by Fiona Quinn
“I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a car coming up the driveway.”
Alarm didn’t even come close to what Lacey felt in that moment.
“Calm.” He smiled. “Calm. Breathe. The car has a single person in it. It looks like a middle-aged woman. She’s driving a beat-up old Buick. Do you recognize my description?”
Lacey shook her head and strained to see the car coming up. “Are you sure? There’s no one there.”
“I saw her on the road. I’m a bit taller than you are. Did you find your rocks? Are these the ones?” Deep pointed to the soldier row.
“I think so. It was so long ago, there’s no way I can be sure.”
“Okay, I want you to nonchalantly move toward the Land Rover. We aren’t trying to get away. That would rouse suspicions. Just head toward the car. I have you covered. Nothing bad will happen to you.” Deep was kneeling at her feet, and Lacey leaned her thighs into his chest.
“You can do this, sweetheart. If she wonders why you’re here, it’s not a problem. You’ve been to the house before. Tell whoever it is that you’re checking on the temperatures in the house to make sure that the art isn’t being damaged. Make up some shit.”
When Deep said that, Lacey looked down into his face. He was having a good time. How could this be a good time for him, when she was doing everything in her power not to pee in her panties?
The car moved into her view but was still a ways off.
“Where are you going to be?” Lacey asked.
“I’m going to blend in.”
“Whatever that means.”
“Wherever you are, I’ll be your shadow,” Deep said.
“Are you quoting some James Bond movie line or something?”
“Nah.” Deep chuckled. “Lacey, you’re going to do fine. Okay, do you have the phone I gave you?”
Lacey patted her pocket, then pulled it out.
Deep took it from her and played with the buttons. Then he tucked it into the waistband of her pants, leaving it sticking most of the way out. “That’s eyes and ears,” he started, but Lacey shook her head with non-comprehension as the car moved closer and closer.
“I’ll be able to hear everything you say. If you say the word ‘tapestry,’ it means I’m to come and pull you out of the situation. Say ‘tapestry.’”
“Tapestry.” Lacey wriggled one knee in front of the other, then switched.
“If you see anything interesting or you want to record her face, just aim the phone that way. You’ll be recording audio and video the whole time, and I can see that as well. If you get the chance, I want you to find out anything you can that might give us a clue as to what’s going on. Got it?”
“Got it,” Lacey said, putting on what she considered to be her game face. But that only made Deep chuckle again. He gave her a little push in the right direction. She took three steps forward and turned to say something to Deep, but he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lacey
Wednesday
“Miss Stuart, oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” the woman said through the gap made when she gave her car door a two-handed shove. She gripped the side of the Buick and the door handle and hefted herself out with some effort. Deep was right, this woman was late-middle-aged. She wore an oversized grey coat over her black maid’s uniform with its crisp white apron showing in the opening. An orange scarf wrapped around the creped skin of her neck, and she tugged a hand-knit hat over her curls for the short walk from the car to the kitchen door.
She must have met Danika, posing as me. Lacey had no idea who this woman was. She walked forward, but made sure to keep her distance so the height difference between Danika and her wasn’t as noticeable to this woman. Lacey wondered how observant she was. Would she discern, for example, anything was off about how she moved or the way she spoke? “Hello.” Lacey decided to try and keep her sentence short and sweet.
The woman pulled a wad of keys from her pocket. “The funeral home called me again this morning, ma’am, and I don’t know what to tell them except that I would pass along the message.”
“I’m sorry, did you leave a message for me already?” What in the world was going on?
“No, ma’am, with Mr. Winslow. Mr. Winslow told me you weren’t to be bothered with such things. I’m sorry that you’ve taken Mr. Krokov’s death so hard.” She touched her fist of keys to her heart, then gestured toward the door.
Lacey moved that way, working hard not to let her eyes search where she thought Deep might be “blending.” “My uncle is out of the country right now. He’s actually been gone for months. Have you been in contact with him recently?” Lacey watched the maid unlock the door.
