“Maybe someone does!” Miranda quipped with a perkiness she didn’t feel, mentally putting Darci back onto her “avoid like the plague” list. “As for me? I need to come up with brilliant dance steps for brilliant kids before crashing.”
She promptly performed a short but perfect vaudevillian-style shuffle off to buffalo and made her exit to the sounds of applause and light laughter.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SATURDAY MORNING adult advanced dance classes were so tough that Miranda had been forced to use every ounce of technique she owned to master the combinations in contemporary and ballet. She was exhausted by the time she got to tap and was relieved to be able to take it easier.
The only problem was that Miranda finally had space to think about the insanity of the past couple of weeks. Much of the confusion swirling in her brain seemed to be centered around Russ Gerik. Or rather, Miranda reflected while executing a few shim-shams and cramp rolls, the recent comments about Russ Gerik. Comments which had come from four different women.
Candy Cassidy had been simplicity itself. “Break Russ Gerik’s heart and I’ll break your legs.”
Darci had been snide and almost creepy. “If he ever gets to that point I might consider giving him another run.”
Farrah hadn’t exactly embodied the soul of tact with “Are you two an item...he doesn’t seem to be your type.”
Abra had been fairy dust and flowers. “You and Russ are perfect for each other!”
Miranda had to wonder what Abra saw that no one else could see—including Miranda and Russ. They disagreed about the politics of war. Neither was willing to give up the inheritance. Miranda was a singer and Russ had been abandoned by a mother hoping to become a star. He’d also never be able to hear her sing. Miranda couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d watched her perform for barely a moment during the first day of the theater camp.
On the other hand, they both loved dogs. A plus. They shared the same taste in art and neither was willing to suffer dishonesty. Perhaps the most important trait—whatever it was—had been the something that had made both Russ and Miranda love, and be loved, by Miss Virginia.
Miranda wasn’t ready to deal with her feelings about Russ and she didn’t really want a myriad of opinions thrust at her by women she barely knew, even though she’d felt an immediate bond with Abra and was aware she needed to establish a better relationship with her stepmother. Not to mention the fact that once she was back in Manhattan no one’s opinion would matter—including her own.
The tap instructor yelled, “Once more!” Grateful for the distraction, Miranda focused on the routine, determined to nail every step. She finished class, walked back to the dressing room, changed and was out and heading for the afternoon session at Virginia’s in less than twenty minutes, which meant she was about fifteen minutes early.
No cars were in sight. Miranda wasn’t sure if Russ had been able to pick his car up from the shop earlier. If not, he would have just walked over and gone inside.
The front door was unlocked so she assumed Russ had already gotten the key from a paralegal. She didn’t see him in the living room and she didn’t hear any sounds from the kitchen, but Russ might’ve gone out back to play with Spero.
Miranda dropped her bag and headed toward the kitchen. She’d barely made it halfway across the room before she heard a scuffling noise behind her. Fabric was thrown over her head. Someone grabbed her arms and dragged her back a few feet, then shoved her inside the closet. The door slammed shut and was locked with a click. Miranda felt claustrophobic and sick to her stomach until she was able to struggle out of what turned out to be a tote bag, wrenching her neck and shoulders in the process. She took several huge breaths in the musty space and started coughing.
“At least it’s canvas and not plastic,” she muttered, trying to keep terror at bay. She waited a moment until the nausea and the urge to faint had passed. Then she started screaming for help as loudly as she was able.
A few moments later, she let her voice rest. “Miranda, what are you doing?” she scolded herself. “Who exactly is going to hear you? Russ can’t. And the neighbors are too far away. You are so dumb. Why didn’t you get Phoebe after class? You had the time. She would’ve bit the intruder and charged out of here to bring help!”
