The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) (12 page)

But I didn’t want to think about Tyler Dekker right at that moment. Whatever else came out of this unsatisfactory interview, I hoped at least that someone on the Harrison Falls Police Force would take a close look at Muriel Delgado.

Otherwise it would have to be me. And I was in rough shape.

“Are you sure you won’t verify this possible connection?” I said, with what I believed to be admirable restraint.

“We
will
investigate the incident involving you. As for the other thing, I doubt that much will come out of it, but I’ll make a note.”

I said. “Fine, I’ll take it. Pete Delaney. Married to Carmen Delgado. Died in 1974.”

I was no fool. Eighty percent of this man’s mind was on his postretirement lifestyle. The other twenty was facing a mountain of paperwork to allow him to get to that Nirvana. Like he’d care about a forty-year-old hit-and-run. He’d put more thought into his lunch order.

He said, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Who said anything about hope? “Forget the ancient hit-and-run. Maybe consider that someone else might be in danger from this woman.”

He opened the notebook again.

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like even that effort was almost too much for him. “Who?” he said when I had given up on any kind of reaction.

“She’s delicate and—”

Apparently he had a weakness for delicate women, although I bet it wasn’t someone like Vera that he’d pictured. “What’s happening to her?”

“Well, this Muriel Delgado has moved in and is separating her from her friends and all support systems.” I felt a bit guilty in not mentioning the signora and Uncle Kev and poor Eddie wherever he was, but it was in a good cause. “I feel strongly that she will start to plunder the estate and—”

“I need a name. We’ll get someone on it.”

“It’s my boss. The same person we’ve been talking about. Vera Van Alst.” I watched the expression change on his face. “I know that you’re not a fan. You made that clear earlier, but she’s a vulnerable person and she deserves to be protected.”

He put down his pen. “My father worked at that factory, until it closed.”

“Oh.”

“They ruined this town.”

“Um, did your father find another job?”

“No. He didn’t. He died.”

Oh, dirty pool. There wasn’t much I could say except, “I’m sorry.”

“Heart attack at forty-two, but we all knew it was stress because the factory closed.”

“Yes. People suffered. Must have been awful for your family.”

He nodded.

I gave it one last try. “But Vera had nothing to do with the closing of the factory. She was a kid.”

“She’s one of them, isn’t she?”

What could I say to that?

He said, “They only think of themselves. Still got that big mansion and the car and all the servants?”

Servants?

I didn’t really think of the signora and Uncle Kev and me as
servants
. Staff. Yes. The signora was close to being family. “Vera wasn’t responsible for any of it. Sins of the father. Vera’s stuck in a wheelchair in an empty old house in a town full of people who despise her. All she really has are her books and her cats.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” I felt myself getting quite huffy. “And this situation needs to be looked into, whether you like the potential victim or not.”

“I hate to break it to you, but we don’t investigate ideas that people have about things that
might
happen to other people. We don’t interview people that you’ve taken a dislike to merely because you say so. The police need evidence, something to go on. You come up with something like that in the next month or so, call the station.”

Huh. I was pretty sure that he’d be gone and I’d be starting from scratch.

“I will.”

“Good luck with that.” With a nod to me and one to Uncle Mick, he got to his feet and tucked away the notebook again. Another twenty minutes closer to his new life.

Uncle Mick was still seething when he came back after seeing the detective out.

“It’s not my fault that the police came to your house, Uncle Mick,” I said, “if that’s what you were thinking. I got hit by a truck, remember?”

“Remember, my girl? How could I forget? If it takes cops to find that person, so be it. It’s not that, it’s that I don’t think we have the benefit of the best the Harrison Falls police have to offer.”

“I hear you. This guy’s at the end of his career. He’s practically phoning it in. He wasn’t interested in helping Vera at all.”

“The thing is, my girl, that he won’t be alone in that. Most people around here would share his opinion, including the people he works with. Except for maybe the younger ones. Like your friend what’s-his-name.”

Uncle Mick knew perfectly well what Tyler’s name was and most likely had investigated him and his family without mentioning it to me. But I didn’t want to think about Tyler Dekker, who was perhaps not on training after all. Wherever he was, he wasn’t here, checking on my recovery. And he was not available to help Vera escape from the clutches of the dreaded Muriel.

