Death Drinks Darjeeling (A Helen and Martha Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  Chapter 41

  Babenhausen, Germany

  The damp house hadn’t been inhabited for some time. Tom asked Haimon if they could build a fire in the stove to warm the room for Annalena and Cara. Even though it was spring, the weather was chilly and the older woman was extremely uncomfortable.

  “There’s an old chair,” Haimon pointed to a half-broken one in the corner. “That’ll work.”

  Tom broke the chair apart as Haimon’s phone rang.

  “Yes, did you get it?” he asked roughly as he listened to Max’s words on the other end of the line.

  He watched Tom take the kindling over to the stove and put the pieces inside.

  “They flew off in a floatplane?” he yelled. “Where the hell are you now? Why didn’t you shoot at it? Little rubber balls?”

  Max explained briefly how he’d been pelted with little rubber balls as the two women flew off over the Alps. He’d tried to go after the owner of the chalet but the man had then began shooting at him with a rifle from a second story window. His only option was to retreat to the Mercedes. He wanted Haimon to make Annalena call the women and find out where they’d gone.

  Haimon grumbled something about calling him back. Laying his phone down on a table, he strode over to where Annalena sat in her wheelchair and knelt down directly in front of her.

  “You’re going to call the women and ask them if they have the manuscript. If they do, they need to bring it here or I’m going to kill him over there.” He pointed to Tom. “If they don’t have it yet, they need to tell you where they are going. Do you understand?”

  Annalena nodded wearily. He reached inside his inner coat pocket and handed her cell phone to her. It took some time, but Martha answered.

  “This is Martha. Annalena?”

  “Mrs. Littleword? I’m so sorry,” Annalena said. Haimon nudged her with his gun to go on. “I’m being held at gunpoint. Have you got the manuscript?”

  Martha’s voice rang through the phone’s receiver perfectly clear.

  “No! We don’t have it. Helen may know of another bidder who’s initials were VW.”

  Haimon shrugged and grabbed the phone from Annalena.

  “Mrs. Littleword, is it?” he asked.

  “Yep, that’s my name,” came the snippy reply.

  For an instant, his face registered a quizzical expression.

  “We’ll kill the old woman, if you don’t bring the manuscript to a location of our choosing. When you get it…”

  But Martha interrupted him.

  “If we get it!” she yelled over the extremely loud background noise of the airplane engines. “The manuscript may not be where we’re going. It’s a long shot!”

  “Let’s hope for everyone’s sake it isn’t. Where are you going?”

  There was an obvious hesitation on the other end. He heard two female voices talking back and forth. A new voice arrived on the phone.

  “This is Helen Ryes. If we get the manuscript, we will bring it to you. I can’t give out where we are going because I don’t want anyone else to be in danger.”

  “People are already in danger, lady!” Haimon yelled. “I’ve got a gun pointed to the old crone’s head right now! Where are you going?” he demanded.

  No reply came and then Helen answered.

  “You will have to wait. If you kill someone, it isn’t our fault. If you harm someone, it isn’t our fault. If I don’t hear Annalena's voice when I call back this evening, I won’t bring the manuscript at all. I’ll keep the whole thing for myself and go live it up on some beach somewhere! We won’t be extorted into drawing other innocent people into harm’s way because you are a sick, twisted, evil, selfish, arrogant sub-human creature. Where as your word is worth absolutely nothing, mine is platinum. When I say I will bring the damned manuscript to you, I will! I’ll call you when I have it in hand. Until then, you will have to wait.”

  Haimon picked up a thermos and threw it at the wall. The collision of steel and concrete caused an ear-splitting ‘clang' making the other people in the room cringe and stare at him with fear.

  Returning to the phone call, he snarled into the receiver, “I’ll expect a call from you tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Do not involve the authorities. I’ve tracked down where you live. I know you’re getting married to a man named Piers Cousins. Social media is my best ally. Yorkshire must be beautiful this time of year. I don’t want to have to pay you a call to get what I want. Good hunting, Mrs. Ryes. Your life and others’ depends on it.”