She tried to control the second onset of panic that hit when she realized she might be trapped for days. After a few minutes of hysterically banging on the walls, kicking the door and digging through the old coats in the hope of finding something useful, like a crowbar—“or a rocket launcher” she muttered—she stopped. “This is stupid. You are not a stupid person. Now stop and think and quit acting the maiden in distress.” She almost smiled. “You’re about to play a superspy. What would Miami Montreville do?”
Talking aloud gave Miranda the calm she needed to consider her options and bringing up her future alter ego reminded her of a past character. She’d played a hostage in a TV movie about a bank heist. The show had veered more toward comedy than high drama and the writers had come up with various wacky ways for Miranda’s character to escape, but the solution had been simple. Pick the lock. Miranda—always diligent when researching a role—had found at least five different ways to escape. The easiest was the credit-card technique. Unfortunately, her cards were in her bag, along with her cell phone. But the second best method was very low-tech, very old-fashioned and usually got the job done.
Miranda reached up and pulled a bobby pin out of her bun. It wasn’t normally the way she wore her hair but the metal pins kept flyaway strands off her face during dance class.
It took some doing, but she was finally able to maneuver the pin into position and open the door. “Gotta love old houses with lousy locks!” she muttered.
She quickly ran to her bag and grabbed her cell phone.
Within seconds she was talking to Officer Hernandez.
“I almost hate to ask,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” Miranda replied. “Another break-in.”
“I’ll drive over but it’s going to take at least twenty minutes. Is that okay? Should I see if another officer is closer?”
“That’s fine. I’d rather wait and see a familiar face.”
“I’ll be there soon. Stay outside. Better still, go to a neighbor’s if anyone is home.”
She hung up and went outside to wait. Ten seconds later she called her dad’s house and asked if Farrah would mind popping Phoebe into her car and bringing her over to Virginia’s. She skipped any explanations about burglars and closets.
“I’d get her myself but I’m waiting for, uh, Russ, and I don’t want to leave the house.”
“No problem,” Farrah said. “You caught me just as I was leaving, so I’ll be there in a few minutes, dog in hand. Or leash, anyway.”
About five minutes later, Farrah pulled into Virginia’s driveway and Miranda was reunited with her buddy. “I can’t stay, Miranda, I’m meeting a client in about twenty minutes.”
“That’s fine. I’m just grateful you didn’t mind bringing Phoebe. See you later.”
Farrah waved and drove down the street. Miranda immediately felt safer having the small but protective dog by her side.
Six minutes later Miranda spotted Russ rounding the corner of the block with Spero ambling happily at his side. He picked up the pace until he was on the sidewalk in front of Virginia’s house. The dogs immediately began their greeting dance.
Russ took one look at her and asked, “What’s wrong?”
How do you know something is wrong? she signed.
“Because you have as much color in your face as the curb here.”
Ah. Good point. Miranda walked up the driveway and sank down onto the porch steps. We had a visitor.
“Again?” Russ quickly pulled the Dragon out of his pack and handed it to her.
“Again. Only this time I was here. The door was unlocked and I figured you’d arrived early, so I went in. About two minutes later I was stuffed into the hall closet with a tote bag over my head. My neck twisted twenty ways to Sunday trying to remove the silly thing and I think I need a large aspirin.” She pretended nonchalance and held out the bag, which she planned to give to Hernandez as some kind of evidence. She stared at it and mused, “It’s a nice bag. Sadly, it’s generic. Not a single logo to be seen. Looks pricey, though. I guess it could start a new trend. What the well-prepared burglar carries to stun his victims.”
“Miranda, you’re rambling. Are you in shock? Are you hurt? What can I do? Maybe hot coffee? You’re scaring me.”
Miranda stared at him. “I don’t know.” Her brain silently said, Liar. What Russ can do is hold you in his arms for the next few minutes and keep you safe.
For a moment it seemed Russ might do exactly that. He reached out and took her hand in his, then moved closer.
Hernandez pulled up into the driveway. The moment was lost. Russ dropped her hand as he watched Spero and Phoebe immediately encircle the officer.