“I know. It’s down to me, Uncle Mick.”

He drew himself up to his full five foot ten and puffed out his splendid ginger chest. “Indeed it is not down to you. You are getting your rest. You heard the doc. You’ve had a shock and you shook up your head. You have to let things take their course. Kev’s over there, so nothing can really go . . .”

“Exactly.”

“Even so, you can’t go mixing it up. Too risky. Let yourself heal.”

How to explain? I needed to get some kind of closure. Someone had intended to kill me. Someone
had
killed Pete Delaney. Someone who had a connection with Muriel Delgado. Muriel Delgado had it in for me.
I’d
be on my guard. But for all her tough bluster, Vera wasn’t really in the best shape to defend herself against any murderous attempts. Although if anyone could kill you with a sharp tongue, it would be Vera. But now, she seemed to be totally under La Delgado’s thumb. I thought back to Muriel fondling the Rex Stout books and Vera’s reaction. Did she want Vera’s home and possessions or was it sheer vengeance?

It didn’t matter how bad I felt, I had to do something.

“I have to help Vera. Even though she’s a Van Alst, you were starting to like her. Remember?”

“
Like
’s a bit strong,” Mick said. “We do care about our favorite niece, though.”

“Your only niece. You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen . . . to either of us.”

His freckles darkened in defeat.

I had him there and we both knew it.

*   *   *

OF COURSE VERA
was the only one who really knew what was going on. I needed to talk to her. I absolutely had to find a way to confront her and get some answers. As she’d already fired me and I’d been hit by a truck, there didn’t seem to be much for me to fear in the confrontation. I thought about how I’d do that. I’d been following my favorite private detective and learning some key lessons. Never fail to meet someone’s eye and ask them the hard questions were two. And another, make sure you look debonair while you’re doing it. Archie didn’t articulate these tips, but he lived them.

First I called Uncle Kev and tasked him with getting Muriel out of Van Alst House long enough for me to get in there and ask Vera a few tough but essential questions. I set about becoming respectable. I slipped into last year’s herringbone tights and my knee-high riding boots (a steal off Kijiji), all topped off with a little cashmere shift that had been my mother’s. Nothing beats an outfit that costs almost nothing but would knock the socks off any stylist in SoHo. I’d gotten rid of the bandages. I felt confident and classy despite being both broke and broken. I snatched one of Mick’s old fedoras, lest anyone gawk at my scratches and bruises.

*   *   *

UNCLE KEV AND
I were lurking behind Vera’s bank, beside a cable installation van. The wind had died down, so we no longer had to hunker against the brick wall.

“You sure you know what you’re doing here, Kevin?” Despite the frigid November temperatures, a prickle of sweat formed on my lip. Kevin always
thought
he knew what he was doing. He was giddy with excitement, rubbing his mitts together like a kid on Christmas.

“Oh, I know what I’m doing, Jordie. Trust me, Cherie has never let me down.”

His eyes twinkled in a way that gave me pause as to what Cherie’s line of work might be, whoever and wherever Cherie turned out to be. That was before I remembered that Cherie was the cable installer who had so taken Kev’s fancy after rigging up Van Alst House. Why was I surprised?

The cable repair van rattled as the person atop the telescoping ladder adjusted position above us. The cold metal pinging sent another chill up my back. Perhaps my gorgeous but uninsulated knee-high riding boots were the wrong choice. Even in this crisp sunshine, I was freezing.

Kev looked down at my shifting feet through the puffs of our breath. “What have you got on your feet, girl? Those aren’t practical.” He shook his head like I was the silly one in this family, and I was about to say something about that when a nasal but pretty voice filled the alley.

“Why hello, ma’am.” A sweet southern drawl continued, “I was wondering if I could speak with Miss Vera Van Alst. It’s Amy calling from Upstate Trust and Financial regarding the cash withdrawal she requested.” There were at least four syllables in “Amy.”

