Death & the Brewmaster's Widow (19 page)

Okay
, that was good to know.

Wren put her ear close and listened, but she couldn't hear anything. She was going to have to go through it on blind faith.

Turning the knob gently, she gave an experimental push. The door yielded easily and she edged it open a crack, peering through at the darkened hallway beyond.

Wren had a story ready in case she got caught but she wasn't confident in her ability to sell it. As Death had said, she was a terrible liar. She wondered if she'd be able to convince the maid of her relative innocence, then remembered actually talking to the maid and wondered if she'd be able to convince the police of her relative innocence.

The door opened to a back hallway. Another, larger hallway met it a few feet to her right. She crept to the corner and, looking around it, found herself staring at the front door. Okay, so she was at the back of the entry hall. In fact, she was standing under the main staircase. The basement stair ran directly beneath it and opened at the back.

Death said the bedrooms were on the second floor, above the kitchen ell. That's where the main bathrooms would also be, and the master bathroom was the most likely place she was going to find DNA. If she could get the toothbrush Andrew/Randy was using, she would have both DNA and fingerprints. There was a plastic zipper bag in her pocket and she was wearing gloves—not rubber gloves, but cheap cotton work gloves that would keep her from leaving fingerprints and be easier to explain if she were caught.

Feeling like a mouse that was tempting the cat, she crept up the staircase. The thick carpet muted her footsteps and she avoided the railings to prevent even the sound of fabric rustling against wood. Halfway up she came to the landing and paused a second to glance again at the enormous portrait of Andrew and Alaina. The resemblance, as always, was startling, but up close she could see the differences between the two men. It was mostly a matter of expression, she realized. Even though she'd never seen Randy except in photographs, she could see that they were nothing alike. Andrew's jaw was set in a hard line. He looked incapable of breaking into the easy, charming grin that Randy always wore. Although he'd been ten years older than Randy when the picture was painted, he didn't have the crinkles of laughter around his mouth that the younger man did. His eyes were cold.

Passing the painting, she continued to the second-floor landing. A hallway ran left and right and she paused a bare second before turning right toward the front of the house. Before she'd taken her third step a mild voice froze her in her tracks. “I've never seen you here before.”

nineteen

Long, covered docks reached
out into the river, surrounded by
boats, large and small, that nosed in around them. They reminded Death of swimming in a pond with his brother when they were children, and the little fish that would come up and nibble on their toes.

The docks were too big to shift under their weight, but they bobbed with the wake of passing boats. The movement didn't faze Death. He'd spent enough time at sea while in the military to be used to the feel of water beneath him. Gregory also adjusted well, Death noted. Alaina was less at ease. She'd worn canvas sandals with thick, wedge-shaped heels, and she walked in the middle of the path with her arms tucked in tight against her sides. She was carrying a large, flowered tote bag and she clutched the strap in both hands, taking tiny steps while watching her own feet apprehensively.

The Mississippi at twilight had a smell all its own. It was damp, similar to rain in the air, but with an undertone of the rich, black mud that made up the riverbed, accented with the scent of things that were growing and things that were dead. Dragonflies hovered low over the water, drawing the catfish up to feed. It was quiet at the end of the dock. The soft sound of river water moving relentlessly around and through the man-made obstacles accentuated the silence rather than disturbing it. The bank and the city seemed much farther away than they actually were.

Gregory stopped at the very last berth, where a long and ostentatious pontoon boat was tied up. “I call her the
Zaca
, after Errol Flynn's yacht,” he said.

Gregory boarded first, without a backward glance. Death offered Alaina a hand, steadying her as she stepped from the dock to the deck, then followed her on. He waited for Gregory to get the engine started, then loosed the mooring line and they moved out into the current.

The river here ran almost east and west, with a curve to the south three-quarters of a mile downstream. The low sun gilded the tops of the wavelets and cast the river bend in deep shadow. As they left the dock behind, a small aircraft passed low overhead. It startled a murder of crows that had settled in the trees of the west bank and they rose in a raucous cloud and crossed the
Zaca's
bow on iridescent wings.

_____

The strange girl moved away from the door and the man known as Andrew Grey rose from where he'd been kneeling in the shadows of the basement junk room. Softly he closed the lid of the chest he'd been searching through and silently followed her.

Hidden in the doorway, he watched as she hesitated between the elevator cage and the basement stairs. She chose the stairs and he crept over and peeked around the edge of the opening, watching
her until she was more than halfway to the first floor. Satisfied that she didn't intend to return, he went back to look at the door she had to have come in by. The door with the odd logo was unlocked now and stood very slightly ajar. He hesitated beside it, not wanting it to creak and betray his presence. But he hadn't heard the woman enter and he could smell WD40, so he surmised that the hinges had been oiled.

