Dying to Tell (21 page)

forty-seven

While Bear and Cal
waited for Larry Conti's public defender, I went looking for Angel. I found her at my favorite coffee house, where she'd just arrived after a walk with Hercule. Hercule didn't much care for leashes, mind you, but he loved the café's blueberry muffins and the owners loved him.

A few months ago, Angel had been sitting outside at the café when a young couple got into a heated argument beside her. The boyfriend—a large, wiry guy who needed a bath far more than he needed the beer he carried into the café—happened upon his girlfriend and was enraged that she'd walked out on him. Angel didn't blame her. She was a pretty little thing about half the guy's size and clearly outclassed him. When he knocked her coffee into her lap and readied for a punch at her face, Sylvia, the owner, stepped in. Sylvia took the brunt of the guy's right cross intended for his girlfriend. That was the last punch he threw. Hercule had been lying beside Angel and launched himself atop the drunk boyfriend in a second. He grasped the guy's wrist in his mouth, put him on the ground, and growled a warning. The boyfriend was reduced to a whining, crying little … You get the idea.

Hercule was the girl's hero. Hercule was Sylvia's hero, too. And Hercule was welcome in the café any time—free muffins included. It was a welcome he revisited a couple times a month just for the fame.

A hero has responsibilities to his followers, after all.

Now Hercule sat inside the doorway as Angel picked up her
mocha-Frappuccino
-
latte-caramel
-
double-espresso
-
something-or
-other, and, of course, two blueberry muffins.

“Larry's copped for a lawyer, Angel,” I said, as she scooped up Hercule's leash and coaxed him away from Sylvia's affections. “Looks like he's
neck-deep
in all this. And Karen hasn't been found, either.”

She waited until we had walked half a block from the café and turned to me. What she said surprised me. “Tuck, I'm sorry about what's going on with us. I'm having a hard time with it all.”

“Me too. I get it.”

“Do you?” She stopped Hercule and turned to me. In a soft, almost pleading voice, she told me what I already knew. “I'm sorry you're dead. I'm sorry things are the way they are. And, I'm sorry we can't have sex. Believe me, I'm sorry about everything in our lives right now. But I'm not dead. I'm not able to pop around and do the strange things you can. But you have to understand I'm not able to have any normalcy in my life. I'm
thirty-seven
and I'm too young to stop living. I don't know what to do.”

Wow, maybe the silence was better.

“You're right. And I'm sorry.”

“All right, then.” She smiled and blew me a kiss. “Just give me time, please.”

Herc moaned.

We walked along for another half block and I changed the subject. “How about telling me what you found out about Hekmet Fahmy and Eppler?”

“I don't know what it all means, but Eppler was connected to a World War II German mission called Operation Salaam.” She sighed, relieved to be talking about something else. “Operation Salaam was in those papers William left for me. It started in 1942.”

Another connection. “William was researching Operation Salaam and he turned up dead. Except he, Keys, and their old pals Holister and Gray, weren't in Egypt until 1944. How could they be connected?”

“I don't know.” Angel shrugged. “The story goes that in '42, the Germans sent two spies across the desert to infiltrate Cairo and spy on the Allies. The spies were Johann Eppler and
Hans-Gerd
Sandstede. They used the names Hussein Gafaar and Peter Monkaster.”

“Hussein and Peter were the spies?” Those names rang a bell. “They were the two guys I saw at the Shepheard Hotel on my first visit to Cairo. Now it makes sense—they were passing messages that day.”

She gave Hercule more leash as he tugged on it and pulled her along. “The spies snuck into Cairo but were caught a few weeks later in '42. And the belly dancer, Hekmet Fahmy, was famous at the Kit Kat Club. She spied on the Allies, too. That's all I've had time to find out.”

Yep, German spies, dead bankers, and secret vaults. William and his pals weren't there for another two years, but it's all connected.

“Thanks, Angel. I'll have to talk to Ollie and Doc again. Maybe they know what the connection is.”

Hercule strained on his leash as we turned the corner down our block. Angel was having trouble keeping up with him and was trying to pull him up when she looked down the hill at our house.