“No, ma’am, things had mostly settled down after the funeral. There were some additional issues after they exhumed Mr. Krokov.”
Exhumed?
“Pity about the mix-up.” The housekeeper continued as she pushed the door open, then held it politely open for Lacey. “It seems wrong somehow to bury a body and then dig him back up that way.”
Lacey stood in the kitchen as the woman made her way in, shut the door, and turned toward Lacey to finish her thought. “I don’t know why that struck me as spitting in the poor man’s face. It was, after all, the scientists making things right, the way Mr. Krokov wanted them.” She stopped and her eyes opened wide. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” She pulled her dress out to the sides and did some odd little curtsey-like thing that made her look even more embarrassed. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook in the pantry, then reemerged, wiping her hands down the front of her apron to smooth its already pristine appearance. Finally, the woman came to rest in front of Lacey, where she stood with her eyes pointed forward and her hands dangling by her sides like a soldier waiting for an order.
Lacey moved into the house that she had been through many times, but always in the capacity of her role at the gallery. She patted the housekeeper’s shoulder as she passed by. Though her uncle and Radovan had been lovers for more than two years, she had never been invited there socially.
“Could you tell me what the funeral home needs? Perhaps I can help, since my uncle won’t be back in the States for quite a while.”
“The funeral director wants Mr. Winslow to be the one who picks up Mr. Krokov’s jewelry that the university removed when his body was dug back up.”
Lacey blinked. What? “Perhaps they would let me pick that up. I’ll call to see. Do you have the phone number and the name of the person with whom I should speak?” Lacey asked.
The housekeeper bustled to the other side of the kitchen where she pulled a notebook from the drawer under the house phone. Opening the cover, she dragged her finger down the page, then stopped. “Here it is.”
Lacey reached out and took the whole notebook from her hand and looked at the message, then tucked the spiral-bound book under her arm. “How are you doing in all of this?” Lacey asked kindly. Lacey felt like she was stretching the boundaries. Perhaps this wasn’t the way Danika would have addressed the help.
“Everything is going along fine. It’s sad though, the house being empty. Mr. Krokov was such a lovely man. And his birds—I miss their singing.”
Lacey turned her head toward the game room and noticed that their cage no longer hung from the limb. “But you don’t miss cleaning up from where they had flown about,” Lacey said.
The housekeeper smiled uncomfortably. “That’s true. They were beautiful, though. I thought perhaps you took them to your house?”
“Me?” Uh-oh. “Why would you think that?”
“Since they were part of your engagement present, I just assumed . . . That horrible day when I found Mr. Krokov.” She stopped and made a sign of the cross. “I had come in to feed the birds. And of course they weren’t here. I thought there was something off in the house, it smelled badly, and that’s when I found . . . you don’t need to hear this. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The housekeeper folded her hands in front
of her and seemed to cave in a little.
“Thank you kindly. Here, let’s go into the game room and sit.” Lacey led the way, hoping to show that she knew the house, and she belonged here. I was engaged to Radovan? He gave me those birds as part of an engagement present? Lacey pitched back in her memory, trying to remember when the birds first showed up in the house. Certainly they were there in July. She had been hanging the painting in his bedroom, and downstairs Radovan had been getting after someone for leaving the door ajar. He was afraid the birds would fly away.
They moved farther into the house, into the open room that held the seating and gaming areas. A cover was draped over the billiards table. Lacey sat and flipped quickly through the book of notes passed back and forth between Radovan and the housekeeper—her name was Agatha.
“Please continue. You know my Uncle Bartholomew is very protective of me, and I don’t believe I know the whole story. Or maybe I was told the whole story, but these past few months have been a fog. You’ll forgive me if I seem a little off.” Lacey made a gesture with her open palm toward the love seat, and Agatha looked a little taken aback, but sank down anyway to the edge of the cushion. Her big red hands gripped the ends of her knees. Lacey moved to sit kitty-corner to her on the couch. “So, you found my dear Radovan. And then what happened?”
