Cat Burglar in Training (13 page)

By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, my breath hissed from my mouth. Life would change if the police captured me. I couldn’t let that happen.

Pain seared my lungs, clogged my throat. No time to get my breath. I had to move. The door cracked open, my sweaty right palm leaving a smeared, wet print on the wood. Cursing my stupidity, I scrubbed at the print with a wet wipe from the packet I carried for child cleanup. Hopefully, the police would think the scent lingered in the wake of an overzealous cleaner. I yanked my left glove off and stuffed it in my bag.

I peered outside. No activity. Yet. Taking a deep breath, I eased through the door and shut it quietly behind me. Since the alarm was silent, none of the neighbors were perturbed.

I walked through the marbled foyer and let myself out the heavy glass-paneled front door. A woman pushed a carriage up the path just before I let go the door. Smiling, I held the door open for her.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Nice night,” I said, counting on the typical English attitude when chitchatting with strangers. The woman’s cautious smile wavered.

“I’ll hold the door until you maneuver the carriage through,” I said. The woman nodded, but didn’t hold my gaze for longer than polite. Not that it would have done her much good. I smoothed my right hand over my mousy brown hair. Any description she gave the cops would describe a woman bearing little resemblance to Eve Fawkner.

A car pulled up near the mansion. I glanced casually toward the road. My gaze swept the road before darting back to the vehicle and freezing in shock. Police. And not just any cop. Kahu. My stomach turned in a slow somersault, fear freezing me to the spot. Would he recognize me? He strode up the footpath toward me, and a lump the size of a walnut formed in my throat.

Kahu pulled ID from his pocket, as did the man with him. “Police. Inspector Williams. The Patterson flat—which floor?”

“The third floor,” I said, purposely lowering my voice in an attempt to sound unlike myself.
Please don’t recognize me
. I maintained the small interested smile, but didn’t meet his gaze, glancing at the watch I’d borrowed from Hannah instead, as if I were in a hurry. I caught a whiff of Kahu’s familiar spicy scent when he brushed past me. The other copper entered the building, and I released the door. They disappeared into the waiting lift before I allowed a breath to ease the tight band around my chest.

Phew, that had been close.
If I hadn’t walked out into the passage and seen the warning light…

A marked police car pulled up with a shriek of brakes, reminding me I’d better move before Kahu returned and started adding facts together. The man was no slouch in the brain department, and I couldn’t risk him seeing me again.

I tottered down the short driveway to the road. The greater the distance I put between the Pattersons’ flat and Kahu, the stronger my legs became. By the time I’d made it halfway down Cheyne Gardens, my gait was a smooth hip-rolling amble.

The Shadow lived to see another day free of bars.

I breathed even easier when I arrived at my Mini. I collapsed onto the driver’s seat, my legs doing a weird jelly thing. I’d made it to the car without a hand grabbing me by the shoulder and a cop arresting me.

I tugged another wet wipe from the packet in my handbag to dab the nervous perspiration from my face.

“Let’s hope the visit to the photographer isn’t as hard on the nerves,” I muttered, as I finally pulled out into the stream of traffic. It was much darker now, and the streetlights had popped on. The photographer’s studio was located on Kings Road, not far from Brompton Cemetery. As was my normal custom, I drove past Jasper’s studio for general scouting purposes, parked several streets away and walked back.

The studio was part of a block of businesses. And it seemed the owners lived in flats above. Either that or they were let out to tenants. Irritated at my run of bad luck, I stomped past Jasper’s studio to the business at the far end of the block. I counted the shops as I passed, assessing the degree of difficulty for this self-imposed mission. At least I wouldn’t have competition. That was about the only bright spot on the horizon.

I peered into the window of a chemist. The lights burned brightly inside the closed shop for security purposes. All the premises had security lights of varying brightness making entering the shops by the front impossible. I sauntered past again but kept walking this time. Loath to attract attention, I decided to walk around the block and check out the rear entrances. That was when inspiration hit. Damn! I’d been acting the blonde bimbo too long. There was no need to break into the studio. If Jasper lived above, logic said he’d have an office in his living space. He’d need the downstairs area for studio space to snap his photos.

“Bingo,” I whispered. “It might work in my favor.”

A muffled snigger jerked up my head. Two teenagers, one of each sex, were laughing at my frenzied muttering.

Right. I’d give them something to laugh about. “Men,” I muttered, thinking specifically of Kahu blinkin’ Williams and the way he’d scared several years off my life. “You give them an inch and they take a bloody mile. I’ll kill him, I will.” I paused to glare at the wide-eyed teenagers. “Or snip his doodle off for straying. Mark my words, missy. Men are trouble! If you’re not careful,” I snarled, adding some spittle for good measure, “you’ll end up like me with more kids than a body can feed. Lowdown lazy git.” I shuffled close, pushing my face up to theirs. “Lowdown lazy gits, the lot of ’em.”

