Day Shift (Midnight, Texas #2) (20 page)

Good. Now there were no witnesses, whatever happened.

Lewis reappeared, so changed it was like he’d taken a hit of laughing gas. He’d morphed into the gracious master of the manor. “There’s an elevator right back here for you, if you’d prefer,” he said. If he’d had mustaches, he’d have been twirling them. “I often take it myself.”

“Thanks,” said Tommy gruffly. “The little lady has a problem with stairs.”

Every effort had been made to make the tiny elevator unobtrusive. Even the door was designed to look like a real wood door. Olivia said, “I’ll just take the stairs.”

She met them at the top and confirmed that the elevator door was right by the study door. She was smiling when the elevator door dinged open and they all appeared.

Lewis’s new hospitality made Olivia deeply suspicious, and her anxiety was confirmed when she caught Barry’s expression. Behind Lewis’s back, he made an urgent face at her. She didn’t know exactly what it meant, but nothing good. She went on full alert.

Tommy got off the elevator with extra care and turned to extend his hand to Suzie. She took it with a smile. Somehow, in the Goldthorpe mansion, they looked smaller and frailer and less in control of their destinies than they had in the Midnight Hotel. Tommy seemed to be aware of it, too. In a patronizing tone, he said, “This is a nice house, young man.” He looked around him in a lordly way. “I haven’t been here in years,” he added, perhaps thinking that he should
have visited at least a few times if he’d been such a good friend of Morton’s.

“I’m so glad you like it,” Lewis said smoothly.

Obviously, Lewis suspected they weren’t what they seemed. Olivia didn’t know what he suspected or what to do about it. For the moment, she decided to go along with the plan. Lewis was not a good pretender. She was.

“I’m really sorry about your mom,” she said. Lewis’s glasses winked as he swung his head around to glare at her.

And she saw Barry blink and look away, just for a second.

Lewis was more dangerous than he seemed, apparently.

“She never took good care of herself,” Lewis said brusquely. “She was getting forgetful, too. She was hiding things from me.”

“Hiding things,” Olivia echoed in a murmur with just a hint of a question in it.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “She was getting very . . . well, paranoid, I’m afraid, and she decided I was after her jewelry. Poor thing,” he added unconvincingly. “I miss her so much.”

“Of course,” Barry said. “Grandpa, can you see the books you loaned Morton? Look carefully. We don’t want to leave one behind.”

Tommy had gone to the shelves to begin his “search.” Suzie began a stilted conversation with Lewis about estate taxes, which only went forward fitfully, because Lewis was watching Tommy like a hawk. Did he think Tommy would try to stuff books down his pants?

Olivia looked around her, registering fact after fact. There was not much furniture. The room was lit from a window on the west wall, casting a pool of light on the large polished desk and the imposing chair behind it. There was an easy chair with a small table and lamp, and there was a huge globe standing in one corner of the room. It hadn’t been visible from the door on Olivia’s previous visit.

Olivia wondered if the globe was Morton Goldthorpe’s idea or if
some decorator had told him every man should have a globe in his library. Maybe a bit of both; it was a beautiful thing. The desk was handsome, too; cherry, she thought. The shelves on the south and north walls were stocked with books interspersed with a tennis trophy or two, some business awards, and family pictures. From those pictures, it was evident that Morton had been older than Rachel by at least ten years. He looked very proud of his wife and his children in those portraits of a time long past.

Olivia had the oddest feeling as she looked at those faces, including that of the boy who now stood before her grown into a peevish and unstable man, greedy and grasping. The couple must have been happy in those long-ago days, surely. They must have looked forward to meeting the people their children would partner up with, to loving the grandchildren that would result. How could it be that such anticipation would crash and burn so spectacularly in Lewis’s case?

Had her parents ever looked at her, counted on her to comfort their old age, to present them with the little representations that would carry their name forward?

Not my mother,
Olivia thought certainly.
Not even she would be capable of such hypocrisy.
As for her father, who knew? He’d proved himself capable of such willful blindness that there was no telling how far he’d deceived himself.

And for the first time, in the middle of a job and in a sunny room of a mansion she’d never visit again, Olivia thought,
If he’d had any balls at all, he’d have killed my mother when I told him what she’d done. I wouldn’t have had to do it myself.
It was a truth that came at the worst possible moment.

“I see your father was interested in Rex Stout,” she said, almost at random. She had no idea who Rex Stout was, but there were many books with that name on them, and they were all together, and they looked old.

“He has a complete set of first editions,” Lewis said with massive indifference. “I’m trying to find a buyer for them.”

“Those are hard to come by,” Olivia said, trying to sound like she gave a shit.

