by Kim Baldwin
“Aren’t you too old to be…as you Americans say…doing Europe on a shoestring?”
“Maybe. But we all have our reasons. I needed to get away from home for a while.”
Kris’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, nothing like that.” Allegro waved the idea off as if the possibility was ridiculous. “I figured it was time for a fresh start, that’s all.” She gazed out the window, attempting to sound like she had secret regrets and a past she couldn’t discuss. In a sense, she was telling the truth. “That was a year ago, but it never happened because I stayed where I was. Turned out that willing things to change, while I was still stuck in the same place doing the same things and seeing the same people, didn’t work. So…I decided on a different approach. Find a way that made going back to old habits impossible.” She could feel Kris staring at her, but she kept her attention on the countryside they were passing, a mix of farms and woodlands.
“So you’re running, then,” Kris surmised. “From your family? Husband? Boyfriend? What?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Not while I’m still in rehab, anyway.” At Kris’s sudden intake of breath, Allegro met her eyes. “That’s what I call it. This addiction of not being able to let go of what I don’t need but depend on, in an unhealthy way.” She smiled inwardly when she saw Kris’s small nod of acknowledgment, as though she understood this all too well.
“Fair enough.” Kris returned her attention to the road. “I think I can empathize with that.”
I bet you can. “How about you? Are you married? Engaged? I don’t see children.”
“None of the above,” Kris answered. “I’ve had some relationships in the past, but nothing significant. They were either a means to kill the boredom, or the ‘wayward’ sort, if you know what I mean, to frustrate my father. I guess any attention was better than none.”
The house came into view and Allegro realized she didn’t want the ride or the conversation to end. Not only because Kris was finally opening up a little, but also because she was really enjoying this civil and easy exchange between them. As they turned into the gravel drive, she caught a glimpse of someone, a man running from the back of the house into the woods. Jeroen wasn’t due for another hour, so it couldn’t be him. And this guy wasn’t some prospective buyer checking out the place or he would have waited for them to return instead of taking off like a scared rabbit.
She was instantly on high alert, scanning the area of the trees where he’d disappeared for a hint of movement or color. Outwardly, she kept her body posture relaxed and her voice matter-of-fact. Kris had given no indication she’d seen the man, and Allegro didn’t want to alarm her and risk getting the police involved. “Yeah, bad boys can be fun,” she agreed, “but tiresome pretty quickly, especially if they’re just there to make a point.”
“Bad girls.” Kris corrected.
Despite her preoccupation with the fleeing stranger, Allegro was intrigued by Kris’s revelation. This interesting little tidbit was certainly not in her dossier. Sure, Kris had let her kiss her in Venice, but Carnival time was infamous for loosening inhibitions. People engaged in behavior that might not be the norm. “Excuse me? I thought you said bad girls.”
“I did.” Kris pulled up to the house and parked.
Much as Allegro wanted to pursue the turn this conversation had taken, she had to let it drop. Now was not the time. She had more pressing matters to attend to. “I’m going to get things ready for Jeroen. Need help getting this stuff inside?” In the backseat, beside her duffel, was a large sack of groceries.
Kris shook her head. “I think I can handle it.”
Allegro hauled her bag up to her room, hurrying once she was out of sight. From her window, all seemed quiet. She went to one of the unoccupied bedrooms that faced the rear of the estate and studied the view from there. There was no sign of the man she’d seen running from the house. Making her way back downstairs, she made sure Kris was occupied in the kitchen before she slipped out the front door.
There were fresh boot prints in the soft dirt along the side of the house. Smooth, with a diamond imprint in the heel, not like the rubber-soled workman’s boots that Jeroen wore. She followed the prints to the back of the house and frowned when she saw that they led to a large wooden crate beneath one of the high windows leading to the den. The man must have dragged it there so he could see inside.
The only good news was the fairly scant number of boot prints. The absence of trampling suggested he probably hadn’t been there long before they’d arrived and surprised him, and the wide spacing between them as they led into the woods confirmed that he’d been running fast to get away. The prints became more difficult to track in the densely packed earth of the forest, but she was able to follow other clues, the occasional broken tree limb or disturbance in the undergrowth. She trailed him to the next road, where he’d probably left his car.
That someone else wanted the diamond enough to risk breaking into the mansion was not unexpected, since she’d been briefed the Afghans were going after it as well. But Allegro was stunned that they’d gotten here so fast. Their intel must be pretty damn good. They knew Kris had the diamond and where she lived. They’d also ascertained that no one was home and the house had no security, if the man was willing to approach it in broad daylight. Had he been watching them? For how long?
She’d have to be extremely vigilant from now on, especially since she was acting solo. This development put even more pressure on her to find the stone quickly. She had to get to it before he did. She returned to the mansion and found Kris still in the kitchen, digging into bacon and eggs, toast, and coffee. It smelled heavenly.
“Snooze, you lose, isn’t that the expression?” Kris greeted her with a wry smile. “What happened to you? I called up and asked if you wanted some breakfast. For future reference, I don’t ask twice.”
