Cloaked in Malice (26 page)

Dante saluted, his dimple giving away
his
definition of the word “chill.”

At Nick’s, I checked his computer to see if there were any results from his search for an eighties kidnapping-killing in Paris, the one I asked him to run, but no results had been found.

After that, I took a shower, grabbed the overnight bag I kept there, and the next thing I knew, the sun was up and I’d slept alone.

I’d brought a fifties two-piece bustier halter top and circle
skirt sundress, printed with a blend of lavender, sea foam, and saffron brushstrokes. The outfit came to life with a gamine pair of saffron Bullocks Wilshire kitten heels, topped with a froth of matching starflowers.

As I fixed my hair, I saw Nick behind me in the mirror, leaning against the jam in the open bathroom doorway. “Are you upset with me?”

“For working all night?” I asked.

“No, for calling you my life partner in front of the guys. I guess I got a little possessive.”

“Ya think? Still, I’ve had butterflies fluttering around inside since you said it. So either I like it, or I’m coming down with something.”

I turned to meet him for a welcome home kiss, then he offered me his Frappuccino. While I sipped, he yanked off his tie.

“How’s the farm?” I asked, enjoying the brew.

He didn’t seem to care that I finished it. He knew he’d lost his caffeine fix the minute he handed it over. “Make any progress after we left?”

“We were exhuming before you cleared the gate. And we got a report on the way back, this morning, that the bodies were airlifted to DC in record time yesterday, and parceled out to FBI and other government labs in the DC area. Forensics examinations have already begun. Oh, and we found more bodies than we expected.”

“So those
were
cadaver dogs?”

“One van carried the search and rescue K-9 unit, the other
transported the cadaver dogs. Speaking of which, most interesting by far was Dogpatch, the cemetery.”

“Oh, why’s that?” I asked, sitting on the bed against the pillows, yellow shoes hanging off the edge. “Don’t be too graphic. I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.”

“Men, not dogs, and it took no special unit to identify what was left of their clothes. Remember the shape and color of the sign?” Nick returned from his walk-in closet wearing sweats.

“Sure, a red polka-dot doggie bone. I was thrown by that.”

“Go you. Not a bone, but a red polka-dot bow tie. Each man wore one with a synthetic wig—red, multi, blue, green, orange. They stood the test of time. Each had a red rubber ball nose and hugged a pair of big-ascot floppy shoes to match their wigs. Yes, Dogpatch was a clown cemetery.”

Nick started down the hall, like that was a normal sentence.

I raised myself on my elbows. “Is that a joke?”

“
My
superiors weren’t laughing, but the coroner from New Haven was. Scanlon swore like a trooper. The whole case will look like a mockery, he said.”

I followed Nick. “Not if you uncover a clown crime family.”

Nick snapped his fingers, kissed me hard, and took the stairs, two at a time.

I followed at a more sedate pace.

I found him at his computer, and rolled another office chair his way, so I could sit beside him. “How did the clowns die?”

“The coroners found that more than a few had been shot. Couple appeared to have died of old age, and now they’re all on their way to forensics so we’ll know.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“Crimes committed by clowns, anywhere, ever.”

Thirty-four

By far the best dressing up outfit I ever had was a wonderful pair of clown dungarees, which my Granny made.

—KATE MIDDLETON

“Do a search for clowns who have fallen off the face of the earth, why don’t you? Oh, and see how many SubZero freezers fell off appliance trucks in the past few years. Mam and Pap had to have a supplier.”

Nick chuckled. “Right, I don’t guess they fell out of the sky and washed up on shore.”

“Any leads on Mam’s or Pap’s identities?”

“No, that’ll take forensics. Somebody took much more care with the clowns’ final resting places than with Mam’s and Pap’s.”

“When will we know anything definitive?”

“Scanlon got the case preferential treatment, since we found a nursery in the house, as though a recent kid-napping
might have taken place, but I think ‘recent’ was pushing it.”

“At least two kidnappings that I’m certain of were involved. Paisley’s and her mother’s. I think Scanlon was right to give it priority.”

“Could be, which means we could hear anytime.”

“What about the money?”

Nick shook his head. “They took pictures of the money caskets, then packed the money in boxes and took it and the caskets with them. Once they raised the caskets to carry them upstairs empty, they found traces of serial numbers on the bottom, which might help.”

“Is the farm now abandoned?”

“No, Scanlon left a contingent of guards.”

“Are the guards going to live in the house?”

