Aunt Dimity and the Next of Kin (15 page)

“You’re sure?” Gabriel said doubtfully, and when I nodded, he moved to the mouth of the passageway, where he could keep an eye on me and my strange companion.

“Okay, Blinker,” I said, “we’re alone now. What’s up?”

“Father Bright says I was to come find you,” he said, head bowed, as though speaking to his shoes.

“You did a good job,” I said. “Here I am.”

“Only, I don’t come round this corner no more,” said Blinker nervously. “Used to, but not no more.”

The comment explained why he’d crept up on me instead of approaching me openly. When a panhandler abandoned a regular beat, it was usually because he’d been driven off by shopkeepers, policemen, or a bullying competitor. Someone had scared Blinker so badly that he was unwilling to show his face on Travertine Road.

“No one will bother you while you’re with me,” I told him.

“What about him?” Blinker said, shooting a fearful glance at Gabriel.

“He knows you’re my friend,” I said. “He won’t hurt you.”

Blinker’s gaze returned to his shoes. “Father Bright says I was to talk to you.”

“About Miss Beacham?” I ventured hopefully.

“Father Bright told us you was looking for her brother,” he said.

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my voice calm. “Do you know where her brother is?”

Blinker shook his head.

“What do you know?” I asked.

“I know about her,” he said. “Used to come by here regular, she did. Always a pound for old Blinker. Sometimes a packet of bread—homemade bread, with raisins. Talked to me, she did. ‘How are you today?’ and ‘I hope you’re warm enough’ and ‘See you on Monday.’ Like that.”

“See you on Monday,” I repeated thoughtfully. “Did she come here on weekends?”

“Didn’t work weekends,” said Blinker. “Monday through Friday, regular as clockwork.”

My heart did another little dance. “Do you know where she worked?”

“Yes, missus. Across from the café, in the building with the green door,” said Blinker. “That’s all I know, missus. Father Bright says I was to tell you.”

“I’ll let Father Bright know that you told me, Blinker.” I took a five-pound note from my shoulder bag and passed it to him. “Thanks for finding me.”

Blinker stuffed the cash in his pocket, then raised his head slightly. “She dead, is she?”

“Yes, she is,” I said. “She died four days ago, in hospital.”

“Thought she would,” said Blinker. “She looked it. Big eyes, you know, and her face so pale. Pity. Always a pound for old Blinker, and a kind word.” He was silent for a moment, then he lifted his head again. “She wouldn’t mind me coming to her funeral, would she, missus?”

“No,” I said. “She’d want you to be there, but the funeral’s been put off for a while. I’ll let you know when it’s going to take place.” I started to put a hand on his shoulder, but quickly withdrew it. Blinker tended to panic when touched. “Do you want me to come with you until you feel safe, Blinker?”

“No, missus. I know the back ways. I’ll be all right.” Blinker twitched and nodded and shuffled off down the passage, away from the cacophony of Travertine Road.

I waited until he faded into the shadows, then joined Gabriel.

“You have colorful friends,” he observed.

“Wait till you meet Big Al,” I told him.

“Do you actually know someone named
Big Al
?” Gabriel said in disbelief.

“I make his bed twice a week,” I replied. “Sometimes I serve him breakfast.”

Gabriel just stared.

I laughed. “I work as a volunteer at Julian Bright’s homeless shelter. It’s jam-packed with colorful characters.”

“Do any of them have normal names?” Gabriel asked.

“Probably,” I answered, “but they prefer to use their street names.”

“Did Blinker come by simply to pass the time of day,” said Gabriel, “or did he grab you for a specific reason?”

“You’re going to love this,” I said, and beckoned him to follow me. When we stood in front of Woolery’s Café, I nodded at the shiny, forest-green door of the cream-colored Georgian building directly across the street. “Blinker told me that Miss Beacham used to work there. She went through that green door every day, except for weekends.”

Gabriel had gone as still as stone. “Good grief,” he said faintly.

“Lucky I have such colorful chums, isn’t it?” I said. “Without Blinker we might never have—”

“Lori,” Gabriel interrupted, with an odd smile, “read the brass plaque beside the door.”

I shaded my eyes, followed his gaze, and felt goose bumps rise all up and down my arms.