“No prob. Not really hungry.” Allegro tried to ignore the savory smells and the way her stomach was growling. “Say, were you expecting anybody this morning?”
“Expecting anyone? You mean, besides Jeroen? No. Why?”
“No neighbors or anything?”
“No. We’ve never socialized with any of our neighbors,” Kris said. “My father valued privacy. Most of the time Hans was his only visitor. They were like brothers.”
Allegro made herself a cup of coffee. Hans Hofman again. He was there when Jan got the diamond, and apparently was his only friend when he died. She needed to get back in his office and photograph more of that diary. Perhaps she’d find another clue. Perhaps Hans kept his own records.
“So, why are you asking about visitors?” Kris pressed.
“Oh, I thought I saw a guy outside,” Allegro replied offhandedly. “Must have been someone passing by.” The last thing she needed was to put Kris on alert. “Could be that word’s out in town that the house is going up for sale.”
She lingered over coffee only until Kris finished her breakfast and went upstairs. Jeroen was due anytime, and she had a task to do that required a few minutes of solitude and improvisation. In Jan van der Jagt’s desk, she found pencils and transparent tape and a couple of his business cards, pristine and white. It took her a few minutes to split three pencils and remove the lead. A mortar and pestle from one of the kitchen cabinets quickly reduced the lead to a fine powder.
She used a makeup brush from her toiletries kit to apply the shavings to the outside of the window above the crate. The intruder was obviously not a pro. As she suspected, he’d pressed his face against the glass to peer into the darkened interior of the house and flattened his hands on the pane as well, to shield his eyes. It looked like she had a usable set of prints. She photographed them first with her pocket camera, set on macro zoom, then used the transparent tape to lift them slowly from the glass and apply them carefully to the back of the business cards. With her cell phone cam, she photographed the black-on-white version of the prints and sent the images to EOO headquarters f
or identification.
When she was finished, she wiped the window clean, returned the crate to where it had been, and lightly raked the area to obliterate the boot prints. She expected Jeroen to park his van back here, as he had the day prior, to more conveniently unload the supplies they’d need through the rear entrance. No need to alert him, either, that anything was amiss.
*
Angie was a damn attractive woman, even in her work clothes and covered in plaster. Hers was the kind of toned, fit body Kris had to admit she’d always favored. And she seemed to have a mischievous playfulness about her. A twinkle in those beautiful caramel eyes, like she didn’t have a care in the world. All Kris’s life, she’d done and been the opposite. She glanced out her bedroom window at the grounds of the estate and surrounding woods. There’d been no swing set there for her, no tea parties with the neighboring children, or games of hide-and-seek. She’d spent much of her youth alone in her room, reading. It hadn’t been much fun in this household. She wondered what kind of childhood Angie must have had, to turn out the way she had. So different.
It was foolish, she realized, to entertain any kind of interest in the American. Once the work on the house was done, Angie would be on her footloose way again and on the other side of the world, only a distant memory. It was all these sudden changes that prompted such musings. Her father’s death, selling the houses, having to support her mother.
When she’d left home at eighteen to move into the villa, her father had gifted her with a sizeable endowment to maintain the lifestyle he’d insisted was necessary and befitted their social status. In recent years, however, she’d come to loathe her dependence on her father’s funds, so as the money dwindled, she’d built up a lucrative Web design business to avoid having to ask for more. A wise move, in retrospect, since her father was in bad shape financially and too vain to admit it, even to her or Hans. He’d gone deeply in debt rather than sell off his prestigious properties.
Now Kris’s Web design business was all she had, and it wasn’t enough to relieve her worries about the future. She was restless and looking for a distraction to keep her from thinking too hard about the fact she had no idea what she was going to do next with her life. She knew that was why she was fascinated by the American. But she also knew it was best to seek distraction in something or someone a little safer than some transient stranger. Before she’d left Venice, she’d gotten an e-mail from Ilse Linssen, an old friend and former lover, inviting her to catch up on their lives over dinner the next time she was in the capital. Perhaps that invitation couldn’t have come at a better time.
*
Allegro waited only a half hour after Kris had retired for the evening to begin a more thorough search of the mansion, alert this time for any further unexpected forays her hostess might make to the kitchen for a late-night snack. But after an exhaustive search she concluded that the only way she was going to get to the safe was to drill through the wall. And that noisy solution was certainly not an option if she wanted to obtain the diamond discreetly and avoid implicating herself as the culprit.
When she retired to her room for a couple of hours’ sleep, the ticking of her bedside clock reminded her she had rigid time constraints to complete her mission. She needed to return to Hofman’s office, and soon, to see what else Jan van der Jagt might have revealed in his diary about his favorite hiding places for the diamond.
Chapter Eight
Monday, February 11
“I see you’re finding your way around the kitchen.” Kris stepped gingerly over debris and plaster dust and looked up at the ceiling Allegro had been working on. “Which is fortunate, because you’re on your own tonight.”
