A Catered Tea Party (6 page)

L
ibby studied the backpack's contents lying on Zalinsky's bed. There was a small notebook with nothing inside, twenty thousand dollars in cash, a small envelope containing five one-carat diamonds, probably one hundred gold Krugerrands, a Glock .9mm, two boxes of ammo, and an American passport sporting Zalinsky's picture and the name Louis Zebb.

“Interesting that Zalinsky kept the same initials,” Libby commented as she picked up the passport and thumbed through it. It gave no evidence of being used.

“I suppose it's easier to remember your new name that way,” Bernie observed. She pointed to the issuing date. “He got this in April. Maybe he knew trouble was coming.”

“Or maybe he was just covering all his bases,” Libby said as she picked up a large, square leather case that had been inside the backpack and opened it. It was full of jewelry, each piece wrapped in purple tissue paper.

“Could be,” Bernie said. “I guess if you're someone like Zalinsky, you've got to have all your bases covered.”

“Not bad,” Libby commented, lifting out a tennis bracelet and a pair of two-carat diamond earrings. “Not bad at all.” She went through the rest of the jewelry. There were two Cartier watches, several more diamond bracelets, four sets of diamond earrings, two diamond pins with stones set in a flower design, and a number of necklaces. Seven of the pieces had women's names attached to them, none of which, Libby noted, were Erin's. “He was quite the ladies' man,” Libby observed.

Bernie picked up a pair of earrings and held them up to the light. “I wonder if they're real?”

“You think they're phony?” Libby asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Bernie said after studying them for a minute. “Good phonies, but phonies nevertheless.”

“What makes you say that?” Libby asked.

“The clarity of the stones in these earrings looks off. Either that or they're low-grade diamonds.”

Libby took a pair of earrings and held them up to the light. “They look fine to me.”

“That's because you never worked in a jewelry store,” Bernie told her sister.

“Give me a break,” Libby retorted. “You worked there for a week before you got fired.”

Bernie put her hands on her hips. “First of all, I quit; and second of all, I learned a lot during that week.”

“Like what? You were doing computer stuff in the office and running errands.”

Bernie ignored her sister. “Well,” she said, tapping the fingers of her left hand on her chin, “there's only one way to tell.”

“Get them appraised?”

“That would take time.”

“What are you doing?” Libby cried as she watched Bernie place the earrings she was holding on the floor.

“Finding out,” Bernie said, bringing her foot up and stamping down on the earrings as hard as she could. When she picked her foot up there was a mound of white powder on the floor. “Paste. If they had been real they would be intact,” she went on to explain.

Libby gestured toward the jewelry case. “So all of these are fake?”

Bernie nodded. “That's probably a good bet.”

“Even the watches?”

“I don't see why they should be real when everything else is fake, do you?”

“No.” Libby started to chew on her cuticle, realized what she was doing, and stopped herself. “But the money and the unset diamonds and the gold coins are real?”

“They look real to me.”

“And Zalinsky's passport? Real or fake?”

Bernie thought about that for a minute. Then she said, “Fake. I don't see why he would be using a false name in his day-to-day dealings. Too complicated.”

“Then how come the jewelry . . .” Libby began.

“Is fake?” Bernie said, finishing her sister's sentence for her.

Libby nodded.

“Like you said, Zalinsky was quite the ladies' man. I'm guessing the jewelry was for his girlfriends,” Bernie answered. “Of which, judging by the names on the pieces, he had a fair number besides Erin.”

“Well, he was definitely economical,” Libby said. “Why spend money on the real stuff when the fake stuff will get you what you want?”

That got Bernie thinking about the diamond earrings and bracelet she'd seen Erin wearing. They looked just like the ones in Zalinsky's leather case. Then Bernie remembered overhearing Erin bragging to Magda about all the jewelry Zalinsky was giving her. “I wonder if the stuff Zalinsky was giving Erin was real, and if it wasn't, I wonder if Erin found that out?” Bernie mused.

“It's certainly the type of thing that would get a girl upset,” Libby commented. “Really upset. Especially if one were going out with said guy for monetary reasons alone.”

“What other kind of reasons would there be for going out with Zalinsky?” Bernie asked.