  Haimon flipped the phone shut and stood up. Calling Max, who answered immediately, he said, “Come back here. I’m five kilometers south of Babenhausen at the farmhouse we decided on. I’ll text you the address. Ryes will call us. We have no choice but to wait.”

  Finished with the call to his brother, he sat down sulkily and considered his options. She had him. Killing the prisoners appeared to exert no leverage over Helen Ryes. Like himself, she must be cold and unmotivated by other people’s pain, an impossible person to manipulate through emotion. Haimon chewed mentally on the fact that most people don’t bluff about life and death situations when they have a conscience. Slumping deeper into his chair, it occurred to him he wanted something to drink.

  Looking at Cara, he said, “I saw that purse of yours had tea in it. Go make some.”

  With the young woman’s departure in the direction of the kitchen, he settled down and thought about Helen Ryes' arrogance. Knowing where she lived was his insurance. Again, he appreciated the benefits of the Internet. Ryes would make good on her promise. He’d make sure of it, one way or another.

  Chapter 42

  Somewhere over northern France at 8,000 feet

  Looking dazed, Helen sat motionless staring straight ahead. The cell phone lay in her lap. Martha reached over tentatively, picked it up and tapped ‘end’.

  “He knows where I live… where we live,” Helen said, no emotion in her voice.

  Nothing was said. Martha shut her eyes and laid her head against the seat back. In front of them, Johanna lifted her own phone to her ear.

  “Hello, Papa.”

  For a few moments all she did was nod her young head and say, “Okay.”

  Putting the phone down, she said, “My father said everything is fine. He’s got your luggage, Mrs. Ryes. He says he’ll have it sent to you. The man who was following you has gone. I told Papa that your man’s pilot has arranged a landing for us at Farnborough Airport. From there, we can head to the reservoir. I’ll have to leave almost immediately from the water’s surface, otherwise, I may be fined.”

  Martha came to life at the last sentence.

  “Johanna, won’t you be too tired to fly back? Won’t you need fuel?”

  The blonde ponytail bobbed up and down in an enthusiastic motion of agreement.

  “Yes, we’ll get it at Farnborough. I won’t be tired. I love to fly. Not a problem.”

  The cab of the plane returned to quiet. Only the hum of the prop engines filled the void. Helen turned to Martha.

  “I don’t know why I said that to him. Something made me want to reach through that phone and smack him. How dare he try and make me feel guilty for something I’ve had absolutely nothing, NOTHING,” her voice beginning to rise, “to do with?”

  With a great effort to keep her own tone even, Martha nodded and asked, “What exactly did he say about Annalena?”

  Helen shut her eyes.

  “He said he would kill her, Martha. If we don’t find the manuscript at the Wallace estate, what are we going to do?”

  People’s lives were at stake and Helen’s bravado might have been interpreted by Annalena’s captors as strength, but it was at its best only a bluff. With her mind racing for an answer, Martha’s gaze fell on the bags full of duty-free items. An idea was taking shape.

  “I’ve got it! Helen, no matter what, we’re going to find the manuscript.”

  “That’s very optimistic of you, but…”

  “No, I’ve got a plan
, but we’re going to need back-up. This time Merriam and Piers will have to help and we need to get the police involved. We will deliver something to those hooligans but it’s not going to be a manuscript.”

  Helen’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Trust me. Now, let’s get down to business. How good is your poker game?”

  Chapter 43

  Oxfordshire, England

  The seaplane coasted down to lightly touch the water’s surface. They’d already landed once and handled customs. Because they were worried about making sure Johanna had everything she needed for a safe return flight, they’d also refueled the plane and bought food. Springtime was in full bloom and though the sun was barely hovering above the far, low hills, there was enough visibility to make out the sailing club marina on the opposite shore.