As I’d intended, they backed away. Seconds later I heard running, and my laughter burst free like a lanced boil.
Good analogy.

About two minutes later, feeling much calmer, I pushed away from the brick wall I’d crumpled against during the weakness of hysterical laughter. I strode down the small lane running behind the block of shops, keeping to the shadows cast by a large oak tree.

I wasn’t doing a stellar job in the investigation department. Still rattled by Kahu’s presence, I hadn’t checked to see which of the upstairs occupants were at home. Not that a lack of lights meant they weren’t home, but it narrowed the field.

Four of the six flats had lights burning from upper-floor windows. The flats above the chemist and Jasper’s studio were dark. My smile was wry, as were my thoughts. With the way my luck was going tonight, Jasper would be tucked up in his bed and that bed would be in the same room as his computer. I checked my watch. I had an hour before I was due to meet Father and Ben back in Kensington High Street. If I arrived there late, I’d face questions.

Better get on with it.

A fire escape ladder clung to the outer wall of the building. I shucked my beige shirt and black skirt, deciding the singlet and dark leggings I wore underneath would be better for climbing and avoiding detection. Keeping my bag in case I needed the lock picks, I adjusted the strap and slung it over my shoulder. I tucked the discarded clothes under a hedge that ran parallel with the flats and marked off the parking area behind. I’d collect them on the way down if time allowed.

After checking my surroundings, I ran for the fire escape above the chemist’s shop and shimmied up. At the top, I paused again to survey the vicinity. Apart from the blare of the TV in the end flat, nothing raised my suspicions. I scampered along the narrow ledge, thankful that fear of heights was one flaw I lacked. Father and Ben insisted on a daily workout in the gym they’d set up in the basement. Although I protested each session, the practice was paying off. I’d hardly raised a sweat with my exertions.

The first window was firmly locked. I chewed my lip, debating whether to break in here or to try the window in the flat above the photographer’s. Heads for the chemist, tails for the photographer’s studio. I mentally tossed a coin. Heads it was.

I tugged the lock pick from the handbag slung over my shoulder. Ten seconds later, the latch moved, propelled upward by the thin metal hook I’d inserted between the window frame and the window. I flinched at the scraping sound the catch made as it dropped against the inner frame, but when no one screeched, I opened the window and sprang inside, light on my feet like the cat I was.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light inside the flat. A small studio. A couch that converted to a bed sat against the wall while I made out the fat boxy shapes of two chairs against the other wall. No one was home.

I sliced through the dark and struck my shin on a low metal coffee table. My hands grappled with empty air, and seconds later I hit the ground. Agonizing pain galloped up my leg as I picked myself up off the floor. I wrinkled my nose and scrubbed my hands down my leggings.
Eew!
The tenant wasn’t big on cleaning. The rug honked like a rubbish bag overdue for collection. But more important—had someone heard?

I waited, tension gripping me, but nothing stirred. I inched through the room on the lookout for furniture traps. I didn’t fancy kissing the smelly floor again. Definitely no one home.

Step one complete. Now for step two.

I let myself out the chemist’s door. The lock was a deadbolt so I grabbed a thin pillow from a cupboard and stuffed it in the doorway to prop it open. With the way my luck was going, a means of escape was sensible. With the pillow in place, I unscrewed the bulb in the landing light. Hopefully, anyone arriving home would assume it’d blown.

Right. I sucked in a breath to battle an influx of nerves. Next stop, the flat above Jasper’s studio.

The wooden door was shut. I tried the obvious—turning the handle and pushing, but it remained firmly closed. I nibbled on my lip and examined the lock. Father and Ben were the best in the business, and they’d trained me. I should ace this exam.

I hadn’t counted on nerves. My palms sweated and a fine tremor shook my hands. I persisted, barely breathing so I could hear the tumblers slot into line. The last tumbler lined up with a soft click. Success! I was so shocked I nearly dropped my lock picks.

Holding my breath, I slid inside the flat.

Another studio. It was easy enough to establish that this one was empty too. Much the same in layout as the other, but cleaner. I hovered by the light switch in indecision. There were no curtains at the window. Was it worth the risk? My search would take half the time, and if I found a computer, I’d need to see what I was doing. I had a small torch in my handbag but needed both hands to operate the computer. Decision made, I pulled on a pair of gloves and switched on the light. No computer.