Hernandez finished patting the dogs and joined Miranda and Russ on the porch. Miranda shook his hand. “Why do we keep bothering to lock and arm this place? Seems a waste of both our time and the burglar’s.”
Hernandez smiled. “If nothing else, at least you know he or she has been here.”
“Well, sadly, this time so was I.”
“What?”
“I got here early and thought Russ might have already gone inside.”
“Why did you think I was here?” Russ asked. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“Oh, shoot. You called?”
He nodded. “I did. I wanted to let you know that even though I’d be late, you could still meet the paralegal du jour and start working.”
“I didn’t even check my messages this morning. I drove straight here from class and figured I’d spend some quality time on the porch just drinking in the atmosphere. But the door was open. It didn’t occur to me that anything was wrong, although by now anything out of the ordinary should be a good clue to take off, screaming.”
Miranda gave Hernandez the rundown, trying to pretend the whole event hadn’t turned her insides into oatmeal. “Maybe we should leave a little bowl on the hall table with a note reading, ‘Don’t forget to leave a guest card.’ We could offer free dinners or something.”
Both men ignored the absurd suggestion. Hernandez gestured toward the house. “Let’s go inside, if you’re up to it?”
“I’m okay now.”
Miranda took one step into the front hallway and immediately turned back around. “Well, well. What do you know. For once, the burglar didn’t leave empty-handed.”
“Uh-oh. What do you see? Or not see?”
“A box of journals from 1954. I labeled them myself. They’re gone.” She stifled the urge to let loose with a peal of laughter, certain it would dissolve into hysteria. “The thief is doomed for disappointment—unless he’s a master chef.”
“How so?”
“Because I’d mislabeled them. They’re recipe books I was saving to give to my stepmother.” She bit her lower lip.
Russ glanced at her. “Miranda? You’re losing color again. You sure you don’t need to sit?”
She shrugged. “I’m about as fine as I can be after being locked in a closet with a bag thrown over my head. Y’all know something? This whole ‘come back to Alabama and inherit a house and hunt for missing art treasure in between teaching kids and avoiding thieves popping in every other day’ isn’t really working for me lately.”
Russ bit his lip and stared at the ceiling. Hernandez smiled. “My wife would say you are a woman in serious need of a spa day.”
“Your wife would be right. I like her already.” Miranda closed her eyes, thought for a moment, then opened them and said, “I’m not a lawyer. My dad is, but his area is international law so we don’t discuss burglaries. I’m not up on the latest legalities of interrogation—apart from what’s on television shows—but I’m wondering if we can take a good look at the people who knew about these diaries.”
“You want me to question some folks who might have motive and opportunity for this latest break-in?”
Miranda nodded.
“Well, I’m not an attorney, either, but if you have names I’ll take them and see what can be done. They can always say ‘no comment.’ If anything interesting turns up I can start asking for warrants.” He shook his head. “No offense but this entire business with the house has gotten ridiculous.”
“None taken. Look, do y’all want to adjourn to the kitchen for some iced tea? I’m dehydrated from dance classes and the ordeal in the closet and I also need to give Phoebe some lunch.”
Russ helped her brew the tea, retrieve the ice trays from the freezer and feed both Phoebe and Spero so neither dog would get jealous. Once Miranda was sipping out of a frosty glass, she felt better. She was still angry and scared, but she was thankful that the villain had chosen to lock her inside a closet rather than beat her up or shoot her.
“Ready to name names?” Hernandez asked. “Provide a little context as to why you think these might be persons of interest?”
Russ interrupted before Miranda could respond. “I’m taking the dogs into the yard to toss the Frisbee. No point in having Miranda slow things down for my software to catch. Y’all good with that?”
Miranda and Hernandez nodded. Russ opened the back door and was nearly knocked down by two anxious canines who clearly understood the word Frisbee.
“Ready?”
