Vera said, “My books.”
Karen said, “He was having memory trouble. I know what that’s like. You have to write down everything or you’ll lose it. And you might lose it anyway.”
It was starting to become clear. “How about this? He was afraid he’d forget these numbers. He couldn’t write them down and leave them where Delilah and Mason would find them. So he gave them to Karen. It was obvious he’d taken a shine to her and felt he could trust her to take care of the books.”
Karen laughed. “But not enough to tell me what was in them. I wonder how much money there was. Maybe I’m not so trustworthy after all. I did just lose my house and business.”
I said, “But you did find true love. That’s good because I think there’s a ton of money. Candy told me that Randolph was a mob accountant who skimmed a lot of cash from some dangerous people who wanted their money back and Randolph dead. So of course, he’d have known how to move that money around. Mason and Delilah must have assumed he couldn’t remember the account information. There’d be no way to get the money without it. That’s why Mason said he’d roughed up Randolph.”
“Even if Mason roughed him up, the stress would just make it harder for him to remember.”
“So we have these numbers, but no way to find out what bank they belong to.”
Vera said, “Of course you can find out. You have everything you need. The transit number is a matter of public record. That will identify the bank. With the account number and the PIN, what else would you need?”
I said, “Right. You could do it online.”
Vera said, “It shouldn’t be difficult. The important thing is that I have my Sayers books back.”
My mouth dropped open. I said, “Yeah that’s the most important thing, all right.”
She had the grace to look abashed. “And of course, I am appreciative, Miss Bingham. And Miss Smith.”
“And you’re glad we’re still alive, along with Officer Dekker and my uncles.”
“Indeed.”
It was as good as it was going to get.
And what would we do with this mob money even if we did get access to it?
Karen’s home and shop had been insured to a degree and she’d now be having a wonderful life with Lucky. I could have used the money for grad school, but it was dirty and dangerous. I didn’t want to go through the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. That potential pile of cash was a death sentence. The only shopping you’d do was for a pair of cement shoes.
• • •
KAREN’S VOICE WAS breathless. “He called me! On my cell phone.”
“Who? Lucky?”
“Randolph!”
“What?”
“He still had my number and he called—”
“Why?”
“He wants to meet to get his books.”
“When? That could be a problem.”
“Tonight. At seven.”
“Oh boy. What did you say?”
“I said yes. But we can’t give him the books.”
“We’d never pry them out of Vera’s grasp. But he doesn’t really want the books. He wants the numbers. And we can sweeten the deal with the Hemingway so that I haven’t actually stolen the books from him. I don’t want that on my conscience anymore.”
“Even though he’s a crook himself.”
“A charming crook though and not a murderer like the people who are after him. Where?”
“The library in Ainslie, if you can believe that.”
• • •
LUCKY DROVE. WE weren’t completely at ease with the idea of meeting Randolph, even though we knew that Candy and Mason were behind bars and had been denied bail. Randolph did still have a price on his head.
In the library, we glanced around, but saw no sign of Randolph. We were lurking in the reference stacks and just about to give up when an attractive, sporty-looking middle-aged man edged in beside us.
“Ladies, I am eternally in your debt,” he said.
Randolph’s voice, but where was the silver hair and fragile old man? Transformed, it seemed.
“Thanks to the miracle of a haircut, a box of Just for Men and a chance to detox from the wrong medication, I am a new man. If you’ll hand me the books, I’ll be away for the rest of my life.”
“We don’t have the books,” I said. “But we have what you need. You’ll find it written on the bookmark tucked in page sixty-four of The Old Man and the Sea. We couldn’t bring ourselves to deface the book. We’re keeping the Sayers books, but you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t go after the money.”
He stared at me and at Karen. Then a smile broke over his face. “I should have realized that two such brilliant women would figure it out. And I am prepared to offer you something for your continued discretion.”
I said, “No, thanks. We’re all right. We’ve seen what it can bring.”
Karen nodded vigorously.
He said, “Thank you. They’ll be after me with or without the money, so . . .”
“You may as well have it. But there’s something I need to know. What about Delilah?”
“Ah, my dear Delilah. She has a history of such bad decisions.”
Karen and I exchanged alarmed glances. We hadn’t liked Delilah much, but that didn’t mean we wished her dead.
Randolph seemed oblivious. “I think all that’s all out of her system now. Mason really manipulated her. But we’ve worked through it.” He turned to gaze at a woman seated fidgeting with a magazine at one of the reference tables. She had giant Jackie O glasses. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing her short, blond bob. Her slender, elegant figure was impossible to mistake. I hoped she’d find a better disguise in the future. Now that Randolph didn’t have to hide his stash from Mason.
They might have been slightly left of the law, but Karen and I hoped they’d make a life somewhere safe. Karen, Lucky and I would keep this meeting our little secret.
• • •
“YES, IT SEEMS that Mr. Kelly was able to sniff out some rare flowering shrubs that were native to this area. And would have been part of the original garden plan when my father built our home. I daresay he is having more success in one day than you have had had in the past month, Jordan.”
I guess risking my life repatriating her collection didn’t count for much. But that’s Vera for you.
