The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) (16 page)

She said, “I see there are stairs up to the third floor. It doesn’t look like it’s finished space up there, but I suppose I should check that out. We find a lot of stuff in attics.”

I watched her wide, square rear ascend and veer out of sight. I felt confident that Randolph wasn’t up there, at least not if he was still breathing. I had trouble imagining how he could get to the second floor without the chair lift, never mind the third floor.

I waited. I fought the urge. Unsuccessfully. Then before she could descend, shaking spider webs from her cop’s hat, I did the deed. I grabbed every Sayers book I could spot and dropped them into my deep-orange bag. Luckily, it was not only deep orange, but also deep. I draped my fitted denim blazer over it. It was a crazy thing to do, and I have never lifted anything, not from a shop, nothing. My form of rebellion was going straight, and yet here I was, giving myself the five-finger discount, swiping books. I couldn’t believe myself.

But the one thing I was sure of was that this Adams house was in some way a crime scene. It was just a matter of time until the cops figured that out and wrapped it in crime-scene tape. Just a matter of time until the books and everything in the house was evidence. Of what, I didn’t know. That collection would disappear forever. I figured I would make it up somehow. If Delilah and Mason came back and saw the books missing, they’d know it was me or Karen right away. But I knew they weren’t coming back. Even if the interior hadn’t been plundered, it was obvious. The house was empty. Soulless.

“Nothing up there,” Officer Candy said, clumping down the stairs and, as expected, brushing spider webs from her cap.

I hoped she hadn’t noticed my guilty start at the first clump.

“You’re jumpy,” she said with a cheerful gappy grin.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I keep thinking of Randolph. But he’s obviously not here. I wonder when they’ll be back.” Of course, I knew in my bones he wasn’t coming back. Just didn’t know why.

She gave the place a speculative glance. The kind that made me think she might make detective one of these days. “You might be right to worry. Something tells me they won’t be back.”

“That’s what I think,” I said, trying not to tilt over with the weight of the books in my bag. “But I don’t know why.”

“Well, I’ve seen a number of sites where people left town with no forwarding for very compelling if not valid reasons. They all look a bit like this. Clothes strewn, papers all around, safe’s empty.”

“What?” I said.

“Safe’s empty,” she said, happily.

“What safe? I didn’t see one.”

“Over here.” I followed her into what must have been the master bedroom, with lovely sheets strewn around and drawers pulled out. In the walk-in closet was an open wall safe. I had been too busy coveting the Sayers stash to see that the first trip around.

“First of all,” she said, “who has a wall safe?”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Do you?”

“Me? No, of course not. What would I keep in it?”

She shrugged. “That’s my point. Most people don’t have one because they don’t have the right stuff to put in it. Do you even know anybody with a wall safe?”

I shook my head.

Not strictly true, of course. Wall safes were only some of the hiding places my uncles had, although they’d never be so obvious as to hide one in a bedroom closet. Vera too had a couple of wall safes, one hidden behind the portrait of her most hideous ancestor and one behind the mirror in an upstairs bathroom.

She said, “But these people did. Why is that?”

“I have no idea.”

“It will be something, for sure.”

Hard to argue with that.

“Right. Something for sure. Important documents maybe?”

“Like what?”

“Wills. Powers of attorney. Deeds. I don’t know. A treasure map?” I grinned foolishly.

She chuckled. “We’ll clear this up.”

“I suppose. I just hope that Randolph is all right. His family was acting so weird when my friend and I came by. I think they realized we could see they were taking advantage of an old man. And the younger guy was downright aggressive.”

“Hmmm, could be.”

“What if that’s what made them pack up and go in such a hurry? Dragging poor Randolph with them. Maybe that caused them to bolt.”

She gave me a kind but pitying look. “I doubt that you and your friend with your raised eyebrows were enough to set them running.”

“They were edgy, very edgy.”

“Apparently. But was anything said? I’m still betting you weren’t the cause.”

