“My mother and I lived with my uncle and aunt until her death. A few weeks after the funeral, I was politely asked to come pick up my things.”
It’s then I see another Cliff. Not the effete, well-dressed snob he seems but a lonely and disillusioned man who wasn’t secure enough to make it on his own.
“So, how did you hook up with Hale?”
“There was some money left—not much—enough to get me through college. After I graduated I mooched a room off an old prep-school buddy.
“He told me about Hale. I visited one of her brownstones for an evening of pleasure. We met and immediately hit it off.” He pauses, then says, “Not in a sexual sense—strictly business. I needed the income; she needed an assistant. Voilá.”
He takes a bite of his toast. “I handled all the organizational work for Hale. God knows she needed it. But the deal worked in my favor. I could work several days a week or cram it all into the end of the month.
“Back then my life was my own. All that changed when we bought this place. I’ve been on a choke chain ever since.” He looks away. “But she’s promised me—” He gives me an emphatic nod. “There will be compensations—big compensations.”
“But Cliff, everything connected to Sigrid Hale is illegal. And that makes you an accessory.”
“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Take my advice and don’t play cute. Okay? Just do what she asks. If you do, you just might escape intact.” He gives me a stare freighted with warning, then mutters, “Some of the others haven’t been so lucky.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I hear footsteps and Cliff shakes his head. “Just be careful.” Hale is swathed in the same design as the one she wore last night, with the same matching turban and gloves. Only this costume is menopause red—definitely not her color.
I slide out of bed clutching my robe about me, and rush past them. Since there’s no time for a shower, I throw on my clothes and “replant” the transmitter. After a quick splash of water on my face, a cursory brush of my teeth, and a swipe at my hair, I’m back in the bedroom in minutes.
Cliff hands me a cup of steaming coffee and points to the tray. “Fruit or toast?”
I shake my head. “Just coffee.”
I drain the cup, get a refill and nibble on a piece of the cold toast. Then I realize Hale has been staring at me through those stupid tinted pixie frames.
Finally she says, “What about the necklace and earrings?”
No point in playing games. So, I give her what she wants. “They’re in a safe-deposit box at the Chase Manhattan on Eighty-Sixth.”
“Ahhh,” she says. “The key in your purse. We thought that might be the case.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that no one can get in the box except myself.”
“We’re aware.” Hale turns to Cliff. “You will accompany Miss Armington to the Chase.”
She opens her purse, pulls out the Luger and hands it to him. “It has a silencer. Use it if you have to.”
Cliff pockets it. “Don’t worry. I won’t have to.” He turns to me. “Will I?”
Chapter 45
IT’S A GRAY, RAW DAY, herald of the fast-approaching winter solstice. I’m wearing Cliff ’s all-weather coat while he hunches into a down-filled, knee-length parka to avoid the stinging gusts of the latest cold front.
When we descend the front steps, I notice the surveillance van has vanished from the utility area of the school. That could either be good or bad depending on what Greene knows.
Grateful for Cliff ’s silence, I go over my two options: Once we reach Third Avenue I could easily bolt and seek refuge. Cliff would be insane to draw a weapon on a crowded street. But that means I would never get back into the townhouse. That option is definitely out. Better that I play along. Just get the jewels, give them to Hale and see what happens next. Besides, I still have the address book to use as a bargaining chip.
When we arrive at the entrance to the bank, I put my hand on Cliff ’s arm. “Hold on. Looks like there might be a metal detector inside the front door. You’re armed. You could set it off.”
He instinctively pats the pocket holding the Luger.
“I didn’t think about that.” He cranes his neck toward the entrance. “Maybe they don’t have one here.”
I stare at him a few pregnant seconds then say, “It’s up to you. But, if that alarm goes off—”
He shifts his stance from one foot to the other for a minute, then says, “But, Hale said not to let you out of my sight.”
“Where in hell do you think I’m going to go? She threatened my family. Remember?”
“I remember.” Cliff looks both ways. The street is almost empty. “I don’t know—”
“Look, Cliff, it won’t be good for either of us if I don’t get into that box. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“I suppose I’ll have to. Because there’ll be worse trouble if we go back without the necklace and earrings.”
He gives me a gentle shove toward the doors. “Don’t be too long. It’s freezing out here.”
Once inside, I hurry toward the safe-deposit box sign-in desk. After the woman checks my signature, I produce the key, and she leads me into the vault. In seconds I have the pouch containing the necklace and earrings in my purse and make for the nearest available phone.
Though all of Greene’s numbers were programmed in my commandeered phone, I took time to memorize one, his personal cell.
No answer. It’s been fourteen hours since Cliff greeted me at his front door, but to hear the detective’s voice asking me to leave a message brings a brief warm feeling that I’m still connected to the outside world.
“It’s Allie. I met Hale. She lifted my weapon, and my cell, then forced me to write the letter to you. There’s also another bogus letter in the mail to my parents. Could you give them a heads up and tell them not to worry?
