He Huffed and He Puffed (18 page)

What an extraordinary woman Joanna was. Her posture was abominable. She didn't bother with make-up. Lovely high cheekbones and golden-brown eyes. Her clothes were good, but I suspected she wore them more as a concession to decency than out of any interest in fashion. She was intelligent, and she had to have strong survival skills to be where she was in her profession. Her appearance and her way of walking and talking all broadcast one clear message:
You've got your rules, I've got mine
—
let's not make an issue of it
. She had that wonderful don't-give-a-damn outlook that comes only from knowing one has a special gift that raises one up over the rest of the world. No matter whatever else happened to her in her life, she would still be Joanna Gillespie, violinist supreme. One of a kind. That uniqueness made her exciting in a way she was all too aware of, and I wasn't the only one attuned to it. Jack had been trying to move in on her all weekend.

Jack McKinstry was more or less what he appeared to be—a privileged, careless man who could turn the charm on or off at will. Jack was the McKinstry who didn't work. Or hadn't worked, according to my assistant, until a close brush with death had changed his attitude some four years back. Jack himself later told us what Strode was accusing him of, and I for one had no difficulty in believing it at all. There was something of the cornered rat about Jack McKinstry, in spite of his glib speech and his carefully cultivated appearance of poise and self-control—
centeredness
, I believe it's called now. He probably had no qualms at all about throwing his friends to the wolves to save himself.

But Jack and Joanna both were amateurs when it came to dealing with the likes of A. J. Strode; I knew as early as Friday night that I was going to have to be the one to come up with a solution for our mutual problem. By Sunday morning I knew I could count on Joanna; she understood the need for drastic action and she had the backbone to go through with it. Jack was the weak link in our chain, but we couldn't do it without him.

We all asked for breakfast trays in our rooms. Then we had to wait a few minutes while Joanna tested her blood sugar. But at last they were both in my room, and we were able to get down to business. Joanna wouldn't even look at Jack; as far as she was concerned, he wasn't there. For his part, Jack affected an air of indifference.

“First of all,” I said, “we're going to need a diversion, something to get the guard away from his post long enough for Jack to get in and disable the monitors—and Jack, I asked you to give it some thought. Were you able to come up with something?”

“Do I get some help,” he asked lazily, “or am I supposed to do both the diverting
and
the disabling?”

“Of course you'll have help.”

“Then it's easy. We just let the monitor show you trying to pick the lock to Strode's bedroom suite.” He grinned.

Not bad. It would not only accomplish our mutual goal of getting the guard away from his monitors, but it would also satisfy Jack's private goal of casting me in a less-than-dignified role, in this instance that of failed burglar. “Very good,” I said. “We'll use it. How long will you need to disable the monitors?”

He shrugged. “Can't tell until I see the wiring. Just keep the guard occupied as long as you can.”

Joanna was frowning. “This won't give us a whole lot of time. They'll be sure to get a repairman out here immediately.”

“It's Sunday,” Jack reminded her.

“This is New York, not California,” she reminded
him
, at last acknowledging his existence.

I said, “The security firm that installed the cameras and monitors undoubtedly offers around-the-clock service. But we won't need much time, Joanna, just enough for you and me to get back into the house.”

She smiled wryly. “Start at the beginning?”

“Right. You both agree there's no way we're going to get into Strode's office vault on our own?” They nodded. “Well, then, we'll simply have to get someone to open it for us. Castleberry. He can get us into the building and he's bound to know how to open the vault.”

“And why, pray tell,” Jack drawled, “is Castleberry going to do us such a big favor? Out of the warmness of his oversized Samaritan heart?”

“What's Castleberry going to be doing today?” I asked rhetorically. “He's going to be sitting by his telephone waiting for us to call and tell him which one we've chosen to sell his House of Glass shares. So that's what we do. We call and say we've decided, and would he kindly get the hell over here, please?”

