Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery

by Louise Gaylord

  On one wall is a small desk with chair and, next to it, a butler’s tray with a wide selection of liquor and wines along with several sizes of glasses.

  Hale sinks into one of the easy chairs and beckons me toward the other. “Cliff has chosen a very fine vintage for us. I hope you like it.”

  I have to admit I’m totally mesmerized by Sigrid Hale even though her foundation looks like it’s been put on with a putty knife and her lipstick and rouge are a garish red. Behind the darkened lenses of those outdated pixie glasses, long false eyelashes bat with each word she utters.

  While Cliff busies himself at the butler’s tray, pulling the cork and pouring the wine, I attempt conversation. “This is very nice. Not that I didn’t enjoy my décor, but the way you have it arranged is a triumph of spatial use.”

  She rapidly bats her false lashes. “Oh thank you. It was totally my idea.”

  Cliff hands her a glass, then offers one to me. “This is a two-thousand William Fèvre Chablis. We managed to cadge a case from Sherry-Lehman last month. What do you think?”

  I take a sip. “It’s very nice.”

  When Hale raises her glass, I notice she’s wearing gloves. The shape of a ring beneath the left glove catches my eye.

  Cliff cuts through my muddle. “Is something wrong?” “Not at all. This has a lovely nose and a great finish.”

  Sigrid gives an approving cluck. “Ahhhh. Then you do know something about wines.”

  Cliff settles on the love seat across from us and says to Hale, “Not to change the subject, but I’m afraid Miss Armington is not enamored of her likeness over the sideboard.”

  Hale turns my way, eyebrows arched above the pixie glasses. “I think the face is quite lovely. But I do have to agree with you. Cliff seems to have slightly naughty tastes.”

  I try to keep my eyes off Hale’s glove, but the oblong on her ring finger is like a magnet. I tear my gaze away and stammer, “How long did the re-do take?”

  Cliff says, “Not long at all. The kitchen took a few weeks, but there was no reconstruction up here, just a nice coat of paint.”

  I look around the room and say, “This color is an interesting choice. In contrast to the cold weather, it gives the room cozy warmth, but during the summer heat I would imagine it seems like a cool, dark refuge.”

  “Exactly.” Hale touches my hand. “You’re a very observant young woman.”

  She turns to Cliff. “Did I hear the doorbell?”

  He jumps to attention. “Sorry, I must have missed it. I’ll be right back.”

  When the door shuts, Hale takes a sip, sets the glass on the table between us, and says in a thready bleat, “So, you’re leaving us?”

  I start at that, then remember that’s how I got the appointment. “On Saturday. My sister is being married in Chicago the day after Christmas.”

  “Oh, I adore Chicago. Actually, I prefer it to Manhattan. Sounds a bit disloyal for a native New Yorker, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know that much about the city itself. But every summer when my sister and I were little, our family used to visit my uncle and his family on the North Shore.”

  The front door slams, then there are footsteps on the stairs. “Open up, I’m loaded.”

  I look at Hale who motions toward the front hall. “Do you mind, my dear? This chair is a little too deep for easy exit.”

  Cliff jams two plain-white pizza-size boxes in my arms and closes the door. Then he grabs them and hurries down the hall.

  By the time I enter the room he has plunked one box on the desk and the other on the ottoman between us. “I ordered one Pupu Platter and the idiot brought two. Lucky I had enough money on me.”

  Cliff opens the lid, hands me a napkin and presents the assortment.

  I take a couple of miniature egg rolls and settle back to munch, thinking how weird this whole evening has been. Here I am seated next to a woman who not only controls a large stable of prostitutes but who is purported to be a major player in a drug-trafficking operation between Colombia and New Jersey. I don’t know what I expected but not an overly made-up crone who seems fairly helpless.

  I glance at my watch. Almost seven. In some ways the time has flown—in others, it’s crept by like lava.

  Cliff shoves the box in my direction. “Try the dumplings before they get cold.”

