The Curious Case of the Missing Figurehead: A Novel (A Professor and Mrs. Littlefield Mystery)

by Diane Noble

  Her red curls glinted in the sun, and her tunic flapped as she approached. She wore a Cheshire smile.

  “What on earth …?” I grinned as she approached.

  “I’ve just met the most adorable man.”

  “You think all men are adorable.” I opened the trunk and retrieved my planner, my two totes full of notes and reminders, and of course, my laptop in its case and myriad other tools of my trade. Hyacinth took one of the totes and closed the trunk.

  She raised a brow. “Not quite true, but almost.”

  I laughed lightly and then stopped, thinking about the ticking clock. “Do you have a copy of the guest list?”

  “It’s on your desk.”

  “Cinth,” I said as I followed her up the stone steps. “Max wants to cancel the dinner.”

  She halted midstep. Her hand flew to her collarbone. “He wants to what?”

  “Cancel.”

  “He can’t. Not now. Everything’s in place. Even the figurehead. The dedication of the new wing. It’s all for him.”

  “There was an attempt against his life on the ship. Since then, a man has been following him. He was on the same train as Max and the figurehead, and is now here in Eden’s Bridge. Max is pretty sure there’s a connection between the two.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  I shrugged. “Max doesn’t think so. I’ve held him off for now, but can’t for very long. I said I’d look into it.”

  “All the work we’ve gone to … Your business, the needed income …” She shuddered, dropping her hand. “The giant headache of canceling with more than three hundred guests.” She started up the steps again, and I followed a couple of steps behind.

  “The guy he thinks could be involved is Marcel Devereaux, an antiquities dealer from Paris.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “The drop-dead gorgeous man I just mentioned? He had a French accent.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not,” she called after me and huffed her way up a few more stairs. “He just happened into the kitchen. Said he was lost. And believe me, he was no delivery boy. Not the way he was dressed.” She waggled her brows. “Talk about to the nines.”

  A new thought nibbled at my brain. “Just wandered into the Encore’s kitchen? The theater is hardly a building one would venture into if lost.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Hyacinth looked distressed. “What did you say his name was again?”

  “Devereaux,” I said. “Marcel Devereaux.” I pulled out my phone, opened the email from Max with the photo attachment, and handed it to Hyacinth.

  She went pale. “It’s him.”

  Hyacinth dropped into a chair as soon as we reached the kitchen. She was head of the planning committee responsible for the evening. “We can’t let this happen,” she said, shaking her head.

  I sat next to her. “I’m with you, but sadly, the professor is calling the shots. Now, tell me everything this man did and said to you or to the crew.”

  “The crew kids were busy unloading a shipment of fresh shrimp, starting their prep with the vegetables—you know, the usual pre-party chaos.”

  I tried not to be impatient. I worried that Max would pull the plug before I could clear Devereaux. “Where were you during this time?”

  “I’d just stepped out of the walk-in fridge when, above the hubbub, I heard someone speaking in French. Very loudly. As if arguing. I pushed through the swinging door to check it out. And there he was, this gorgeous man speaking French into a smartphone.”

  I swallowed hard. “Then what?”

  “He turned when I came in, looked not the least bit flustered, ended the call, and—get this—said he was checking out our campus for his daughter who was considering applying to come here next year. I gave him directions to the administration building, and off he went.”

  “You’re certain it was the same man?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m certain. If you’d seen him, you’d know what I mean.”

  “Did he ask about the dinner, or mention anything related?”

  She shook her head. “Not a thing. Just talked about his daughter.”

  “Why would someone who lives in Paris, the mecca of all things culinary, come to Southern Highlands University in tiny Eden’s Bridge?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She frowned as she pushed a stray red curl behind her ear. It sprung out of place immediately.

  “Now let’s get down to real business,” she said. “We’ve got to find a way to convince Dr. Celebrity Pants that he’s as safe and sound here in Eden’s Bridge as he would be anywhere.”

  “Dr. Celebrity Pants?” I sighed. I wondered if she’d ever called the professor that to his face. “And just how are we going to do that?”

  She winked. “You’re the brains of the outfit. You tell me.”

  This time I rolled my eyes. “I’ll check the guest list to see if by some strange coincidence, there’s a Marcel Devereaux. Maybe that will convince the professor that he’s here for a legitimate reason.”

  She fanned her face. “And I, dear friend, will make a supreme sacrifice and run down the gorgeous Frenchman somewhere on campus.” She grabbed her handbag and headed toward the door. She hesitated and looked back. “If all else fails with Dr. Celebrity Pants, use your feminine wiles.”

  “Moi?” I said in mock horror.

  Chapter Six

  Hyacinth

  Hyacinth huffed and puffed her way around the nearly empty campus. She tried the administration building first, but it was deserted except for a couple of janitors. Finals week had come and gone, and the students were on a break before the summer session. She headed to the chapel at the far end, skirting a few parking lots along the way. Very few cars, and she passed only a few walkers and a single jogger on her way. It took close to an hour to cover the campus. She stopped near the library and dialed El.