“I called the office number for the police and told them my boss had passed away in his sleep. They sent an officer and a medical examiner’s assistant.” Agatha gestured toward the notebook, and Lacey handed it back. “Here. The medical examiner’s person was Jennifer Kyte, and she called his doctor.”
“Which one? Did you jot it down?” Lacey asked, mentally crossing her fingers that he had had more than one.
“Yes, this one. Dr. Brad, the cardiologist.”
Lacey reached to take the notebook back. She thought there was probably some very good information in there. “Why did they do that?”
“I wasn’t trying to snoop. I wasn’t listening in, but I was in the room and all.”
“Of course, Agatha, there is nothing that you did that was wrong. It’s me. I’m afraid I’ve been so depressed, that my mind’s not working as it should. It would be a kindness if you could help me retrieve my memories of what all has happened since Radovan passed.”
“Yes, ma’am. Well the police called Dr. Brad and asked them if he’d sign the papers.”
“Which papers are these?
“The one’s that said Mr. Krokov died of natural causes, so they wouldn’t have to do an autopsy.”
“Yes, of course, well, he had the heart condition. This was somewhat expected, certainly. I hoped for more time with him before he left me alone in this world without him.” Lacey sighed and tried to play the part of grieving fiancée.
“Yes, ma’am. I had called you immediately, but since you didn’t answer, I called Mr. Winslow since he and Mr. Krokov were such close friends.”
“Which was perfect.” Lacey nodded her approval.
“Mr. Winslow said he’d handle things, and everyone—the police and the medical examiner lady—went away. Then the funeral home sent the hearse, and Servepro came and cleaned everything up. They took the bedding and mattress with them, and they had to cut a square out of the carpet. But Mr. Winslow said that made no never mind since it was under the bed. Then he had a new boxed spring and mattress delivered the next day. I made up the bed with fresh sheets and covers.”
Lacey felt her stomach turn over. She fought against the need to be sick. If they had to cut out the carpeting, it meant that parts of Radovan had seeped through the mattress. It was too much. She needed to change the subject for the moment.
Lacey got up and walked under the massive fichus tree and put her hand on the trunk. “And the birds weren’t here the day you came in to take care of them? They were gone?”
“Yes, ma’am. This is how I found things that day. As you can see, the cage is gone, their food was gone, even the birdseed and pin feathers that are so hard to vacuum up were gone. There was nothing for me to do as far as cleaning up after them goes.” Her brow drew in with confusion. “I assumed that you had taken them to your house, since Mr. Krokov was supposed to have gone out of town, and you all forgot to tell me.”
“No, I didn’t take the birds out of here. I can’t imagine . . . That’s really very strange, Agatha.”
“Yes, ma’am, if you say so.”
“My uncle arranged for Radovan’s funeral, and his burial, of course. He has more experience at this than I do. Such a sad day.”
“It was, yes, ma’am.”
“You know, I’m feeling rather poorly. Would you be kind enough to make me a cup of tea?”
Agatha jumped up with obvious relief and moved to the kitchen. Lacey used the time to search through the notebook, holding the camera to take capture the information on each page. Agatha had been meticulous about recording all incoming calls and what she did with each piece of information. Between the discovery of Radovan’s body and his burial, there were many incoming calls that were routed to her uncle. Which made sense. That Agatha thought she was Radovan’s fiancée, though—that was disgusting beyond words. Lacey wondered what Agatha thought Rodavan and her Uncle Bartholomew’s relationship was.
