“He will have his own accommodations of course. There are rooms over the garage. They used to be the chauffeur’s and gardener’s quarters. Mr. Kelly has said he’ll be able to fix them up quickly. He’ll be very comfortable there.”
“Terrific,” I said with a sinking heart.
I had no idea what kind of conversation had passed between Vera and Kevin that could have gotten him moved in and employed here in the ten minutes it had taken me for first aid and a change of tights. Kelly charm strikes again.
The signora was so taken with him that she forgot to serve me dessert, and Vera didn’t even notice that the green in the sauce was clearly zucchini.
I knew I was the only person in that room who had made the connection about the cats going missing and the cats being found with Kevin’s need to have a new place to live. And Vera and the signora were never going to hear that from me.
I was very glad that Uncle Kev was alive, even though I felt like killing him.
Life would never be the same.
• • •
BACK IN MY room, I tried not to dwell on exactly what life with Kev would be like. Vera and the signora might be besotted, but they’d learn soon enough. I had plenty to do and at least I didn’t have to worry that he was dead or that he’d killed someone. Not even Uncle Kev could be so vacuously cheerful if he had.
I unpacked my bag from Once More with Feeling. There was Police Officer Barbie, staring at me. I hoped the doll would cheer up Candy since our outing had been cut short. And then I realized I had no number for her, because it was kind of a one-way friendship. She had my address and my phone number and I had only her work information. I glanced at my watch. Good thing I’m a night owl.
I wanted to check on Karen anyway. And Burton wasn’t far from Grandville. As Candy had been called back to work, she might still be there. I wrapped up the Barbie box in pretty paper and then covered that with plain brown wrapping. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her colleagues.
• • •
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I parked the Saab in front of the Burton Police Station and walked in.
I smiled at the officer sitting at the desk.
“I’d like to speak to Officer Candy Mortakis. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Sure thing,” he said. “She’s here now. Name?”
“Jordan Bingham.”
He picked up an old-school interior phone. “Candy, there’s a young lady to see you.
“A Jordan Bingham.”
“No idea.”
“All righty.”
He looked back at me. “Go right through. Second desk on the left.”
Wow. Candy had a desk?
He buzzed me through an interior door.
An attractive blonde in a crisp white blouse and trim charcoal wool pants looked up from the file she’d been working on. She wore small gold hoops and a good leather belt. I approved.
“Yes,” she said as I approached.
“I’m looking for Candy Mortakis.”
“You found her.”
“What?”
She frowned. “Who were you expecting?”
“My friend, Candy.”
“I am Detective Sergeant Candace Mortakis.”
I blinked. “But there can’t be two people in this police department with that name.”
She chuckled. “Probably not in the whole world. Tell me, why do you think someone else had my name?”
“Because she told me.”
No chuckle now.
“She told you she was Candace Mortakis?”
“Officer Candy Mortakis.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Could I sit down? I think there’s something very bad going on.”
She gestured to the empty chair by the side of her desk. “Where?”
“Over at 87 Lincoln Way.”
“You mean 89.”
I shook my head. “No, I was looking for Mr. Randolph Adams at Number 87 and she came around and helped me.”
“She told you she was a detective?”
“Officer. She was wearing a uniform.”
“And she gave you my name?”
I nodded. “I don’t understand what was going on. Why would she—?”
“Why would she what?”
I paused and thought. There was so much wrong here. I couldn’t trust the “other” Candy, whoever she was. “Randolph Adams and the entire family have disappeared. All the other cops were busy with the crime scene in the backyard of Number 89. She took me into the house and helped me search to see if Randolph was injured in the house.”
“Without a warrant? No homeowner there?”
“The door was unlocked. The place looked like it had been ransacked. She said it was all right if an old man might be in danger.”
She ran her hand through her nicely highlighted blond hair.
“You find anything?”
This bit I modified. “No. But she gave me some information about the Adamses.”
“Hang on,” she said. “Hank, get over here. You got to hear this.”
Hank, a more rumpled and stereotypical detective, ambled over. He was pleasant looking and pudgy. Perhaps the pudginess was new, as his gray suit was stretched tight over his arms and middle and his white shirt gapped between buttons.
Candy filled him in as far as I’d gotten.
“Do you think she’s a reporter?” I asked. “I wouldn’t have thought a reporter would impersonate a police officer. That’s against the law, isn’t it?”
Hank leaned back against Candy’s desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave me a hard look. “You bet it is. So she gave you some information about the Adams family?”
“She said that there was no record of the family until about three years ago.”
Candy might have wanted Hank to hear what was going on, but she wasn’t letting him take over. “And what is your involvement with these people?”
Oh well. I suppose it had to come out. “I work for Vera Van Alst, the wealthy book collector. Her Dorothy L. Sayers collection was stolen some months back and sold to a bookseller who then sold the books to Randolph Adams. The bookseller was not aware that the books had been stolen. I have been tasked with getting them back and once we tracked down Randolph Adams—”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Candy said.