  Johanna steered the winged-craft across the water using it like a boat. It looked like a massive, shiny dragonfly as it skimmed the reservoir’s choppy surface. As it closed in on the pier, she opened her door and stepped out onto one of the pontoons to make the jump to the dock. The weather was misty and with the light fading, only a handful of people appeared to be around. Two men were walking up towards them. Johns and Piers gave a cheerful wave.

  “Wonderful landing!” Piers exclaimed as he took hold of the rope Johanna tossed to him in order to tie up the plane. “We watched your approach, and your handling of the touchdown was superb! Excellent job!”

  Johanna beamed and accepted his hand to be pulled up onto the dock.

  “I’m going to go stretch my legs,” she called over her shoulder. “I need some fresh air. Can’t stay long.”

  “Hey!” Martha’s voice came out of the shadows of the passenger area behind the cockpit. “How about a hand?”

  With the door opened, Helen stuck one leg and hand out and smiled up at her liberator.

  “Come here!” Piers demanded and reached inside to hoist her from her tomb of white, crumpled paper and plastic bags. “God! I’ve missed you.”

  He enfolded her into his embrace and held her.

  “I love you,” he whispered next to her ear.

  “Oh Piers,” she whispered back, “you’ve got to help us, both you and Merriam.”

  In a soothing tone and holding her tightly, he said, “I will, darling. Don’t worry. We’re here to help in any way we can.”

  Martha was also exhumed, but not before each shopping bag was conveyed along a human bucket-brigade and deposited on the dock.

  “There’s my girl!” Johns said, pulling Martha up and wrapping her in a bear-like hug.

  “Oh, what a crazy day it’s been!” she said. Her words muffled in the warm, safe embrace of Johns’ arms.

  “Haven’t been whacking anyone, have you darling?” he asked. “I just managed to get your sentence commuted so I’d like to know you’re somewhat rehabilitated.”

  Martha’s eyes flashed open, but only one was actually able to do so, because her head was firmly tucked into his chest. The image of bringing the round of Raclette down on the limo driver’s head continued to pulse across her mind.

  “Does cheese count?” she asked.

  Johns rolled his eyes heavenward and shut them firmly asking, “Cheese?”

  “Yeah, I may have used some cheese to escape from someone. He’s okay. It was the first idea that came into my head as a way of distracting him. Lost the lovely cheese though.”

  Johns held her out, away from him at arm’s length, and looked down into her bright eyes. He smiled.

  “You’re a nut. You know that, right?”

  She nodded and then reached up and gave him a big kiss.

  “That’s for being here and,” then kissing him again, but longer, “that’s for freeing me from doing any more of Tushing’s push-ups.”

  “I love you. You’re a perfect specimen of a woman already. No need to be an iron man,” he said, pulling her back to him. “Whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means using cheese products to do so, I support it, but I’d rather be the man who does your heaving hitting for you.”

  Martha looked up at him and smiled.

  “Honey, when this gig is over…” she whispered up to him, but was interrupted by Johanna returning from her walk. The four adults stepped over to help the teenage flying ace in any way they could. Johns untied the rope holding the plane secure to the dock.

  “I’ve got to go,” Johanna said. “It was lots of fun. I felt like I was in a thriller movie. Please let us know how everything turns out.”

  Helen and Martha each gave her a hug.

  “You’re going to be all right?” Martha asked.

  The pretty, fresh-faced teenager nodded.

  “I’m only going to fly about two hours and stop at some family friends in Normandy.”

  “I want you to take this,” Martha said, pressing a check into the kid’s hand. “That’s from two very grateful women who admire your courage and help.”

  Johanna looked down at the check.

  “Wow! This is too much money!”

  She tried to hand it back.

  “Absolutely not!” Helen said firmly pushing Johanna’s outstretched hand back. “You earned it. Promise to call us when you land in Normandy and again in Vaulion.”

  “I will. Good luck with your manuscript.”

  Piers helped Johanna crawl into her cockpit and Johns pushed the plane back from the dock. Soon, the engines came alive and like a beautiful bird, the plane grazed across the water and lifted back into the air.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Martha said as they walked towards a car Piers had rented.