  El didn’t pick up, so she left a message. “Hey, girlfriend. No cute men of a certain age, French or otherwise, to be seen. I’m heading to the library to check the new security system installed around you-know-what, then home to freshen up. Not to fear, I’ll be back to help you with last-minute details. Call me and let me know if you sweet-talked the prof into going forward.”

  Two security guards were posted at the library door. She greeted them, showed them her ID badge, and then hurried up the steps, unlocked the door, and let herself in.

  She flipped on the overhead lights and walked into the new wing, which would be dedicated to the professor during tonight’s ceremony. The twenty-four smaller exhibits in glass cases contained various artifacts that Max had discovered through the years, most having to do with American history from the Colonial period through World War II. She had designed the spaces herself and as she passed each one, checked to make sure it was arranged correctly, its signage visible.

  She saved the best for last. After ducking into her office, she grabbed her archival gloves and a stepstool, then hurried back. Slowly and with awe, she approached the platform that held the figurehead. It had been removed from the shipping crate, then placed on a platform encased with Plexiglas. It was then covered with a dark royal-blue velvet cloth, to be unveiled during the dedication ceremony here in the library.

  She removed the cloth, folded it, and put it to one side. She drew on her gloves, punched in the code to open the Plexiglas encasement, and stepped closer to the figurehead, captivated by its beauty. Its surface held a sheen that made it appear to be made of marble. She knew its worth to be in the tens of thousands. Looking up into the woman’s face, she smiled as the whimsical thought came to her: If only you could talk.

  No wonder Max had spent a lifetime looking for the Lady. And his father before him. It would be part of their library exhibit for only one month, and then it would be sent to the Maritime Museum in Bo
ston, finally completing the delivery expected nearly seventy years ago.

  She rested her fingertips on the figurehead’s arm, almost reluctant to leave.

  Just then a scratching sound outside a nearby window caught her attention. Perhaps it was footsteps, or shrubbery moving against the glass. She went over to investigate but couldn’t see anything.

  She replaced the covering, flicked off the lights, and headed to the front entrance. The guards looked up as she exited.

  “I heard something outside one of the windows while I was in the new wing.”

  “Something?” The taller guard raised a brow, and a slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I can lead you to the exact window, if that will help,” she said. “Or you two can do your jobs and investigate the perimeter yourselves.”

  Hyacinth walked to her car in the faculty lot, more than ready to settle in for some time to rest and go over her speech. It had been a long morning, and it promised to be an even longer afternoon and evening. She would put on some soft music and relax in a bubble bath.

  With those pleasurable thoughts in mind, she was soon turning into her driveway. She clicked her garage door opener, and watched the garage door rise.

  After pulling in, she turned off the ignition, closed the garage door behind her, and stepped out of her vehicle into the stuffy heat damp of the closed garage. Times like this she missed California’s dry heat. The South’s humidity was legendary. She rummaged through her handbag for a tissue to pat her face as she walked toward the side door that led to a small yard by her house.

  Hearing an odd noise that sounded like footsteps, she looked up, startled.

  Two people of indeterminate gender, one slightly taller than the other, stepped out of the shadows. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of her only exit. The overhead garage light cast an odd glow on their masks. One was Emeril Lagasse, the other Julia Child. Strangely, they both wore medical scrubs.

  It took just a split second for her mind to leap from fear to irritation. The Sutherland boys were up to their high jinks again. First the tomato caper, then the Beauregard in the tailpipe, the forged letter, and now this.

  “Okay, guys. Game’s up,” she said, shaking her head as she walked toward them. “You’ve had your fun. Now get out of my way.”

  They looked at each other and shrugged.

  She laughed. “I know who you are, Bubba. Junior. You don’t fool me for a second.” She searched her handbag for her cell phone. “I suppose you’re going after El next. Good luck. I plan to warn her. You’re not going to get away with ruining The Butler’s big night. Not for a minute.”

  “You’re coming with us,” Julia Child said in a poor attempt to imitate the famous chef.

  “This is no longer funny,” Hyacinth said. “Your pranks are getting old. Very old. Your uncle got you the jobs you wanted. Isn’t that enough? I’m not going to let you do any more to harm my friend’s big chance at success. This means too much to her.” She found the cell phone and then fished around in her purse for her reading glasses. She squinted at her smartphone and pressed the phone icon.

  “Put that away,” Julia Child said in a decidedly low register.

  “Don’t you mean, ‘put that away, y’all’?” Hyacinth taunted, and started to tap in El’s speed-dial number.

  “Maybe you didn’t hear my partner.” Emeril lifted a pistol and pointed it at Hyacinth.

  “Oh sure, and now you’re Bonnie and Clyde. Or is that made of licorice?”

  Then she stared into the unblinking eyes in the masks. Doubt settled in. Fast. Something was off. Dollars to doughnuts, those weren’t Bubba’s and Junior’s eyes staring back at her. Fear twisted her stomach. She swallowed hard, weighing her chances of getting away.

  She made a quick decision to keep up the charade. If they thought she’d mistaken them for someone else, maybe she could at least get out of the garage and then make a run for it. Fat chance. But she had to try.