Bloody hell, could this night get any worse? The refrain was becoming my theme song.

The flat consisted of a small kitchenette. The counter area was spotless with not a piece of dirty crockery in sight. A double bed filled most of the space, and over against the far wall, by a window, was a small wooden desk. Eager to begin my search, I hurried over. The desk, like the rest of the flat, was tidy and well organized. I checked the contents of the desk drawers, mindful of the need to hurry. Business cards. Letterheads. A pile of envelopes. At least they proved this flat belonged to Jasper. But where were his records? His database? Did he cart it around with him on a laptop or something?

I yanked out the larger bottom drawer. Inside, I found a wooden box. Heck, he still kept manual records. Index cards with client names, addresses and details of the jobs he’d done for them. I wouldn’t need the flash drive I’d pocketed before leaving home. I’d take this and go through the cards later. The box didn’t fit in my handbag. Probably better to remove the index cards anyway. I crammed the cards in my bag and managed to get the zip shut.

I replaced the box in the drawer and made sure everything was exactly as I’d found it. By the time Jasper discovered his database missing, I’d be long gone. A sliver of guilt hit me. Databases were sensitive and valuable commercial property. I’d be hurting his business. I hesitated a fraction longer before promising myself I’d return the cards somehow. I switched off the light and left the flat.

After a quick stop to remove the pillow from the neighboring flat and toss it inside, I made my way down a narrow set of steps and let myself out the door leading to the parking area out the back. I collected my clothes and hurried back to the Mini. Unfortunately, traffic on the way back to Kensington was heavy and I arrived twenty minutes late.

“Where the devil have you been?” Father’s words greeted me like the lash of a whip.

I switched off the ignition and jumped out to pull back the seat for Ben to scramble into the rear. Meanwhile, Father laboriously clambered into the passenger seat.

“I said where the devil have you been?” His aching joints did nothing for his temper.

“I heard you the first time,” I snapped while merging with traffic. “I ran into problems.” My confession was terse and settled Father’s irascible temper.

“You’re only half an hour late,” he conceded.

Ben leaned forward between the driver and passenger seats. “What happened?”

“I managed to get in okay, but our mystery competitor beat us to the prize.”

“Who is it?” Father demanded.

“I’ve no idea, but they’ll be pissed. I collected their calling cards. They left more this time.”

“Good job, Evie,” Ben said.

Father studied me closely. “And?”

He knew me too well. I let out a sigh, gathering courage to confess my stuff-up. “I tripped a silent alarm.” No point giving the truth any window dressing. I knew I’d messed up and wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Father scrutinized me until I started to feel like a bug under Amber’s toy microscope. “At least you realized.”

“I held the door for the cops when they arrived,” I admitted, my tone wry.

Ben spluttered.

“They didn’t recognize you.”

Hearing the pride in Father’s voice, I took my eyes off the road. “No.”

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Ben and I can tell you what to do, but experience is the best teacher. You did good, keeping cool under fire. You did good.”

Praise indeed. I didn’t try to restrain my surge of achievement as I drove down Kensington High Street past Prince’s Gate. I’d take compliments where I could get them.

“How did you and Ben go with your investigation?”

“We split up and tried most of the pubs around Covent Garden and the Strand. I got lucky in one of the Soho pubs.”

My lips twitched at Father’s wording. “Did you?” I indicated right into Brompton Road when the light turned green.

Ben guffawed. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” Father growled, but humor lurked under his bark. “I met up with the bloke who’s doing the selling. He said he expected another shipment in a few days. Gave me his card and took my number.”

“Great job.” I hadn’t expected results. “Did you manage to get details out of him?”

“The man was cagey although greedy. By the time I’d told him about my garden-expansion plans and the type of plants I required, I had him eating out of my hand.”

“Like Amber’s bunny,” I said.

“Just like Amber’s bunny,” Father said.

I pulled up in a small mews belonging to an acquaintance. My car would be handy but out of sight of prying neighbors.

“So, what are you going to do next? You don’t know for sure this is the thief.” I included Ben in my question.

Father reached over to squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t worry your pretty head about the details. Ben and I will take care of everything.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. “You
will
keep away from the poker games and the casino.”

Father snorted and struggled from my Mini. “With the pocket money you give us?”

His indignation and ingratitude stoked my temper. I was the one pulling his arse from the flames. If it weren’t for his huge debts, the Shadow could retire. I could take a shot at a normal life—or as normal as possible living in the same house as the terrible trio. I opened my mouth to spew forth a few home truths before clamping down on the hasty words. Father wasn’t the only one at fault here. I’d run off to France to wallow in my shame instead of facing the truth. The gossip. I hadn’t been at home watching him.

