Marked Masters (33 page)

Yes, Mr. Hawkes had a number of things he
needed to explain when I got back to London. I counted on the hope
at least some of them offered a lead to our next piece in this
puzzle. Not that I'd forgiven him yet for keeping me in the dark
when he was already freed from custody. I was holding him to an
explanation in that regard as well.

I hung the
Do Not Disturb
sign on the
door and slid out of my black suit. The last thing I did was look
at the picture of my mother. So lovely, and the very image of an
ingénue. I smiled at how much I favored her, but I knew I didn't
possess her innocence. I stared at Margarite. I pondered the man
who looked like Moran, and I let my thoughts drift for a bit. Then
I turned out the lamp.

All the information in the world could wait.
If I wanted to solve anything in the future, I had to catch up on
about twenty-four hours of sleep. Starting immediately.

Author's Endnote

I would like to thank you for reading
MARKED MASTERS
. If you like this book or series, please take
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books will help others do the same.

The further adventures of Laurel and Jack
are in the works. If you want to know when new sequels are
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Again, thanks for your interest in my work,
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~ Ritter Ames

* * * * *

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Ritter Ames is the
USA Today
best-selling
author of the Organized Mysteries series and the Bodies of Art
Mysteries series, both published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. When
she's not writing or brainstorming new mysteries, Ritter is usually
trying to get her favorite yellow lab to stay out of the pond, or
keep her grouchy black cat from trying to give the dog away on
Freecycle. Ritter would love to live on a boat and write from
far-flung locations around the globe, but the dog would constantly
have to be fished from the water, and her husband and cat would
just complain endlessly about the dog's smell, so staying on land
seems to be the only good option to keep her sanity and not get
sidetracked from writing.

* * * * *

Organized Mysteries
:

Organized for Murder

Organized for Homicide

Bodies of Art Mysteries:

Counterfeit Conspiracies

Marked Masters

* * * * *

of

* * * * *

KATE MCKENZIE'S 5-STEP ORGANIZATIONAL START
METHOD

BEGIN ANY DE-CLUTTER PROJECT BY COLLECTING
AND LABELING FIVE LARGE BOXES:

REJECT—items un-repairable, missing parts,
past expiration, or like half-a-dozen others already in the
house.

RECYCLE—gently used, unwanted items for
charitable organizations or Freecycle.

RESELL—through consignment shops, tag sales,
eBay, Craigslist, or newspaper ads.

RETURN—sporting goods, toys, books, tools,
etc. that belong to family members, neighbors, or friends.

REVIEW—things requiring extra thought before
fate is determined.

Completely unload the room or closet,
distributing discarded items into correct boxes. Return only
"keepers" to the target area.

CHAPTER ONE

STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR, LLC,

KATE MCKENZIE, PRES.

BUSINESS PLANNER
FOR JOB #
1

DATE
Wed., April 7th

9:00 a.m. to
3:00 p.m. -- Meet with Miss Amelia Nethercutt at her
mansion
to organize her
and her late husband's exotic collections. Magnificent sprawling
home and grounds. On phone seemed eager to learn organizational
techniques. Says she scrapbooks and keeps a daily journal. Spend
time telling how to develop her vision, to make a date with herself
each day to keep living space organized and de-cluttered. Also,
since she's a collector, offer the "One-in/One-Out Rule" so old
replaced item always goes out when new item is
purchased.

* * *

"On the second day, I decided widowhood was
infinitely better than divorce."

"Miss Amelia!" Kate McKenzie caught herself,
and her teacup, an instant before the Lapsang Souchong escaped over
the gold rim and onto the Aubusson rug. While the cream and sienna
tones of the carpet would have accepted the tea stain like a
distant relative, such an accident threatened to be an uneasy
alliance. Especially as Kate courted this new, and particular,
client.

Amelia Nethercutt took the still-clattering
china from Kate's hands and settled the pieces on the gleaming
rosewood coffee table, then said, "It isn't as if I don't know the
pros and cons of both marital dissolution options, my dear. My
marriage to Daniel was my fifth, no, sixth marriage. I keep
forgetting Joey. And receiving an inheritance is much more
liberating than monthly alimony."

Kate stiffened on the white-on-white
Victorian sofa and hoped her smile didn't look like a grimace. She
again swatted the irritating peacock feather and gilt-streaked twig
arrangement that invaded the personal space around her left
shoulder. Where had common sense fled when she agreed to work
sight-unseen in this procurement madhouse?

Façades could be most deceiving; Amelia's
and the mansion's. The woman's exterior resembled that of her
home—sweeping luxury and professional styling. Even Kate's first
look inside of the house, the foyer with its elegant mahogany
collectibles cabinet standing guard against taupe-colored
grass-cloth, fooled her.

Then she'd seen this parlor, the study, the
bedrooms, the conservatory, the library, and…well…all the other
"treasure rooms."

This first workday
revolved in a repetitive nightmare of list making, supply ordering,
prioritizing, and attempts to stem the overwhelming need to
hyperventilate. Even her never-fail categorizing system of
Reject, Recycle, Resell, Return,
and
Review
periodically failed to keep Kate's panic at bay.
Finally, for the first time ever, she gave up and began dividing
the upstairs by what rooms were wholly trash and which might be
salvageable. Of course, this never meant she would actually be
allowed to throw out anything, but she persevered. Until Amelia had
called from downstairs and said it was time for a "tea
moment."