“The bookseller, Karen Smith. She had a brain injury in an attack a few months ago, so her memory is faulty, but we did track him down and were ready to trade the collection for another valuable work.”
“And?”
“And Randolph’s family was very suspicious of us and seemed to want to block the sale. To tell the truth, we thought they were drugging him or something. We noticed he got disoriented and drowsy after drinking some tea from his daughter.”
Hank rolled his eyes. “What is this? Some kind of soap opera?”
“I know it sounds crazy. It even seemed bizarre, being in the middle of it.”
“What else?” Candy said.
Maybe it was a mistake, but I had to leave out the part where I went back to the house with night vision goggles and let myself in and was caught by the imposter Candy.
Hank fiddled with a pen as I spoke. “She said she was lonely. She had no friends here on the force. She wanted to get together for a girls’ night. She talked a lot.”
“What did she talk about?”
“She told me what she’d found out about the Adams family not existing. She told me about the murder victim.”
Hank dropped the pen. Candy’s eyes widened. “What did she tell you?”
“That he’d been stabbed. That he was a contract killer.”
“Contract killer?” Hank used his outside voice. “What do you mean, he was a contract killer?”
“Down boy,” Candy said. “Let her talk.”
“She showed me a picture.”
“We haven’t released a name or photo.”
“I realize that, but she had a photo of a
man. He was obviously dead. She said his name was Pierre Gagnon and he was a hit man.”
“Why did she show you the photo?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t plan to drop either Uncle Kev or Smiley into the soup. “This other Candy was very intense and there had been a murder. She asked if I recognized him.”
“And?”
“I’d seen him in front of the Adams house on my last unsuccessful attempt to see Randolph. He was parked next door, I guess in front of Number 89, just waiting and watching.”
“You saw his face?”
“My pooch ran off and I asked this guy in the Impala if he’d seen my dog. I had no idea who I was talking to, before Candy told me he was a hit man. I guess that was dangerous.”
They exchanged glances. Meaningful glances.
I said, “What? Was he a hit man?”
They were probably decent detectives, but they never would have made a career in theater.
“He wasn’t, was he?”
They weren’t talking.
Actually, they didn’t have to talk. Their expressions were deadpan, but they couldn’t hide the emotion in their eyes.
“Tell me he wasn’t a police officer. There was nothing in the news or—I’m sorry. What’s going on here? I hope he wasn’t a colleague.”
“We need to talk to you about what you saw there.”
“Of course.” Talk about a sinking feeling. There was so much I didn’t want them to know. Uncle Kev’s presence. Tyler Dekker’s. My own extra visits, unauthorized entry and book pilfering.
“We’ll take you to an interview room,” the real Candy said, not unkindly.
My feet dragged. How long would it take for my web of omissions to be revealed? And people I cared about hauled into interview rooms? That would be very hard on Tyler. Of course, I doubted they’d actually catch up to Uncle Kev.
Halfway across the room, the intercom squawked. “All units. Shots fired and multiple suspected shooters at farmhouse just south of the junction of Appledoorn Road and Crawford Road. Hostages likely. All available units.”
I didn’t like feeling grateful for someone else’s tragedy, and I hoped nothing happened to the hostages, but I was thrilled to get out of the station. I gave the real Candy my address at Van Alst House, my cell number and Vera’s number too. I promised not to leave the county.
As I collapsed in my Saab, Candy and Hank pulled out in a Tahoe. Now what? I wanted to get away from the police station.
I passed a silver Audi as I left Burton and did a double take. But of course, the Adams gang would have ditched that car long ago. The driver was a young, dark-haired woman, not Delilah, for sure. Not Mason either, and definitely not Randolph.
I pulled over and took out my cell. Kev and Tyler needed to know. So did Karen and Uncle Lucky. We could make sure our stories made sense later. I figured the cops would be tied up for quite a while at the shoot-out.
For once, Kev was where he was supposed to be. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said. “I’ll be gone if they show up here.”
“Yeah, well, leave the cats this time.”
Tyler did not pick up. His recent track record with phone messages and texts was terrible. It wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to leave a message about.
I tried Karen’s number. No luck. Then I tried her cell number. “Oh, Jordan! I am so glad you are calling. I remembered what I needed to tell you.”
I made sure not to interrupt. I knew how easy it was for her to lose her train of thought.
“It was Randolph!”
“Yes?” I said encouragingly.
“He slipped me some books in a plastic bag.”
I wanted to shout, “What books? What bag?” But I merely repeated, “Yes.”
“You were on the other side of the room with Delilah. And that creepy Mason was keeping an eye on you. Randolph slipped me three books and signaled me to keep quiet. He asked me to keep them safe for him. So I did. I slipped them into my tapestry bag and . . . I am sorry to say, after I checked them at home and put them in a safe place, I forgot all about them, until today. Mason was so hostile to us and then all the upsetting news about the murder and everything. I knew there was something I was supposed to mention but I couldn’t bring it to mind. I’ve been tired out by all this.”
“That’s great, Karen. You remembered. I wonder why he wanted you to keep them. What books were they?”
“You’ll never guess!” she said. “They were three of the Sayers books.”
