Strange Brew (23 page)

An important message interrupted Jack Benny’s show. Before the announcer could make his point over the increasing static, Agnes shut the sound down.

“He won’t arrive faster for you watching,” she said, flipping a magazine page.

Clive grunted. “I’m sure I saw a car turn in.”

“If it did, then it went out again. We’re near the end of the lane. They use the drive for that all the time. It’s too early, anyway.”

“What if that was Mabel coming back?”

“She’d be inside by now, and we’d have heard her big feet clomping up the stairs. I’ll be glad when she goes.”

“Taking her rent money with her.”

Agnes looked up. “You’re a funny one. The money we’re making tonight and you’re worried about her five-and-dime rent?”

“The deal’s not a sure thing, I’ve told you a hundred times.”

“Then why’s he coming over if not to buy? Once he sees the diamond, he’ll want it.”

“Don’t be too confident about that.”

She slapped the magazine shut. “And you don’t be too anxious to sell or he won’t make a good offer. I know what the thing’s worth, and if he isn’t up for that, then you’ll just have to find another man.”

“Listen, crazy collectors who don’t ask questions aren’t falling out of trees. I had to hustle to find this one.”

“But it’s not like we’re in a hurry. Mabel’s not caught on yet, and she never will.”

He chuckled. “Did you see her going out?”

“You know I did. I nearly broke something trying not to laugh. The way she was sweeping around like some queen in the crown jewels, the big snob. One of these days I’m going to tell her about this.”

There was a white flash from the window, and thunder boomed like a cannon a bare second after. Agnes yelped, Clive jumped, the lights flickered, and I vanished altogether. It startled me, too. Just as well—people tend to look up when that happens.

“Come away from the window before you get electrocuted,” Agnes said, shaken.

“It’s right over us. Did you feel that? Shook the whole house.”

“I’ll get a candle before we blow a fuse.”

She passed under me, using the doorway into the dining room. She fumbled around and returned.

“That’s better,” she said some moments later. “Makes it cozy. Want a drink?”

“Not until this is over.”

“Then I’ll wait, too.”

“What are you doing?”

“Grandma was always gabbing on about the good old days and how it looked by candlelight. I want to see.”

“Put it up.”

“The yellow goes away in this light. The old bat was right. It looks like a real diamond now—come see.”

“No thanks.”

“Don’t tell me you believe that crock about the curse.”

“You were just telling me not to be too anxious. What’s Taylor going to think when he walks in and sees you waving that thing around like a Cracker Jack prize?”

“That maybe I have some sentimental attachment to it and will be reluctant to sell. I’ll make sure he hears my heart breaking.”

“Go easy on the Sarah Bernhardt act—this isn’t his first time. He’ll know if you’re trying to—”

I missed the rest, being too busy finding and shooting back up the stairs. I moved along the hall, bumping into someone who gave a sudden shiver. Escott once compared the kind of cold I inflict in this form to that feeling you get when someone waltzes on your grave.

“Problem?” Escott whispered, evidently recognizing the chill.

I hung back, not knowing where Mabel might be.

“Miss Weaver isn’t here.”

I resumed form and weight. Gravity’s always an odd shock, like climbing out of a swimming pool after a long float.

The door he’d been working on was open. I looked in. The flashlight was on the floor. Its beam took in Mabel, who was on her knees by a closet going through dozens of pairs of women’s shoes. They have only two feet, why is it dames need so many things to put them in?

Mabel stopped when she heard my
psst
. She hastily got up.

“We’re skunked,” I whispered. “Agnes has the rock with her. You want to try the next plan?”

She scowled. “You’ll never talk her out of it. No matter what, there’s going to be a fight.”

“Jack has a winning way with people,” Escott assured. “This won’t take long. We can wait in the car.”

“Oh, this I’ve got to see.”

“No.” I was decisive. “You two clear out.” But—

“I promise not to break anything. Hand over the fake. I’ll trade them.”

“But if you touch the real one… the curse—I can’t.” She was absolutely serious.

“Please.” I put a little pressure on. Since she’d been under so recently, it didn’t take much. If the real diamond killed men, it was too late for me.