I climbed from the car and pulled back my seat to let Ben clamber out. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

It was a silent procession who walked down the road, each of us engrossed in our own thoughts. Father stalked ahead, his pride ruffled judging by his stiff, erect posture. Ben kept his own counsel.

Father came to an abrupt halt. Deep in thoughts of the past and should haves, I walked right into him. Seconds later, I was a sandwich filling hiding behind a convenient post box.

“Cops at nine o’clock,” Father whispered tersely in explanation.

“Oh, look! The boyfriend,” Ben said.

My heart knocked against my ribs. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Although I wanted him. There. I’d admitted my impossible dream. For the first time since my giddy teenage years, I felt the urge to get close to a man. My stomach pulled tight while a tingle sprang to life on my lips. I had imagination and one or two kisses to build my fantasies into great works of art.

“Then why does he keep ringing up and coming ’round?” Father asked.

I struggled to maintain composure. “That was business. An investigation.”

“If you say so,” Ben said. I couldn’t see it but I heard the glee in his voice.

“A right pretty pickle this is. You say Williams has seen you tonight in that getup?”

I gasped in consternation. Different clothes but the same hair. If Kahu saw me here, he’d add his sums and come up with the right total.

“We don’t want him to see any of us,” I said, peering around the red post box. “That’s the house I intended to check out.” My hands curled to fists. “Goddamn it! Our mystery cat is a pain in the arse.”

“We don’t know for sure that’s the problem,” Ben said.

“Why else would the cops arrive at the very house we want to check out? At exactly the same time? I don’t like coincidences.” Father shifted his weight a fraction. “We need to do something.”

I tugged on Father’s shirttail and squeezed Ben’s forearm. “We’d better head back to the car. No point trying anything here.”

We backtracked to the mews in silence.

“We’ll try the other house in Cadogan Square,” I said.

“Best not risk it,” Father said. “You’ve run into the cops twice tonight. If I was a betting man, I’d say we might find our mysterious cat there before us.”

You are a betting man.
“They have to be part of our social circle.”

Father grunted.

Ben cleared his throat. “Beauchamp expects a payment tomorrow.”

Did they have to remind me? “Vincent and Seedy were tame this morning, but I wouldn’t count on them remaining the same way if we miss a payment.”

Father bit off a frustrated curse as we climbed in the car. “Beauchamp will use the money shortage to blackmail you.” He scrubbed his hands across his face. “Hell, I’m sorry.”

In the light cast by the streetlamp, lines of fatigue and worry spliced with what I guessed was guilt filled his face. I took my left hand off the steering wheel and reached over to touch Father on the arm. “You never said what you spent the money on.”

Father sighed, looking every year of his age. “Maintaining Oakthorpe is expensive.” His voice was matter-of-fact and void of excuses. He saw maintaining Oakthorpe as a sacred trust. It was the Fawkner way.

“Keeping the business going is expensive.” Ben’s gruff voice held resignation. “Skimp on equipment, and it’s jail quicker than a dog after a bitch in heat.”

“Charming,” I said, merging with the traffic on the A24.

Father managed a weak chuckle before lapsing into brooding silence.

Hannah greeted us at the door on our return. “You’re back earlier than I expected.”

“A few hiccups,” I said. “I’ll let you both out here and park the car.”

Father massaged his hands and arms in a furtive manner when he thought none of us were looking. My heart ached for him.

He hobbled inside followed by Ben while I drove around the back of the house to park in the garage.
A typical summer’s night
. Full moon. Mild weather. The scent of honeysuckle in the air. A night made for romance and whispering sweet nothings, yet all I got was drama.

Hannah was in the kitchen when I walked inside. The kettle whistled and clicked off.

“How’s Amber?”

“Chicken pox,” Hannah said, reaching for the kettle and pouring boiling water into a blue china teapot.

Damn. “Is she all right?” What sort of parent was I? I’d known she wasn’t well but had assumed she’d overdone things at the after-school party.

“She’s running a temperature but the doctor says she’ll be fine. The fever should drop soon.”

I hurried from the kitchen and bolted up the stairs. Amber was asleep just as Hannah said. Her rosebud mouth gaped a little, and each breath she took sounded like the fairy whistle my godmother used to tell her stories about. I tiptoed to the bed, my heart aching with a fierce tug of love. Her cheeks were flushed and her brown hair damp and messy. She’d kicked off the bedcovers, and I bent to twitch them into place. I smoothed a lock of hair away from her face and felt her forehead. Hot, although not too bad.