“None, as far as I can see,” Libby responded promptly. “I mean you wouldn't be going out with him for his looks or personality. Maybe he's good in bed.”

“Doubtful. He's too selfish and in too much of a hurry.” Bernie put her hands above her head and stretched. “You know what they say about hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? In this case I'd say, hell hath no fury like a woman scammed.”

“You think Erin rigged the teakettle?” Libby asked.

Bernie thought over her sister's question for a moment. “Why not?”

“It just doesn't seem like her.”

“Totally disagree. Did you see the look on Erin's face when Zalinsky threw her roses on the floor? If she had had a gun, she would have shot him. No. I think she's capable of lots of things if she gets pissed enough, and finding out that her jewelry was fake would definitely be something that would piss her off.”

“Yeah. But is she capable of rigging the teakettle? I see her more as someone who would slip antifreeze into someone's coffee.”

“I don't know. She could have looked up how to do it on the Internet, and even if she didn't, she could have gotten someone to do it for her.”

“Now that,” Libby told her sister, “I could totally see her doing. Well, one thing is for sure,” Libby continued, changing the subject, “Zalinsky was definitely prepared to get out of town.”

“Evidently,” Bernie agreed. “Maybe that's why he bought the teapot. Because it was small and portable, and he could sell it. If anyone would know an interested buyer, he would.”

“Or,” Libby said, another explanation having occurred to her, “maybe Zalinsky was a prepper. Maybe he was one of those guys who believed in being prepared for Armageddon.”

“A prepper?” Bernie replied. “No. Preppers have supplies of food, water, batteries, and medical supplies.” She pointed to the backpack. “This is a go bag. This is for when something bad happens and all you have time to do is grab the bag and get out of town.”

“Well, he didn't get out fast enough,” Libby observed. “Obviously, he didn't see whatever . . .”

“Whoever,” Bernie corrected.

“Fine. He didn't see whoever coming. He thought he still had time.” Libby was just about to ask Bernie how much the Krugerrands were worth when she heard a car pulling into the driveway.

Bernie cursed under her breath.

“Now what?” Libby asked.

B
ernie didn't answer her sister. She was too busy listening to the sounds below. A moment later, she and Libby heard footsteps crunching on gravel, then footsteps on the veranda, then the front door to the house opening, and the sound of the alarm beeping as someone punched in the code. Libby and Bernie looked at each other.

“Lucky we went in through the office,” Libby whispered.

“I figured it was a two–tiered security system,” Bernie whispered back.

“No, you didn't.”

Bernie put her finger to her lips. Now Libby could hear it too. There were footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Damn,” Bernie cursed as she shoved the money, jewelry, and gun lying on the bed back into the backpack, while Libby returned the chair under the curtain rod back to where it had been and grabbed the carton the backpack had come in. Then they both ran for the closet. They were trapped. There was nowhere else to go.

“Please, don't come in the bedroom,” Libby prayed.

“I wouldn't count on that if I were you,” Bernie told her. Then she added, “It could be worse. At least our van is parked in the back.”

Libby didn't reply. Her body was rigid as she contemplated the footsteps in the hallway. There were two sets. One tread was heavy, while the other was light. Then she heard voices. They sounded familiar, but she couldn't place them.

“I think it has to be in his majesty's bedroom,” a woman said.

“Are you sure?” a man's voice asked.

“No, I'm not. But I've looked everywhere else.”

“Glad you have the code,” the man says. “It saves us the trouble of breaking in.”

The woman laughed. “Not because he wanted me to have it.”

“Now, that I can believe. He was a control freak,” the man said.

“That's a nice way of putting it,” the woman replied.

“Okay,” the man replied. “He was an asshole.”

“Exactly. He thought I was just a dumb blonde.” The woman sniggered. “Boy, did he make a mistake.” There was a pause, then she added, “I just want what's mine . . .”

“Ours,” the man said.

The woman corrected herself. “Yes. Of course. Ours. He owes us. He owes us big-time.”

“What about the others?” the man asked.

“That's their problem. They can take care of themselves,” the woman replied.

It had taken Libby a while, but she recognized the voices. “It's Erin and George Holloway,” she whispered to Bernie.