On this beautiful late October afternoon, Vera, Kevin, the signora and I stood facing the gardens, as we waited for Uncle Mick to arrive. I twisted my peep-toed heels in the pea gravel.
Vera pressed on about Kevin’s virtues, while he primped the bushes. I had a knot in my stomach. Vera said, “He managed to find, procure and deliver the specimens from a reputable nursery in Somer’s Point.”
“Somer’s Point, New Jersey?” Oh no. Somer’s Point was where Gus the Screw lived. Gus the Screw and Uncle Kevin have been known to hit Atlantic City from time to time and test their “system.”
The knot got tighter as I thought about it. I wished my mother’s emerald-green shantung suit didn’t require such a wasp waist.
“Yes, your uncle was kind enough to pick them up himself. He’s ensured that they were planted before frost. He insisted on making the journey immediately despite all the unpleasantness last week.” Vera sniffed. “I wish you could be as efficient, Jordan.” She smiled a little when she said it, though. I’d helped her pick out a deep-coral blouse, simple pearls and gray trousers. When I wasn’t looking she pinned a subtle diamond circle brooch to her coat. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Vera was starting to enjoy herself and maybe even take a shine to me.
Uncle Mick arrived and loaded Vera into the Navigator and the wheelchair into the back. Little crepe paper bells dangled from every possible attachment point. The signora fussed over Vera, demanding that Mick “Go slowly, slowly!” Then she checked and double-checked the seat belt around her employer.
“Get off me and into the car, Fiammetta. We’re not preparing for a space launch.”
Vera’s departure left me alone with Kevin. “Somer’s Point? Really, Kev?”
“Yeah.” Kevin was oblivious.
“Flowering native shrubs?”
“Myrica pensylvanica, the common Northern Bayberry.” Kevin winked and sparkled at me. “Don’t worry though, we dug them up from the side of the turnpike, totally free.” He was preening the shrubs like Vidal Sassoon might fluff a fresh bob.
“Wait, we? You got Gus the Screw to help you dig up flowering shrubs?”
“Gus? Ah, no, he doesn’t dig holes for trees usually. I went with Harry . . . You know, the neighbor guy? Harry Yerxa?”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that. I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten all about Harry. “You know where Harry is?”
“Indeed, I do, Sugar Plum. He’s hittin’ the slots in Atlantic City. Like I just told ya.” He shook his head as if I was a little slow on the uptake, but he’d forgive me because I was cute.
Kevin loaded a gym bag into the Saab. “I’m going to get ready there, so I don’t get anything sweaty.” I nodded and shuddered. And I thought I caught a glimpse of a braided hemp sandal poking from Kev’s bag.
• • •
THE KELLYS WERE born to party. And this was going to be the party to end all Kelly parties.
The repairs to the walls and doors had been made in record time, thanks to an army of uncles. Michael Kelly’s Fine Antiques was looking its best. Everything in the shop had been moved out to the many storage places in the neighborhood or hidden under groaning tables covered with tablecloths—Kelly green, it goes without saying. This was good, as a certain police officer was in attendance and we didn’t need him to spot anything that might be on a list of things that had fallen off the back of a truck.
Flickering candles lent a magical green glow. I did my best not to worry about the provenance of the polished silver gleaming on every table. This was the first family wedding I had ever been part of. My head was whirling with happiness for Karen and Uncle Lucky. We had so much to celebrate. Being alive, for example.
Karen was glowing too. Her wild red curls were caught up into a Victorian updo and accessorized with small jeweled combs. Her skin was clear again and her hand steady. The antique cream crepe organza dress with its satin trim had a high-waisted column skirt. It flattered her pale skin and vibrant hair as did the simple touches of gold jewelry. I took a certain pride in the fact I had found the dress at a vintage shop, just at the point where Karen had given up in despair. It was my gift to her.
Uncle Lucky was beaming. His head gleamed. His vintage tux was at full capacity. The Kelly green cummerbund strained against his midsection. The tux hadn’t seen the light of day since the early eighties. But I hoped it would survive the night without seam failure.
Mick was holding forth to whoever would listen. As best man, he too wore a tux and a green cummerbund. The ladies were not disappointed, as his bow tie was undone and the pleated shirt open to offer a peak at the gold chain nestled in his ginger chest hair.
Walter wore a custom-made vest to match Lucky’s tuxedo and a Kelly green bow tie. A variety of Kelly uncles worked the crowd: Billy and Danny certainly gave Mick competition with the lady guests. Others kept a low profile. Everyone but me steered clear of Smiley in his Dockers, white shirt and gray blazer. I was delighted to see that he’d brought Cobain in a tuxedo T-shirt. There wouldn’t be any awkwardness with Lance, as he’d RSVP’d no to his invitation, not that I was happy about that. I guessed we had some stuff to work out.
Smiley gave me that grin with the chipped incisor and said, “I checked out the Church of the Eternal Musings and they are a very pet-inclusive organization. I won’t go so far as to say religion. No problem with Walter and Cobain attending this wedding.”
Another grin. “You look nice,” he said.