There, incised in elegant copperplate on the dully gleaming plaque, were the words:

 
PRATCHETT & MOSS
SOLICITORS

Twelve

“She ... she worked for
them
?” I squeaked.

“If you believe Blinker,” said Gabriel.

“I have no reason not to,” I said. “I mean, the building’s where it should be—at the end of the route you outlined on the map. And if Miss Beacham worked for anyone in Oxford, it would be for a law firm, right? But not for one split second did it ever occur to me that she might have worked for
Mr. Moss.
” I pointed an accusing finger at the green door. “Why didn’t the old coot tell me?”

Gabriel reached over to lower my arm. “I can understand your indignation, Lori, but let’s not draw attention to ourselves.”

“Humph,” I said, very much annoyed. “Mr. Moss could have saved us a lot of time and trouble if he’d told me Miss Beacham worked for him. I’ll bet there’s a file clerk in there right now, just brimming with information about Kenneth.”

“If Miss Beacham was an employee as well as a valued client, it would put Mr. Moss in a doubly awkward position, as far as confidentiality goes. We’ll have to go in there, of course, but . . .” Gabriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then took me by the elbow and steered me into the café. “We’ll strategize over lunch.”

Woolery’s was not the café I would have chosen for lunch. A dark cave lined with sweet-scented grasses would have suited my throbbing head better. Woolery’s was detestably bright and cheerful, with window-walls overlooking the busy street. I selected a table with a good view of Pratchett & Moss’s offices while Gabriel foraged for food at the self-service counter. He returned with two glasses of water and two complicated sandwiches that seemed to contain many vegetables and some kind of cheese.

“Bad news,” he reported. “Mr. Woolery emigrated to Australia six weeks ago. The café’s changed management, and the old staff is gone. The name Beacham doesn’t ring a bell with any of the new people.”

“Blinker’s tip came just in time,” I said, and tore into my sandwich. My headache retreated once I’d started eating, but my amazement kept growing. When I’d dabbed up the last crumb of whole-grain bread, I murmured, “Miss Beacham worked for Pratchett and Moss. I can’t believe it.”

“You also can’t go in there,” said Gabriel, nodding toward the green door.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because we have to be sneaky,” Gabriel explained.

“I can be sneaky,” I said.

“Not with Mr. Moss, you can’t,” said Gabriel. “Tell me honestly, Lori: Would you be able to face him right now without giving him a piece of your mind?”

“If you taped my mouth shut,” I muttered.

“Your murderous glances would still boil his brains.” Gabriel chuckled. “Apart from that, you’ve spoken with him on the telephone. You have a distinctive voice as well as an American accent. He’d know who you were the moment you spoke, and if past experience is anything to go by, he’d refuse to tell you anything about Kenneth. I, on the other hand, have neither met nor spoken with Mr. Moss. He doesn’t know me from Adam. I’ll have a much better chance of catching him off guard if I go alone. I’ll pretend to be a prospective client, possibly one sent by Miss Beacham. I’ll decide when I get there.”

I sat back in my chair and regarded him ruefully. “I’ve created a monster. This morning you couldn’t imagine making small talk with the woman who sold you toothpaste. Now you’re ready to tackle Mr. Moss on your own.”

“I’ve had an excellent tutor,” said Gabriel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Hold on,” I said, motioning for him to keep his seat. “Before you throw yourself into the lion’s den, there’s something I need to say.”

“Go ahead,” said Gabriel.

“Blinker could have been a dangerous nutcase instead of a harmless one,” I said, “but you jumped him anyway, to protect me. I should have thanked you sooner, but Blinker’s news distracted me. So, for the record, thanks.”

“It was my pleasure.” Gabriel’s gray eyes brightened. “Truly, it was. I enjoyed every minute of it. I’ve never rescued anyone before. It was a strangely exhilarating experience.” He stood. “And now I must be off. Wish me luck!”

As Gabriel left the café, I found myself sizing him up for a suit of shining armor. “Poor Mr. Moss,” I said under my breath. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”

I watched closely as Gabriel crossed the street, climbed the steps, and entered the premises of Pratchett & Moss, and laughed at myself when I realized that I was listening intently, as if I could, by willpower alone, hear what was being said inside the building’s cream-colored stone walls.

