Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) (4 page)

“Did you talk to Pickering?”

“Despite repeated attempts to set up a meeting, he has refused to see me.”

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“I am terrified that the scepter will disappear for good if I do not act quickly. Otto Pickering is a recluse. He lives on an island off the coast of Washington State.”

Laurent placed the attaché case on the table and opened it. Inside were stacks of cash, a cell phone, and an airline ticket.

“I have purchased a first-class ticket on a flight to Seattle that leaves at midnight, and I have chartered a boat to take you to the island. Can you leave tonight?”

“That’s awfully short notice.”

“Miss Cutler, if we do not act immediately the scepter may disappear forever. The twenty-five-thousand-dollar retainer in this attaché case should compensate you for any inconvenience you might suffer.”

Dana ran through the projects she had on her desk. Most of them would keep. More important, none of them involved Constantinople, French soldiers of fortune, the Khan-el-Khalili in Cairo, and a mysterious golden scepter. It was no contest.

“I’ll be on the plane,” Dana said.

Laurent’s shoulders had been hunched from tension and she’d been holding her breath. Now she exhaled and her shoulders sagged.

“I cannot thank you enough.”

“How do you want me to report to you?”

“My number is programmed into the cell phone in the attaché case.”

Dana stood up. “I’m going home to pack. I’ll give you an update as soon as I talk to Otto Pickering.”

Chapter Five

A torrential downpour pummeled the roof of the pilothouse of Emilio Leone’s fishing boat. Violent waves smashed into its hull, and Dana Cutler’s fingers gripped a handhold tightly as she fought to keep down the light meal she’d eaten for breakfast. Earlier on Friday morning, Dana had driven to a dockside café in a seaside town thirty miles north of Seattle. When she walked into the restaurant, Captain Leone was working on a cup of black coffee. He was bundled up in a pea jacket and knit cap. A thick black beard concealed a lot of his face, and a black patch covered his right eye. Dana thought he would have been perfectly at home on a pirate ship. Leone was not enthusiastic about sailing in a storm, but Margo Laurent’s money had changed his mind, if not his surly attitude. The captain spoke only when necessary, and then he communicated in terse sentences or angry grunts.

Another wave crashed across the bow and the boat fell fast and hard into a trough before miraculously rising. Dana had seen the wave coming and had braced for the shock. It was freezing cold in the pilothouse but a heavy jacket and the wool cap that fit snuggly over her ears helped some. She bent forward and squinted through the sheets of rain that dashed against the window. Outside, massive waves crashed against black rocks that jutted like dinosaur teeth out of the unforgiving sea.

The captain saw where she was looking. “That’s the island, Isla de Muerta.”

“The Island of Death?”

“If a ship busts up on those rocks and a sailor is thrown into these waters, he’s done.”

Dana shivered as she imagined how it would feel to drown in the freezing, turbulent water.

Rain and heavy clouds obscured Dana’s view, but the captain did not seem troubled by the lack of visibility. Seconds after
Leone
guided the boat through a break in the rocks the mist parted and Dana saw boats straining against their anchors as the wind and waves flung them about like toys. Leone steered the boat into a small harbor and secured it to a gray, weathered dock. Dana slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and got off quickly, grateful to be standing on solid ground.

“I’m staying at the Stanton B&B,” she said. “Do you know where that is?”

“Walk a quarter mile down the road,” the captain answered, pointing due north. “There’s a sign out front.”

“How do I get in touch when I need to get back to the mainland?”

“The Stantons got my number,” Leone said. Then he turned his back on Dana and trudged up the dock.

Dana followed and found herself on a short main street where the buildings all had a nautical theme. Peeling, sea-blue paint covered most of the stores. Anchors and wooden seagulls were a common decoration. Dana passed a shop that sold bait and other fishing supplies, and a small grocery store. Ahead of her, the captain disappeared into the Safe Harbor Café, which advertised breakfast all day and a halibut special for dinner.

The rain was hard and cold and Dana walked fast, head down, shoulders hunched, speeding by a store that sold new and used books, an art gallery that displayed seascapes, a clothing store filled with foul-weather gear, and an antique store with brass sextants and an anchor chain in its front window. There were a few people in the café and grocery store but Dana didn’t see any customers in the other shops. She guessed that the townspeople made their nut during the summer and scraped by the rest of the year.