“I’m at the Chase Manhattan on Eighty-Sixth to retrieve the necklace and earrings from safe-deposit box fifteen forty-two. Cliff is with me. He’s got a gun, but I don’t think he’ll use it. I could run, but I still don’t have any concrete evidence on Hale’s identity. I’m requesting another twenty-four.”
I start to lower the receiver, then pull it back to my ear. “Greene, this is urgent. I gave Mindy some instructions the other day. I think they should be carried out immediately—like now. I’m pretty sure all you need to get a court order is this recording.”
I hang up and head for the glass doors.
Cliff, head bowed against the stinging wind, looks up. “It’s about time. What took you so long?”
“It’s the new lock on my box. They must have had to drill out the last one. Had a heck of a time with my key.”
We start back on Eighty-Sixth toward Third when Cliff grabs my arm. “Wait a minute, I need to talk.”
I try to pull my arm away. “Not now, I’m freezing.”
Cliff doesn’t budge. “Just listen for a minute, will you? I want you to give me the pouch and walk away. I won’t stop you.”
He’s offering me a way out. Only moments before I had seriously considered doing just that. It’s like he’s reading my mind.
“I’ll say we had a fight, I grabbed the pouch and you bolted. That should satisfy Hale since she’ll be getting what she wants. She’ll be mad as hell but so happy to get the jewelry back that she won’t do much to me.”
“Why are you offering this?”
Cliff looks both ways, and even though no one seems within earshot he takes a step closer. “You must have some idea of what’s in store for you. Hale hasn’t roughed you up because she wants those jewels, but once she has them, I don’t know what might go down.”
I take a few seconds to think things over. As tempting as it is, I’m in that townhouse with one mission—to expose Hale. “I can’t.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Why in hell do you want to get in the middle of this mess? What could you possibly gain?”
Then he start
s patting my shoulders. As his hands begin to trail down my back, I jump away. “Stop that!”
“Are you wired? Is that why you want to go back?”
“How in hell could I be wired? I was out of your sight for less than—”
“Jesus, you’re a stubborn bitch—I’m trying to give you a break, damn it.”
“Then give me one. I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”
Finally he says, “Just remember I tried.”
Chapter 46
IT’S ALMOST NOON by the time we make our way back to the townhouse, where Hale is pacing the foyer like a caged cat.
She’s poured into a long, black fur. A second look confirms my first impression. It’s Angela’s mink. How the hell did she get hold of that? The last time I saw it, Kingsley-Smythe asked me to leave it in his Mercedes the night he was murdered. I really hadn’t given much thought to its whereabouts until this minute.
Hale holds out a trembling glove. “Give them to me.”
When I remove the pouch from my purse and drop it in her eager grasp, she wheels and hurries toward the dining room with the two of us right behind her.
The near end of the glass-topped table is covered with a black towel. Hale opens the pouch and the jewels tumble to sparkle against the inky background. I suppress a gasp; the diamonds and rubies are much larger than I remember.
Hale looks up at the two of us. “I never thought I would see them again.”
She lowers herself into the chair at the head of the table. “Cliff, take the chair to my left. And you—” She motions me to the end near the kitchen door.
Once Cliff and I are seated Hale says, “The Luger?”
Cliff shoves it to her. “There was no problem at the bank.” Then he lies. “She was in and out in less than five minutes.”
If I add this lie to his offer to let me escape, I’m pretty sure I have an ally. A smirk twitches at the edge of my mouth and I lower my head to hide it.
Footsteps rise from below. I look in the kitchen and see Larry Templeton coming through the door to the inside stairway.
Hale points to the chair on her right. “Have a seat.”
“I parked on Ninety-Seventh and entered just like you said. I don’t think anyone saw me.” Larry settles in the chair across from Cliff. “I detest coming here. If we’re ever discovered, it’ll be the end for all of us.”
Hale pushes the towel toward him. “Let’s get down to business.” Larry extracts a jeweler’s loupe from the inside pocket of his jacket, and after careful inspection shoves the jewels her way. “They’re genuine. How did you get them back?”
Hale points at me. “They went to the Chase on Eighty-Sixth, where she removed them from her safe-deposit box.”
Larry jumps up. “You let her go to the bank? How can you be sure she didn’t tell someone she’s being held against her will?”
Hale waves Larry’s words away. “Cliff was with her the entire time. He had a gun. She’d be crazy to try anything. Sit down.”
He slumps into the chair. “Okay, okay. Maybe nobody saw them. What happens next?”
“We proceed with my plan.”
“No!” Larry slams his fist on the table. “You can’t go forward with what you have in mind. It’s the absurd meddling of an old—”
Hale raises a warning hand. “Don’t push me.”
Larry’s mouth drops, then he recovers. “Think this through.” He glances at me then back at Hale. “There’s no way you can be sure that your—experiment will succeed.”
Hale leans forward. “But it will work. She’s young. My tests are positive. The odds are definitely in my favor.”
“But, you can’t keep her locked up indefinitely. They’ll come looking. You’ll be discovered. Ruined. Not the way to end your days. Please. I beg you.”
“My mind is made up.”
“Unmake it. She knows too much. We should have taken care of her when we had the chance.”
Hale stands and gathers herself to her full height. “We will proceed. With or without you.”