Actually, Bernie had made them the moment she'd heard their voices. She could see them now. Erin, model slim, her blond hair caught back in a bun, her perfect makeup—which never ran, no matter what the temperature was— and George, stocky, with his black hair in a samurai-style bun, and his tight, black T-shirt showing off the dragon tattooed down his arm.

“I wonder what Zalinsky owes them?” Bernie whispered.

“Money. He probably hasn't paid them either,” Libby responded.

“Maybe it's more than that,” Bernie replied, retelling the story her boyfriend, Brandon, had told her about Zalinsky putting the two brothers out of business, then forcing them to work for him.

“That wouldn't surprise me,” Libby said when her sister was done.

Bernie sat back on her haunches. Based on the direction the sounds were coming from, Bernie could tell that Erin and George were standing in front of Zalinsky's bedroom. They'd be inside in another second, and then it was a short step to the closet door.

“The tunnel,” she told Libby. “We should get into the tunnel.”

“I like where we are now,” Libby said. She hated small spaces.

“What if they open the closet door?” Bernie demanded.

“We can hide behind the hangers in the back.”

“Get serious,” Bernie said.

“They won't see us there,” Libby said, defending herself.

“They will if they step inside.”

“Then we'll say we were . . .” Libby's voice trailed off while she struggled to come up with a plausible explanation.

“Exactly,” Bernie said.

Libby tried a different tack. “So they find us? So what? What's the worst that can happen?”

“They could kill us,” Bernie said.

“Okay, that would be bad,” Libby agreed. “But also highly unlikely.”

“Really. After all, they might have killed Zalinsky. Who's to say they won't do the same to us.”

“Who's to say they will?” Libby countered. “Anyway, there's the gun in the backpack.”

“Do you want to use it?”

“Not if I don't have to.”

“Fine. Neither do I. On a lighter note, they could call the police and have us arrested for breaking and entering.”

“We didn't really break in,” Libby replied.

“I'd like to hear you explain that to Dad after we're arrested,” Bernie told her.

“True.” That would be worse than getting shot. Libby rubbed her calf muscles. They were beginning to cramp. She had to remember to drink more water, especially in the summer.

Erin and George started talking again. Their voices were clear.
If voices were color,
Bernie found herself thinking,
Erin's would be coral and George's would be slate
.

“I think we're looking for a bag,” Erin said.

“Like a paper bag?” George asked.

“No, like a suitcase or a backpack,” Erin replied.

Bernie noted a certain peevishness in her tone. George must have noted it too because he said, “Hey, don't get your back up with me.”

Erin apologized. “Sorry. I'm just . . . upset. This whole thing is such a mess. I can't believe he was going to do that to me.”

“He was a moron,” George said.

Bernie heard some shuffling. For some reason, she thought Erin and George were kissing.

“How do you know we're looking for a bag?” George finally said after a couple of minutes had gone by.

Erin sighed. “I told you.”

“Tell me again,” George commanded.

“Like I said,” Erin recounted, “a couple of weeks ago I heard his majesty talking on the phone when he was at my place. He said to whomever he was talking to that he was good to go and that he had his nine mil and everything else he needed for Belize in his trusty bag.'”

“Belize?” Libby mouthed, turning to Bernie. “Can't you buy a citizenship there?”

Bernie nodded. “I guess he was planning to get out of the country as well as the town,” she mouthed back.

“So it would seem.” Libby blinked away a drop of sweat that had landed in her eye. God, it was hot in here. She didn't know how much longer she could stay put. “Maybe they'll leave soon.”

Bernie shrugged. “Maybe. But I wouldn't count on it.” She gestured to the tunnel and patted Libby's arm. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think it's going to be in there.”

Yes, it will,
Libby wanted to scream.
It'll be worse
. Just thinking about being in the tunnel gave her the heebie-jeebies
. God only knew what was inside there. Probably spiders. She hated spiders. Or those things with all those legs. Silverfish? Centipedes? Ugh. She could feel her stomach turning already. Or rats. What about rats?
Libby took a deep breath and let it out. She could hear Erin and George talking again and tried to concentrate on that.

“You want to take the bedroom or the closet?” Erin was asking.

“The closet,” George said.