I trusted Hannah implicitly with my daughter, but I’d still deserted her when she needed me most. Tears of helplessness formed behind my eyes, and I swallowed to dislodge the knot in my throat. Bottom line, I should have been here for her.

Soft footsteps sounded, and Hannah joined me. After one look at my face, she placed an arm around my shoulders. “It’s all right, pet. Amber’s going to be fine. Don’t cry.”

Of course on hearing that, my tears fell faster. I sniffed inelegantly.

Hannah hugged me to her ample bosom, and when my tears eased, patted me on the back. “Come downstairs. Ben and Charles muttered about a meeting. We might as well join them and help drink the last of the good Scottish whisky.”

Amber stirred, her legs kicking out before she settled again.

“Don’t worry. The best thing for her now is sleep. Come downstairs. I need someone sensible to control those old coots. I can’t do it on my own.”

With those words, the band of helplessness around my chest eased. Hannah, in her own sweet way, made me realize we were a family. The four of us functioned as a family and we’d fall as one if I didn’t lead from the front.

“You see more of your daughter than most parents do,” Hannah said, ushering me from Amber’s room. “You visit her sports days, help out with the PTA and read her stories most nights. You’re a good parent, Evie. Don’t beat yourself up.”

We entered the den together. Father and Ben were sprawled out in their favorite armchairs, glasses of whisky in hand. Their animated chatter died when we arrived.

Hannah arched a brow. “Hatching mischief, boys?”

The idea of her calling Father and Ben boys tickled my funny bone.

“Humph,” Father said.

I grabbed two crystal glasses from the old, battered sideboard and poured Hannah a generous measure of whisky. I made do with sparkling mineral water. Hannah dropped onto an old leather couch, a sigh of relief gusting from her. I took up a position against the wall because I wanted to see the three of them at the same time.

“We need to shut our competitor down,” Father said.

No arguments there. “How? Any ideas?”

“Ben and I have been discussing it. We need to set a trap. I hate to admit it, but your boyfriend might come in handy.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protested automatically.

“How come he rang for you twice tonight and once at lunchtime?” Hannah didn’t attempt to hide her delight.

“Because he doesn’t have my mobile number. I didn’t think I should encourage him.”
Not too much.

“What did he want?” Father demanded.

“Did he leave a message?” Ben asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Big, fat liar
. “He’s not!”

Hannah dropped her bombshell. “He left a message. Two, actually.”

I was going to kill them. A slow, painful manner would work best.

Ben waggled his eyebrows. “What did they say?”

“Where are they?” Father narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t you dare give my messages to them.” I tried to subdue them with my glare.

“I didn’t like to leave any evidence.” Hannah was enjoying my predicament. “I memorized them. Now let me see…” Her brows squeezed together and she held one pudgy hand to her forehead like a damn psychic.

“Don’t I get any privacy around here?” I didn’t have to force the belligerent note. I wanted a normal life, but what were the chances of that?

“He can help us with our problem,” Father said, breaking into my thoughts.

“Let me give Evie her messages before I forget the exact wording. It’s important to get things right.”

I wanted to throttle her and, judging by the twinkle in her eye, she knew it.

“The first phone call was to touch base, to say hello and ask Evie out for dinner tonight. The second was a plea to ring back on his mobile, and the third message was a sorry he hadn’t caught up with you. He wanted to wish you sweet dreams, and he’ll ring again tomorrow.” Hannah sighed dreamily. “Ben, you could take a few pages out of his book. He has such a nice manner on the phone, and that accent. So sexy.”

My father coughed loudly. “That’s enough of that, Hannah. Ben has everything you need. You don’t need to stray.”

“My father, the advice columnist,” I mocked. “We’re drifting off topic. Your plan? The one to oust our competitor? That’s if there’s still an ‘us’ after we shortchange Beauchamp tomorrow.”

As always, reality exerted a calming influence.

“I’ve been turning the idea over in my head all day,” Father said. “How about this? Release a rumor we’ve found a Celtic dagger while we were digging a new garden.”

I straightened from my casual pose. “Not bad. Not bad at all. How are we going to bring the police into it?”

“That’s where my plan gets sticky,” Father admitted. “We’ll have to let that man into our house. You’re going to have to accept a date or two with that cop. We might even have to let him stay the odd night.”

I spluttered in shock. “Stay the night?”

Father’s cheeks reddened. “In a spare room, of course.”

Surprisingly, I fought against the idea the hardest. “Won’t it make things difficult for the Shadow?”

Ben sipped his whisky. “I don’t think so. Besides, Beauchamp’s goons might keep away if they know we have an in with the police.”

“Have you lost your minds?” Senility. That was it. The senile gene had hit the terrible trio at the same time.