  I scoop three onto my napkin and pop one in my mouth. It’s warm, tender and delicious. I make a mental note to ask Cliff the name of the restaurant so I can order some for the final wrap-up at the safe house on Friday.

  When the doorbell rings a second time, Cliff dashes down the stairs.

  I hear muffled voices below followed by the click of high heels that fades toward the kitchen.

  Minutes later, as footsteps hit the stairs, Hale rises from the easy chair with a small grunt and straightens her gown.

  I take that moment to have another sip of wine. The cool, luscious liquid has just trickled down my throat when I hear, “Now then, Miss Armington, will you please move to the desk?”

  I look up and gasp. Hale stands above me with a Luger aimed at my head.

  Chapter 43

  I SET MY HALF-FILLED GLASS on the table and frantically try to remember what I did with my purse.

  Then my heart folds in half.

  The purse is sitting on the console at the foot of the stairs, just where Cliff asked me to leave it.

  Hale motions toward the desk. “Move.”

  Fear still doesn’t compute. I’m too much in shock to react. Then I try to stand and the blood leaves my head. “Can you give me a minute? I feel a little woozy.”

  The Luger touches the center of my back. “Don’t try to be cute. Head for the desk.”

  Cliff reenters the room, and I glance his way hoping against hope he might come to my rescue.

  No such luck. He’s busy placing sheets of paper and envelopes on the desk along with several pens.

  He turns to Hale. “She left the manila envelope with the concierge just as you instructed. Getting the stationery was no problem.”

  I notice the stationery reads HOTEL WELLS. “What’s this?”

  Hale stands to my right, Luger at my head. “Just tying up a few loose ends. After all, we didn’t think you were stupid enough to come here without alerting your associates.”

  A gloved hand pushes a page in front of me. “You’re going to write two notes. The first will be to Detective Greene. Tell him you’ve been unexpectedly called away for a family emergency, and you will not be returning to New York anytime soon. Tell him you have left the cell and the transmitter in a manila envelope with the concierge but that you are taking your Beretta with you.”

  That’s good news. I have the other transmitter on me and my weapon must still be in the townhouse. If I can locate that—

  Hale’s hand moves to rest on my shoulder and gives it a slight squeeze as she whispers, “Oh, yes, you might as well sign it ‘Allie.’ Cliff tends to blab after he’s had a few nips.”

  Panic crams my chest. My cover’s blown and I’m trapped in a room that has been soundproofed—a room that has a lock no one from Greene’s team has figured out how to open.

  The gun barrel caresses my temple. “Get on with it.”

  I slide the blank page toward me and pick up the pen. This will be my only chance to alert Greene. Somehow, I have to leave clues, but they can’t be too obvious, or Hale or Cliff will pick up on them. Finally, I get myself together and begin.

  Dear Greene,

  The bride has a bad case of nerves and needs my support. Besides, it’s only a few days before I was planning to go, and since nothing but nothing is going on, I took the liberty of leaving earlier than we planned.

  Give my best to your wife, and hug the kid for me.

  Allie

  Hale snatches the letter, reads it and is about to slip it into an envelope when Cliff grabs for it. “Let me see that.”

  She moves the letter out of his reach. “Not necessary.”

  C
liff glances my way and murmurs, “If you want me to participate in this scheme, I need to see everything.”

  When Hale lets out a long sigh and hands it over, Cliff scans the letter and looks up. “I didn’t know Greene was married.”

  He reads the letter again, then waves it in my face. “We can sure check that out.”

  I take a second to enjoy my good luck. Neither of my abductors has bothered to investigate the team’s backgrounds.

  “Be my guest. Make the call.”

  He hesitates, then looks at Hale, who says to me, “You’re sure Greene’s married?”

  “Why would I lie? You’d catch me in it and then what?”

  When neither seems eager to pick up the phone, I reinforce. “The detective is married to a lovely woman. She was a receptionist for some mogul at ABC until the baby came.”