Bernie and Libby looked at each other. Bernie raised an eyebrow. Libby put her palms up in a gesture of defeat.

“You can do this,” she murmured to herself. “There's nothing in there. Nothing.” Much as she hated to admit it, Bernie was right. They'd be better off in the tunnel.

“You first,” Libby said to Bernie.

Bernie gave her a thumbs-up. Then she pushed Zalinsky's go bag into the tunnel and crawled in after it on her hands and knees. Libby followed her in. Then she wiggled around, grabbed the tunnel door by two indentations near its edge and pulled it shut.

The first thing that hit Libby when the door closed was the darkness. Except for the beam of light from Bernie's phone, it was so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. And it was hot. Extremely hot. Suffocatingly hot. Libby felt as if she couldn't breathe. She'd hated tight spaces ever since she was a little kid and had gotten stuck in the laundry chute and the fire department had had to come and get her out.
Concentrate on your breathing,
she told herself as she could feel herself begin to panic.
Breathe in to the count of seven and out to the count of eleven. Or was it the opposite way? She never could remember.

Libby was just about to inhale when she heard the scrape of the closet door opening. She froze. So did Bernie. Then they heard footsteps walking in and the tinny sound of hangers being moved along their metal rods.

“Why do you think there's a tunnel in this house anyway?” George said.

Bernie assumed he was speaking to Erin. It was harder to hear what he said, though, and Bernie thought that was because he was turning his head to talk to Erin, who was outside in the bedroom.

“You just don't listen, do you?” Erin replied. Her voice was slightly muffled. “I already told you. This house was part of the Underground Railroad.”

“So why do you think the bag is in the tunnel?”

“Because I've looked everywhere else,” Erin snapped.

Bernie could tell from the tone of her voice that Erin was losing her patience again. It seemed to be in short supply.

“And why do you think the tunnel is in the closet?” the sisters could hear George asking.

“Jeez,” Erin answered. “Give it a rest.”

“Hey, I don't like wasting my time.”

“Do you think I do?” There was a pause. Then Erin explained. “It's just the way Zalinsky acted. He always acted weird when I went in the closet to hang something up. Nervous like. He'd yell at me for messing things up.”

“Maybe you were,” George suggested. “Maybe he just liked things neat.”

“It was more than that. He'd never let me stay in this room when he wasn't here. He always made me leave. I figure there has to be a reason for that.”

“Maybe he didn't want you snooping around, looking in his things.”

“But he didn't know I was doing that,” Erin protested.

“I think maybe he did.”

“Do you want to look, or do you want to talk?”

George chuckled. “I've got a third possibility in mind.”

Bernie and Libby could hear Erin giggle.

“Is that all you ever think about?” she asked.

“Like you don't,” George crooned.

Erin giggled again. “I got a new tattoo—just for you.”

“In my special place?” George's voice was hoarse.

“You're a bad, bad boy.”

“Let me see.”

“Later, baby,” Erin cooed. “Work first, play second.”

George laughed. “Then let's make this fast. You want me to move the shoes and stuff?”

“Absolutely,” Erin told him.

That, Bernie decided, was their cue to go. She began crawling forward on her knees, traveling farther into the tunnel. She'd gone about a foot when she realized that Libby wasn't following her. She crawled back and tugged on the hem of Libby's T-shirt. When her sister turned around, Bernie motioned for her to go forward.

Even though she wanted to stay where she was, Libby started moving. She went slowly, pausing every minute or so to check out the path in front of her in the small amount of light that Bernie's cell phone provided. The tunnel wound to the left, sloping slightly downward, and Libby tried to picture where in the house they were, but she couldn't. She'd lost her sense of direction.

As the sisters advanced, Erin and George's voices fell away till all Bernie and Libby could hear was the sound of their own breathing and the swoosh of the backpack on the tunnel floor as Bernie pushed it in front of her. She continued on, shining the light generated by her cell ahead of her.
Thank God, she'd gotten the app,
she thought, as she slowly advanced forward. She didn't think she'd be able to do this in total darkness. As she moved, she noticed that the floor was starting to slope downward at a more pronounced angle. She'd gone two more yards when she got a shock. Her light revealed nothing except blackness up ahead.