Lacey moved around the room, hunting for anything that would give her information, anything that would explain the day that she found herself staring into the eyes of a killer. What she found was a series of framed photographs of Danika with Radovan. Why these very personal and very, wow, revealing photos were on such public display was a mystery. Lacey couldn’t imagine why they were in the public room, other than that Radovan seemed to find some satisfaction with the display of the human body. At least, that had always been his taste in the oils he had bought from the gallery. These photos were a lot less artistic and a lot more pornographic in nature, and even though this wasn’t her—it was Danika in the photos—Agatha didn’t know that. Lacey showed the phone in her waistband each of the photographs. Lacey’s face was a bright cherry red as Agatha walked back into the room.
Lacey spun the photo of Danika kissing the tip of Radovan’s grizzly old-man’s penis toward Agatha, then clutched it to her heart with a sigh and a shake of her head. “I miss him so.” She hoped Agatha would interpret the revulsion on her face as grief.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lacey walked back to the sofa wondering if Danika had actually had feelings for Radovan or if he was somehow part of the arts scam. Or maybe a different scam. She remembered what Deep had said about criminal schemes, and how they were never straightforward. It seemed absolutely true. Every step they took shed light and cast shadows onto this knot of confusion. She didn’t think there was a way to untangle these events, especially if major participants were missing — either dead, like Danika probably was, and Radovan definitely was, or permanently out of the picture, like Uncle Bartholomew. Would even some of our questions get answered? she wondered.
Agatha settled a tea tray onto the coffee table. She had prepared it with a beautiful china tea set, a little silver box with tea choices, and a delicate plate with cookies. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t expecting you today, so I don’t have any pastries or chocolates the way you like.” She stood in front of Lacey, waiting for her next directive.
“Please sit down again, Agatha. This is fine.” Lacey leaned forward and prepared her cup. “Just a cup of tea, I think. Now, I see in the notebook that there’s another doctor’s name, a Dr. Nadeer. I don’t know that Radovan told me about him . . . her . . .?”
“Oh, he couldn’t have. That’s the one who’s a scientist with the university.”
“It says in the notes that you took that Dr. Nadeer had made arrangements with the funeral home and everything was taken care of. You left a message at my uncle’s, but I don’t see where he responded to you.”
“No, ma’am, he didn’t call me back. We spoke in person.”
“He must have forgotten to tell me. Do you remember what Dr. Nadeer handled?”
>
Agatha tried to hide the odd look on her face, and Lacey thought she’d just made a big mistake. Agatha scooted even farther to the edge of the love seat. “If your uncle didn’t tell you, ma’am, I’m not sure that I’m the one to say.”
Agatha’s eyes searched around the room, looking everywhere but Lacey’s face. Lacey reached out her hands to calm Agatha, well to hold her in place since she looked like she wanted to bolt from the room. “Agatha?” Lacey put authority behind her voice as she’d learned to do growing up when she needed to control her mother or the help.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry if you didn’t know, but the university exhumed his body and took it away to the lab.” She lifted her apron skirt and coughed behind the panel. She lowered and smoothed it, her gaze in her lap. “Your uncle didn’t tell you?”
“I’m sure he did, but he also sedated me to get me through the first few horrible months. The doctor prescribed some pain medications for me, so that whole time is fuzzy.”
“Mr. Krokov had promised his body to Dr. Nadeer for research. He had signed papers and all. Mr. Winslow’s attorney—”
“Mr. Reynolds? How do you know this?”
“They ate dinner here. I was serving them. And, yes, ma’am, Mr. Reynolds was the one. He read over the documents and said they were legitimate. It was what they called a ‘directive.’”
“Yes, that sounds like Radovan, wishing to support the sciences.” Actually, it doesn’t sound like Radovan at all. “The thought of him being. . .” Lacey gave a shudder. “I don’t like to think of them experimenting on him,” she said to cover the reflex. She offered a feeble smile. “Do you know what institute Dr. Nadeer works for?”
“No, ma’am. I heard them talking, but I don’t know which university has his remains.” She rubbed her hands together as if trying to wash away her responsibility. “Since your uncle is out of town, do you think you could go by the funeral home and collect Mr. Krokov’s effects?”
