The Christie Curse (33 page)

It seemed to me that Alex was suspicious right from the get-go. The following notes
were about meeting in NYC to make what Alex wrote as the “exchange.” It seemed likely
from his notes that he was worried the meeting was a scam. But why had he gone ahead
with his trip? If Alex had gone to NYC to meet with Merlin, why was the money still
in my apartment?

Maybe he’d decided to leave the money at home in case
Merlin tried to trick him out of it. At least, I hoped that was the reason. The only
other possibility I could think of was that Alex himself had decided to steal the
money. I hated that idea.

The last note was dated the day before his death. Alex had scribbled
Bonnelly’s
, the name of a boutique hotel, and
surprise Ashley
, complete with little hearts. I’d never known a man to use little hearts in a note.

Poor guy. Ashley had been surprised all right, but in a horrible, life-destroying
way.

I could imagine Alex, excited to complete his task for Vera by revealing the scam,
and eager to whisk his fiancée off for a romantic celebration away from their small
town. It made my heart hurt. Little did he know he’d be thrown in front of a speeding
train.

I felt desperate to find out more. I shook the blank notebook frantically, and a last
straggler floated out. The email note to Alex from Karen Smith was also dated the
day before his death. For some reason he had chosen to print it out and tuck it into
his notebook.

Clearly Alex and Karen had a friendly rapport. They knew and liked each other and
had even had business dealings. but this note had huge red question marks on it and
a list of names under the heading:
Access to Library
.

All the names were crossed off but one: Brian U.

Brian? Could that be our Brian, the gardener? I couldn’t seem to recall his last name.
I looked over my shoulder at my imaginary Agatha Christie; she shrugged. If she had
spoken, I was sure she would have said, “I told you so.”

Look for connections.

I hadn’t even had Brian on my radar, and why not? My pulse was banging at my temples
now. What had I missed? By this time I was pacing. I found myself at the window, staring
out in puzzlement.

The sun had set by now and the stunning full moon shone down, illuminating the wide
lawn, lush and well mown. The scent of the grass that had been cut that morning still
lingered. Usually that was a very soothing and satisfying aroma. But that was before
I’d seen the two words: Brian U. The large familiar figure on the ride-on tractor.
Brian. Could he have been the man with the limp? Of course not, he didn’t limp. But
wait, I’d only seen him bent over the flower beds or on the lawn tractor. I didn’t
know whether he limped or not.

Why had I wasted time trying to implicate the innocent physio? The answer had been
right in front of me all along.

It made sense. The gardener would have known all about Alex. Not only that, but as
a staff member in the Van Alst household, he also could easily have been aware of
what Alex was looking for. He would have keys to the house and his own code. He was
a familiar sight in the house, doing minor repairs as well as caring for the grounds.
How hard would it be for him to get the access code to the library? Not very, in my
opinion. Vera’s security system was designed to circumvent outsiders, not staff.

There was so much to think about. Was Brian the connection with Karen Smith? Had he
been selling off collectible books to the Cozy Corpse? Had Alex figured it out? Had
Alex then spoken to Karen? Perhaps he’d found other items from Vera’s collection in
Karen’s shop or on her online catalog. Good-bye Alex. And later, almost good-bye Karen.
It was all falling into place. Brian must have been the person who had picked up the
box from Alex’s parents. He could have faked the call from Vera to the Fines and the
Van Alst number would have shown up on thier phone. He might even have a red truck,
although I’d only noticed a battered old Dodge sedan. But what to do now that I had
this information? I figured if I knocked on Vera’s door again, that would be the last
straw for my position here. At any rate, I realized I needed more.

First I had to confirm whether he had a limp. Vera and the signora had both reacted
strangely when I’d mentioned that limp. They would have a lot of trouble believing
that a long-term, trusted employee was a violent criminal. I had already made an unfair
and wrong accusation against Miss Orsini, the physio, and Eddie too, of course.

I would have to get my facts straight before I approached anyone about this. I wasn’t
likely to get proof at this time of night.

I decided to let my practical side rule. I stuck the stack of Grants and the notebooks
back where I’d found them. I took a hard look at the dumbwaiter.

No one knew the money and notebooks were there. They’d be safe for another few hours.
And anyway, there’d been no sign of anyone even attempting to get into my garret,
if you didn’t count that cat. Even the signora had been kept out by the sliding lock.

I pushed the little walnut dresser back, blocking the access to the dumbwaiter. I
headed for my small (and totally unnecessary) kitchen and collected all the pots.

Next stop, my entrance. I pushed the rolltop desk in front of the door and placed
my small collection of cooking pots on top of it. Someone might find a way to get
in, but not without waking me up.

I really needed to get some rest. I couldn’t cope with a second sleepless night. But
first, I called Tiff back.

“I’ve been chewing my nails,” she snapped.

“You won’t believe this,” I said, filling her in on the cat, the dumbwaiter, the loot
and the notes. “But the most important thing is that I think I might really know who
is behind it.”

“This is like one crazy action movie. Spill.”

“If anything happens to me—”

“Nothing better happen to you, because you better be calling the police.”

“No police just yet.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No, listen. If anything happens to me, and let me finish, the name to remember is
Brian. Brian with the initial U for a last name. The gardener-handyman here is called
Brian, and I believe he’s the man with the limp.”