Larry jumps up. “Then it’s over. I’m leaving.”
Their voices fade as the first inkling of what Hale has in store for me insinuates itself and my stomach gives a queasy heave. My age. Hale’s tests. That room below, covered in white sheeting. Was the space to the side of the bed meant to accommodate a surgical table?
It’s then I take time to carefully study Sigrid Hale. Her foundation is applied with a trowel, the rouge—daubed and smeared. Of course there are the ubiquitous false eyelashes that seem to continuously flutter behind those infernal, tinted pixie glasses.
But when I concentrate on the physique beneath the Joan Crawford costume, I notice there are no enormous shoulder pads like Crawford wore, only the muscular outline of Hale’s physique.
Why didn’t I pick up on all the obvious signs before? The whisper, the false eyelashes, the floor-length, high-necked dresses, the long sleeves and the gloves.
Sigrid Hale is a man.
My thoughts are too scattered to make much sense of anything else going on. All I know is this situation has ramped to red alert.
Distracted by Larry’s unpleasant and abrupt departure, Hale doesn’t seem to notice my confusion.
“If I know Larry, he won’t drop that bone any time soon.” Hale turns my way. “He’ll be back and when he comes, things may get a little rough. You’ll be better off on the ground floor.”
Hale motions to Cliff. “Take her down.”
“But I got you what you wanted.”
Cliff grabs my arm and mutters, “You had your chance.”
After Hale disappears up the stairs, I jerk out of Cliff ’s grasp and hiss, “I don’t get it. You practically begged me to leave this morning and even lied about how long I was in the bank.”
“Things are different now. You know who Hale really is.” “Do I?”
“Don’t play stupid. The look on your face was priceless. Talk about the proverbial light bulb.”
Cliff pushes me through the kitchen, down to the basement and shoves me into the room.
When he turns to go, I grab his arm. “How long have you known?”
“For a long, long time.” He shakes my hand off. “So. Now you have your answer. But, don’t try anything cute. There’s no way out.”
He pulls the door behind him, and the lock snaps shut.
I listen to his footsteps climb the stairs, cross the kitchen floor above me and fade to nothing.
I don’t sense the creeping fingers of panic until Larry’s words echo. “She knows too much. We should have taken care of her when we had the chance.”
That was a threat, but what disturbs me even more was his admonition. “You cannot go forward with what you have in mind.”
And what did Hale say? “She’s young. My tests are positive.” Now that I’m almost certain who Hale is, that throws a different spin on those words—a very different spin.
I take a few steps to the armoire and throw open the doors. It’s jammed with matching nightgowns and negligees.
I sag onto the bed, mind spiraling at the grim realization that the plan is for me to spend a lot of time down here—at least nine months. Worse still, I might not make it out of here alive.
Chapter 47
NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. No way. No how. I’m getting out now.
I grab one of the ice-cream parlor chairs and head for the bathroom.
Though there’s barely enough space to build any momentum, I swing the chair into the small window as hard as I’m able.
Just a dull thwack. No exploding shards. No broken glass tinkling across the tile.
I try again.
The chair leg hits the window and bounces away.
From behind me a familiar voice says, “No point in straining yourself, my dear. It’s a plastic composite, not only durable but soundproof.”
It’s Jason Kingsley-Smythe—makeup removed—wearing a Tattersall in blue under a navy sweater with gray slacks that crea
se over the tops of black tassel loafers.
My first emotion is relief—relief that the man wasn’t murdered. This lasts about a nanosecond as anger pushes past whatever fear lurks at the bottom of my gut.
“You bastard! How dare you do this to me?”
He gives me this stupid grin. “I dared because I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. That’s why.”
I ignore him to take stock of the situation. His hands are at his side.
He’s not holding a weapon.
Neither of his pockets seems to be sagging under the weight of his Luger.
The man is in his mid-seventies. Not quite as quick or as strong as he once was.
I can take him if I make the right moves.
I look down at the chair clutched in my hands. Metal legs ending in lethally shaped spade-feet.
A swift jab in the groin will send him down. Then I can go for the head.
Once he’s unconscious, I can get up the stairs and out the front door.
Kingsley-Smythe breaks into my thoughts. “Put the chair down.”
He motions me into the bedroom, but I stand firm, knowing this may be my only chance to escape. I’ve identified Sigrid Hale. Now, all I have to do is get to Greene and spill the beans. He’ll handle the rest. Mission accomplished.
“I asked politely, but if you insist—” Kingsley-Smythe reaches his right hand behind him and produces the Luger.
No point in rattling the rattler. Game over—for now.
I set the chair on the tile floor and slide past him into the bedroom, searching my mind for some way to stall what might be coming next. If I’m ever going to get out of here, I have to distract him.
I choose the chair by the table instead of the chaise. At least there will be some sort of barrier between us.
After Kingsley-Smythe retrieves the chair from the bath and places it across the table from me, he sits. “I suppose you want to know why I went to the trouble of faking my death?”
When I shrug, he continues. “I assure you it wasn’t because of your startling resemblance to my mother—though that did eventually figure into my grand plan.
Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Page 18
