The Christie Curse (34 page)

Sal agreed to meet me earlier than usual. He raised an elegant eyebrow at the baseball
cap. It was clear that he didn’t approve. Sal likes his women straight out of 1959.

“Necessary deception,” I said.

“What can I do for you?” Sal said, once we were seated in the green leather chairs.
I could feel the receptionist’s puzzled glances as she watched me.

“Brian Underwood. He is Vera Van Alst’s gardener and handyman. I need to know who
he associates with and if there’s a criminal connection. In fact, I need to know all
his connections. Family. Friends. Neighbors. History. He had an injury at one time
or a medical condition. I could probably find out myself if I had time, but I am in
a necessary hurry. I appreciate your help. Lives are at stake.”

“What do you know about this person?”

“I believe he is capable of murder.”

Sal frowned. “I will see what I can find out. But you should be careful, Jordan. You
told me once you wanted a quiet life of books, not your uncles’ more exciting lifestyle.
If this man is capable of murder, how will you keep yourself safe?”

“I have a plan. Of course, I hope I don’t need it.”

“Why don’t you leave it to me?”

Well, because I didn’t know where that would lead. Because there was a satchel of
unaccounted-for money in my garret. Because I didn’t mind getting some information
from a less-than-pure source, but I didn’t want Sal “solving” the problem. I certainly
didn’t want people to start disappearing.
Even the people who frightened me. I had a legal plan.

“I will, for sure, if this doesn’t work. Thanks, Sal.”

I left shortly after, wondering if I should add “Big Fat Liar” to my résumé.

*    *    *

WHAT I NEEDED was proof. I seemed to be the only person who’d even seen the man with
the limp. I knew he was connected with Karen, but I was more and more convinced he’d
been involved in Alex’s death. There was one way to get some information about that:
watch images. Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? I took a detour to switch the
Focus for the Saab and ditch the baseball cap until I needed it.

Next stop: the library.

But the magnificent Lance wasn’t on duty. That was the bad news. The good news was
that I found him lounging against his bicycle at the back door of the Van Alst mansion
when I got home. By some miracle, he’d scored a couple of lattes from Café Hudson
and transported them, along with his laptop, on his bike and with his mobile Internet
stick in his pocket. Impressive. I wasn’t so shy about letting Lance hug me.

“Need my help?” he said into the top of my head.

“How did you know?”

“Tiff called me.”

We both laughed. Tiff was always looking out for her friends. We were lucky to be
among them. Then I realized we’d better get inside. I wanted to get Lance’s perspective
on everything that I’d compiled, but I really didn’t want Brian to spot him.

Lance was laboring under no such paranoia. He looked around as we walked to my door,
admiring the scenery, sniffing the air, taking it all in and never spilling a drop
of those lattes.

Once the door shut, I was all business.

He said, “This house is amazing. Would you call it Scottish baronial style? Can I
have the tour?”

“First we need to confirm a murderer. I promise you, it will be much more exciting
than a tour of the back corridors.”

His eyes gleamed. “Confirm a murderer. From the minute I met you, Jordan Bingham,
I knew you were trouble.”

“No flirting. You’re going to need that laptop.” I had my own but needed Lance’s skills
as an online researcher and his keen eye for details and his large high-quality screen.

“And you really need to see what I’ve turned up on YouTube. It’s going to blow you
away.” As we hurried up the stairs to the garret, I tried to bring him up to speed
on the strange events of the past few days. Had it only been days? I ran my various
theories past Lance, ending with the events involving Brian U, aka the man with the
limp.

“Wow, that’s a lot of information to take in.” We both sat cross-legged on the wide
plank floor, with the laptops on the Lucite coffee table. I took a deep breath. “Okay,
I guess I’d better watch that video with you.”

He said, “Prepare yourself. It’s heartbreaking to watch, but not gory. You can’t see
Alex afterward. But it is upsetting. Are you sure?”

“I’m in.”

The cat’s claws caught me by surprise. Lance was very sweet about the latte I spilled
down the front of his Abercrombie and Fitch button-down. What a guy. It took a while
to settle down again.