I craned my neck skyward to the person on the ladder, who was clearly a cable repair gal. Frosted blue eye shadow, ringed big blue bedroom eyes over a dainty nose and pouting hot-pink lips. Blond springing curls bursting out from under a white hard hat caught the light like an angel . . . an angel from Kevin. She wore a navy-blue pair of coveralls cinched impossibly small at the waist and, speaking of strange choices in footwear, high-heeled Timberlands. She spoke into a red retro phone receiver clipped into a panel of wires at the top of the electric pole. Cherie was idly wrapping her finger around the red spiral cord, completely at ease, like she was relaxing on her bed, chatting to a girlfriend . . . in nineteen eighty-one.

“Well, I promised Miss Vera I’d have her withdrawal ready for pickup as usual by herself tomorrow morning, but I had no idea the bank would be closed then because we are finally painting over this gawd-awful beige paint. You’d think after twenty years . . .”

Bank closed for painting? I tore my gaze away from the angel in the sky who was spewing this BS. I stared into the beaming face of Kevin. “See, she’s hooked directly into the phone line from the bank, so when she calls Vera’s house, that’s what’s gonna show up on the Caller ID.”

“. . . oh dear. Yes, I do know that Miss Vera is not entirely mobile . . . Well, I’m so, so sorry for the inconvenience. Is there any way I could make . . . ?” Cherie tapped her long nails against the side of the receiver, to sound like typing.

“I see a Mr. Kevin Kelly is also authorized to pick up on Miss Van Alst’s behalf.”

Even from twenty feet below I could hear the bitter tone of Muriel’s voice chastising and intimidating Cherie.

“Why, no, I would not want to be responsible for an old woman not getting her medications! But . . . but . . . oh no, please don’t call my manager! I’m still on probation and . . .”

Cherie was getting squeakier by the second; she glanced down at Kev, who shot her a thumbs-up and a grin.

“Perhaps you could come to the bank today and get Miss Van Alst’s funds on her behalf? If you brought a letter of . . . Oh no! I’m not trying to make this difficult . . . Yes, I do realize this is my mistake . . . Well, I’m here until twelve fifteen, ma’am, and then I’m gone for the day. No, no. No letter required for you, ma’am.”

“Wow, she’s good, Kev.” I was astounded at the Oscar-caliber performance from the retro lady at the top of the ladder.

“I’ve got Muriel’s number, Jordie. I knew how she’d play this. Any chance to get in with the bank, you take it.”

“Nice work. I have to admit it.” I don’t think I’d ever been so proud of Kevin. Especially not for arranging a con. Usually, I am opposed to those. But I had to admit, this was a really great scheme to get Muriel out of the house and maybe even catch her trying to commit fraud, although, considering our little ruse, maybe that wasn’t a stone we wanted to cast. I didn’t really care about that part anyway. This was about getting access to Vera and trying to show her she was in danger financially, and maybe otherwise, as well as squeezing a bit of truth out of her.

It was also about protecting my friends. And if protecting my friends happened to coincide with mealtime at Van Alst House, well, that was a happy accident. My stomach gurgled in approval.

Kev watched Cherie sashay down the ladder. I’d never seen anyone sashay on a ladder. I would have bet against it being possible, although I would have lost that bet. Kev had an entire galaxy twinkling in his eyes.

“Well, what’s a girl gotta do to get a hug around here, Mr. Kelly?”

In response to that challenge, Kev rushed forward, picked her up and swung her in circles in the alley. Something told me that Kev and Cherie had been in touch between the cable installation at Van Alst House and this latest bit of trickery. Cable wasn’t the only possible hookup. Of course, not really my business.

*   *   *

KEV’S PHONE RANG.
Muriel. I could hear her blasting away at him.

Kev said, “I’m downtown getting some stuff for the signora. But I’m on my way back, Muriel. What? What bank? Sure, I can meet you there at noon. I don’t know what you’re talking about. No need to talk to me like that. I’ll wait for you there. Sheesh. What’s wrong with your car? Oh. Flat tire? Really? That’s too bad.” He turned and winked at me. “Okay. I’m coming to get you right now.”

Okay, I figured I had enough time to get out to the Van Alst place and confront Vera before Muriel, dragging Uncle Kev, arrived at the bank to find out that no withdrawal had actually been requested nor was one ready. Then I’d have to get out of Van Alst House before Muriel returned. Unless, of course, I was able to prevail on Vera to see reason and give the swirling black vision the boot.