The B&B was a three-story yellow house with white trim that had been worked hard by the salt air. It was surrounded by a faded white picket fence grimed with moss. The inn had a front porch that wound around the side facing the sea. Dana imagined that the view would be great when the sun was shining. At the moment, she appreciated the shelter from the storm provided by the overhang.

Moments after she rang the doorbell, a short, plump woman with snowy white hair let her in.

“You must be Miss Cutler,” she said, smiling broadly.

“How did you know?”

The woman laughed. “There was no trick to it. You’re our only guest.”

Dana smiled. “I guess the island doesn’t get too many tourists this time of year.”

“Or any other,” the woman answered solemnly. “We’re off the beaten track, so to speak. I’m Mabel Stanton. Let me show you to your room so you can get out of those wet clothes.”

“I’m here on business,” Dana said as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “I’ll need a car. Is there someplace I can rent one?”

“Miss Laurent asked about a car when she rented the room for you. You can use one of our cars. It’s all paid for.”

“Great. Can you tell me where Otto Pickering lives?”

“Other side of the island, but I don’t know if he’ll talk to you. The professor keeps to himself and I hear he doesn’t like visitors.”

“I won’t know if he’ll talk to me until I ask him. Can you show me how to get to Professor Pickering’s house?”

“That’s easy enough. It’s off the main road but you won’t have any trouble finding it. I already drew you a map. Will you be wanting something to eat before you go?”

Dana realized that she was starving. “That would be great.”

“I’ve got beef stew, or I can fix you a sandwich.”

“The stew sounds terrific. And a cup of hot coffee would be deeply appreciated.”

“I’ll have it waiting for you when you come down,” Mabel said as she opened a door to a spacious room with a view of the sea.

“There’s fresh towels in the bathroom. Here’s your key. Anything else you need, tell me when you come downstairs.”

Dana tossed her duffel bag on the bed and stripped off her clothes. She’d take a fast, scalding-hot shower, eat a hearty meal, then drive to the far side of Isla de Muerta to visit Otto Pickering. Her plan sounded simple enough.

Chapter Six

Dana could hear rain rattling against the B&B’s windows while she devoured her lunch. She hoped that the downpour would let up by the time she drove to Pickering’s house but she was out of luck. If anything, the rain seemed more violent.

The main road was two lanes and it circled Isla de Muerta. The trees on the windward side were sparse, stunted, and bent away from the rocky shore. On the other side of the road, lightning strikes cast a flickering light over a dense evergreen forest. According to Mabel’s map, Pickering’s house was fifteen miles from the inn and two miles past the intersection of the main road and another road that bisected Isla de Muerta. Dana drove slowly and crossed the island’s other artery twenty minutes after she started. Two miles farther on, Dana turned onto a narrow dirt track that led inland through thick woods. A heavy canopy shielded Dana’s car from a good deal of the rain but it also made the way darker and created an impression that the trees were closing in on her. It took a lot to frighten Dana, but the closeness of the primordial woods made her very uncomfortable.

Without warning, Pickering’s house appeared. It was old, large, and ungainly and painted a dull brown to blend in with the forest that surrounded it. The central portion was two stories, and it looked as if additions had been slapped on without any rhyme or reason. Some were one story, others two. There was even a three-story tower on the side with the best view of the sea. None of the property looked kept up; the yard was wild and the house was badly in need of a paint job.

Dana parked and ran under an overhang. There was no bell but a heavy brass lion-head knocker was nailed to the middle of the front door. Dana pulled it back and slammed it forward, hoping that the clang of metal on metal would penetrate the thick oak door and the din created by the storm. She waited a minute, then used the knocker twice more. She was about to try again when she heard a voice yell, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” A minute later, the door creaked open and Dana found herself facing an elderly, balding man with liver-spotted skin. He was stooped with age and clad in a white shirt, a blue polka-dot bow tie, a brown tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, and loose-fitting green slacks that did not match his jacket. The pants were held up by suspenders.

“No solicitors,” Otto Pickering said brusquely.

“I’m not selling anything, Professor.”

“Then why are you here?”

Dana held out her card. “I’ve come on behalf of a client.”

Pickering eyed the card suspiciously.

“I would have called,” Dana said, “but your number is unlisted, and I couldn’t find an e-mail address. This is a matter of some urgency, so I didn’t have the luxury of writing.”

“You still haven’t told me what you want, young lady.”

“I’m here because of the scepter that Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius.”

Surprise registered on Pickering’s face for a moment. Then he regained his composure.