“Yes.” Lewis’s limited patience was trickling away.

Olivia’s brain was telling her to cut and run, that this was a fiasco. She wondered if Barry’s was saying the same thing. There was a certain tension in the way he stood that alerted her. No such danger message had reached Tommy and Suzie, who were shuffling along the shelves, industriously looking for the fictional loaner books.

The front doorbell rang downstairs, and Lewis’s head jerked in that direction. It was a busy morning at the Goldthorpe house. Olivia heard Bertha’s plodding footsteps cross the foyer and the sound of the front door opening.

“I wonder who that can be?” Lewis said malevolently.

Tommy’s head jerked around. He said, “Suzie, honey, these are the books.” He pulled three books from a lower shelf, and Olivia could see they were a set because the bindings matched.

“
The History of Geography and Judaism in Western Europe
,” Suzie said. “Of course! It’s been so long since you read them.”

She was pretty convincing. Olivia almost believed Suzie spent her leisure time reading. Wait, she’d mentioned wanting to go to the library in Davy. Maybe it was true. Olivia dismissed that as irrelevant and concentrated on her job. The desk was an obvious place to search for the jewelry. Possibly it had a secret compartment, though those were usually easy to find. She looked hard at the shelves. She was sure Lewis had been all over them. Even if his sisters had already cataloged everything in the house, which she didn’t believe, Lewis would still want to run his own inventory because he was so convinced that the house was his.

“I’m surprised you’re selling such a beautiful place,” she said, and
Lewis glared at her. “Not my idea,” he snapped. “My sisters want to sell the place and divide the proceeds, though I offered to buy them out.”

Not at fair market value, I’m sure,
Olivia thought. But she shook her head in apparent amazement at his sisters’ inexplicable stubbornness, while she looked from the desk to the shelves. The books were all aligned on the forefront of the shelves, not pushed back against the wall, so there was plenty of room behind them. But would that be a very safe place to hide anything? Only temporarily. Hadn’t Rachel told them something else, at the séance?

The leather chair—nope. A table at its side, only a single shallow drawer. Nope. There were cabinets below the bookshelves on the north wall behind the desk. That was somewhere to look. Maybe one of the books was hollowed out?

Suddenly she had a great idea, a wonderful idea, just in time. There were two sets of feet mounting the stairs, and Detective Sterling, Bonnet Park PD, came into the room. Another man was with Sterling, and Olivia pegged him instantly as a cop.

Lewis smiled triumphantly.

Well, damn. This was not her day.

It had seemed so important to see the study for herself. Now she realized it had been stupid, though she was sure she’d identified the hiding place of Rachel’s jewelry. While she was wondering if she could possibly go unrecognized, Lewis practically precipitated himself at the detectives.

“So glad to see you, guys!” Lewis was beaming from ear to ear. “I’m delighted you came so quickly.” He pointed at the Midnight party in a dramatic way. “These people are frauds.”

“I beg your pardon,” Suzie said. She was unexpectedly fierce. “How dare you say that? We came to retrieve Tommy’s books. Fraudulent, my . . . ! We haven’t done a single thing that’s incorrect or illegal.”

If Olivia hadn’t been so busy being mad at herself, and also elated, she would have been tempted to laugh.

Barry was looking intently at the policemen. He said, “I’m sorry Mr. Goldthorpe has caused you so much trouble today. We did send a letter ahead, telling him we would be coming. He could have called our lawyer if he had an issue with our visit.” Barry looked very serious, very distressed, and not at all guilty of anything.

Olivia thought,
He’s reading their minds. Follow his cues.
She tried to stand a little behind Barry. She was aiming for inconspicuous but not suspicious. It was a fine line.

Detective Sterling was definitely taken aback. Maybe he’d expected guilt, embarrassment, flagrant con artists; instead, he’d gotten feisty older citizens, an indignant grandson, and a quiet sister. Versus the demonstrably unstable (but Bonnet Park citizen) Lewis Goldthorpe. So he did what Olivia figured she would have done. He played for time to evaluate the situation.

“I’m Detective Sterling and this is Detective Woodward,” Sterling said. “We’re from the Bonnet Park police. You are?”

They all introduced themselves and shook hands, just a bunch of citizens who were completely aboveboard.

Detective Sterling had no choice but to follow through. Though Olivia was no mind-reader like Barry, she could tell that he had misgivings about this whole situation. “Mr. Goldthorpe has complained about your coming here today. He maintains none of these books were loaned to his father, who’s been dead some time now. Since his mother died only recently, he’s very sensitive about strangers making claims on the estate.”