Reluctantly, Mabel slipped the pendant off its chain. “You’re sure?”

I jerked my head toward the scattered shoes. “Put those back so she won’t know.”

While she made repairs, I turned to Escott. “You hear of any gem collectors named Taylor?”

He shook his head. When it came to various criminals working in Chicago and points east and south, he was an encyclopedia. Honest citizens held little interest for him.

Mabel came out, easing the door shut; Escott locked it again. We took the back stairs down. The vulnerable spot on our exit was the dining room door, still wide open with a view through to the parlor. Anyone looking our way would see us passing.

I put an eye around the edge. The coast was clear. A quick gesture, and Escott and Mabel slipped by, heading for the mudroom. Thunder covered the sounds they made.

The coast was still clear, so I ducked into the dining room, staying solid and sneaking up on the parlor door.

Standing behind it, I could peer through the crack on the hinge side.

Agnes was in her chair with the magazine; Clive was back staring out the window.

If they’d split up, the job would be easy. I could hypnotize them one at a time into a nap. Both at once would necessarily be violent. I’d have to physically restrain one while working my evil eye whammy on the other. Not impossible, but it’s noisy, exasperating, and never goes smoothly.

My best bet was to draw one of them from the room long enough to get to the other. A couple spoons from the uncleared dinner table would do. I’d toss them at the marble in the foyer. Clive was already up and more or less pointing in the right direction…

The doorbell rang.

“It’s him,” said Clive, excited.

Crap
. I didn’t want to have to take out three of them.

“Didn’t you see him drive up?” Agnes asked.

“It’s like Niagara out there. You can’t see anything.”

She put the magazine to one side, stood, smoothed her dress, and sat down again, ankles crossed, hands in her lap they way they teach girls to do in finishing schools. She had a little black box in one hand, not hard to guess what was in it. “When this is done I want a real honeymoon,” she said with a spark in her eyes. She was as tall as Mabel, but finer-boned and more aristocratic in features.

“You got it, baby!” He hurried to the foyer.

I had my chance. He’d be busy with the guest, finding a place for his hat and umbrella. I’d have the moment I needed to steal in and put her out.

Only Agnes did something odd, and that made me hesitate. While looking toward the foyer with the box in her left hand, her right hand left her lap briefly, brushing against a pocket on her dress. It was swiftly and deftly done. She’d checked to make sure something was where it was supposed to be.

What’s in your pocket, Mrs. Latshaw?

Then my opportunity was gone. Clive led the buyer in and introduced William D. Taylor (the Fourth) to his wife. I guess they make eccentric collectors in all types and sizes, but this one looked as average as Clive. Taylor wore a nice suit, a stuffy expression behind his wire-rimmed glasses, and had a briefcase.

Pleasantries were exchanged about the terrible weather. Mr. Taylor apologized and was forgiven for arriving early.

“You’ll pardon if I’m in a rush, Mrs. Latshaw, but I’ve a train to New York to catch. The sooner I make a decision on this stone, the sooner I may leave. This dismal rain…”

“I understand.”

“Excellent. I came prepared.” He produced a jeweler’s loupe. “Mr. Latshaw, may I trouble you to move a lamp to this table?”

When the lamp was in place, Agnes stepped forward.

“This is my family’s prize heirloom: Hecate’s Golden Eye,” she said with a well-calculated dose of hushed respect as she opened the box.

Taylor accepted the box, held it under the lamp’s light, peered at the contents, and set it down on the table. He pulled on a pair of white gloves, and only then picked up the pendant. I wondered if they’d be enough to protect him from the curse.

He screwed the loupe in one eye and spent several minutes examining the gem.

Clive and Agnes exchanged worried looks, but resumed their poker-playing faces when Taylor grunted.

“The genuine thing. Superb clarity for its size. I can see that legendary flaw quite clearly. A perfect eye with pupil and even lashes. Extraordinary.”

“My dear grandmother often mentioned it. She loved the piece very much.”

“No doubt. I’m sure you would rather keep it in the family.”

Clive worked hard to hide his alarm. “You’re not interested?”