“Crime scene is secure. The guards are moving around in boats on the water surrounding the island. Feds in fishing boats, vacation boats, a houseboat, nothing too nice or obvious.”

“Why
have
the Feds been watching the island?”

“For spies.” Nick chuckled. “They’ve watched it for years. It was hot in the thirties, then again in the eighties. When it saw no action, it was like a frat joke. Send the low man on the totem pole to boat around the island once a month, check it off on the list. It was Paisley’s escape that got them interested all over again.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I watched while Nick did some dead-end searching. “The grave behind the shack. Bepah?
I mean, did the corpse have a missing finger, right hand?”

“Sorry, Ladybug,
that
headstone was a fake, but I put in for the leather-bound sketch pad to revert to Paisley when it’s no longer evidence. I did the same with the house.” Nick moved to another computer, and started a different search.

“You’re a good man. She’ll love the sketches. The house, I’m not so sure.

“Looks like your workday will be a long one,” I said, leaving him to it. “I’ll make you a pot of coffee before I go.”

“Thanks, somebody stole mine.”

I kissed his brow. “Then I’m gonna head for the shop. People are still buying forties clothes for Dolly’s birthday party, though she may not be there.”

“What are you going to do if she’s a no-show party night?”

“Have a party, give Paisley a chance to meet some guys,” I said on my way downstairs. I started the coffeemaker and grabbed the newspaper off the stoop. When I saw the front-page picture of military Hummers and SUVs invading Coffin Farm, I went back to Nick’s office, and dropped the paper on his keyboard.

He whistled and picked it up.

“I thought you’d blow up,” I said.

“Oh, Scanlon’s gonna scream, make a big stink, but I’m not sure it isn’t bait to bring interested parties into the open.”

“And if they didn’t plant it?” I asked.

Nick raised his chin. “Then there was a spy among us. Big news.” He answered his phone, listened, asked a few general questions, and hung up. “Here’s one for the books. The money’s counterfeit. Mam and Pap were doing the world a favor by keeping it hidden all these years.”

Didn’t see that coming.

“They must have known it,” Nick said. “They didn’t use it.”

“
Where
would they use it? Oh, scrap!” I said. “Paisley used it. She’s been spreading it around for months. I can’t believe nobody caught it.”

“Good thing she’s frugal,” Nick said, chuckling despite Paisley’s pickle. “I’ll get the Bureau to notify the bank and the police right away. Nobody will press charges.”

I hit speed dial for my father’s house and got Paisley. “Can you help me in the shop today? We have some things to discuss.”

“Absolutely. I love your shop, plus I think your parents would rather be alone.”

“Tell them we’ll all three be at the house tonight, so they can move back to Fiona’s. See you in a few.”

“Why did you ask for her help in the shop?” Nick asked, going for that coffee I’d made.

“I’ll get her to list where she spent money, see how much it is, and maybe I can write a few checks to cover it. She can work it off in the shop.”

“You are a good friend.”

“I’m a good life partner, too.”

Nick answered his phone again as I was about to leave, so I waited.

When he finished, he shook his head and sipped his coffee. “Mam, Pap, and the clowns have no fingerprints. Looks like their prints were burned off decades ago when they were still alive. Forensics is looking at dental work now.”

Paisley Skye, who the Hermès are you?

I answered my own phone when I saw it was Ethel. I could barely understand her at first, then she started to make sense. “I’ll be right there,” I said. “You wait right there for me.”

“Since I can’t fly, I guess I’ll wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Nick asked, looking at his ringing phone, but he didn’t answer it.

“Ethel got a call from Lawrence and Memorial Hospital. An ambulance is at the airport to meet Dolly’s plane.”

“Ethel’s name was down to be notified…in case…”

Thirty-five

Fashion anticipates, and elegance is a state of mind…a mirror of the time in which we live, a translation of the future, and should never be static.

—Oleg Cassini

Nick said he’d meet me at the hospital.

Dante said to tell Doll he’d be waiting for her. I shivered every time I thought of it. In my car, before I went for Ethel, I called Fiona to get me out of the soup. There it was, Nick’s proof that I did get myself into it, not that I’d share the realization.

“Your father and I will both go work at the shop today,” Fee said, “and we’ll take Paisley with us to help. Do you think we’ll need Mrs. Meyers?”

“Yes, only because Olga knows what’s on sale and what forties outfits will work best for Dolly’s birthday party next Saturday. Can you call her, ask her,
and
pick her up?”