If not, what had been, I wondered. My gut told me that their departure was connected to our visit, but I still wasn’t sure why.

“I’d better get back,” she said. “I’ll call this in and see what they make of it at the station. Guess I’d better get your name and coordinates.”

Oh boy.

I made the split-second decision to give a police officer my real name, the address of the Van Alst House and my iPhone number. This was not the smartest thing I’ve ever done and it certainly was one of the most unsettling. Still, I figured an inside track on what was going on in Burton was worth a bit of discomfort.

“I’ll call you,” she said as we made our way out the door. She was grinning. I was not.

“Great,” I said with a sinking heart.

• • •

THE LOCAL RADIO
station was playing up the murder with energy and pizzazz: “The Body in the Mud
,
” “The Man No One Knew” and “Murderville.”

No name had been released. No age. No details.

I turned off my car radio.

Officer Chatty Candy had told me that it was a man in his twenties, thirties or early forties. That could easily have been Uncle Kev or Tyler Dekker. I needed to find out.

I drove off, conscious of the guilt from the load of Sayers books in my bag. Two blocks away, when I figured no cops were coming after me, I pulled over and sat in the Saab, my hands shaking, and fretted over all I didn’t know and what I had just done.

Something was nagging at me. If Tyler Dekker was dead, he could hardly have called in sick that morning. Unless, someone had killed him and knew enough about him to call the station pretending to be him. Uncle Kev didn’t know enough about Tyler to do that. Anyway, that was just too convoluted. No, Officer Smiley wasn’t dead. Therefore, Uncle Kev hadn’t killed him. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The relief didn’t last long. Tyler Dekker had been up to something underhanded and more than just playing hooky from work. He didn’t work for the Burton force, so he could hardly have been undercover there. Whatever it was, it wasn’t on the up-and-up.

So then I had to ask myself, if Uncle Kev hadn’t killed Officer Smiley, had it been the other way around?

T
HE MAJOR MEDICAL
facility in our area is Grandville General Hospital. Any trauma, that’s where they take you. It was a few minutes out of my way, but I needed to check.

At the information desk, I asked for Tyler Dekker, possibly admitted suffering a concussion last night or today.

The attendant checked and shook her head. “No one here by that name.”

Of course, I wasn’t relieved. What if he was unconscious? What if he had no identification on him? What if he wasn’t there but was somewhere else, unconscious and alone?

It occurred to me that Uncle Kev might also have been injured and admitted. It went without saying that he wouldn’t have ID.

I said, “It’s just that my uncle didn’t come home last night. I am very worried about him. And he hit his head earlier in the day. He’s about five foot eleven with reddish hair, very fit and has ginger eyebrows and very blue eyes. The nurses will love him until he rearranges all the furniture and medical equipment and—”

“We have no notes about an unidentified patient,” she said, flustered. “Usually they tell us when that happens. Tyler Dekker, you said?”

“Um, sometimes when he hits his head he may call himself something else. Kevin, maybe.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” She glanced around and over my shoulder, looking for cameras, I supposed.

“No joke. Just a worried niece. I’ll be glad if he didn’t end up needing medical care.”

So there was that. No Tyler Dekker. No Uncle Kev and apparently no unidentified males lying in emergency or ICU.

That was either very good or very bad.

• • •

I TOOK A
minute to send yet another text to Smiley. There was nothing smiley about that text though. Then as I was in Grandville, I popped over to see if Karen needed anything. I wanted to unburden myself about the books I’d taken too. I found Uncle Lucky’s Navigator parked in the driveway, a collection of boxes in the rear storage. He had some kind of project going and I would have to find out all about it when this nightmare was over.

The male neighbor gave me the stink-eye as I made my way to the back of the building and Karen’s door. I waved. Upstairs, Karen was having a nap and the spare dog had joined her on the bed. Walter was keeping Lucky company in the living room.

Lucky had a notebook and pen, and was fiddling with notes for some project. He declined to share the info with me. Walter also had a project: a rawhide chew.

