Fleeced: A Regan Reilly Mystery (20 page)

Thorn Darlington was tired and irritable by the time he got off the plane at Kennedy Airport. Archibald had arranged for a car to pick him up. The driver was waiting, holding up a sign that said simply, COUSIN THORN.

How amusing of Archibald, Thorn thought sarcastically. He waved and walked over to the driver.

“Cousin Thorn?” the driver asked.

“To some people. Let’s get my bags.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thorn was settled in the back of a stretch limousine on his way into Manhattan. “Driver,” he said, “a little privacy, please?”

The driver nodded and pressed a button, raising the glass partition between them. Thorn then pulled out his international cell phone and dialed. As usual, he got the voice mail on the other end.

“I hope we’re ready for tonight,” he said. “I’ll be across the street at Cousin Archibald’s. His superiority is so annoying. He thinks I’m here to celebrate the demise of the Settlers’ Club thanks to him. Little does he know I have my own plans for the home of the Maldwin Feckles School for Butlers! Call me back!”

Thorn turned off his phone and giggled.

This is so perfect, he thought. My family was always much more cunning than Cousin Archie’s.

Regan looked in the Yellow Pages and found a perfume shop off Seventh Avenue, near the site of the crime convention, called Our Scents Make Sense. “We carry every brand you can think of,” the ad proclaimed. “Come take a whiff.”

“I’m on my way,” Regan announced to no one in particular. She grabbed a cab outside the club and found herself standing in front of a little hole-in-the-wall establishment with numerous perfume bottles lining the tiny storefront window. She opened the door, and bells that were taped to the other side tinkled, signaling her arrival.

A sixtyish woman with platinum-blond hair teased into helmetlike proportions was standing behind the long counter to the left. Even from six feet away, it was easy to spot that she had on the thickest, blackest eyeliner Regan had ever seen. Her outfit was a leopard jumpsuit, and her nails were three inches long. She must have gotten the job here when
Cats
closed, Regan thought.

Not surprisingly, the air in the tiny shop was filled with scents fighting with each other for domination.

“Hello, dahlink,” the woman said to Regan. “How can I help you?” Her name tag read SISSY.

“Hello.” Regan had the list in her hand. “There are about seven perfumes here I’d like to buy.”

“Perfect, dahlink. One for every day of the week.”

“Right,” Regan said, thinking that Sissy’s accent was of indeterminate origin. “The first one is called Ocean Water.”

“Beautiful. Beautiful outdoor scent.” She stepped away and pulled a bottle off the shelf. “There’s Sunday.” She smiled. “What about Monday?”

“Express to Passion.”

“The best. That might be too much for a Monday!” she laughed as she reached for it and put it on the counter. “Next.”

“Daisy Dewdrops.”

Sissy made a face. “You sure you want that? A pretty young girl like you? It’s so old-fashioned.”

“I’m sure,” Regan said. It was the perfume Miss Snoopy Purse had been wearing. No wonder she’d been complaining about the others.

“Okay.”

Within a minute they had nearly filled out the week with the scents Regan was looking for.

“Quite a variety,” Sissy remarked. “That is good. Keeps a man on his toes.”

If Jack could see me now. Regan smiled as she imagined his reaction. “The final one is Lethal Injection.”

Sissy’s eyes opened wide, even under the weight of her makeup, and she giggled. “You are a naughty girl.”

Good God, Regan thought.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sissy asked as she reached for the bottle.

Regan felt sacreligious even talking to this woman about Jack. She nodded her head.

“He will love this,” Sissy whispered conspiratorially. “It’s very strong. A lot of men have come in here to buy it for their women.”

Regan picked up the bottle and looked at it. It was in the shape of a thick black needle.

Sissy pulled off the cap. “You just push the needle like you’re giving someone a shot, and out it sprays.”

“Lovely,” Regan muttered. “I wonder what genius came up with that idea.”

“I don’t know, but it’s brand new!” Sissy said.

“It’s brand new?” Regan repeated.

“They brought it out in time for Valentine’s Day this year.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”

Regan shook her head, thinking of that woman, Georgette, who said her ex-boyfriend had given it to her. If he gave it to her recently, then why was she going to Lydia’s parties? “Oh, nothing’s wrong,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

Sissy rang it up. “Four hundred and twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents, tax included,” she announced joyfully as she tore off the register tape.