“Can we step inside, please?” Dana said. “I’m drowning out here.”

The professor hesitated, and Dana hoped that he wouldn’t slam the door in her face. Then Pickering turned his back on Dana and walked down a long hall. She rushed inside and followed him.

The interior of the house was paneled in dark wood, dimly lit, and drafty. The carpets were threadbare, and a dank odor pervaded everything. Dana wouldn’t have been surprised to find mold and mushrooms growing on the walls. Pickering led Dana into a large, high-ceilinged room with French windows that gave her a view of the dense forest when lightning flashed. Faded sofas, chipped and scarred coffee and end tables, and sagging armchairs stood on a large Persian carpet. Only a few of the pieces of furniture matched.

A fire roared in a high stone fireplace and provided welcome warmth. A moose head was mounted over the fireplace and Dana had the eerie feeling that it was staring at her. A black bear and a mountain lion eyed her threateningly from two other walls.

A massive desk illuminated by a gooseneck lamp stood in one corner of the large room. Papers were spread across the blotter and books were stacked next to a laptop, one of the few modern contraptions Dana had seen since entering the house. Pickering sat behind the desk and Dana sat in a straight-back chair across from him. Its seat was not cushioned and it was hard and uncomfortable.

“What is all this about a scepter?” Pickering asked cagily. Dana noticed that his liver-spotted fingers fluttered nervously and he avoided looking at her directly.

“You do know about the gold, jewel-encrusted scepter Sultan Mehmet II gave to Gennadius after the fall of Constantinople when Gennadius agreed to be the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church?”

“Young lady, I have degrees in history from Harvard and Oxford and my Ph.D. thesis was on the Ottoman Empire, so you may assume that I am aware of everything there is to know about the reign of the sultans.”

“Yes, well, Antoine Girard, my client’s grandfather, found the scepter in the early 1920s in the Khan-el-Khalili. The scepter was kept in a safe in a mansion in New York, but it was stolen in a burglary. Recently, my client learned that the scepter was to be auctioned off by a bankrupt Turkish businessman, but the scepter was withdrawn from the auction. My client believes that you appraised and authenticated the scepter. She needs to know who commissioned the appraisal.”

Pickering looked upset. He shook his head back and forth.

“Any such work I may have done would be confidential.”

“You’re not a lawyer, a doctor, or a priest, so you don’t have any legal right to keep client information secret.”

“And we are in my house and not in a courtroom, so you have no legal right to—”

Glass shattered and a bullet smashed into the wall above Pickering’s head. He looked confused. Dana threw herself across the desk and knocked the professor to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Pickering protested.

More bullets tore through the room.

“Someone is shooting at us,” Dana said as she drew the gun she wore in a holster secured to her ankle. “Get under the desk and stay there.”

Dana stared into the forest but the light from the fireplace reflected off the window glass. She crawled closer to the windows and crouched behind the sofa, straining to hear any sound outside the house. Then she rose up cautiously and stared over the top of the couch and through the shattered panes. She didn’t see any movement in the forest.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going after the shooter.”

Pickering didn’t protest, and Dana darted through one of the French windows onto a patio. Another shot ricocheted off the outside wall and Dana heard someone crashing through the woods. She waited a moment, drew a second gun from the holster secured to the back of her belt, and crept forward, keeping low and moving her eyes back and forth.

A car engine started and Dana dashed toward the sound. By the time she reached the road, two taillights were disappearing around a curve. Dana debated getting her car but rejected the idea. The shooter had too much of a head start. Besides, she’d been hired to get information from Otto Pickering that could lead to the scepter, and she was curious to see the professor’s reaction to this attempt to murder him.

Pickering was still cowering under the desk when Dana reentered the living room. She holstered the gun she kept in the small of her back but held on to the snubnose revolver from her ankle holster.

“You’re safe now, Professor. The person who tried to kill you drove off before I could get to him.”

“Kill me?” Pickering said as he crawled out from under the desk and slumped in his chair.

“I can’t think of anyone with a motive to kill
me
,” Dana said. “If I died, my client would send someone else in my place. You’re the one with information that can lead to the scepter, so I have to think that you were the target.”

Pickering put his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening. I’m just a consultant. All I did was give an opinion about the authenticity of an antique.”

“For who?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Listen, Professor, once you tell me who hired you, the cat is out of the bag and no one will have a reason to kill you.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Pickering said. He was sweating and he was pale. Dana hoped he wasn’t going to pass out.