“I am, sir, but cannot offer you much for it. I collect with the intent of appreciation of value as well as for a gem’s unique beauty. Without provenance—you were clear this diamond has none beyond private family records which, forgive me, can be forged—I cannot easily resell it in the future for as much profit as I would like.”

“You could to another private collector.”

“Humph. That would be that so-and-so Abercrombie. I’d never give him the satisfaction. I’m glad he’s moved to Switzerland or he might have gotten wind of this first. I’m sorry, but I can offer you only so much and no more. You may take it or leave it as you choose.”

Then he said a number that made my jaw drop.

The Latshaws failed to hide their gleeful satisfaction.

Clive recovered first. “My wife and I assure you that we would be very pleased for Hecate’s Eye to become part of the Taylor collection.”

“Very good.” They shook hands.

“A check will suffice, and once it clears you may take possession.”

“Mr. Latshaw, my train won’t wait for the banks to open, but I am prepared to conclude this transaction now.”

He put the briefcase on the table and opened it to reveal a respectable load of wrapped banknotes. The Latshaws were appropriately impressed. My jaw kept swinging. I’d seen bigger stacks of cash, but only in gangster-controlled gambling clubs. I drew breath for a silent whistle and could actually smell the ink.

“How can you carry all that?” Agnes asked. “What if you’re robbed?”

“I can take care of myself, ma’am.” Taylor opened his suit coat just enough to give her a glimpse of his shoulder rig and whatever gun it held. “If Mr. Latshaw would count the money and sign a receipt, I’ll be off to catch my train.”

Clive counted, and Agnes poured sherry into three stemmed glasses, making small talk with Taylor. Alone on the table was the open black box with the Eye still in it.

Even across the room I could tell it was a real gem. The glass imitation in my pocket was a vulgar peasant compared with the elegant royalty over there. Simply lying on its white silk padding, the stone glowed like molten gold. It took light and set it on fire. When I shifted, futilely trying to move closer for a better view—I swear it—the thing winked at me.

That
was eerie. The longer I stared, the less I liked it. The damned thing was just a chunk of crystallized carbon in an unexpected color with a fancy name, and for some reason, people had decided it was worth something. They killed and died for such shiny baubles. Insane.

Despite that, I wouldn’t have minded having a few locked up in the safe at home.

Just not this one.

Hecate’s Eye twinkled goldly at me, and I fought down a shiver.

Clive finished his count and closed the briefcase. Taylor said he could keep it along with the cash.

Taylor picked up the Eye and peered through his loupe. Wise of him. He’d been distracted by Agnes; Clive could have slipped a fake in.

“It is beautiful,” Taylor said. “I’ve seen its equal only at the British Museum, and that one had two inclusions, but neither like this simulacrum.”

They made a toast, and everyone looked pleased. Agnes gently took the pendant from Taylor—to have one last look at her darling grandmother’s pride and joy, she said.

“I shall miss you,” she said, holding the stone to the light, gravely wistful.

Clive and Taylor exchanged glances, two men in silent agreement about the frail sentiment of the fair sex, shaking their heads and smiling. By the time they turned back, Agnes had made the switch.

She’d practiced; she was so fast, I almost missed it. She put a pendant in the box and closed the lid, handing it to Taylor. The real stone was still in her palm so far as I could tell. While the men shook hands, she slipped it into her dress pocket.

Slick, but foolish. Sooner or later, Taylor would take another gander at his toy and call the cops. How could she think she’d get away with it?

Someone eased up behind me, and I did not trust it to be Escott checking to see what was taking so long.

I ducked and twisted in time to avoid the full force of the crooked end of a tire iron on my skull. It smashed into my left shoulder square on the bone joint. Most of the time a regular person hasn’t got the strength to damage me, but the application of raw kinetic force on a single spot with an unbreakable tool—something’s going to give. I heard it do just that with a sickening, meaty pop and dimly knew that it hurt, but was too busy to register how much. I spun the rest of the way around to face Riordan. He was ready and punched the iron hard into my gut. It had a hell of a lot more force than a bare fist. I doubled over.

Not needing to breathe, I wasn’t yet on the mat, and I lunged forward to tackle him. He danced back and almost made it, but collided violently into the dining table, tumbling it and himself over with a satisfyingly noisy crash. A woman screamed.