Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (13 page)

“In fact, you’re a sartorial vision in gray.”

He glances down. “Of course, I am. It’s standard
Government Issue.”

At that, we both laugh away the tension.

After a few miles pass, Bill says, “Don’t be alarmed
when you spot someone dressed as the Cardinal. Larry Templeton has
taken that spot.”

A tiny voice asks how Bill can know this if he’s not
in with the bad guys. “Who told you that?”

He keeps his eyes on the road as he says, “Nobody.
Somebody. Look, it’s my job.”

Until that moment I had been planning to tell Bill
what I saw in the passageway and then ask what really happened to
the Cardinal, but now something warns me not to.

————

Bill tells the man in the tux at the gate, “Raven
Two and date.”

I do a little calculating. He’s the “R” in the
second alphabet panel. Number 44. Pretty high up in the ranks.

The gates close behind us, and I ask, “How long have
you been in?”

“Almost a year. Most everyone in the firm is a
member. Kingsley-Smythe wanted to sign me up right after I joined,
but I didn’t want to appear too eager.” He laughs. “I made the
right move. My initial turn-down just made him all the more
determined to recruit me.”

We enter Station Two and go through the same
drill—champagne and mask selection.

This time I choose a feathered creation sprinkled
with silver and scarlet glitter, a perfect match to my dress.

When the handle to my dressing room turns, I brace
myself, sending up a small petition that when I turn back, my date
will not be wearing the Foo Dog mask.

My prayer is answered. He’s wearing a fuller-faced
version of a Phantom of the Opera mask in steel gray. Still, a
chill races through me. What if everyone changes costumes for each
event?

Bill’s assignment sends us to the ballroom. We enter
to stand a couple of steps above the dance floor. Chandeliers
matching the ones in the hall softly light the whirling forms below
us. Beyond the crowd, the French doors to the terrace are open to
reveal a full moon hanging low in the sky and reflecting off the
water. On the surface it’s just a nice group of friends enjoying
the evening, but upstairs, there’s a different kind of party going
on.

We ease into the circle. Bill gathers me to him and
I melt into his embrace. It’s all I can do not to reach up to meet
his lips. I turn away from the temptation, reminding myself that
I’m here on a mission.

When the music stops Bill exchanges the usual
pleasantries with one of the men in our group while I take a glass
of champagne from one tray and a crudité from another. This time, I
follow the rules and, like the other women, stare into the crowd,
carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone.

That’s when I notice a page coming toward us. When
he presents Bill with a gilt-edged card, I freeze. That card can
mean only one thing. We’re going upstairs.

After we reach the hall, I grab Bill’s hand. “Not up
there.”

He winks, then whispers, “But I thought you were
aching for a little excitement.”

When I shake my head, he sobers. “Look, Allie, I’m
pretty sure this might be the invitation you’ve been waiting for.
Don’t chicken out now. Besides, I’m right here beside you.”

Why isn’t that a comforting thought? If Bill’s
flipped, maybe he’s helping to set me up. I give him a tentative
smile. “That may be so, but something’s not right. It’s all too
easy.”

Before Bill can answer, a man appears at the railing
above us wearing a cape in a bright flame stitch. His golden mask
contours his face, but a halo of rays painted to match the colors
in his cloak gives the appearance of a small sun.

“There you are, Raven Two. I see you got my
invitation. Unhook the rope and come up.”

When he disappears, Bill murmurs, “Don’t be afraid.
We’ll be okay.”

He takes my arm and urges me upward.

As we walk down a wide, paneled hallway, the buzz of
the crowd below fades and the band music mutes. The hallway opens
into a long, barrel-vaulted, paneled room with clerestory windows
above. Fires dance in two large fireplaces that grace each end of
the room. The soft, sensuous notes of an oboe float from a balcony
above.

After my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I see
couples on chaise longues among strategically placed potted palms.
Some of the women are bare to the waist. A few are completely nude.
All of the couples are engaged in some form of sexual
amusement.

At the sound of polite applause and low “bravos,” I
turn to look into a shallow alcove. There, on a raised, padded
table, surrounded by masked men in capes, a couple performs. The
man wears his mask and upper clothing, the woman beneath him wears
nothing.