He pulled it toward himself, his touch delicate, and it came open easily. Beyond there was an underground passage, but it was too dark to make out any details.

Deciding that the intruder was more immediately interesting than the secret passage, he carefully closed it most of the way and tiptoed back to the stairs to see what she was doing.

She was lurking at the top of the steps. She touched the door hesitantly, then went through. Andrew waited until she had cleared the stairwell, then hurried up after her with a speed and agility that would have surprised his caretakers.

He peeked out in time to see her disappear around the corner to his right. He waited and after a moment he could hear, only because he was listening for it, the soft sound of her footsteps on the treads of the main stair. He turned left, then right onto the steep, narrow service stair and quickly climbed to the second floor. There was a full-length mirror at the head of the main staircase. Alaina always checked her appearance in it before descending. Andrew used it now to watch the intruder. She had paused on the landing, beneath the wedding portrait. While she studied it, he studied her.

She was a redhead, with short, wild hair and fine, porcelain skin sprinkled with freckles. Thin, black work gloves covered her hands and there was a smear of dirt down her left cheek. She wore jeans and sneakers and a navy T-shirt that was too big on her. When she turned to continue up the stairs, he could see the Marine Corps logo on the front of the shirt. Emotion rose in the back of his throat and closed like a fist around his heart.

She wasn't a thief, he decided. Alaina had abandoned a pair of rings and an expensive wristwatch on the landing table and the redhead passed them over without a second glance. She was chewing on her lower lip and rubbing her palms on her thighs every few minutes. Worried, he decided. She was nervous and didn't want to be here, but she was resolute. Whatever her goal, it was important to her.

He faded back into the nearest doorway when she reached the top of the stairs and waited to see what she'd do. She hesitated, then turned and moved away from him. There was a name stenciled on the back of her shirt in faded letters. Andrew swallowed hard and stepped out into the hallway. He leaned back against the doorframe and forced himself to act casual.

“I've never seen you here before,” he said.

_____

Death swiveled idly in his lounge chair, pretending to take another sip of his second drink. Gregory had fixed this one. It came from the same bottle as the drinks Gregory and Alaina were working on and Death hadn't seen anything to suggest that the doctor was trying to slip him another Mickey, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Gregory's pontoon boat was enormous and ostentatiously luxurious, with reclining seats, a curved bench along the prow on the port side, and a built-in bar. The helm was halfway back to starboard and Gregory lounged in his captain's chair with a generous shot of bourbon, blatantly ignoring the laws against drinking and boating. “It's a lovely evening,” Alaina said, tilting her head so that the sun, dipping toward the horizon now, caught her earrings and set them glittering. It was the third time she'd done so and Death wondered if she'd practiced with a mirror to get the angle right. “Shall we go upriver or down?”

“Down, I think,” Gregory said. “I told you, Mr. Bogart, that Lainey and I attended the memorial for your brother. I thought perhaps you'd like to visit the spot where the fire department scattered his ashes.”

_____

Wren turned slowly to face the man who stood two rooms away, leaning against the doorframe, watching her curiously. He was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, carrying a wooden cane. His hair was gray but there was a thin, darker line along the part where the dye job had begun to grow out. And here were the laugh lines and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. For the first time since this whole thing started, Wren was 100 percent certain they were right.

“
Randy
?”

His eyes were blue-gray where his brother's were green, but they looked like Death's eyes nonetheless. She thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in them when he heard his name.

“Mr. Grey? Who are you talking to?”

Wren turned and groaned to herself as the formidable maid came down the hall carrying a stack of towels. The maid saw her and her eyes narrowed and hardened.

“You! How did you get in here?”

“Uh, yeah, that. Funny story,” Wren said, aware that she was talking too fast. She was an auctioneer. It was an occupational hazard. “See, there are these caves and they used to be really fancy and I was exploring them and I found this passage and there was a door—”

“Save it for the police. You can't be up here bothering Mr. Grey.”

“She's not bothering me,” he said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

“You can't,” the maid replied. “You're very ill and she's upsetting you.”

“She's not upsetting me. And I can talk to anyone I want to. I am the boss, right? You work for me.”

“I work for your family. Your wife and your doctor have instructed me to take care of you. Part of that is that you're not to have visitors. Go back to your room and when I've taken care of this intruder I'll bring you your medicine.”

“But I'm not really sick, am I?”

