Lance shouted into the phone, “Jordan, no! Wait for the police.”
“Sorry, she’s given them ten minutes. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll get yourself killed!”
“Just make sure the cops get here in time.”
“Be careful. You know how I feel about you.”
No time to think about that. I crept from the closet back to the hallway and along to the linen closet with the subtly hidden door that led down to Uncle Lucky’s broom closet. Uncle Lucky kept the space clear for ease of getting in or out. This small, neat closet led to the hidden stairs and also to a door outside. Always thinking, the Kellys.
I feared for happy-go-lucky Mick and for Lucky, who had finally found happiness with Karen, and for Walter. If anything happened to any one of the three, I would never be able to forgive myself.
Of course, there’s a peephole in the broom closet door. Mason’s back was to me. I channeled my anger toward the man with the gun. And that was easy. I couldn’t hesitate even though I am not the kind of person who attacks another human.
Slowly, I let the door open an inch. Naturally Lucky kept it well oiled. We were getting close to the ten-minute mark. I frantically searched for something I could use as a weapon against the vile Mason. Nothing but a broom, a mop and a bucket. I was out of time and still short a weapon. The only thing I had going for me was the element of surprise. I lunged from behind and dropped the bucket over Mason’s head. Uncle Lucky leapt like a giant ballet dancer and used his bulk to bring Mason down onto the rolled-up carpet without a sound beyond the oooof of Mason’s breath being knocked out of him. I used the scissors to free Lucky’s hands and feet. I grabbed the gun as Lucky let Mason experience being restrained and gagged by duct tape. For added security, he unfurled the rug and rolled Mason in it. I figured it wouldn’t kill him, but he’d never get out of it on his own. I would have been happy to hand the weapon to Uncle Lucky, but he was bending over Karen and picking her up. “Shhh,” he whispered.
We were thinking as one Kelly when we hustled though the broom cupboard in less than a minute, Karen in Uncle Lucky’s arms. As we exited, we could hear Candy shout.
I said, “Get Karen to a safe place. We have to go in for Mick. Candy is vicious. He doesn’t know anything and she has nothing to gain by keeping him alive. I’ll go in through the shop. You take the back stairs.”
Lucky nodded and hurried away. I didn’t wait for a response. I hoped the police had arrived. I would have been very glad of reinforcements at this stage, but Mick’s life was too close to the line to delay.
I crept around the edges of the shop, careful not to trip over the piles of objects strewn here and there. Too bad there were no peepholes from the shop to the apartment. The door was opened a half inch. I peered through. I could see Uncle Mick, but not Candy. She was probably distracted, looking for Mason and, if she found him, unrolling him out of the carpet. Maybe she was pistol-whipping him as she went. Time was short for Uncle Mick. I dashed through the door, keeping low and leaving the shop door open behind me. I hoped for enough time to get the panel to the hidden staircase open. I couldn’t lift Uncle Mick. He is, as we say, a man of substance. I grabbed a serrated kitchen knife and sawed through his duct tape bonds.
“Push,” I whispered as we made it through the opening, pulling the false wall closed behind us. The space that was tight for one was now painfully crowded with a man of substance, a hyperventilating adult woman, a snuffling Walter and a gangly Cobain who kept trying to climb into my arms. If Candy heard us, we wouldn’t be breathing for long.
I was absolutely sure that she’d hear us trying to escape through one of the upstairs exits. I peered through the hole. She was back, glancing around the room, checking under the table. She actually scratched her head. Could she hear Walter snuffling?
I was surprised she couldn’t hear my heartbeat. I had a weapon in my hand but of course I had no idea how to use it. She stared at the slightly open door to the antique shop and then turned her head to the visible stairs. Which way would she go? Whichever, we would be taking the other.
After a couple of seconds, she pivoted and headed for the shop. That was our chance to get out. But of course, it was not to be. Boys will be boys.
Walter couldn’t resist talking back to the mean lady. Cobain added his two cents.
With a reverse pivot, Candy was now facing our hiding place. While our staircase was hidden, the thin fake wall wouldn’t protect us from a spray of bullets. Being a dog, Walter didn’t need a peephole to know that she was coming for us. He barked all the way up the stairs.
We Kellys are lovers, not fighters, and we will always pick the path of least bullets.
I collided with Uncle Mick as we crashed up the stairs in the dark. I heard the wall splinter as the first bullets came through.
It would have been good if Walter had stopped the racket. The sound of the gunfire just revved him further. Still, the gun made enough noise to drown out our departure and probably Walter’s protest. Mick picked him up.
How long before Candy figured we were upstairs? We made it to the top and scuttled down the hallway to the linen closet. We thundered down those stairs to Uncle Lucky’s sitting room again, then we heard her in the hallway.
“Might as well come out, if you want to live.”
Not likely we’d fall for that. Walter helpfully yipped back at her. It wouldn’t take long before she found the opening in the linen closet. All we needed was a minute head start.
Mick was breathing like a locomotive when we made it to the downstairs utility closet and fumbled to open the door into the side yard. We staggered along the side of the house into the crisp October evening and into the view of a bouquet of police cars. Tyler Dekker was in the first one. He must have charmed his way through his statement.