Our front door was open.

Hercule knew something was wrong and pulled the leash from Angel's hand, bounded through the open
wrought-iron
gate, and charged up the porch stairs. He stopped there on the front porch and stared inside the open door. He growled and lowered himself on his haunches as his tail snapped straight out.

“Call Bear, Angel.” I ran to Hercule.

Angel reached the top of the porch. “I got voicemail but I left a message.” She didn't wait for a reply and slipped inside.

“Angel, no.”

Hercule bounded forward and positioned himself in front of her. He braced himself against her legs and stopped her in the foyer. As he did, he pointed his nose into our living room, growled, and barked a warning. Angel eased into my den and returned with a 9mm semiautomatic I kept hidden on the bookshelf beside the door.

“Who's in here?” she called.

“Angel, get back.” I moved in front of her and Hercule. “Go back outside.”

Hercule let go a ferocious bark and lunged into the living room. Someone was around the corner and hadn't moved in time. Hercule had them by the arm and whipped them sideways and off balance, and drove them to the floor. He followed his captive down and stood on top of them. He held an arm and growled.

“Hold him, Herc!” I yelled.

It wasn't a
him
at all. It was a woman dressed in dark jeans and a dark blouse beneath a black peacoat. She cried out and struggled beneath Hercule but was pinned down and at a disadvantage. Her free arm covered her face, protecting it from any attack Hercule might launch.

Angel was behind me now and aimed her gun at the woman. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“Please. I ask you—remove your animal. I mean you no harm.”

I recognized her the moment she lowered her arm. “Raina?” I reminded Angel of the woman who met Lee and Poor Nic at the café and of her foray at the Kit Kat Club last night.

“Okay, Hercule.” Angel waved her pistol at Raina. “Let her up, boy.”

Hercule growled a second opinion.

“Herc, back.”

Hercule stepped off Raina and released her arm. He backed up two steps and kept his eyes fixed on her—
Don't try it lady, I'll kick your ass
.

“Thank you, Professor Tucker. I—”

Angel waved the air with her gun. “What are you doing in my home?”

“Professor, I assure you. I did not break in. I arrived just moments ago and your door was open. I knocked and called out. Then I heard someone in your home—it did not sound right to me. I called out again and heard them inside. So I came inside and checked. They ran out the back and are gone. I am afraid I interrupted a crime, but perhaps I stopped it in time.”

I said, “Hold her here, Angel. I'll look around.”

Much of the house appeared untouched. My den was the exception. Someone had been searching for something. My desk drawers were open ever so slightly. My filing cabinet had two open drawers and files lifted but not removed. A few books were pulled forward on the shelves and others looked like they had been pulled out and hastily shoved back into place. But the biggest problem was Angel's notebook computer. It was gone from my desk.

Luckily there didn't appear to be any damage—a neater
break-in
than William's home or Karen Simms's apartment. Either Raina had interrupted someone before they could finish, or we had interrupted her before she could.

Back with Angel and Raina in the living room, I said, “Nobody's around. The den's been searched and it looks like your notebook computer is gone. The rest of the house is okay.”

“What are you doing here?” Angel asked Raina. “I've called the police.”

Raina looked down at Hercule and rubbed her arm where his teeth had torn the heavy wool. She favored the arm, too, and I wasn't sure it was from Hercule's bite or something else.

“I am a friend of William Mendelson.” Raina held Angel's eyes. “He told me to seek your counsel if anything befell him.”

forty-eight

“
If anything befell him?
”
Angel lowered her gun. “You know he was murdered?”

“I do,” Raina said. “He told me he was consulting with you about a matter most urgent to us both.”

I said, “And what would that be?”

Hercule growled when Raina stepped forward. She stopped.

Angel said, “Back, Hercule.” He sat down. “Now, explain.”

“The retrieval of Egyptian antiquities and the arrest of those
responsible, of course.” Raina didn't blink. “Did he not explain this to you?”

Angel glanced out the window. “Why don't you sit down and we'll wait for Detective Braddock. What was your relationship to William? When did you last speak with him?”