There was no reason to wake Karen and disturb her. I imagined it would take a day or so to recover from our adventures. She was in good hands with Lucky, Walter and whoever that new dog would turn out to be.

I had nothing much to do but go home and worry.

• • •

TO SAY THAT
dinner was tense was an understatement. Vera was feeling very hard done by without her complete collection and continued to badger me about it. The signora was a bit quieter than usual, and even the cats were keeping a low profile. I spotted one tail swish into the kitchen and then another vanish into the corridor.

I could not bring myself to tell her that I had located some of the books. The fact I only had eight might have sent her over the edge, but that was only part of it.

I didn’t know what to do. Yes, Vera’s books had been stolen, but Randolph hadn’t stolen them. I had stolen them from him. A direct violation of my principles, not to mention my plan to go straight.

She grumbled at one end of the long table while I ruminated at the other. The signora shook things up a bit when she arrived with polpette con funghi—which I now know means meatballs with mushrooms. She served the meatballs in tomato sauce over rice. Heaven. Of course, that wasn’t all.

“Is that green, Fiammetta?” Vera thundered.

“What? I no hear you, Vera. Eat! Eat!”

“Green. Is that zucchini is these meatballs?”

“Parsley! Is parsley! Eat!”

I ate. I was perfectly happy that there was zucchini in the meatballs. A lovely taste sensation and one that took the heat off me, for the time being anyway.

At the end, when Vera seemed to mellow a bit and forget about the zucchini takeover, I bit the bullet.

“I need to ask you to do something for me.”

I didn’t say favor. I didn’t beg. I didn’t even say please. This was Vera, after all.

“I know you are still on the board of Grandville General Hospital.”

She nodded gravely. I was aware that she hated being on the board, but felt it was the duty of a Van Alst.

“I need to know if there was an unidentified man admitted to emergency either last night or sometime today.

“At the risk of being painfully obvious, Miss Bingham, I suggest that you make inquiries at the hospital.”

“They were immune to my charms, I’m afraid.”

Vera actually smiled at that one and then snapped back to her stern self.

“And who might I be inquiring about?”

I took a deep breath. “One of two people. Officer Dekker seems to be missing and was seen near the scene of the murder. He may be injured. He has not been at work. His dog was left behind.”

“What about the police?”

“They say he called in sick. I don’t want to make trouble for him. I think he’s working on something on his own.”

“Fair enough. And the other man.”

“Tall, nice looking, red hair, bright blue eyes, engaging manner.”

“A relative, I take it?”

I nodded.

“Anything else I should know?”

“It’s complicated. And very important.”

That’s the thing about Vera. Just when you think she couldn’t be any more self-focused and obsessed, she’d turn around and do the right thing.

“Thank you,” I said, just as the signora started another round.

She was disappointed that I turned down coffee and dessert, as I planned to meet Lance to talk about my troubles.

• • •

LANCE AND I
took a booth at the back of Café Hudson, a place where we had a long history. We each had ridiculously large cups of coffee with “coffee art” on top. Apparently they had been “handcrafted,” making me wonder how else you could make coffee. Footcrafted
?

I checked my iPhone again nervously while nibbling a chocolate croissant. The ringer was on: no new texts, no news.

“Expecting a call?” Lance scootched closer on the banquette. I could smell his cologne, shampoo and what I think was Gain detergent. I caught myself before I actually huffed his neck.

“I am expecting many calls. All of them involve Uncle Kevin and/or the police.”

Lance winced, but I spotted the glint in his eyes. Here was a man only too happy to jump into an adventure. I hesitated to get him too involved. I wouldn’t want him to vanish like Randolph, Tyler and Kev.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

I stood the menu on end as a screen and pulled the books from my bag. Then taking a deep breath, I started my twisted tale of suspicion and light burglary. Lance listened intently. Dying to get to his role in the drama.