I raced toward him. He sprang—and that is not too strong a word—from the car and grabbed me in a bear hug. “Candy’s still inside. And armed.”
If the scramble to escape from Candy didn’t kill Uncle Mick, the sight of me in Smiley’s arms might do him in. Sure enough, he was bent over, hands on his knees, his face as red as the Heinz ketchup he loved so much.
Police in riot gear were assembling outside the house. Candy was in for a real reception if she emerged and a worse one if she didn’t.
She had found the secret staircases. Did we need to reveal the Kelly family secret hideouts to the police? It was a high price to pay to get her out of there, but I saw no choice.
Again, Smiley wrapped his arms around me. I looked to the side and I did a little double take. A crowd had gathered. Some of them looked familiar. Vera sat stone-faced and silent in her wheelchair, arms crossed. The signora seemed to be dancing a hysterical little jig. Uncle Kev moved like a blur toward Mick and grabbed him in a bear hug, lifting him right off his feet. As I moved into view, the signora shouted something and I swear that Vera grinned. Past them at the edge of the crowd I caught a glimpse of Lance hovering.
The police were holding back the crowd as teams prepared to storm the building. I moved to meet Lance.
He wasn’t smiling. He approached me slowly and without his usual twinkle. He thrust a bag of books into my arms. The Sayers books.
He said, “Judging by what I saw on TV, I guess our date’s off tonight. Here are the books. Your secret’s still safe with me.”
Oh no. I had really hoped our kiss wouldn’t have made the news coverage. I opened my mouth too late. Lance slipped through the crowd and vanished.
A phalanx of cops moved forward. The door to the shop disintegrated as the SWAT team entered.
As I joined the crowd of police, onlookers and relatives, Vera wheeled forward, grimly. I straightened my back as she approached.
“Miss Bingham,” she said.
“I’m sorry. I did my best to get your collection back and—”
She raised a hand to silence me. “I was remiss.”
What?
She continued. “Your Uncle Kevin ha
s been speaking to us. I realize now that your life and Karen Smith’s life and your uncles’ lives as well were in jeopardy. Although he didn’t say as much, I must acknowledge that I pushed you into a dangerous situation to satisfy my desire to possess my collection again.”
“Officer Dekker was almost killed too.”
She glowered. This apology probably wasn’t coming easy to her. Apparently, I’d gotten all that was coming. Lesson learned: don’t push your luck with Vera.
I said, “I appreciate what you’re saying, but of course there was no way for you to know where the search would lead.”
She had pressured me into a dangerous situation, but I was my own woman and had to admit, I could have stood my ground a bit better. If she could manage that apology, then I could be gracious.
I hoped like hell that the metal box actually did contain the missing three books from her Sayers collection.
• • •
“IT WAS VERY kind of Vera to offer her guest room,” Karen said, the next day. She was bundled up on the love seat in my cozy garret and starting to get her color back after her ordeal. It had been worth the two story climb to get her there. The signora had already arrived with hot chocolate and delicious pastries. Karen could have some recovery time at Van Alst House, leaving Lucky and Mick to start dealing with the damage to the Kelly “homestead.”
“Open the box,” Karen said. “I can’t wait any longer. I hope the smoke didn’t damage them.”
“Me too.”
“I’m glad we can do this together,” she said.
“Yeah me too, although we’re running out of places to hang out together. Let’s hope Van Alst House doesn’t burn down or get riddled with bullets.”
“I sure hope the police release the crime scene soon. Lucky is very distressed.”
“Shame. I guess it’s not a surprise anymore that he was renovating his place to make a love nest for the two of you.”
Karen nodded. “After losing my home and my business and almost being killed yesterday, I could go my whole life without another surprise.”
“Hard to believe that all that happened. Seems surreal now that we’re safe.” I eyed Karen for signs of fragility. “I am so sorry about everything that happened. You seem to be taking it in stride.” I was worried that it hadn’t all sunk in.
“It’s only stuff, Jordan. I’m happy to be alive and now I have a future with Lucky.” She leaned over and squeezed my hand. “And you escaped too. I couldn’t help noticing you and Officer Dekker are, um, getting along very well.”
I changed the subject to one we both agreed on. “Did you ever think you’d be so happy to see two people led away in handcuffs? I was almost sorry they didn’t try to resist arrest.”
“But we got the Sayers books back.”
I paused to think about Randolph for a minute. “I wonder if Randolph also made it. Or if . . .”
“We may never know. Try not to think about it. Let’s make sure the collection is all here and unharmed.”
I was overwhelmed with relief when I opened that box and found the missing volumes. “They’re all here. The three Sayers books. The Hemingway. And your two Edith Wharton firsts.”
“If you hadn’t been on the ball, they would have been lost in the fire.”
“But they weren’t. Let’s make sure they’re in good enough shape to make Vera happy, and while we’re at it, we should try to figure out why Candy and Mason thought they were worth killing over.”