“Good cop questions, babe. I taught you well.”

Raina said, “I spoke last with him two days ago. He said he was bringing you to his office for a consult. Did he not do that?”

“He tried.”

“And he told you that he was involved in many matters regarding my country—Egypt—and worked with others to make right a great wrong?”

Huh? “Maybe she means Lee and Keys Hawkins and the others—Holister and Gray?”

Angel asked her.

“You are acquainted with these people?” Raina cocked her head and narrowed her dark, penetrating eyes on Angel. “They were friends, perhaps?”

“The Hawkinses are acquaintances. We didn't know Holister and Gray.”

“We?” Raina looked around.

Something tickled my brain and I gave Angel a few questions for Raina.

“Raina, what do you know about Operation Salaam?”

Raina's eyes went wide but she recovered quickly and forced a thin, phony smile. “Salaam? William told you?”

Her response was just what I expected. “Angel, ask her …”

“No matter.” Raina held up a hand and pointed out the window toward the street. “I have brought papers for you to see. Papers that will explain what William and I have been negotiating.”

“Negotiating?” Angel looked at her phone. Bear had not called back. “All right, let's see what you've brought.”

Hercule growled when Raina moved toward the front door.

“Hush, Hercule. Stay here” Angel patted his head.

I said, “I'll go with her. You two stay on the front porch.”

“Please, I will show you everything.” Raina walked down the porch stairs, out the gate, and down the sidewalk to a dark blue Nissan. At the driver's side of the car, she turned and looked back at Angel watching from the porch. “You will see, Professor Angela Tucker. I will show you.”

And I stood there, dumbfounded, as Raina unlocked her door, slipped behind the wheel, and promptly drove off.

“Nice plan, Tuck,” Angel called. “I waited here while you helped her with a getaway. Great plan.”

“Did you get her license plate?”

“Who's the detective in the family?” She didn't wait for a reply, just walked back into the house and slammed the front door.

I guess she didn't get the license plate number.

And neither did I.

forty-nine

“William's death changed everything,”
Lee snapped and slashed the air with a sharp finger. “Why don't you see that?”

“You mean his murder?” Keys stood behind the Kit Kat's bar and poured her more coffee. They'd been arguing all morning and neither had won. Of course, Lee wasn't sure what her grandfather knew, and he felt the same about her. Such was their complicated relationship since her father had died.

“You have to understand, Lee. That woman isn't going away until this thing is put right. I don't expect you to understand. But I expect you to do as I wish.”

“Why, Granddad? Because of William?”

“No.” He reached across the bar and took her hand. “Because there are things in the past that must remain there. This—all this—has stirred up the war again. I can't … I won't take any chances on it stirring things any deeper.”

“Then tell me what you're so afraid of and I'll help you fix it.”

“You can fix it by letting me make this right with that woman. When she has what she wants, she'll go away.”

“That's Willy talking. You're stronger than he ever was.” Lee watched him as he leaned back against the counter and sipped a cup of coffee made stronger with a shot of Irish whiskey. “Until now.”

“Lee, please.” Keys came around the bar and took a barstool next to her. He patted her hand and tried to soften her anger. “Willy was right and you have to know that. If we give it all back—if we make good on what's left—what more could anyone ask of us? Even she has to know there isn't anything else for us to do, right?”

“But, Granddad, what makes you so sure? What about Cy and Claude? You told me that's what got them killed. If she already knows about you, then let's make a deal for some money at the same time. We could pay Nicholas off if the deal is big enough. How good would that be? Kill two birds with one stone.”

“I'm afraid who those two birds might be.” He looked down. “And I'm sure Marshal will agree with you, too.”

“Yes, he would, but …”

“No matter.” Keys' voice lowered and the bitterness was thick. “I don't give a damn what he thinks.”

Lee smiled an almost imperceptible smile. “Well, he doesn't matter anyway. And with Nicholas, once he's paid off, there's more profit for us.”

Poor Nic was the least of his worries. Lee taking matters into her own hands was his biggest. Cy and Claude had not listened to him before and they died for their mistakes. William didn't listen and now he was dead, too. Now Lee—it could happen to her.