Wren watched, fascinated, as he transformed before her eyes. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders. It added a good five inches to his height and took twenty years off his age. “And I'm also not Andrew Grey.” He reached in his pocket and took out a bright rectangle. Wren recognized it even before he held it up to show them.

It was the name tag off a St. Louis County Firefighter's uniform.

“My name is Baranduin Bogart,” he said, “and I'd really like to know what the
hell
is going on!”

_____

“Don't fall in,” Gregory cautioned.

“I'm just feeding the ducks,” Alaina said.

Drifting downstream at a leisurely pace, they'd come across a flock of ducks that surrounded the craft, quacking eagerly. Clearly they were used to being fed by boaters. Alaina had found a bag of popcorn in a cabinet under the bar and she was leaning over the railing, dropping kernels and watching the birds gobble them up. “Lean over too far and you'll be feeding the sharks.”

She scowled at her brother.

“We're not in the ocean! There aren't any sharks here.”

“Actually, there are. Freshwater bull sharks have been seen as far upriver as Alton.”

The siblings both looked to Death. He was still lounging in his chair, the glass in his hand nearly empty. He half shrugged and nodded. “I've heard that too. Fishermen have caught one or two over the last few years, I think.”

Alaina edged away from the railing just a bit. “How big?”

“Now that I don't know. Big enough to attack, I think. And bull sharks are one of the most aggressive species.”

“I apologize for my sister being such a poor hostess,” Gregory said. “Feeding the ducks and not feeding her guest.”

“I'm fine,” Death said.

Alaina made a face, set the popcorn aside, and went back to the
bar.

“You didn't offer him anything either,” she pointed out, “and it's your boat.” She found some tortilla chips and salsa, poured them into bowls, and set them on a low table between the lounge chairs. “Besides, I'm used to letting the servants worry about things like that. Why didn't we bring any servants along?” Gregory answered her with a disbelieving look. After a moment, her face grew red.

“Oh.”

Death watched the exchange with interest.

Flustered, Alaina turned back to the bar. “I think there are some cheeses and cold cuts in the refrigerator, if you'd like a sandwich.”

“I'm fine,” Death said again. He had no intention of ingesting anything these two had to offer him.

Alaina returned to the rail but the ducks had lost interest when the popcorn stopped and were headed for another craft. Traffic was light this far downriver. A houseboat, headed upstream, passed them on the port side. “Do people ever really live in houseboats?” Alaina asked.

“I'm sure they do sometimes,” Gregory's tone was disinterested.

“More often than you'd think, I'd wager,” Death offered.

“It sounds icky,” Alaina said. “Diesel fuel and chemical toilets all the time, no room for a real staff. And what do they do if there's a bad storm?”

“Storms can be dangerous. I remember reading about one of the big tornadoes that hit St. Louis. In the 1890s? 1896, maybe? The official death toll was in the hundreds, but some historians think the real toll was as much as double that. The tornado crossed the river and capsized and swamped a lot of the river craft. The houseboat population was largely itinerant, so no one would have necessarily missed the people who were lost. Whole families could have been drowned and their bodies never recovered.”

“This river is good at hiding bodies,” Gregory agreed. He and Alaina exchanged a brief, barely there glance. Death began assessing the potential of chips and salsa as defensive weaponry.

_____

“Yes!” Wren shrieked, delighted. She bounced down the hallway and caught Randy in a fierce hug. “You're Randy Bogart! Only it's Baranduin. Only your family calls you Randy. Oh, and your friends call you Bogie. And you're alive and that's awesome!” He didn't return the hug.

“Do I know you?”

She froze, feeling foolish. “Um, not exactly. Not at all, actually. That would be no. But, um, I know you. Or rather, know of you.”

“Oh. Okay.” He hugged her then. “An explanation would be nice.”

“Right! Um … sorry, I know I'm saying um a lot … but, um … it's complicated. You look like Andrew Grey, who was really rich. He died, but his wife had to hide that because she'd only inherit his money if she stayed married to him longer than his third wife so she had his body frozen and then she thawed it out and kidnapped you and left his body in your place so for, like, almost a year now everybody thought you were dead. But they made a mistake with your badge and also got your badge number wrong so we got suspicious and we figured out what was going on and I came here to try to get proof that you were you and not him because we thought they were drugging you but I guess they're not because you know who you are and that's kind of weird but really awesome because now it's simple and we can just call the police and tell them you were kidnapped—”

She stopped suddenly, sensing that she was being stared at, and looked up to find Randy giving her a look. He had one eyebrow raised and he was frowning down at her doubtfully and she realized she had been talking fast again. Really fast. Like, one long run-on sentence rattled off without stopping for a breath fast. She stepped back and held up a hand.