“Professor, someone just tried to murder you. There could be a second attempt.”

“But you said there wouldn’t be if I told you what you want to know,” Pickering said. He sounded desperate.

“I think the odds of another attempt will be small if you tell me who asked you to look at the scepter.”

Pickering didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his temples. Then he sighed.

“Rene Marchand.”

“Who?”

“Rene is an antiques dealer. His office is in Seattle. He specializes in rare European antiquities. He’s more of a broker. He doesn’t have a store.”

“Did he own the scepter or was he representing a client?”

“He wouldn’t answer any questions about the piece, but I got the impression that he was acting for a client. He only wanted my opinion on its authenticity.”

“What was your opinion?”

“I couldn’t say for certain that the scepter was the object the sultan gave to Gennadius, but it could have been. There are few written descriptions of the scepter, and the jewels had been removed. It was unquestionably from the appropriate time period, and the amount of gold used led me to believe that it had to have been created for someone of immense wealth like Mehmet II.”

“Where did you examine the scepter?”

“In Rene’s office. He was quite explicit about that. He didn’t let it out of his sight. There were two bodyguards watching me the whole time. It was rather unsettling.”

“Can you think of anything Mr. Marchand said that would help me find his client?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Is there a police station on the island?”

“What? No, the nearest police station is on the mainland.”

“Then you’ll have to call them.”

Pickering’s head snapped up. “No, no police.”

“I’m sure the killer didn’t expect me to come after him. He may have left evidence in the woods that will tell the authorities who tried to kill you.”

“I don’t want the police involved. If the police investigate, it will just bring me to the attention of . . . of whoever did this.”

“Look, Professor, I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your decision. If you don’t want to go to the police I’ll respect your choice. But I think you’re making a mistake. At least think about it.”

“I just want this to go away.”

Dana got the address of Marchand’s office and tried again, unsuccessfully, to convince the professor to call the police.

“You have my card,” Dana said as she prepared to leave. “It’s got my cell number on it. Call me if you think of anything.”

Pickering nodded but Dana doubted she would ever hear from the professor. He looked genuinely frightened and anxious to put everything that had happened behind him.

Dana was alert for cars that might be following her when she drove back to the inn through the storm. By the time she was safely inside the B&B it was late afternoon. Dana found Mr. and Mrs. Stanton reading in the parlor. She asked them for Emilio Leone’s phone number and called when she was in her room.

“Captain, this is Dana Cutler. I’ve finished my business here. Is there any chance we can head back to the mainland tonight?”

“Not in this storm. It’s hard enough in daylight. I ain’t risking my boat in this weather in the dark.”

“When do you think we can go?”

“Maybe tomorrow afternoon, but I ain’t promising. Depends on the weather.”

“I’ll be ready when you are. Will you call me when you know?”

“I’ll do that,” Leone said. Then the phone went dead.

Dana sighed. It probably wouldn’t matter whether they left tonight or tomorrow. Odds were Marchand’s office would be closed by the time she got back to Seattle. She hoped it would be open on Sunday.

Dana dialed Margo Laurent’s cell.

“Ms. Laurent, this is Dana Cutler,” she said when her client answered. “I’m calling from Isla de Muerta.”

“Did you meet with Pickering?” Laurent asked. Dana could hear the anxiety in her client’s voice.

“I did, but something unexpected happened while we were talking. Someone tried to kill the professor.”

“What!”

“Someone shot at him. He’s okay, but I think you held out on me.”

“I didn’t. I had no idea you would be in danger. You have to believe me.”

“Whether I do or not, the fact remains that someone is willing to kill to keep the scepter. Do you have any idea who that is?”

“No. I told you my grandparents were murdered and about the robbery. But that was years ago. Did you learn anything from the professor?”

“I know who asked him to authenticate the scepter.”

“Who is it?”

“Have you ever heard of a Seattle antiques dealer named Rene Marchand?”

“No.”

“There’s a storm here, so I can’t get back to the mainland before Saturday night at the earliest. I’ll try to talk to Marchand, but I’m not willing to take a bullet to help you get back the
scepter
.”

“Please. I’ll double your fee.”

Dana thought about that. “All right, but I’m off the case if there’s another incident like the one at Pickering’s house.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll call you after I speak to Marchand. Something else, Ms. Laurent. The people we’re dealing with are very dangerous, and you’re a threat to them. Watch your back.”