“Lee, tell me what you found out from Braddock.”

She blushed and tried to hide it behind her coffee cup. “He likes his eggs sunny side up.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Nothing, Granddad.” She glanced away—he knew her too well. “No, really. He wouldn't talk about the case. I tried to get him to loosen up and after all the bubbly, he still wouldn't talk. He's tough, Granddad, and sweet at the same time. I like him a lot.”

“I guess you do.” Keys glanced at his watch. “You just got in an hour ago. Come on now, girl, did you learn anything?”

“A little, I guess. He doesn't trust Thorne at all. And I'm not sure he likes the guard or that bitch, either.”

“Conti and Simms?”

She shrugged. “I said I knew them and that I didn't like any of them. Anyway, he wouldn't even comment about them but he talked about William—how his friend, Angela, really liked William and how William had problems. But, when I brought up Thorne, he shut up fast. Just like the bitch and Conti.”

“Interesting.” Keys thought for a while. “You need to lighten up on Simms, Lee. You really pissed William off with those emails. Cal's already asking questions about you. I'm afraid that he'll think …”

“Let him think.” She smiled wryly. “Bear likes me—a lot. It'll be okay, Granddad. And don't worry about Simms, either. Trust me.”

Keys had kept things safe for seventy years. But now, with Willy gone—like Cy and Claude—would things ever really be okay again?

Keys slid off the barstool. “Come with me, girl. I want to show you something.”

He led her down into the basement where the extra liquor, kitchen supplies, and dining room paraphernalia was stored. In the back of the room, against the wall, was a covered stack of containers halfway
to the ceiling. He pulled on the large tan tarpaulin that covered the boxes and revealed a dozen wood crates marked “Nomad Air Freight–Cairo.” Beside the crates was an old steamer trunk secured by a heavy padlock.

Lee went over to the Nomad crates. “You hid your trunk in with this order of replacements for the replica pottery upstairs?”

Keys laughed. “Sure, who would look? Only you and me handle this stuff.”

He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the steamer trunk. Inside were small cardboard boxes with papers and photographs and keepsake memorabilia. He picked up one of the boxes and carried it to a round banquet table off to the side and opened it up.

“You're finally going to show me all the family photos you've been hiding all these years, Granddad?”

He crinkled his brow. “You know about the trunk? How? I just had it delivered from my place.”

“Sure I know.” She dug into her pocket for her key ring and produced an old,
narrow-barreled
key. “I found Dad's key years ago. It took me two years to find the lock it went to. But I
finally
did a few summers ago when I was over at your place taking care of you when you got sick. I didn't tell you because I know how secretive you are.”

“I'm not secretive, Lee.”

“Yes you are, Granddad, and so was Dad.” She hugged him. “And I understand—I do. And it doesn't matter to me. It's a long time ago and those days are over. Everything is different. You're different. I love you no matter what.”

Keys looked at her for the longest time. What an amazing woman she'd become. Her mother and father would be proud. Very proud. Her father never understood, never forgave him. But then, those were different times—too soon after the war. He kept the secret but never allowed himself forgiveness.

Thank God for Lee.

“One day, my dear,” he said, embracing her again, “I'll explain all of it. I don't want to die and have you wondering. I was a hero of sorts. But a hero nonetheless. And yes, the past should stay in the past—I've done terrible things to keep it that way. Things I'm not proud of. They were necessary, though. And because of all that, and a little help from our new benefactor, you'll inherit this place.”

“Okay, Granddad. But I don't need anything. You've been everything to me since Mom and Dad passed.” She dug through the faded
black-and
-white pictures in the box until she found her favorite—a young, handsome man with sharp chiseled features, sitting behind a piano. Standing beside him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, was a beautiful,
dark-haired
woman dressed in veils and silk wraps. On the bottom, handwritten in the white border, it read, “Kit Kat 1944.”

“This is my favorite, Granddad.” She held up the photo. “You looked so happy. Who is the dancer? She was beautiful.”

“A dear friend, Lee, a very dear friend.”