  Hale grabs the paper out of Cliff ’s hands. “What good are you?” She jams it into the envelope and slaps it on the desk. “Address it.”

  I look up to see my reflection in those ugly, tinted pixie glasses. “But, I don’t know the address of the Nineteenth Precinct.”

  Hale shoves the envelope at me. “Never mind. Just address it to Greene. I’ll find out the rest.”

  Once I’ve written Detective Benjamin Greene, Nineteenth Precinct, Hale places a second sheet of paper before me. “And now for the letter to your parents.”

  My stomach caves. I didn’t expect that.

  “In this letter you will apologize for not being able to stand up for your sister since you will be in Madrid for the Montoya funeral and are unsure of your return.”

  “No way. I would never do that to my sister or my parents and they know it.”

  “Perhaps, but if you refuse to go along with this, we’ll have to arrange a little chat with some other member of your family. I don’t think you’d like that, would you?”

  When the letter is sealed and added to the one written to Greene, Hale waves me back to the easy chair. “Pass the girl some more pupus, Cliff, she’s been working hard.”

  Cliff pushes the box my way and mutters, “Do what she says.”

  I take a couple of ribs and drop them into my napkin. The farthest thing from my mind right now is food.

  Hale slumps into the other chair, drains her glass and raises it in Cliff ’s direction. “I need a refill.”

  After Cliff obliges, he tops off my glass and his as well.

  Hale lifts her glass in a mock toast. “I know you think someone will come for you, but we’ve taken care of that. Half an hour ago a woman about your height and wearing a wig in your hair color left the townhouse wearing your all-weather coat and carrying a bag similar to yours. Cliff transferred only the important contents to that bag—the transmitter and the cell.”

  I stare back, hoping my small smile of triumph isn’t too noticeable. I’m sure Greene and Platón will check the woman out and find she’s bogus. Besides, the second transmitter is safely stashed inside my bra.

  At that, Cliff disappears down the hall, returns and tosses my purse to me as Hale continues. “Your purse still contains your regular necessities with the exception of your weapon.”

  I rummage through the contents. Wallet, lipstick, comb and my makeup are intact. No Beretta. No room key. But, to my relief, the safe-deposit key, sheathed in its cardboard case, is still there.

  Satisfied that I seem to be satisfied, Hale continues. “Our decoy strolled back to The Wells where she will spend the night in your room and check out before the day clerk comes on duty.”

  I’m aching to tell Hale that Greene and Jaime will follow the woman. But even if they take her in, I’ll be in the same spot. There has to be some way to get out of this mess on my own. Then I give my self-confidence level a little psychic boost. Yes, I’ll be fine as long as the second transmitter is operational.

  Greene won’t get the letter until tomorrow. Nothing I can do about that. If they nab the imposter, they’ll already know what’s going on.

  I can’t worry about my parents or Angela. By the time my letter arrives in Lampasas, this situation will be resolved one way or another. At least I’ll have the night to think it through.

  I take a sip of the wine and lean toward Hale. “Just what is it you want from me?”

  Hale bats her eyelashes. “Ah, the girl minces no words.” She leans in. “Take a guess.”

  “The necklace and earrings.” She nods.

  “But they belonged to Kingsley-Smythe’s grandmother. The one who raised him after his mother died. He had no siblings.” I pause to let that sink in, then add, “Just how are you related?”

  Hale’s gloved hand flies to her chest and Cliff comes off the couch like a shot to hover at her side. “Are you all right?”

  She pushes him away. “I’m just revisiting some painful memories. That poor boy was absolutely desolate over his mother’s death. That’s why Jason was so attracted to you. You reminded him of her.”

  Hale extends a hand to Cliff, who pulls her to her feet. She points to the bed. “You’ll be quite comfortable up here. We’ve furnished the basic supplies.”

  I follow them to the bedroom door and watch them retreat down the hall.

  Halfway there Hale turns, “Don’t waste your time trying to escape or attracting anyone’s attention. This area is soundproof and quite secure.”