Karen and I pored over the Sayers books, flipping through the pages gently. They didn’t smell like smoke. But there was another odor I couldn’t quite place. They had made it through pretty much unscathed, except for a bit of damage to the spine of The Nine Tailors from being thrown across the room. There were no obvious answers when we finished.
Karen shook her head. “It’s very strange. The three Sayers books are collectible and in great shape, reasonably expensive but not . . .”
“I know what you’re saying. I don’t understand why Candy and Mason were so desperate to get them. There are Beanie Babies that would get a better price. But at least Vera will be satisfied.”
Chapter Sixteen
APPARENTLY VERA DIDN’T do satisfied.
“Miss Bingham,” she said in her best voice of doom as I slowly deflated in the conservatory later that morning. She was closely examining the Sayers collection as Karen and I perched on the edge of our chairs, holding our breath.
“Yes?”
“I believe you said the collection was in the same condition as when it vanished from the safety of my library.” She shot Karen a dirty look, possibly thinking about billing her for her stay.
“That’s right except for the slight damage to the spine of The Nine Tailors, which I already mentioned to you.”
“No, not that. This.” She held open The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club.
“I don’t see what’s wrong.”
“Water damage. Can you not see the buckling here on page sixty-four?”
I leaned forward. She was right. Not that anyone else would have noticed the minute damage on the inside margin of the page. What a strange place for water damage. How could water get in there and miss the rest of the page? Smoke damage, I could see, but where would the water come from? When Karen left with the three books, they were safely in her bag.
“How could that have happened?”
“A better question, Miss Bingham, is why is there water damage on all three?” She pointed to Clouds of Witness and Have His Carcase.
I picked up Clouds of Witness.
Vera said, “It’s on page sixty-four.”
Sure enough. The same kind of mark. The same page. A long, skinny rectangle of rippled paper.
“And observe Have His Carcase.”
I sighed. Of course, it also had a long, thin, rectangular wrinkly bit. “What about the others? Is there any water damage there?”
“Lucky for you there wasn’t.”
So how did the same type of damage get on the same page in three different books? I stared at the three books. The marks were similar, but not identical. One short. One medium. One longer.
“But the books didn’t go near any water. They were perfectly safe once Randolph gave them to me,” Karen said.
Vera said, “And it certainly didn’t happen when they were in my possession.”
I said, “It can’t be a coincidence that these were the books Randolph gave to the Karen. And it looks so uniform. Almost as if it was done deliberately.”
“Ridiculous. Who would damage a book deliberately? Only a fool or a child.”
Candy and Mason didn’t have the books, and Kev, our resident fool, never got near them. There were no children involved. If there had been, I could have seen it. How many times had I doodled in the margins of a dusty book from Uncle Mick’s shop? But this wasn’t doodling. It was something else. I picked up The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club again and sniffed page sixty-four. I was rewarded by a sharp and pungent scent. I passed the book to Karen.
“Do you smell that? We noticed it in the box. Do you think it could be vinegar?”
Her eyes widened. “I do. But why?”
Vera roared. “Food substance? On my books?”
At the roar, the signora swept in from the kitchen, clutching some freshly cut herbs. “You hungry?”
“Travesty,” Vera muttered.
“Why indeed? Why would someone put vinegar in a book?”
“And only on page sixty-four.”
Something tickled my brain. “When I was a kid, Uncle Lucky showed me how to make invisible ink out of vinegar and lemon. You could use either one. It was a lot of fun. All you had to do was hold it up to the heat of a lightbulb to reveal the hidden writing. We would leave secret messages for each other.”
Vera barked, “Who would dare write a message in my books?”
“Randolph!” Karen and I said it together.
I added. “He was desperate, a prisoner. He knew you’d look
closely at those books. That must have been why he gave them to you.”
Karen said, “But how do we see what the message says?”
“We need an incandescent bulb for the light and the heat. We’ve changed most of our bulbs here to CFLs, but I think Vera has some in her study.”
I picked up the three books and took off down the endless hallway to the study, with Karen at my heels and Vera gaining in her wheelchair. “Miss Bingham! Do not damage my books further!”
I ran faster. I needed to do this. In the study, I flipped on the desk lamp and held page sixty-four of The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club up to it. Slowly, the paper browned and a string of numbers was revealed.
Vera squawked. I lifted Have His Carcase. Page sixty-four. Paper browned. A shorter string of numbers.
Vera said, “This is unacceptable!”
Karen said, “She has to. A man might have died because of those numbers. And Jordan, Tyler Dekker, her uncles and I almost did too.”
A grunt. I took it to be permission and held up the last book, Clouds of Witness. Four numbers this time.
We had our answer. Of course, we didn’t know what the question was. What did these numbers mean?
We copied them down so Vera could get her precious books back. Karen and I stared at them.
I said, “Is it some kind of code?”
Karen said, “Not my strength.”
“Mine either.”
Vera rolled closer and glared at the three groups of numbers. “Obviously, twelve digits is a bank account number.”
I said, “But what about the others?”
“Really, Miss Bingham. The nine digits must be a routing number for the financial institution. The four could be anything. A check number. A PIN.”
I said, “But why would Randolph, assuming it’s Randolph, write banking information in a book?”
The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 25