“Which I would definitely agree with,” Tommy said. “If I were saying that I’d loaned my buddy books worth a lot of dough. But these books, about the faith of our people, they are worth nothing but some sentiment, gentlemen. Sentiment. Not money. And I’ll tell you here
and now, if this man here, Lewis Goldthorpe, if he tells me sincerely he’ll read these books and learn from them, I am not going to stand in his way. My Suzie and I are deeply, I say deeply, offended by these accusations, and we are leaving now, with or without my books. Calling the police, young man? Your father would be astonished at you.”

Tommy did offended dignity very well, if a little in the Foghorn Leghorn manner. Their little party began to move to the door of the study in a tight formation. Suzie clung to Tommy’s arm, looking frail and tremulous, and Barry did his best to look offended, and Olivia strove to be invisible. She thought for one moment that Detective Sterling looked at her curiously. Would he figure out she’d been at Vespers?

But he didn’t try to stop them. They reached the elevator. And crowded on. And punched the button to go down. It took for-fucking-ever for the doors to close. Olivia swore to herself the whole time.

Lewis began shrieking at the detectives.

“Bad move, Lewis,” Olivia whispered. Then they were on the ground floor and the doors opened. Bertha and her son were nowhere in sight. The coast was clear. Moving a little faster than they should have been, considering the offended dignity they were trying to project, they got through the double front doors, all the time hearing the voices of the detectives, determinedly calm, counterpointing with the shrill tones of Lewis, demanding that they be stopped and searched and questioned and thrown in jail. And all manner of other things.

Then they were out into the scorching heat.

“Let’s slow down a little,” Barry suggested. “Tommy, hold on to the railing, okay? Suzie, let me give you a hand.” Tommy didn’t put up any protest, and neither did Suzie. Olivia swung around to get to the bottom of the steps in case they fell, standing ready to catch them. But despite the fact that Tommy and Suzie were both visibly angry—or maybe just excited—they managed the few steps down
with no problem, and then all four of them crossed the gravel to the car. The detectives’ sedan was parked behind them.

A whoosh of heat came out of the opened car doors, but they weren’t going to wait for the car to cool. They climbed in, Barry and Tommy in the front, Suzie and Olivia in the back, and then they were going down the driveway.

“Whew,” said Suzie. “That little fucker! Someone should clip his nuts off.”

“
If
he has any,” Tommy said.

Olivia couldn’t stop the giggle. After a second, Barry joined her.

They’d gotten away with it.

“But we didn’t find out where the jewelry is,” Tommy said.

“Yes, we did.” Olivia smiled to herself. “I know where it is.”

“Where?” Tommy demanded. “Hey, I think I deserve to know!”

“You do, but I have to tell Manfred first,” she said. “This is his deal, after all.”

“How are we gonna get ’em, now that he knows what we look like?” Suzie said. Suddenly they were a gang of jewel thieves instead of a group of newly met misfits.

“We’ll think of something,” Olivia said.

“After we get out of here,” Barry said brusquely, and they all agreed it was time to leave Bonnet Park.

T
he Rev was in front of the chapel, looking up into the sky. Afternoon was drawing to a close, but the sun was still blazing away with implacable heat. He took his hat off and waved it in the air, whether to dry the sweat on the hatband or to create some air circulation, Joe had no idea. The boy was with him, and for the first time they looked like they belonged together. Diederik was slightly behind the Rev, as if he were trying to stand in the Rev’s meager shadow. They both looked into the vast blue, their eyes narrowed against the glare, reading the sky to come.

Chuy had been ordering some nail polish online, but he came to look out when Joe beckoned. “Huh,” Chuy said. “Let me check something.” He returned to the laptop and typed something in a search engine. After a moment, he said, “Yep. The prediction is no clouds, for three nights.”

“I figured,” Joe said. There was a long moment of silence, while they both considered the fact.

“Still,” Joe said, as if their thoughts had been spoken out loud, “as long as everyone stays inside . . .”

“Yeah. But isn’t Manfred out of town now? With Olivia and two hotel people?” Chuy was anxious.

“They’re not back yet. Right.”

“Better text them.” Chuy got out his cell phone. “Both of them?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Joe could hear the tiny click of the keypad on the telephone. He and Chuy were tech titans compared to the Rev. The old minister ignored computers and wasn’t even comfortable on his landline telephone. He had grudgingly agreed to have an answering machine attached to the one in his little house only after he had missed the opportunity of some pet burials because grieving pet owners couldn’t get in touch with him.

The Rev and Diederik looked completely at home in their own world just at the moment.