When we did, the grainy video gave me the willies. A stooped man in what looked like
rags stumbled up behind Alex and pushed him hard, snatching at his satchel at the
same time. Alex was there one second and then gone the next while Ashley stared openmouthed.
The ragged man elbowed his way past the surging crowd and out of sight. “I
can’t believe what people will record and post. Gruesome,” Lance said.

We played every clip we could find over and over. Each time, Lance winced when the
arms shot out, sending Alex sailing onto the tracks. Each time, tiny grainy people
ran down the stairs and flocked to the edge of the platform, while Ashley swayed,
shocked and screaming.

“That is hard to watch, but we still don’t have the proof that it’s Brian. I need
to see that guy move.”

“Give me a minute.” Lance’s magic fingers danced on the keyboard until he’d located
a few more clips and stills of Alex Fine’s horrible death. “I think I have something.”

I stared at the screen as the shambling ragged man made for the stairs, clutching
the satchel. Some quick-thinking person had captured that on a grainy video. A few
people tried to stop him, and there was nothing weak or incapacitated in the way he
fought them off. But he was clearly limping as he mounted the staircase, pausing to
kick at a lone pursuer before vanishing.

“It’s Brian. I know it. Download the subway footage, okay?”

“All taken care of.”

My heart was thumping in my chest. “At least we have something real to show the cops,
not just theories.”

He said, “What do we do now? Call the police?”

“Better. We’re going to take it straight to Detective Zinger over in Grandville. But
first, we’re going to show Vera.”

“What a way to meet the terrifying Vera Van Alst,” Lance said, pointing to his latte-stained
shirt.

“Here, I’ll get you a T-shirt.” I rummaged through the bottom drawer of the walnut
dresser. “I’m afraid this will have to do.” I held out a
Twilight
T-shirt that said, “I like boys who sparkle” in glitter. Uncle Danny was a huge
Twilight
fan. It was not his best Christmas purchase.

Lance said, “But…”

I said, “No time to be a fashionista.”

Lance headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up. I said, “I’ll go on ahead and find
Vera and the signora. They have to see this. It’s almost lunchtime. They’ll be in
the conservatory. At the bottom of the stairs turn left. Take the corridor past the
kitchen and go through the dining room. You can’t miss it.

My skin was still tingling from the excitement of our find (and maybe a bit from Lance)
as I headed down the stairs with the laptop with the image still on the screen.

I’d just turned into the east corridor when I heard the back door creak open. I whirled.
Brian stared at me and then at the laptop screen. Could he tell what I had? Was he
aware that I knew? Apparently yes. I felt a boom as he smashed my head into the wall.
After a shocked second, I screamed. He snatched the laptop before it could hit the
floor.

Where was Lance? Studying his handsome face in the mirror?

Brian’s normally pleasant features were pinched in rage as he stared at the laptop
screen. I backed down the hall away from him as fast as I could. “Brian, what are
you doing?”

“I’m putting an end to your snooping.”

Playing for time, I stammered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Surely someone
must have heard my scream.

“You think I’m stupid? Just ’cause I didn’t go to some fancy college like you? Just
because Vera doesn’t pay me what she pays you to chase after her useless books?” He
was thundering closer. The coveralls he wore still smelled like fresh-cut grass. I’d
never smell that again without shuddering. “You think you’re better than me?” His
hands gripped my biceps. With every word, he shook me violently. I did my best to
keep backing up.

“I don’t think you are stupid!”
I think you’re terrifying.

He grabbed my neck, whipped me around and started to squeeze. At the same time, he
was pushing me toward the
cupboard. A good place to dump a body. Little black dots swam in my eyes, getting
thicker, closing in.

I caught a movement by the back door. Eddie. Was Eddie in on it after all? I was being
slowly dragged by my neck. Where was Lance?

I heard Uncle Mick, my self-defense teacher, shouting in my head. Fight! Feet! Eyes!
Groin! Was I screaming that out loud?

My hands clawed wildly at my attacker’s eyes. He roared in pain but didn’t let go
of me. Letting one hand leave my neck, he groped for the knob with me struggling and
scratching. As I gasped the air into my burning lungs, my vision cleared, for a second.

This is your only chance.

Brian swung the door open and tried to drag me into the closet by my throat. I gasped
just enough air to function. His feet were safe in those work boots, but I drove one
kitten heel into his shin and caught him off guard. He loosened his grip on me and
bellowed.