Whatever was said, it didn’t take long. Fewer than ten minutes had passed before the green door opened again and Gabriel sprinted down the steps. He seemed to be in a tearing hurry. He dodged fearlessly through traffic, ran into the café, and bent over me, breathing heavily.

“I’ll explain everything in a minute,” he said urgently. “But we have to leave here.
Now.”

I had to trot to keep up with his long strides as he led me out of the café, around the corner, and halfway down the block to a pricey-looking Italian restaurant.

“In here,” he said, and pulled me into the dimly lit restaurant.

When the maitre d’ came to take our jackets, Gabriel informed him that we required a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant, and that someone would be joining us shortly. When we reached the booth, Gabriel sat facing the door, while I sat with my back to it.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You’ll find out,” he replied, and kept his eyes trained on the restaurant’s front door.

A moment later, he caught his breath. I craned my neck to look behind me and saw that a woman had entered the restaurant.

She was wearing a shapeless black raincoat over a gray tweed skirt suit, but the dowdy clothes couldn’t disguise her slender figure or her natural grace. She came through the front door like a ballerina, head up, shoulders back, one foot gliding lightly after the other. Her dark hair was straight and clipped quite short, but the severe style only served to emphasize her long neck and fine bone structure. Her brown eyes seemed enormous, and her pale skin was flawless.

Through the table, I felt Gabriel quiver.

“Thank you,” she said to the maitre d’, when he offered to take her raincoat. Her voice was soft, breathy, and slightly high-pitched, almost childish. I recognized it as the voice that had answered the telephone when I’d called Pratchett & Moss from Miss Beacham’s apartment.

Gabriel rose to his feet as she approached our booth. He didn’t seem to be shrieking inwardly. To the contrary, he had the addled look of a man whose brain had ceased functioning on any but the most elementary levels. It’s her bone structure, I said to myself, marveling. The portrait painter’s fallen head over heels for her
bone structure.

“Lori Shepherd,” he said, “this is Joanna Quinn. Mrs. Quinn works for Mr. Moss.”

My juicy thoughts evaporated when I heard him attach “Mrs.” to Joanna’s name, but I smiled bravely, said “How do you do?” and slid over to make room for her. What a pity, I thought. Gabriel could gasp and quiver until the cows came home, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the woman whose exquisite cheek-bones had managed to defrost his frozen heart was unavailable.

“I’m sorry about the cloak-and-dagger,” she said to Gabriel. “But Woolery’s windows are quite large and I didn’t want to risk being seen by Mr. Moss. He wouldn’t approve of me talking with you.”

“He wouldn’t sack you, would he?” Gabriel asked worriedly.

“He might,” she replied. “He hasn’t been himself lately. But if push came to shove, I’d give up my job and much more to help Elizabeth.”

Gabriel spoke to me without taking his eyes from Joanna. “Mrs. Quinn worked with Elizabeth Beacham.”

“If I’m to call you Gabriel,” said Joanna, referring to an exchange they must have had in the office, “then you must call me by my Christian name.”

“All right . . . Joanna.”

The two of them were gazing at each other as though they’d forgotten what the simple gold band on Joanna’s left hand meant. I was the last person on earth to lecture anyone on the strict interpretation of marriage vows—I’d heard the call of the wild myself on a few occasions—but I didn’t want an enraged husband spoiling Gabriel’s return to the land of the loving. A heads-up seemed in order.

Gabriel looked dazedly at the waiter who was passing out menus.

“I’ll have the lasagna,” Gabriel said, without opening his.

“The same for me,” I said, though I wasn’t hungry.

“For me as well,” said Joanna. “And take your time. We’re in no hurry.”

The waiter filled our water glasses, gathered up the unused menus, and departed.

“Won’t Mr. Moss notice that you’re gone?” I asked, hoping to draw Joanna’s attention away from Gabriel.

“I told him I was leaving for the day,” Joanna replied, turning to me. “A family emergency.”

“A family emergency,” I repeated, emphasizing the word
family.
“My husband and I know all about them. Bill and I have two sons, Will and Rob. They’re twins. How many children do you have?”

“One,” she said. “A daughter. Chloe.”

“What a beautiful name. She must be a beautiful child,” murmured the man who had, only twenty-four hours earlier, shuddered at the mere thought of sharing a meal with my truly adorable sons.