Kate's last ally disappeared as Mrs. Baxter,
the Nethercutts' cotton-haired cook, had bustled in bringing the
tea tray and placed it near Amelia. "Nice meeting you, dearie,"
Mrs. Baxter said, before straightening her pink pillbox hat and
telling her employer, "I'm going to the market and the drugstore.
There's a cab waiting. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Amelia nodded, pouring tea as she spoke,
"That's fine. I left some budgeting papers on the front table for
the garden club vice-president. Please drop them off while doing
your errands." She had smiled at Kate then and added, "I'm
president again this year, you know."

Kate assumed the comment was rhetorical, but
offered a smile for insurance.

"The material is out in the foyer," Amelia
called to Mrs. Baxter, and as she waved toward the front door her
spicy, nose-tickling scent perfumed the air. "I've made some
exciting suggestions and changes. They will require a few club
members to reflect a bit before complete acceptance, especially our
esteemed vice-president, Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker. Your taking the
packet will expedite matters admirably, so everyone has adequate
ruminative time."

Mrs. Baxter rolled her eyes heavenward
behind her thick lenses. She left via the front door, just as Kate
performed her teacup juggle in response to Amelia's disturbing
pronouncement. A statement particularly unsettling in light of her
late-husband Daniel Nethercutt's recent demise.

Amelia picked up the sugar bowl and offered,
"There's nothing like a few minutes for tea."

The smoky smelling brew looked dark. Kate
added a liberal dose of milk and worried about the exquisite
teacup, musing whether the liquid was capable of eating through the
fragile porcelain.

Once more she should have
listened to her instincts, but, as usual, decided to focus on the
positive side and be nice and agreeable. Landing a rich client
seemed a godsend for her new organizing business,
Stacked in Your Favor
.
Besides, it wasn't difficult to believe her initial unease due to
the fact only a week had passed since Mr. Daniel drifted off to
whatever heavenly reward a compulsive collector deserved. At first,
Kate worried Amelia was one of those bereaved spouses who too
quickly decided to "clean house." But Amelia insisted. Amelia
insisted on everything, and Kate's backbone turned to
butter.

In this room alone, the front parlor,
majolica plates competed with marble busts and conch shells. A
stuffed and seriously flaking crocodile, missing its right glass
eye, crouched in one corner. Beside the door, a stack of piano
sheet music stood as high as Kate's waist, but she'd yet to find
any kind of keyboard instrument in the house. The outdoors was
brought inside with a collection of faded garden gnomes simulating
hopscotch near an overgrown spider plant.

Jeez!
What had she gotten herself into? Could she even finish the
job by the time her first-grade twins graduated from high school?
Amelia didn't need an organizational expert as much as a designer
with the balls of General Patton. Or a bulldozer.

And how should she respond
to a comment contrasting spousal death with divorce? She decided to
ignore it and try wiggling out of the mess she'd let her size eight
flats walk into. "Miss Amelia, I'm not sure I'm the best person for
this job. My business
is
organizing spaces and archiving items. However,
you have many precious treasures here needing—"

"Nonsense, Kate. I picked you because you
are perfect for this chore." Amelia rose to her full six-foot
stature and glided to the bookcase by the door, the silvery silks
of her caftan trailing like the wake behind the QEII. "I first met
your mother-in-law at college," she said, flipping pages of a
ragged yearbook as she navigated back. "You couldn't find a woman
more in control of things than Jane, whatever the task. So, I knew
I had to hire you."

Kate's mother-in-law, Jane McKenzie, did
indeed know how to keep things in their place, but this did not
mean her son's wife possessed superhuman talents. With the elder
McKenzies currently finishing a Caribbean cruise, Jane had been
unavailable for consultation prior to her daughter-in-law accepting
this assignment. Kate opened her mouth to try to explain family
ties and genetic capabilities to Amelia, but stopped as the scent
of Chanel No. 5 preceded a voice in the hall.

"Yoo-hoo, Mummy, where are you?"

A shadow flitted across Amelia's patrician
face, but disappeared so swiftly Kate couldn't be sure she hadn't
imagined it.

"Ah, my stepdaughter Sophia." Amelia smiled
as she called, "Darling, in the parlor."

Seconds later, a trim figure sashayed into
the room and Kate suddenly felt fat and shabby in her working
twills. Though no taller than Kate's fit five-and-a-half feet, and
brunette to the organizer's blond, Sophia's lean frame and personal
trainer-esque, toned body gave the appearance of runway perfect,
with no hint of any past pregnancies. Dressed in simple black
slacks, a white blouse that whispered money—lots of it—and dark
glasses resting atop long, dark tresses, Kate was reminded of a
reincarnated Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Until the woman smiled. To
her knowledge, Jackie O never resembled a cobra when greeting
people.

"Sophia Nethercutt-White." The viper strode
forward, and extended an impeccably manicured hand. "And you
are?"

Kate forced herself to move toward the
woman, instead of yielding to an instinct to cower back. "I'm
Ka—"

"This is Kate McKenzie, Sophia, dear."
Amelia wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "You remember
my saying I wanted to get an expert to help me categorize and
organize. It's time I put this house into working order. I haven't
seen dozens of my own things for a decade and can't possibly fathom
everything your father collected before our marriage. There are
probably untold riches in here."