“Police. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Here’s the thing. I don’t believe that Brian is acting alone, and I do know that
Officer Smiley—”

“Oh, right, Officer Stalker. I forgot about him.”

“Exactly, so until we know for sure, I will rely on my uncles.”

“Who are out of town?”

“Just for tonight. And I won’t do anything until tomorrow. Then I’ll try to flush
him out.”

“With the uncles as backup?”

“You got it.”

“How do I know that you’ll be safe tonight?”

“Because he or they can’t get in here. Because he or they don’t know about the money
and notebooks. And because he or they don’t know I suspect him or them. Plus, I’ve
got a dead bolt on the door and pots piled in front of it. I’m all right. In fact,
I might be in more danger from the dual cat situation.”

I left a message for my uncles suggesting they have a word with a Brian U if anything
happened to me.

And of course, I set the alarm clock.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.

B
REAKFAST WAS WARM flaky croissants with a selection of homemade preserves and the
usual very good espresso. I tried strawberry, raspberry and blueberry jams along with
my croissants. That’s right. Two croissants two of them. The signora fluttered around
nervously, adding more pots of more jams and honey too. Her cries of “Eat, eat!” seemed
a little more subdued today.

Vera glowered at me from across the conservatory table.

I smiled at her and raised my coffee cup.

“Miss Bingham. I do not want a repeat of last night’s outrageous accusations against
Miss Orsini. Nor will I tolerate you targeting other people. Get working to find the
manuscript and discover what happened to my, um, resources, or find yourself a new
position.”

“My apologies,” I said falsely. “I didn’t sleep the night before, and I think I was
not thinking at all clearly. I will keep my mind on my main task. It won’t happen
again.”

She grunted and returned to the
New York Times
crossword puzzle.

I had to assume that was a good thing.

The signora refilled my cup. I guess she agreed.

“I have an idea what happened to your, um, resources and who has them,” I said.

That got her attention.

“I’ll be following up on it.” I grinned. “I think you will be very pleased. I’ll be
off to the library right after breakfast to get my last few bits of information. Why,
yes, signora. I think I will have another croissant.”

The conservatory had great views of the east garden from three sides. I could see
Brian working diligently putting collars on a cluster of droopy peonies near the front
of the house.

I waved to him, but he didn’t see me.

*    *    *

SHORTLY AFTERWARD, ALLEGEDLY on my way to the library, I took a stroll around the
property. I first went along the endless corridor and out the front door and approached
Brian from that side. Before he spotted me, I watched him move on to the next garden
bed, where he stopped for a minute. There was no question now that this was the man
with the limp. Too bad he picked that moment to turn around and spot me. Luckily,
my relatives are accomplished liars and I’ve learned from the masters.

“Brian,” I called out. He stared and stopped moving. I smiled and strolled casually
toward him. “I’ve been admiring the peonies. They’re my favorite flower. Everyone
in my family has a brown thumb. I hope that once I get settled, I can learn a bit
about gardening from you.” Now where had that come from?

He nodded. “Okay. Someday.”

“Well, if Vera doesn’t fire me first.”

“She’s not easy.”

“She certainly is not,” I said. I glanced at the peonies, pink, white and fuchsia.
“They are gorgeous. Well, Vera has
sent me off to the library. See you later. Don’t forget, I want those lessons.”

I felt his eyes on my back as I headed briskly for my parking space. I glanced around
as I reached my car. Brian’s battered and dusty Dodge was on one side of my Saab.
I tried the passenger door to the Dodge. Brian must not have felt he had much to worry
about. He didn’t lock his doors. I bent down and opened the glove compartment. Sure
enough, there was his vehicle registration. Brian Underwood. Brian U. The address
was 43A Magnolia Lane, Harrison Falls, New York.

Just as I got into the Saab, he rounded the corner of the house and leaned against
the wall. He watched me, eyes narrowed as I waved and drove away.

The library didn’t open until ten. That gave me plenty of time to drive by 43A Magnolia
Lane. It was a ten-minute drive to an area of rundown semis and scrubby properties.
The streets all had flowery names, but the neighborhood had dropped its petals. I
cruised along slowly, checking things out. Unlike the houses on either side of it,
43A was pristine and well painted. The lawn was well maintained, and the peonies were
doing just fine. A red Ford pickup sat in the driveway, and I thought I spotted another
car behind it. I imagined the curtains twitching in every house as I crawled by. I
even thought I spotted a shadowy presence in the window of 43A.

As I pulled away, I noticed something in my rearview mirror. Damn. A cop car and a
familiar face. But Officer Tyler Dekker didn’t seem to be smiling.

My plan was to drop by Sal’s. But I didn’t want Officer Smiley to know that. I led
him through every part of Harrison Falls, up and down residential streets and then
toward the roundabout into the downtown area. I am quite sure that he’d begun to get
bored when I rounded a corner just ahead of him and made a very sharp right turn.
Next I shot down one of the few alleys in our town. I turned left and shot back
up the next one, spotting the rear end of the black-and-white swinging down the first
alley just as I turned right again and sped along to Uncle Mick’s shop. It was closed
today as the uncles were still out of town. But I had the keys. Five minutes later,
with the Saab parked in full view in front of the shop, I was off in the very useful
black Focus. I’d grabbed a baseball cap (Blue Ridge Diner) as insurance. We all look
alike in them.