As Joe watched, the older man turned to look at the boy and said something to him, something very serious. The boy nodded, looking nervous, looking excited. He was even taller than the day before, Joe realized. He looked as old as Dillon, the high school junior who bussed at Home Cookin.

That led Joe to think about the Home Cookin family. “Chuy, I have to go talk to Teacher and Madonna,” he said.

Chuy said, “Sure. I’m waiting to hear back from our wanderers. Hey, take Rasta, so he’ll get some exercise.”

Joe put Rasta on his leash, and the little dog danced around, anxious to go on a walk. The sidewalk was hot for Rasta’s feet, so Joe carried him most of the way but put the dog down to take advantage of a little strip of dirt between the sidewalk and the street. He let Rasta have a few happy moments of sniffing and peeing before they continued on their short way.

As Joe pushed open the glass door, he realized he could not remember ever entering Gas N Go twice in consecutive days. Teacher was making change for a customer who’d bought gas, and when the rancher had climbed back into his pickup and pulled out onto the Davy highway, Teacher said, “What an honor! What’s up, Joe?”

“Close early tonight,” Joe said.

“What? Come again?”

“Close before dark. Go home. Make sure Madonna and Grady are inside. Lock your doors. Don’t go out. Tonight, and the next two nights.”

“What’s up?” Teacher wasn’t as surprised to be given this message as he would have been a year ago. And he didn’t question Joe’s word.

“Will you do this?” he asked.

“Yeah, Joe. I’ll do it. Do I need to get my rifle out?”

Joe sighed heavily. “If you don’t go out, you won’t need it,” he said. “Will you tell Madonna, or do I need to go over to the restaurant?”

“She’ll take this better if it comes from you.”

Joe thought that was an odd thing to say, because as far as he knew, Madonna and Teacher had a companionable marriage, but he wasn’t going to question Teacher any more than Teacher had questioned him. He nodded and left, going straight across the road to the hotel and walking west to the restaurant, taking advantage of another patch of shade to let Rasta get a bit of exercise. Madonna and Dillon were having a conversation about the nature of true barbecue, a discussion that could go on forever, especially in Texas. Madonna was sitting on one of the stools cutting up tomatoes in a leisurely way, and Dillon was wiping down the plastic envelopes that enclosed the menus.

Their heads turned to the door simultaneously when the bell chimed, and Madonna cast an anxious glance to one of the booths,
where Grady was stretched out asleep. Dillon, who was always glad to see a customer, smiled in a surprised kind of way, because it was before five o’clock.

“Hey, Mr. Joe,” he said. “You want a table? Or you want to sit up here with us? I can bring you some iced tea.”

Joe shook his head.

Madonna put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “Can I fix you something to take home for supper? Roast beef isn’t ready yet, but I can come up with something.”

“No, thanks. What time have you been closing?” Joe asked.

“By eight or maybe as late as eight thirty,” she said. “Every now and then someone will linger that late.”

“Close earlier tonight. Please.”

“Klan going to come burn a cross?” She bared her teeth in a smile designed to show the boy, Dillon, that she was joking. Just a little bit. When Joe didn’t smile back, she dropped her own quickly. “Seriously, Joe?” she said.

“Yes. I’ve already talked to Teacher.”

She glanced over at her sleeping son. “Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll close by seven thirty at the latest.”

He was pleased that she didn’t ask more questions. “Seven thirty will be okay,” he said. Sunset wasn’t until eight thirty p.m. or thereabouts, but it would be wise to err on the side of caution. “Dillon, you drove your truck in, right?”

Dillon looked at Joe as though he’d grown another head.
Of course,
Joe thought.
He’s a rural kid. He’s been driving since he was thirteen, probably.
Now Joe remembered that Dillon had saved up to buy a secondhand Chevy 4x4, and he kept it as clean and polished as a vehicle in dusty Texas could be. “Of course you did,” Joe said, with an apologetic smile. “When the restaurant closes, please go
straight home.” The Braithwaite ranch was ten miles due south of Midnight.

The boy’s face was full of a thousand questions, but Joe knew if he answered one, he’d be there for ten more minutes. He was ready with a credible story. “A customer in the shop told me he’d seen a mountain lion on his property right outside of town. He said it was wounded, might attack people. I think we need to take serious precautions until they track it down.”

That seemed to make sense to Dillon. To forestall any more questions from the boy, Joe nodded at both of them and left. He hesitated once outside, picking up Rasta and scratching the little dog’s head. Rasta was panting but still glad to be outside with his human.

“What now?” Joe said to the dog. He’d just thought of Fiji when he heard her call his name. He looked far past her down the sidewalk and saw Mr. Snuggly sitting on the edge of her yard looking after her. When Fiji came up to him, he saw that her face was tight with anxiety. Though she was wearing a short denim skirt and a tank top, she was flushed and breathing heavily.