I blushed. “It’s my first time in a wedding party. We’re not big on them in our family, except for Mick’s Russian brides, but those are stories for another day. All to say, being maid of honor is great. Karen doesn’t have any family so I am also subbing for the father of the bride and I’ll walk her down the aisle.
The food table was groaning. The best of traditional Kelly cuisine. Vast platters of white bread sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Egg, tuna and something unidentifiable. It took me a minute to recall devilled ham. I had hoped for peanut butter and jam. I admit to a certain weakness for all these fillings. There were towers of cocktail franks and spicy red sauce. Ritz Crackers and Cheez Whiz. Bowls of sour cream and ketchup potato chips to continue the theme. And in a concession to modern times, an acre or so of wings, barbecue and honey garlic, although those were probably too trendy for Mick.
In the corner, a fiddler was beginning to tune up. Would the roof stay on tonight? Vera was parked at an angle, staring at the mountain of food, a look of surprise on her face.
I said, “No chance of zucchini here. Or any other vegetable. You are safe for the duration of the wedding and the reception.”
She nodded. And smiled. “Party sandwiches.”
“Don’t forget to save room for the cake.”
On the other side of the table, the signora was trying to figure out exactly what the Cheez Whiz actually was. No one had mentioned that this was a food occasion to her, or she would have whipped up enough for the entire gathering. But it wouldn’t have been Kelly food and I had made sure it didn’t happen. I had taken the several bags she’d brought and stashed it all in Uncle Mick’s fridge. Karen would be happy with it on her honeymoon.
Speaking of honeymoons, it was time for the wedding.
Turned out Uncle Kev was an ordained minister from an online church and was able to perform the ceremony. I had actually triple-checked this in order to prevent any legal awkwardness for the bride in years to come. It was hard for me to believe that the Church of the Eternal Musings could possibly be legit, but I had lost that bet with Kev.
Kevin swanned to the front of the room, arms outstretched to his flock. I rushed to the front. What the hell was he wearing?
“What?” he said. “It’s religious.”
“Those aren’t religious vestments. That’s your Moses costume from two Halloweens ago.”
“Like you can tell without the staff and tablets.” He shooed me to the side and boomed to the gathering, “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here together . . .”
The rest of the ceremony was short, sweet and unique, to say the least.
The crowd of uncles, friends, colleagues, crooks and cops clapped, cheered and teared up as Lucky swept his new bride into his arms.
My iPhone vibrated. I checked it and found a text from Lance with a photo attached. The text said, Sorry I missed the wedding, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me when you see this. I opened the attachment to find a grinning Tiffany in front of the sign for the Buffalo Niagara International Airport.
It was now the perfect wedding.
So many happy endings.
Best of all, I now had a brand new aunt whom I already loved.
Vera had her collection back.
I got to keep the job I loved.
Lucky and Karen had a shot at real happiness.
Lance had forgiven me.
My best friend was coming home.
And there were all those party sandwiches.
Life after Wimsey was good.
Recipes
People love the sound of Signora Panetone’s meals. Here are three recipes from her kitchen.
POLLO AI PEPERONI(CHICKEN WITH PEPPERS)
Although the signora would make this simple chicken dish using ripe, luscious tomatoes and juicy peppers from her own garden, it’s even good in the winter with whatever passes for tomatoes and peppers. Not as good as the late-summer version, but good. And for you busy people out there, it’s easy to make, reasonably quick cooking and even better the next day.
This is a typical and traditional Italian dish. Signora usually makes it this way, but sometimes she changes it to keep you on your toes, or
because she has a little more or less of something.
2 chickens, cut into serving pieces
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, slivered
1/4 cup flour for chicken
1/2 cup dry white wine (whatever you have, although in Rome it would probably be Frascati)
1 pound fresh ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
3 juicy peppers, seeded and cut in strips (we used orange and green to contrast with the tomatoes)
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leave or 1 tsp (or to taste)dried thyme
Salt and pepper
If the signora was writing this, she might say, first you catch your chicken. Please take the easier route and buy the chicken already cut.
In a large pan, heat the oil with the garlic for about 5 minutes. Dry the chicken and shake in a bag with the flour. You can skip this stage if you want, but it won’t brown as nicely. Add chicken to the oil and garlic and brown the pieces all over. If there is too much chicken fat in the pan, you may want to remove some with a bulb baster. Then sprinkle with wine. Cook for two minutes, then add the tomatoes and the peppers. Season with thyme, salt and pepper, cover tightly and simmer for about 40 minutes. Don’t cook too high or too long if you want the chicken to be tender and you do.
The signora would serve this with a crisp green salad, a loaf of crusty bread and a glass of Frascati.
ZUPPA RUSTICA (RUSTIC ITALIAN SOUP)
The signora makes this very simple peasant soup when Vera or Jordan need comfort food. Or if the cupboard is nearly bare. The whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.
2 quarts good quality chicken stock (Homemade is best, but there are very good boxed or frozen versions out there.)
1/2 cup of hot water plus 1 bouillon cube or 1/2 cup stock
2 cups fine dried bread crumbs
The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 26