  “As if that’s real.” She’d always had a booming voice, and she turned up the volume, figuring the louder and braver she sounded, the better. “Let me see that. Is it made out of licorice? Somebody did a great job. You’ll have to give me the name of the candy store,” she boomed, and then guffawed.

  The men turned toward each other as if exchanging glances. She could only imagine what they were thinking. You like that? Wait till you hear me sing, boys. She smiled and waggled her fingers. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she was almost yelling by now. “I need to get some things done.”

  “One more step, ma’am, and you’ll find out how real this is.” Emeril waved the gun around.

  Hyacinth raised her hands in mock protest. “Bubba, Junior, the fun is over. You’ve made your point. Now leave. Instead of calling El, I’m about to dial 9-1-1 to get you off my property. Skedaddle.”

  Emeril took a menacing step toward her. “Give me your phone, ma’am.”

  She gave them a come-on-make-my-day stare, and continued booming. “I’ve had an exhausting day and I have an exhausting evening ahead. And I need to make my phone call. You go play someplace else.”

  She tapped El’s speed-dial number, but before she could hit send, Julia stepped up and grabbed the phone. Hyacinth held on with a death grip, but Julia wrestled it away.

  “You’re coming with us.” Emeril grabbed her wrist and propelled her forward. Within a heartbeat, Julia Child stepped behind her and poked the barrel of a very real pistol into her spine. “Now walk,” Julia said. “Outside to the car. If you look right or left or use that voice of yours to call for help, you’ll see stars without even looking at the sky.”

  They pushed her through the side door and around the garage toward a fairly new dark-colored Honda Accord.

  Julia opened the front door and propelled Hyacinth into the passenger seat. Emeril got in behind her and leaned forward to speak into her ear. “You make one false move and I use this gun,” he said. “And believe me, it’s not made out of candy.”

  Julia rounded the car and got in on the driver’s side, slammed the door, and put the car into reverse. They took a roundabout route, but it seemed they were heading toward the university.

  “I suppose you’re going to kidnap El next,” she said, attempting to keep things light. “Wait till the Chronicle hears about this. You two have stooped lower than low. You’ll never have lunch in this town again, let alone prepare it.” They were probably too young and too ignorant to get the irony.

  “And you talk too much,” Emeril said. “Shut your yapper. Now!”

  Instead of pulling into a university parking area, Julia instead turned onto a side road and parked near an ambulance.

  Hyacinth tried to put it all together. She’d been kidnapped, brought back to the university, and parked near an unoccupied ambulance. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they wanted. The figurehead. She was the librarian and had access to the library. And the ambulance … of course, what an ingenious plot. She had to warn El, and fast. She made a grab for the door handle.

  At that moment, a loud crack shot through her head like a lightning bolt. As the interior of the car darkened and began to spin, she realized the sound came from her own skull. A nanosecond of pain and starlight mixed together, and then a dark velvet blanket pulled her into its grasp.

  Chapter Seven

  The Professor

  Max walked across his den to the large window and opened the wooden blinds. The room was on the second story of his home and faced the university campus.

  He’d been at odds with himself all morning. Mostly, he weighed the pros and cons of going forward with the dinner. So many people had gone to a lot of trouble for him. Yet after the attempt on his life, he couldn’t get past the feeling that he might be endangering others. Campus security was tight. A private security company had been hired. But thes
e measures did little to assure him.

  The east side of the campus lay before him, its sycamores, pines, and cedars providing a lush backdrop for the multitude of brick buildings, some more than a century old. The late morning sun shone bright on the towering neoclassical-style library, giving its burnished gold an almost ivory glow.

  Closer in, the newest building on campus, the Encore Center for Drama and Culinary Arts, was nearest to his home. It stood out from the rest because of its modern design, consisting mostly of glass with sail-like bronze facades that hid concrete columns. It always reminded him of a sailing ship mired in concrete and waiting for a good wind to break free.

  Much like himself.

  He chuckled. Where had that come from?

  The window afforded a good view of the parking area next to the Encore. Suddenly El roared in, the Ghia’s top still down. She jumped from her car and almost sprinted up the rounded concrete steps leading to the entrance.

  His watch read five minutes past eleven. That had been her cut-off time.

  He couldn’t wait a minute longer to see her again, to speak with her. He told himself it was necessary because of Devereaux, but who was he kidding?

  Was Devereaux connected to whoever cut the lines to his tank during the dive? He worked his jaw as he thought about it. That was no accident.

  The figurehead was valuable, an artifact that any dealer would want to get his or her hands on. But to what lengths would someone go? He wished he knew.

  Max reached El’s catering van, which was being unloaded by members of her crew. He chuckled at the logo with its snooty butler and wondered if El had designed it herself.

  El marched down the stairs with a clipboard and an air of determination. She headed to the van, then caught Max’s gaze and smiled.

  The sun seemed to stand still for a moment. She exuded this crazy kind of confidence that drew him to her. Case in point: this morning. He had been determined to call off the dinner. But she had been so confident that everything was under control, and her optimism had been contagious.