“Tonight,” she said. “Something’s happening tonight.”

“Yes. I was just telling Madonna and Teacher to be inside early. I was going to call you.”

“I went over to the chapel with some cookies for the Rev and Diederik. The Rev wouldn’t come to the door, though I know they were in there. There’s only that big ceiling fan in there, no air-conditioning. Silence. And I got a shivery feeling.”

“Good thing you trust your feelings,” Joe said approvingly. Fiji tried to smile back.

“Something’s going to happen to the boy tonight,” she said. “I think so, at least. He’s been growing so much, and he seems so different from
other boys, anyway. I don’t know what it is, but I know he won’t be the same after it.”

Joe nodded. “Don’t forget to tell your cat,” he said. He’d put the dog down, and Rasta was prancing around Fiji’s ankles, smelling the cat on her legs and shoes.

“Mr. Snuggly seems to know. Better than I do. He’s already told me to get a litter box ready for tonight. Normally, he just goes outside.”

“We’ll take Rasta out at the last minute and then hope for the best,” Joe said. “Remember, Fiji. I know you are strong, and I know you are powerful. But no running outside to pick some last-minute herbs for supper or to stand in the moonlight to cast a spell.”

“Do I seem that scatterbrained to you?” Fiji shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I promise, I won’t try to rescue anyone. Have you talked to Bobo?”

Joe shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you, if you have time. I need to get Rasta home. The heat’s too much with all his fur.”

“Okay, I’ll stop in,” she said. “I think Manfred and Olivia have been gone today? You’ve texted them?”

“They’ve been told,” Joe assured her.

“Bye then, and thanks. Stay safe, Joe.” She glanced both ways and then ran diagonally across the intersection and up the steps to the old door to the pawnshop.

It was gloomy inside as it almost always was, and she stopped to get her sight back.

“Hey, Feej,” Bobo called from the back of the store, which was much larger than it looked on the outside. She began fumbling her way back. By the time she reached him she could see.

Bobo was examining a vest. He’d spread it out on the top of an ancient table with carved legs, which probably should have gone to Joe’s antiques shop instead of his own business. That happened, from time to time.

“Is that leather?” she asked, sidetracked for a moment.

“Sure is,” he said. “But I don’t know what the leather is made from. What animal, I mean. Could be anything.”

“Even a person?” She scrunched up her nose.

“I guess so.” Bobo seemed mildly amused by the idea. “It looks pretty cool, though, so I hope not. Maybe when Lemuel comes back, he’d know.”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” she said. “Listen, Bobo, I got a warning from Joe.”

“Joe?” She had his full attention.

“He says to stay in after dark tonight, no matter what.”

Bobo thought about that for a second. “Did he say why?”

“No, but it’s got something to do with Diederik and the Rev.”

“What about Manfred? His car hasn’t been there all day.”

“Joe texted him. Should be okay. I hope he’s close.”

“Maybe Olivia is with him. I haven’t seen her all day, either, and I think her car is gone, too.”

“Yeah, they went somewhere together. They took a couple of old people from the hotel. And the young guy.”

“Weird. That doesn’t seem very much like Manfred. Or Olivia.”

“I know, right? Joe’s probably heard back from them, but I may text Manfred myself, just to keep my mind at rest.”

As it happened, Manfred and Olivia returned to town an hour and a half later, having treated Suzie and Tommy to a substantial midafternoon snack at an ice cream shop. While Manfred dropped off Barry, Olivia saw the two others into the hotel.

Manfred had driven back to Davy to pick up his dry cleaning, and he’d lingered to drive by Magdalena Orta Powell’s office out of sheer curiosity. It did not have gold pavement outside, and the door was not set with gemstones. He’d also picked up some Mexican food for his own supper, and he was looking forward to heating it up. Though that
put him much later than he’d planned, he was definitely in before his advised curfew.

Manfred responded to Fiji’s text when he’d had time to feel alone again. “Here I am,” he said when she picked up. “Way before dark.”

She was looking out of her front window. She’d been pulled to it ever since she’d talked to Joe. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Pouring a glass of V8,” he said. “Why?”

“The sheriff is pulling up to your door.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Manfred felt he’d had as much tension as he could handle for one day.

“I’ll let you go. If you need me, call me.” She hung up and worried, pacing back and forth in the shop. She heard the cat door in the kitchen make its distinctive clatter, and Mr. Snuggly came to stand beside her.

“Is he getting arrested?” the cat asked her, mildly curious.

“I hope not,” she said.