We've been doing a little checking. There's no Sean Bradley in North Platte. There's a John Bradford, but he's not a hardware store owner. And there's a Sean..."
“I get the idea. What do you think he's up to? Do you think he'll really come? Because if he does, I want some protection."
“I'll have a plainclothesman in the lobby."
“I want him here, in my apartment. And hurry for God's sake! He could have been phoning from across the street for all we know."
“I'll take care of it. I'll be in touch,” he said, and hung up. The next ten minutes stand out in my short life as ten of the most anxious, right up there with waiting for the root canal work to begin. I actually felt nauseous from fear. When life returned to my rigid limbs, I armed myself with a hammer, put that second chair in front of the door, and a table in front of that for good measure. That done, I climbed on the chair closest to the door and stared out the peephole. The hall was empty. I put my ear to the door, listening for signs of a man who was quite possibly coming to murder me and another who was coming to prevent him. What was keeping the policeman? This was my ungainly position when the phone rang again.
I climbed down and picked up the receiver without saying hello. My nerves were performing strange tricks on my vocal chords. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. When Marven said hello, my heart slid back down my throat, and I managed to squeak out a greeting.
“We've got him,” Marven said. “He arrived at the hotel shortly after you phoned. He was telling the truth about that at least."
My body collapsed in relief. Till then I hadn't realized it was as tight as a spring. “Did he tell you where Mr. Mazzini is?"
“He just returned to his hotel room. My men are bringing him in now. I haven't spoken to him yet. I just wanted to set your mind at rest."
“I want to hear the minute you learn anything."
“I'll let you know, Miss Newton. Do you still want that plainclothesman? I guess there's no point now. I can radio him back. We're a bit short-handed down here."
“You can have him unless Bradley escapes. Oh, by the way, does he have the Stradivarius violin? He said he'd been at the Casa Loma."
“No, he doesn't."
“Thank you, Lieutenant Marven."
“Thank you, Miss Newton,” he said so pleasantly I had to wonder if he'd had a call from the Attorney General's office.
I hung up and smiled wanly at the phone. That just about evened the score with Mr. Sean Bradley or whoever he was.
I pushed the furniture back into place and sat down to resume normal breathing. My stomach was soon telling me by means of violent spasms that I had recovered. I called Ronald to let him know the news and to tell him he could come over. Eleanor answered.
“He asked me to call you around nine, Cassie,” she said. “He completely forgot an appointment he had this evening. Some friends from Oxford are visiting, and he'd promised to show them around town, but he means to be home early. He planned to call you around ten."
“Please, ask him to call."
I outlined briefly the interesting things that had happened. Eleanor was amazed. I could hear voices in the background and knew she was entertaining, which was fine with me. I'd have the pleasure of giving Ron all the details first hand. Seeing Ron at ten was better than not seeing him at all but not as good as seeing him now. My stomach spasms were increasing so I went to the kitchen to forage.
In the fridge I saw the remains of the food Sean had brought. Canadian bacon and eggs, cream. “I switched us to half and half,” he'd said, and I had found him so adorable. He had seemed genuinely frightened when he got the doorman to open the door. He'd even offered to vacuum. Damn! This was no time to be remembering all the sweet things he'd done. He'd only done them to con me into leading him to the violin. But he'd done them so naturally.
The same as he lied so naturally tonight on the phone, telling me to be careful in that concerned voice that sounded totally sincere. Telling me I might be in jeopardy from whomever was holding Victor. Why tell me that unless he was a sadist? And that hint to stay overnight—he'd have done it, too, if the plan had left time for it. And now he was being hauled down to the police station, probably in handcuffs.
My stomach spasms stopped. Suddenly, I couldn't even think of food, but coffee was a good idea. I boiled water, measured the coffee, thinking all the time about Sean. I didn't have to coerce him into a good kiss. He did that very naturally, too—to Betty Friske as well as me. And chatting up the cute blonde in Ron's office. I bet Ron never chatted her up.
Was I actually feeling jealous about that oversexed criminal? I hoped they used a blackjack on him. I phoned Marven again and asked if Mr. Bradley had arrived yet. “I only called you five minutes ago,” he said rather curtly. The Strathroy influence didn't completely cover me yet.
“Remember to call me as soon as you learn anything."
“Why don't you go to bed, Miss Newton? It's not likely we'll get this tied up tonight. This isn't Hill Street Blues."
“More like the Keystone Kops!” I snipped and slammed down the receiver.
Idiot. I solved the case, and he couldn't even beat a confession out of Sean in one night. How long would it take him to bring Victor home? I called Marjie Klein to do some boasting and complaining, and learned she was at work.
“There's a wedding at Casa Loma,” her roomie told me. “They wanted one of us to be there to steer the guests around, and Marjie volunteered. It's time and a half."
“Tell her Cassie called, will you?"
“Will do."
I poured the coffee and used some of Sean's half and half. The wedding parties at Casa Loma were held in the beautiful conservatory with the marble floor. They spilled over into Peacock Alley and the library, too—the main rooms downstairs were all open really, but the guides tried to keep the party more or less in the east wing of the floor. It was a gorgeous place for a wedding. I'd worked a few of them myself like Marjie was doing tonight.
Suddenly I knew I was going to work this one, too. Not officially, but it was a good time to search for the violin. It had to be there, somewhere in that ninety-eight room castle. Sean Bradley knew it—he'd gone back but he hadn't found it. I knew the place better. I knew every nook and cranny. And what better time to find it than now, tonight, while there was the safety of lots of lights and people without the nuisance of tours passing to interrupt me? I could wander among the guests at leisure secure in the knowledge that Sean Bradley was under lock and key.
I wouldn't wear my guide uniform but a fancy dress to blend in with the wedding party. Before you could say Antonio Stradivari I was wriggling into my expensive white wisp and calling a taxi.
CHAPTER 15
In Toronto, Casa Loma is familiarly known as the “House on the Hill.” Of course, it's at the top of the hill twenty-four hours a day, but its preeminent position is more dramatically seen at night with the flood lights playing on turrets, battlements and chimneys. A splendid castle with lights glowing in dozens of windows was an unlikely spot to instill terror in a woman's heart, but something inside me shrank as the taxi approached it. I was besieged by vague, free-floating anxieties.
There was nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. Sean was in custody. I assumed Etherington had been saddled with the job of guarding Victor since neither of them had been seen since the kidnapping. I'd just go in and make a leisurely tour of all the spots Victor could possibly have hidden the violin. There weren't that many when his brief visit was taken into consideration. Of the ninety-eight rooms, about ninety could be ignored. I wouldn't waste a minute thinking about the tunnel or stables, the towers, or even anything above the first floor.