  I slowly walk back into the bedroom as the now-familiar clicks and slides end in a final snap of the bolt.

  Chapter 44

  RECONNAISSANCE IS THE FIRST ORDER of business. I try the shutters hoping that by moving them up and down I can attract someone passing by. No such luck. The louvers are metal and seem to be welded in the closed position.

  I hurry down the hall to the door. On close inspection, I find that it’s not wood at all, but solid metal. And the area where the locks and bolts once were is now a smooth panel attached to a frame by a rod at the top and the bottom.

  The concept is brilliant. When Hale is in the suite, the locks face in, when Hale leaves, she rotates the panel to face out.

  I remember Jaime saying there was no actual keyhole; but some kind of high-tech system he’d never seen before.

  When I reenter the bedroom, a glint catches my eye and I look up. In the corner near the door and placed at the ceiling line a small lens tracks my moves. I suppress the hysterical urge to wave. No point in letting on.

  I hurry to the bath. No changes there. After a cursory sweep, I see the room is basically unchanged. No camera that I can detect. Guess Hale doesn’t like to be seen in the buff either.

  I cross the hall to open the closet door. It’s one-third the original size. A wall has been added with a padlocked door.

  The remaining section is empty except for a hook holding a floor-length satin robe trimmed in marabou and a pair of matching marabou-trimmed bedroom slippers.

  I comb the closet for a camera. If there is a camera, it’s been well concealed. Hoping there isn’t one, I huddle next to the robe and ease the remaining transmitter from beneath my sweater into my shoulder bag.

  Since it’s just eight thirty, I return to the bedroom, grab a cold rib and fill my glass with the rest of the wine.

  While I munch and sip, I go over my predicament. I still have one of the transmitters but no weapon or cell, and I’ve been locked in for the night with no way to escape. On top of that, there are several unanswered questions. How was Hale related to Kingsley-Smythe? How did she know about the necklace and earrings? And why does she want them? And finally, why has someone been killing her prostitutes?

  I grab another now-gelid dumpling and then another. I can’t believe it, but I’m famished.

  ————

  Sounds of the door to the outer hall being unlocked wake me from a dreamless sleep. Then a motor whirrs and the shutters slowly open to reveal the morning glow.

  As footsteps approach, I gather the covers around my neck.

  It’s Cliff, bearing a tray with a coffee pot and cups, a bowl of fruit and a stack of to
ast with the usual accompaniments.

  He’s alone and from the lack of clicking locks, he’s left the door open. If I were dressed, I could make a dash for it. I make a mental note to make sure I don’t let the next opportunity to escape pass me by.

  He sets the tray on the ottoman. “Hale will be up in a few minutes.”

  “Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

  He settles on the ottoman next to the tray. “Depends on the subject.”

  “You shouldn’t mind my asking the obvious. Why does she whisper?”

  He studies me for a few seconds then shrugs. “She’s talked that way for as long as I’ve known her. I once heard she was playing goalie in a field hockey game and was accidentally struck in the throat.”

  “That certainly would explain it.”

  He grabs a piece of toast. “That’s it?”

  “No. Hale isn’t your mother, why do you call her that?” “She’s my boss. What the boss asks—you do.”

  He slathers the slice of toast with butter and marmalade. “I’ve been with her for twenty-some years. It was she who suggested I become a model’s agent. We used the business to attract young women.”

  He must see the shock in my face because he adds, “Not Angela. I represented her on the up-and-up. In fact, I have quite a few clients who aren’t prostitutes.”

  “But why take the criminal route? You have connections.”

  He rubs his fingers together. “Money. When you’re used to it and lose it—” He sighs. “We had the pedigree but not the really big bucks. Dad’s brother took his inheritance and invested it well. Unfortunately, Dad was a dreamer who never quite got it together. We lived on the interest from his part of the estate until I was around ten.

  “That was when he squandered everything we had on the only Edsel dealership in Hoboken. You remember the Edsel, don’t you? He couldn’t face the consequences and committed suicide.