Joanna looked interested, but Jack laughed derisively. “And which one of us, he asked innocently, did we choose? It couldn't possibly be Richard Bruce, could it?”

“No. Jack McKinstry. You call the number Strode gave us and tell Castleberry you're the seller. And you also tell him Joanna and I are leaving.”

“Why leave, Richard?” she asked.

“Because Castleberry isn't likely to come here if he thinks he has to face all three of us again. He's undoubtedly primed the security guards to let him know the minute any of us walks out carrying a suitcase. So you and I walk, and Jack waits for Castleberry.”

“Why Jack?”

“Yeah, why me?”

“Jack has the best line of patter—he can talk rings around someone like Castleberry. Jack, you've got to feign enthusiasm when you talk to him. You're the winner, remember. Tell him we drew straws or played cards to decide, whatever. Convince him it's all settled and that he can safely come here and conclude the business. Can you do that?”

He languidly lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.

“Then what?” Joanna asked. “You and I come back in through the wine cellar?”

“Yes, but you're getting ahead of yourself. We have to unlock the door from the inside and then wait until Jack disables the security system. We won't be able to get back in until he does, because that rear service gate is electronically controlled.”

“How'm I going to do all that if you've already left?” Jack protested. “I need—”

“All right, let's back up,” I interrupted. “In sequence, then. The first thing is that Joanna and I pack. Next, you two go to the key cabinet near the kitchen. One of you stands lookout and diverts any passing maid while the other takes the key to the wine cellar. They're all labeled, but it might take a few minutes to find the right one—that's why you'll need a lookout. Once you have the key, I go into Strode's private wing and pretend to try to pick the lock to the bedroom suite. It was the door to the library that you left unlocked, wasn't it?”

“The library, right,” Joanna said.

“So I'll fiddle around with the bedroom lock. The security guard sees me trying to break in and rushes up to stop me. Jack goes in and disconnects the cameras and monitors, and Joanna goes down and unlocks the wine cellar door. Joanna and I leave, separately. Jack calls Castleberry. Joanna, just ride around in a taxi for fifteen or twenty minutes and then meet me by the service gate out back. I have an errand to run.”

“What errand?” Jack asked suspiciously.

“I'm going to one of those charming places in Times Square that are open twenty-four hours a day, and I'm going to buy three knives.”

“Knives!”
they both said.

“One for each of us,” I nodded, “the biggest, ugliest knives I can find. Granted, that's a trifle melodramatic. But the knives are necessary, I think, to assure Castleberry's cooperation. We're in the intimidation business now, my friends, so we'd better make sure we do it right. Castleberry isn't going to give us any trouble if he's convinced we're all three prepared to stick a knife in him at the slightest provocation.”

“Well, all right!” Jack's big grin was back; he liked the idea of a knife.

Joanna was laughing silently. “I'm trying to visualize myself menacing Myron Castleberry with a knife, and I'm afraid it doesn't play. I don't know anything about wielding a knife, Richard.”

“I'll show you—there's not much to it. But timing is important here,” I cautioned. “I'll be as fast as I can, but the security repairman is sure to be here before I get back. Jack, make as much work for him as you possibly can.”

“No problem.”

I do wish people would stop saying
No problem
. “Joanna, when we get back into the house, we'll slip up to Strode's library and hide there until Castleberry gets here.”

She nodded. “Because the maids will be cleaning in our rooms. Then we twist Castleberry's arm and force him to take us to Strode's office? How do we all get out of the house without either of the security guards seeing us—the service gate again?”

“No, it won't matter if they see us then. Remember it's only Castleberry we have to worry about. He has to think that two of us are gone, but once he's in the house we'll show ourselves. Jack, he'll probably take you into the conference room downstairs to do the paperwork—make sure you disconnect the sound as well as the visuals. But wherever you end up, there's bound to be a phone there. Call us the minute you two are alone.”

“And then we go into our muscle act,” Jack said gleefully. “Ah me, I can hardly wait. Poor Castleberry. You don't suppose I could get away with cutting off a toe or two, do you?”