  Within a few minutes, they were driving through the Cotswolds on their way to the Wallace estate near Chippen Norton. The car wove along a typical lane bordered on each side with tall hedgerows. Every mile or so, a farmhouse or manor home would come into view, all made from the golden stone the region was famous for.

  “I was able to speak with the estate’s owner during our flight over from Switzerland. The last Lord Wallace passed away five years ago and his son, the new lord, lives in New York most of the time. His parents were divorced and he was raised back and forth between the two countries. He understands that the manuscript was stolen and belongs if not entirely to France, then Italy as well. There are so many legal issues concerning the repatriation of art, and if the Leonardo is at the Wallace estate, he’s fine with me contacting the proper authorities,” Helen said, filling the two men in on what they knew.

  “Better go ahead and tell us the background story and why Martha had to clobber someone with food,” Johns said.

  With a quick recap of the last forty-eight hours, the story and their dilemma was brought up-to-date. Johns needed to contact the Landespolizei, or the German State Police, because there had been threats to not only Annalena Kirchner’s life but Helen and Martha’s as well. This had become an international police situation so Johns quietly started making phone calls as the others talked through what they knew.

  “Do you have an idea of where they may be hiding?” Piers asked.

  “We have a cell phone call,” Martha said. “What about doing some sort of fancy techno-triangulation thing using my phone? I saw that on a detective movie once. It might be work. We’re supposed to call them at eight tomorrow morning.”

  “Hand me the phone,” Johns asked as he waited for an officer from the CID, or Criminal Investigation Department, to take his call, “and show me the number.”

  Martha showed him the number that had come in when Annalena called them on the plane. As Johns got busy with his end of the assignment, Piers worked his special brand of magic.

  “Should we fly tonight?” he asked. “My pilot is on stand-by. Stuttgart is about two hours by private jet.”

  “That would be wonderful!” Helen said. “I for one, want to see justice done.”

  Piers laughed and reached over, taking Helen’s hand in his.

  “This is exciting,” he said.

  Helen sque
ezed his hand back. They sat there for a few moments watching the road unfold in front of them.

  “We’ve got to put two demons to rest and…,” she said, her tone firm and upbeat.

  “One is already gone,” Piers said turning to look at her and then back at the road. “I’m not sure how or why he left, but George left for Orlando. No one knows why.”

  Helen looked dumbstruck for a second and then her face resumed its brightness again.

  “Brilliant! I’m still getting a solicitor to protect our business but I’ve never been happier to see the backside of someone. So long George!” she exclaimed and reached over to give Piers a peck on the cheek.”

  “Wanna get married?” she asked laying her head on his shoulder as he drove.

  “Damn straight I do!” he slung back.

  “Good, and then I want to see you in that gorgeous dark, blue suit we bought. That’s going to be a treat for the eyes,” she whispered in his ear teasingly.

  “Helen,” he practically growled with desire and reached over to kiss her.

  The car headed for a hedgerow.

  “Hey!” Martha yelled from the backseat, causing Piers to jerk the car back onto the road. “You two save it for the honeymoon. Hands on the wheel, Piers!”

  Chapter 44

  Babenhausen, Germany

  Stalking the room, Haimon sat down in another chair. Angry and feeling like the situation was slowly slipping from his grasp, he turned his attention back to his prisoners. For the last twenty-four hours, he’d been thinking of ways to get rid of their bodies when the time came. It made him feel in control.

  Having Tom show up, like a ghost from the past, had caused Haimon an unusual amount of annoyance. He’d relived the event of Patricia’s death and Tom’s disappearance multiple times as he sat watching his grown son tend to the needs of the useless old woman. Hard to believe he was his kid, Haimon thought to himself.

  Caught staring at Tom, the boy raised his eyes to meet his father’s. The two men, one young and one without a soul, considered each other for only an instant and looked away. Cara brought in a pan of water from the kitchen and set it on the stove.