“Let me guess. The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, Clouds of Witness and Have His Carcase.
She gasped. “How did you know?”
“Long story, but I’ll fill you in later.” I didn’t want Karen knowing any of the illegal things I had done to find the rest of the collection. It would have put her in a tough spot with the police. It would put me at a disadvantage too. “Where are the books?”
“Safe with me.”
“Great.”
“Well, not so great, really. I remember the titles but I don’t exactly remember where I put them, but it will be a safe place. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will come to me. Do you want to have a hunt for them?”
“Thanks, Karen, I’ll do that. Are you home now?”
“No, I’m visiting Walter at your uncles’ place. I miss Walter so much. Mick is making dinner. He’s cooking.”
“Really? Cooking?” Did that mean opening a can?
“Yes, tuna casserole with mushroom soup and crumbled potato chips baked on the top. I love that.”
So did I, but it was much more cuisine than I expected from Uncle Mick. Something was going on over there. As soon as I got out of the mess I was in, I’d have to find out what was up.
“Karen, the police are going to question me about my involvement with the Adams family and 87 Lincoln Way. They’ll want to talk to you too.”
“Oh dear! What will I say?”
“Just tell the truth. You did nothing wrong.”
“All right, I’ll tell the truth if I can remember it. If not, I hope I don’t cause you problems.”
“You won’t. They won’t suspect you of anything. And your head injury is a matter of record. Don’t worry. I’ll go hunt for those books now.”
I tried Tyler again. This time I used a different tactic when he didn’t answer. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I knew that I could trust him not to do anything that would harm me.
“It’s me,” I said, sweetly. “I need a bit of advice from you. Some very strange things are emerging about the murder. You may not know that I was in the vicinity and also that a fake police officer befriended me. She was pretending to be Candy Mortakis from the Burton police force. The real Candy is a detective over there. The story is so wacky the Burton police are looking at me strangely. They want to interview me about everything. If they hadn’t had a shoot-out in the town, I’d be locked in an interview room right now. Can you offer me any reassurance? Or at least a shoulder to cry on? I’ll be over at my friend’s place late tomorrow afternoon if you have time to talk. Upstairs over the shop.”
There. In case he was also undercover, and the wrong person picked up his phone and got my message, they wouldn’t figure out he was a police officer. And he would know exactly which friend it was.
I decided to interrupt Uncle Mick even if he was making tuna casserole, a challenge to any Kelly.
“I may need a lawyer soon,” I said. “And it’s possible Kev might too. Just giving you a heads-up. We may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Do you want to set something in motion?”
I don’t usually get silence from Mick, but this day was special.
I added, “It’s because I was in the neighborhood of the murder. I was in the house next door. I don’t think I saw anything that can help, but they want to question me because of this bizarre situation.” I filled him in on the Candy ordeal. Neither Mick nor I gave much away on the phone. You never know who can get a warrant for what.
“I’ll ge
t on it right away,” he said. “It’s not like you’ve ever done anything that wasn’t on the straight and narrow, my girl.”
I exchanged a few quick texts with Lance to arrange to meet at eight the next evening for dinner and dishing. I stifled a few yawns. It was too late for any more driving or sleuthing or surprises. Time to catch up on my sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
VERA KEPT ME busy with a plethora of errands the next day. She must have used a lot of energy dreaming them up. But by late afternoon, I had nothing left to do but head over to Karen’s and hunt for the three books she’d hidden. I loved Karen’s cluttered apartment with its books and china and chintz. Despite the clutter, her home was small enough that the books couldn’t stay hidden long.
During the drive to the Cozy Corpse, I kept worrying about inconsistencies that had been bothering me. It was not only the Adams family. But I would have to try to figure it all out later. I hoped I’d have some insights before the Burton police got out the rubber hoses (to use a term from Uncle Mick’s lexicon) and “interviewed” me.
Now added to the mix was the imposter Candy, whoever she was. It finally occurred to me that if Candy had deceived me about the dead police officer, it was because she was the real danger. If anyone was a contract killer, it must have been Candy. She had to be pretty cocky to hang around the crime scene dressed as a cop. This woman had an insane kind of courage. She had wanted something. But what? The Adams family was gone. A cop was dead. What had she been searching for?
I kept a sharp eye out for the navy-blue Tahoe and the treacherous woman who had pretended to be my friend. I did spot a silver Audi going the opposite way. It seemed like they were everywhere. So much for a faltering economy.
Karen was off with Lucky. I parked the Saab on the street to leave room for the Cozy Corpse van when Karen returned. I glanced around but didn’t see any suspicious-looking vehicles. The miserable guy next door was in his backyard, piling leaves into bags near the driveway. He gave me the stink-eye, as usual. His wife stuck her nose out the back door and added her version of the dirty look. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of appearing to notice. I was feeling pretty good in my cashmere coat with my favorite wide-legged trouser jeans. I continued through Karen’s backyard to the back door. At least Karen had left the door locked. I unlocked it and dropped my keys into the pocket of my jeans.
The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 21