It was clear from her choice of attire that Kris wasn’t planning to spend the evening at home. Her charcoal slacks and dove gray silk blouse were the latest designer fashions, as were her matching charcoal pumps and purse, and she’d taken exceptional care with her makeup. Champagne eye shadow and brown mascara and eyeliner brought out the blue of her eyes, and muted mauve rouge and lipstick added just the right amount of color to her fair skin. Her blond hair, sleek and shiny, had been curled in soft waves to frame her oval face. She was stunning.
Allegro got to her feet, ignoring the stiffness in every muscle and joint in her body. She tried not to stare at the provocative way the soft silk of the blouse hugged Kris’s high, round breasts. “I’m sure we can manage without you. Got a hot date?”
Kris gave her a frosty look. “I have some business to attend to in Amsterdam, that’s all. I probably won’t be back until very late.”
Allegro grinned, rather enjoying the look of agitation her remark had provoked. She couldn’t resist teasing Kris a little more. “What kind of business keeps you out till late?”
“The kind that doesn’t concern you.”
“If you ask me—”
“Which I’m not.”
“You should be going on a date,” Allegro continued, ignoring the interruption.
Kris exhaled a loud sigh of exasperation. “Do I look that desperate?”
Allegro brazenly assessed her body with an appreciative leer, as though Kris’s comeback had been an invitation to do so. “No. You look that good. It’d be a waste to spend the evening with boring conversations.”
A flush of pink heightened the color in Kris’s cheeks. “I have been accused of many things. Boring is not one of them.”
“I don’t doubt that. Your presence alone provides me with plenty of excitement.”
“You mean you enjoy aggravating me,” Kris said.
“I mean you’re a very attractive woman.” When Allegro let her gaze linger on Kris’s cleavage and licked her lips, she was rewarded by a marked increase in the rise and fall of those perfect breasts as Kris’s breathing accelerated.
“Isn’t there some work you should be doing?”
Letting her reluctance show, Allegro tore her focus away from Kris’s chest and met her eyes. “Screwing,” she deadpanned. The shocked look on Kris’s face made it nearly impossible for her to keep from cracking a smile. She pulled a screwdriver out of her back pocket and held it up. “I should screw that chandelier back in place,” she said innocently.
Without waiting for a reply, Kris stalked out of the room and a few seconds later the front door slammed shut. Allegro waited for her to drive off before hurrying upstairs for a shower and change of clothes. By the time she biked to Haarlem and retrieved her rental car, dusk had fallen and she hit heavy traffic heading into Amsterdam. Hans Hofman’s office was closed by the time she arrived in the city center. Still, there were too many pedestrians and bicyclists about for her to pick the lock without being noticed.
She claimed a bench where she could keep an eye on the neighborhood, biding her time by amusing herself with a game of “peg the tourist,” a favorite pastime in cities like Amsterdam. Most of the time she could guess the origins of passersby before snippets of overheard conversation confirmed her assessment. Americans were always easiest, with their backpacks, white sneakers, and slogan sweatshirts. Delineating some of the Mediterranean ethnicities wasn’t difficult either. Spaniards were generally shorter than their neighbors, with more rounded faces. Greeks had angular features. French men favored a very distinctive haircut, and their beards were also trimmed in a way that set them apart.
In recent years, British and Dutch housewives, especially those over fifty, had begun favoring the same cropped hairstyle that once set American dykes apart. Among the Asian visitors, the eyes were often the distinguishing feature. The Japanese had a downward slant from nose to temple, the Chinese the opposite. The native Dutch were fair, with weak chins, the men tall and stork-like, the women pear-shaped. Such generalities weren’t always reliable, of course, but she was right much more often than wrong.
She played her private game until the street was momentarily devoid of traffic and pedestrians, then let herself into Hofman’s building and made her way to his ground floor office. Happy to find the diary right where s
he’d left it in the lawyer’s file cabinet, she immediately began to photograph the remaining fifty or so pages. Now and then, when she spotted the word “diamond” in the text, she would read a few paragraphs, then force herself to resume shooting, conscious that she had to get back to the estate before Kris returned. As she reached the final few pages she was startled by the sound of voices in the outer office. She clicked off her penlight, shoved the diary back into the file, and ducked behind a massive armoire. Her alarm grew when she realized she wasn’t overhearing a couple of cleaners getting started on their evening chores. Kris and Hofman were approaching.
“Have you gone to see your mother?” Hofman asked as he flipped on the light and they entered the room.
Allegro heard the squeak of his office chair as he settled into it, and Kris’s loud sigh. Though unnerved at nearly being discovered, she was grateful that her Dutch was fluent enough for her to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Not yet,” Kris answered. “I’m afraid seeing me might only make her worse. The doctor says she’s still unable to distinguish her fantasies from reality. Since Father’s death she’s retreated further inside her own little world. She’s refusing even to talk at her therapy sessions.”
Allegro caught a glimpse of Kris moving toward the window overlooking the canal. She pressed her back against the armoire to avoid being seen.
“Her psychiatrist doesn’t think she’ll be up to leaving anytime soon,” Kris continued. “Every time she seems to be getting better, something sets her off again. This is the worst bout of depression she’s ever had.”
“I know you don’t want to upset her by moving her,” Hofman said. “But there are less expensive alternatives than where she is.”