I stop, almost toppling Bill. “Sorry, but I have no
intention of—”

He puts a protective arm around my waist. “I told
you not to worry. We weren’t called up here for that.”

Just then, one of the men calls out, “Ready to make
a trade?” Bill ignores the offer and we hurry past. When we reach
the far end of the room, I recognize the masked man who called down
to us.

When we join him, he waves his arm toward the room
and its occupants. “So, tell me. What do you think about all
this?”

Bill looks around, then at me, and says,
“Interesting. Very interesting.”

“After the meeting, you should take a few minutes to
enjoy our little sexual buffet.” He points to the hall we just came
down. “There are pleasure chambers on either side. Behind those
closed doors you can choose orgy, voyeur or girl-on-girl. Feel free
to eat all you want or just take a nibble, it’s up to you. Whatever
you do, I’m sure you’ll find it pleasurable.”

He waves us into a smaller paneled room with a
fireplace.

In front of the fire a table is set for two with
fine crystal and china. On one wall, a sideboard offers a bounteous
feast. On the opposite, a matching piece boasts several bottles of
fine wine and high end liquors. And at the end of the room is a
seating area with a comfortable couch and two easy chairs done in
burgundy-colored brocade.

The man closes the door behind him. “Please remove
your necklace and earrings and give them to me.”

That’s the last thing I expected him to ask. Will he
know I’m wearing paste? What happens when the new Cardinal finds
out?

I glance at Bill. Has he known about this all along?
Is he setting me up? Here comes that black hole in the bottom of my
stomach.

I ignore it, rise to my fullest height and say, “I
don’t think so. The Cardinal gave me these. I will return them only
to him—in private.”

The man does a double take and retrieves a cell from
beneath his cape. He punches in a number, then turns away and
mumbles something.

After he pockets the cell, he opens the door and
ushers Bill into the larger room.

He turns. “The Cardinal asks that you wait here.
Raven Two and I will be just outside.”

I’m alone only seconds when one of the panels glides
open. A man who I suppose is Larry Templeton dressed as the
Cardinal enters followed by a tall imposing woman gowned in a
powder-blue nun’s habit, wearing an exquisitely fashioned wimple
and an intricately carved mask that covers her entire face.

The Cardinal extends his hand. “The jewels,
please.”

When I remove the earrings and place them in his
outstretched hand, the woman gasps and whispers. “They’re
paste.”

I find my voice. “You’re right, but I have the real
McCoys in a safe place.”

The woman takes a step in my direction. At over six
feet, she looms above me. I take an involuntary step backward and
clench my hands to keep them from trembling.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low and husky.
“I want those jewels. They belong to me.”

Though the mask covers her face, I look into cold,
gray eyes—the “see-through eyes” of the woman in the photograph
Greene showed me only days before. The skin around my lips begins
to tingle as I realize this has to be Sigrid Hale.

The Cardinal joins her and mutters, “She knows too
much. We can’t let her go.”

“We have to let her go. I want those jewels, and
she’s the only one who can get them to me without arousing
suspicion.”

“How can we be sure she’ll turn them over?”

The nun’s next words stun. “Miss Armington has a
family. A family she’ll do anything to protect.”

It’s the Cardinal who makes the final thrust. “We’ll
contact you with delivery instructions.” He studies me a few
seconds, then says, “If you value your life, you will not return to
this place. Understand?”

When I turn for the door, his words follow. “I warn
you, don’t do anything stupid or you’ll regret it.”

I’M SO ABSORBED in going over the details of my
meeting with Cardinal Larry and the nun, I hardly notice when the
Lexus exits the gates to the main road.

I turn to Bill, describe the pair and end with,
“When they discovered the jewels were paste, they threatened
me—said if I didn’t follow through with the delivery, they’d go
after my family.”

Bill lets out a long breath. “What have I been
trying to tell you? These people don’t like to be compromised.”

There goes that funny little feeling that rolls
across my gut when I remember Bill might be playing a double
game.