“It isn't Castleberry you want to cut,” Joanna said sharply. “Richard, you're trusting several crucial parts of this plan to Jack. Do you think that's wise?”

“Hey,” Jack said.

“I'm sure he can do it,” I said with a confidence put on for the occasion. The last thing I needed was dissension in the troops.

“That's not the point,” she objected. “What's to prevent Jack from striking a private deal with Castleberry while you and I are upstairs in Strode's library waiting for a phone call that never comes?”

I'd been hoping she wouldn't think of that. I looked at Jack.

He sighed. “Jo, I don't blame you for not trusting me. What I did last night—well, I panicked, okay? Couldn't help myself, honest to god. I just lost control. Didn't that ever happen to you? But you don't have to worry about me. I've had my breakdown. It's behind me now.”

Joanna looked unconvinced. I said, “I think Jack understands now that Strode isn't going to honor his part of the bargain. The only way to get hold of that evidence is to take it.”

“Hoo boy
yes
I understand,” Jack said convincingly. “I know I'm in over my head. I need you two.”

Joanna shrugged and accepted it, but without enthusiasm. “When do we start?”

“Now,” I said. “First, we pack. Jack, you might want to scout out a place where you can stand and watch for the guard leaving the monitoring room.”

“You got it,” he said as he left.

Joanna stood looking at me. “You trust him?”

I put my hands on her shoulders and thought about something I'd rather be doing than tricking Myron Castleberry. “I trust his fear. Jack can't cope with Strode and Castleberry by himself—he's not going to take on you and me too. Besides, he's the only one of us who knows anything about electrical wiring.”

She gave me a faint smile and went to her room to pack. I was ready in five minutes. We went downstairs together; I carried her suitcase but left mine behind. Then I pretended an interest in the paintings on the wall of that barnlike living room while Joanna and Jack moved off casually in the direction of the kitchen. In a few minutes they were back. Joanna moved a fist slightly away from her side; she had the wine cellar key.

We were ready. I went up to Strode's bedroom and began to poke ineffectually at the lock with a nail file. It didn't take long; in less than a minute I heard feet pounding up the stairs and the guard's voice telling me to get away from that door.

I put on an air of great exasperation. “Mr. Strode put some papers on his desk for me … and then he goes away and leaves the door locked! But as long as you're here, you can unlock it for me.”

He refused, none too politely. I offered him money; he declined. I offered him more money; he still declined. He took my arm to lead me away from the door; I grew angry. I shook off his arm and called him a name; he grew angry. I kept this farce going until I saw the little red light in the hall camera die away. I informed the guard that I was leaving this house never to return again. He did not look sorry.

A quick detour by my room to pick up my suitcase and then I stalked out of the house without another word to anybody. The outside guard spoke to me by name in a friendly manner; I brushed by him, radiating as much anger as I could. He'd remember my leaving.

The taxi let me out at one of the camera-cum-junk places in Times Square; I gave the driver a fifty and told him there'd be another just like it if he kept circling until I came out. In the shop I found that the really wicked knives were too cumbersome to be carried in a pocket; they were big as machetes. The others were deadly-looking enough, though. I bought three different kinds—pearl-handled for Joanna, leather for me, and pink plastic for Jack.

The taxi came around about a minute after I left the shop, and a few minutes later we pulled up to where Joanna was sitting on her suitcase not far from Strode's service gate at the back. “Half an hour,” she greeted me as the cab drove away. “But the service gate is still out of commission, fortunately. I tried it.”

I carried both suitcases as Joanna pushed back an otherwise electronically controlled series of bolts on the gate. She led the way to the wine cellar door; the guardian camera showed no red-light indicator. And then we were inside. The wine cellar was cool and sparkling clean, with a table and two chairs and four or five big steel racks filled with bottles. I dropped the suitcases and grabbed Joanna; we hung on to each other for a moment, charging ourselves up for the next step.