“I need you to hang on to these, just for a little while. I know it’s asking a lot, considering that I basically stole them.” I sighed. “But if I keep them at my place, the signora might find them and tell Vera. I need them kept safe, with someone I trust.”

“Say no more. You’re doing the right thing as usual, Jordan.” He put his hand on mine on the books.

“I’m not really, but it was the only thing I could think of. So thank you so much for saying that.”

Lance locked eyes with me for a long moment. My pulse pounded in my temples. Why did he smell so good?

“One thing though,” Lance said.

“What?” I squeaked, very much aware of the sweat forming on my lip.

“I get to read them!” he said with glee, patted my hand and swept the books into his satchel.

“They’re collectors’ items. Pristine. They’re not for casual reading. And you work in the library. You could borrow books anytime. And didn’t you say you’d already read them all? Anyway, I think I have to go now.”

“Always the heartbreaker, Jordan.”

Ouch. Well, never mind. I had no time to make out, or deal with the messy consequences of fooling around with a good friend. A very good-looking friend. A very nice-smelling, good-looking and flirtatious friend.

“I’ll take care of them. And I promise not to read them. Why do you have to go?”

“Unfinished business. Don’t let anything happen to the books. My life is in your hands.”

“What are friends for?”

• • •

CANDY TOOK ME
by surprise. First of all, she walked up behind me and tapped on my shoulder as I was unlocking the back door to the Van Alst House. I shrieked and shot about a foot off the ground.

“Sorry,” she said.

She didn’t look all that sorry.

“It’s me. Remember? Candy Mortakis, from over in Burton? Guilty conscience?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Taking a cop out of uniform is the same as putting her in a disguise. Candy looked like a normal person, although this was hardly a normal thing to do.

As I was gasping for breath, the back door opened and the signora peered out, brandishing a rolling pin.
Va via! Ladra! Ladra!
”

“Get out of here, thief,” was the gist of the signora’s hollering.

“What the hell?” Candy said.

By the time I could speak, an upstairs window opened and Vera said, “Get off these premises, whoever you are. I have phoned the authorities.”

“Well, that puts me in my place. All that sweating through police academy wasted,” Candy said with a snort. She seemed to think the whole situation was pretty funny.

Vera said, “Be off with you!”

Candy called up to Vera, “Good luck with that. I am the authorities, ma’am. Here to speak to Jordan Bingham about an incident in Burton.”

Vera slammed down the window. I was glad Candy was “the authorities,” because I knew Vera would have tossed me to the wind if I’d been arrested.

Candy was grinning, even if I wasn’t. “What is this place? You live in some kind of Shakespeare play? Gotta love the way these people talk.”

“On a good day, it’s Shakespearean,” I said. “On a bad day more like something from Dante’s nine circles.”

She stared at me and smacked her gum.

I changed the subject. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you know. We seemed to hit it off and I’m new to this area and I don’t know a lot of people and I thought we could maybe have a chat. Or maybe we could arrange a girls’ day.”

I decided I was probably having one of those weird dreams I’d been troubled by lately. That would be about the only thing that would explain this visit.

Vera’s window shot up again. “I demand to see your identification. Immediately.”

“It’s all right, Vera. This is the full force of the law right here on your back doorstep. There’s nothing to worry about. Oh, unless you’re here to arrest me, um, Officer Candy. Are you?”

She grinned wickedly. “Now why would I want to do that?”

The books! Shut the front door!
my guilty conscience screamed.

From upstairs, Vera’s gravelly voice asked, “And why, Miss Bingham, is the full force of the law making you jump like a scalded cat at ten thirty in the evening?”

I didn’t think I’d shrieked. “Purely social, Vera.”

The window slammed shut again.

The signora was still there, however, rolling pin raised. I figured she was prepared to use it.

I held up my hand. “Friend, Signora Panetone.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Well that was all quite dramatic,” Candy said, continuing to grin. “I knew you’d be fun to be around.”

“And you probably also know why I prefer not to scream around my back door.”

“Next time I’ll just text.”