Hoping there was a witness, I screamed, “You attacked Karen Smith, you killed Alex
Fine!”

“Yeah, I did and now I’m going to kill you too.” He snarled and lunged again. The
cat that dashed in front of him was just the distraction I needed.

Using all my skills, I aimed for his eyes and missed. His hands flew to his damaged
nose. I turned and ran. As I raced by the kitchen door, I heard a clang. I turned
to see the signora standing over Brian with a cast iron frying pan.

“No, no, no!” she said.

Lance arrived breathing hard, because he was shaking with laughter. “Feet! Eyes! Groin!”
he croaked.

Brian didn’t stay down long. He was smart enough to make a break for it. He lurched
toward the back door. He made good time for a man with a limp who had just been beaned
with a frying pan.

“Call 911, Lance!” I rushed after Brian, even though I didn’t really want to catch
this maniac. But by the time I reached the door, Brian lay facedown in the pea gravel.
No sound. No movement. Eddie stood over him, a shovel gripped in his fists. Vera rolled
slowly forward toward the open door, brandishing a fire poker. She looked disappointed
that she wouldn’t have to use it.

Somewhere a cat yowled.

*    *    *

THE HARRISON FALLS Police were puzzled, but Detective Zinger of the Grandville force
seemed satisfied in his deadpan way. Why not? It would clear up the Karen Smith case
without a tap of work on his part. Once he could lay charges, that is. Of course,
the Harrison Falls guys might make a solid case for attempted murder and theft. So
it was a good day all round.

The main thing was that Karen Smith would be safe, I was alive and Brian Underwood
was in custody and would probably be charged with Alex’s murder as well, although
that was yet another jurisdiction. It was all coming together.

*    *    *

VERA AND THE signora were both a bit glum at dinner, the signora uncharacteristically
quiet and Vera dead white. Served them right for trying to shield Brian when I was
asking about the man with the limp. I, on the other hand, felt elated over Brian’s
arrest. Hungry too.

Vera had trouble dealing with Brian’s guilt. “I suppose,” she said with a glower,
“that he’ll get bail sooner or later. I don’t intend to post it for him. What a betrayal.”

Betrayal? That was an understatement. I said, “If he gets bail, I’m out of this house,
and I think you should be too. He has keys. He has access. He’s vicious. He hates
you. He hates Eddie. He hates me. Signora Panetone is the only one
who might get out alive. Although after that frying pan, that’s not a sure thing either.”

“Eat,” the signora said sadly.

“Sure thing.” I was happy to accept the heaping plate of veal scaloppini in white
wine sauce. It went beautifully with the linguine, and I tried not to wonder what
pan she’d used. Eddie had joined us for the first time.

I don’t know why I waited to tell Vera about the pile of Grants. Was there just too
much Kelly in me? Did I want to hang on to the loot for just a bit longer? I was trying
to come to grips with what should be done with it. The money was Vera’s. But so many
people had been damaged by this, that I couldn’t help but think it would be fair to
share it with them. What about Karen? With her terrible injury, would she ever be
able to go back to the Cozy Corpse? Then there were the Fines, who had lost their
only son and would always be grieving. Of course, Ashley had lost her fiancé and been
attacked. Didn’t these people deserve something? I was considering a Robin Hood routine:
depositing serious stacks of fifties in each of their mailboxes.

But those thoughts reminded me that I needed to call Ashley and tell her that the
man who’d killed Alex was now in custody. Of course, the no cell phone rule at dinner
was still observed, no matter what.

*    *    *

AFTER DINNER I took a stroll on the grounds and finally answered the four thousand
frantic texts from Tiff:
First, I’m okay. Second, I hope you have time for a chat. It may be an expensive call.
Luckily, I found 50 grand in my apartment, so the call is on me. Talk in an hour.
XO

Pressing send, I laughed at the thought of Tiff pulling her hair out with curiosity.

Then I gave Ashley a call. The garden was gorgeous. It was hard to believe that all
this beauty had been maintained
by someone who had such a vicious character. I reminded myself that people are not
always what they seem. As I expected, Ashley was very emotional when she heard the
news. I gave her time to pull herself together. “Are you okay?”