“Sure,” Miranda said. “I should give this some context first. To begin with, everyone on this short list was at my stepmother’s party the night of the first break-in, when she babbled on about Auttenberg’s paintings. They were all aware I was staying to chat with my dad before coming here to meet Russ. Same thing for last night, when the diaries became a prime topic of conversation at another of Farrah’s dinners. I also announced I was taking class this morning, again leaving the house free for someone to search.”
“Got it. Go on.”
Miranda hesitated. “I hate this. It feels pretty vile to accuse people. But, okay, let’s start with Brett King and Cort Farber. They were the ones writing out Miss Virginia’s respective wills, so they might have access to information about those paintings, assuming they really exist. Both men were also here when the alarm system was installed. They seem nice but, as we all know, greed can trump nice at any time.”
“Anyone else?” Hernandez asked.
“George Miller. He’s a Realtor and he’s pushy. Can’t seem to get it through his head that once this house is ready to be sold he is not going to be named the agent—by either Russ or me. Miller was also here when the crummy alarm system was installed.”
Hernandez glanced up from his notepad. “Did Miller seem interested in the diaries?”
Miranda thought about the question for a moment. “Truthfully? Just about everyone at each party was interested.”
Hernandez stared at her. “You’re holding back.”
“Not really.”
“Miranda? It’s okay. No one is going to be thrown into jail today—unless we get lucky. And I’m not telling anyone who named names. Go ahead.”
“Well, maybe Darci Becker. She knows the worth of the paintings but I just met her the other day and I don’t think she knew about the artwork possibly being here. I’m also pretty sure she was at the gallery this morning. Saturdays are generally busy for art dealers.”
“What about Russ?” Hernandez asked quietly.
Miranda gulped. “I didn’t mention Russ. There’s no way he would have done this.” She sounded defensive even to herself, and Hernandez picked up on it.
“Look, I like him, t
oo, but he does have a lot to gain here. You’re rivals for an estate that may be worth a huge sum of money. Forget the idea of a real search. Who’s to say he doesn’t already know where this artwork is hidden and isn’t trying to scare you into giving up your claim?”
She groaned. “I really, really don’t even want to contemplate that Russ could be capable of that. For whatever it’s worth.”
Hernandez picked up the notebook, took a last swig of iced tea and pushed his chair back. He smiled. “Truthfully? I don’t believe he is. I just want you to be aware, Miss Manhattan Not-so-Tough Girl, that not everyone in the world can be trusted. Now I’m going to make a few polite inquiries as to where these people were this morning. Don’t get your hopes up. It may not come to anything. Meanwhile, you and your friend Russ need to get back to the hunt, or at least the inventory, assuming you can tear him away from the dogs.”
Miranda escorted the officer to the front door. “Thank you—for checking this place what seems like every other blasted day, for listening to me and just your general kindness.” She took a breath. “Plus I appreciate your calling Russ a friend and not implying anything else...unlike several other people in Birmingham who are ready to carve our names in trees everywhere.”
Hernandez grinned. “I didn’t need to imply a thing, Miranda. You did that all on your own.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MIRANDA HEADED FOR the backyard, where Russ was playing with the dogs. She’d planned to join them but suddenly her legs wouldn’t carry her any farther. She sank into one of the chairs on the deck and stared out across the yard. She felt confused and ill as names of possible suspects swirled through her mind. Miranda wished Ted Hernandez hadn’t pinpointed the one suspect she was determined to erase from the list. She groaned. Could she rely on her intuition—or a growing friendship—that someone who had the most to gain wasn’t trying to scare her away?
When she saw Russ rolling on the ground with two of the most trusting creatures on earth, her heart answered the question—a leap of faith. This man was honest. She could easily imagine Russ flat out telling her she had no right to the house since she’d been away for six years or pointing out all the ways he’d helped Virginia in that time, but he wouldn’t sneak up on her and shove her into a closet. They’d met less than a month ago, but she was certain that Russ Gerik would never lie to her or deliberately hurt her.
Legacy of Silence Page 13