After a few more miles in the darkness, I try
another probe. “So you have no idea who this Sigrid Hale is?”

He takes a deep breath. “How could I possibly know
who she is? I’m in the dark just as much as you.”

Somehow, I doubt that. “I think she’s Mrs.
Kingsley-Smythe. When I showed Sheri Browne Hale’s photograph, she
said she didn’t know her, but I’m sure she was lying. That poor
woman was scared to death.”

He shakes his head. “It just doesn’t add up. Mrs.
Kingsley-Smythe has been in a wheelchair for years.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs off my question.

“Maybe Hale was Mrs. Kingsley-Smythe’s maiden name.
That shouldn’t be too hard to track down. I’m sure the
Kingsley-Smythe marriage was well covered in the newspapers.”

Bill gives me a brief glance. “Sorry, but I can’t
even begin to see Kingsley-Smythe’s wife running drugs and heading
up a group of prostitutes.”

“And why not? Kingsley-Smythe certainly managed to
fool a whole lot of people.”

“Yes, he did. But this Sigrid Hale has quite a
reputation for being a tough and aggressive competitor. Rumor has
it she’s even put some of the competition away—personally. Does
that sound like she’s operating from a wheelchair?”

I wait a few minutes, then say, “If I ask you
something, will you promise to tell me the truth?”

Bill shakes his head. “I’ve never lied to you,
Allie. My sins are only those of omission.”

“Rumor has it you’ve flipped.”

He glances my way as his hand covers mine. His voice
is soft. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be sitting here
beside me, would you?”

Again, I think back to that cave in Uvalde. How Bill
took a bullet for me. Told me he loved me. I desperately want to
believe he’s playing it straight. I want to trust him. “I suppose
not, but I really need to know where you were the night
Kingsley-Smythe was murdered.”

He almost loses the wheel. “Murdered? Where on earth
did you get that idea? Kingsley-Smythe suffered a massive coronary.
You were with me when I got the news.”

Bill pulls into a darkened driveway and cuts the
engine. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“Who told you I was in the library?”
“Kingsley-Smythe.”

“He gave you my name?”

“No. He said there was a ‘lovely’ stranded in the
library that needed to be taken home.”

“That certainly sounds like him. What time did you
two exchange costumes?”

“I remember looking at my watch. It was around
nine-thirty. We met and stepped into the men’s room where we
swapped.”

“Did you ever see his face?”

“Not that I recall. He used the stall to change, and
we traded costumes over the top. But it was Kingsley-Smythe. I’m
positive. He was wearing his ring with the family crest.”

Bill must be telling the truth—or at least the truth
as he knows it.

I grit my teeth, hating to ask, but knowing I have
to, “What costume were you wearing?”

“The same one I’m wearing now. It’s my tux, but they
issued the mask and the cape to me the first time I went out
there.”

“And what happened to the Cardinal’s costume?”

Bill leans his head back on the headrest and
mutters, “Lessee. I left it in the boat.”

“What about your costume?”

“All I can tell you is my mask and cape were waiting
for me. The cape had been cleaned and pressed.”

Bill’s version of the evening seems plausible
enough, even though the timing is wrong. I was in the library at
least an hour after I saw Kingsley-Smythe stabbed. So, to my mind,
the costume trade took place after the man in the Foo Dog mask did
the Cardinal in.

It’s then I decide to tell Bill my version of the
events of the night.

When I finish, the car is dead silent. Bill is
staring straight at me. He hasn’t taken a breath since I spilled my
guts.

“Does Greene know?”

“No one knows except you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

I shake my head.

“My God, Allie, if you think you witnessed
Kingsley-Smythe’s murder, you should have come forward immediately.
Then the authorities might have been able to take some action. We
could have protected you and, just maybe, Sheri Browne might still
be alive.”

I snap back as if he’d struck me in the face. “I
didn’t think—I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you were Kingsley-Smythe’s killer.”

Bill’s mouth drops. “What gave you that idea?”

“You. You’re so different. You don’t act the same.
You don’t sound like a Texan anymore, and what I miss the most is
your aftershave.”