I really hope we find those diamonds, Regan thought as she handed over her credit card. Or else I can just kiss this money good-bye. She signed the receipt and put the card back in her wallet.

“Thank you, dahlink,” Sissy said as she dropped her business card in the shopping bag, handed it over to Regan, and winked. “Come back soon and tell me which day of the week your boyfriend likes best.”

“Thank you,” Regan said, with all the politeness she could muster, before fleeing the scene.

Stanley was in his gas station-turned-apartment having a very exciting morning. The
New York World
was spread out in front of him. His tapes of the parties at Lydia’s were on the couch. Maldwin had phoned to tell Stanley about the break-in at Nat’s apartment in the middle of the night.

“I thought it was only fair to let you know,” Maldwin said. “I still hope you’ll concentrate on the butler school and Lydia’s parties in your special. It means a lot to us.”

“I will,” Stanley had assured him.

Now his tapes might be more valuable than ever! I’m so grateful, he thought. I have truly been blessed. To have all these disasters happening at the club when he was the reporter on the scene! It was a very lucky break, a break many journalists never experienced in their lifetime. And he’d be there tonight for the one hundredth anniversary party, recording history again.

It was a good thing Maldwin wrote to him about the butler school. Stanley wanted to review the interviews he’d done the night before with the four student butlers.

He popped the tape in the VCR and pressed PLAY. The first student interviewed was that dreadful Vinnie. Stanley could not imagine for the life of him who would hire Vinnie as their butler. He was disrespectful and didn’t seem to care in the least about gracious living. He must be paying off a bet, Stanley thought. I wouldn’t hire him to be the butler for the gas station, let alone a country estate.

Next up was the handsome Blaise. He looked like a soap opera star. He certainly has that aloof, remote quality that Hollywood portrays so many butlers as having, Stanley thought. Is he putting on an act?

“I like to devote myself completely to what I do,” Blaise said into the camera. “And I know that butlering can be a 24/7 job. I look forward to it.”

What a crock, Stanley thought.

Harriet came into view, smiling that saintly smile. “Oh, wow,” she began. “It’s always been my dream to be a butler. But I never thought I’d be able to. Thank goodness I live in a time where women are finally being accepted as butler students. I say that women have a natural instinct for taking care of a home, and I will channel that instinct into my devoted services as a butler. Thank you soooooo much.”

Who could put up with that Pollyanna sweetness all the time? Stanley wondered. It gets grating.

Finally there was Albert, who couldn’t seem to wipe the goofy expression off his face. “I enjoy the finer things in life and know that I’d never be able to afford them. So I thought, Why not be a butler? Then you can be surrounded by beauty and help take care of it too. I used to work in a video store, and when they started renting out pornography, I said, ‘That’s it! It’s too disgusting for me!’ The next day I signed up for Maldwin’s class and the rest is history.”

Not exactly an inspiring bunch, Stanley observed. But with a little music in the background and proper editing, he could do right by Maldwin. Maldwin deserved that much.

With all the confusion of the movie company shooting yesterday, Stanley hadn’t had much of a chance to film the park in its peaceful state. The movie trucks had been parked all over. I’ll go up there now, he thought. Thomas had said to get to the club early and film the preparations for the party. He could change in Thomas’s apartment.

Stanley packed his tapes and his camera in a bag. His dark suit was pressed and ready to go. This is going to be exciting, he thought.

Who knows what direction my special is going to take?

Thomas and Janey were in his office, surrounded by dozens of floating balloons. Thanks to the newspaper story, calls had been coming in from various shows and news organizations, asking for Thomas’s comments. Some of the callers wanted to come to the party. But Thomas refused every one of them. He knew what their intentions were.

Make the Settlers’ Club look bad.

He had decided that only Stanley would be allowed in. If the club was going to go to hell in a handbasket, at least it would be done with dignity. That true-crime show even had the nerve to call the club and ask for Clara. He’d put the kibbosh on that immediately.

“Any calls to Clara must go through me,” he instructed the front desk.

“What about her sister?”

“Especially her sister! That woman has blabbermouth soup for lunch,” Thomas declared.

“Okay, boss. We’ve got Mr. Pemrod’s lawyer on the other line. Do you want to speak to her?”

“Of course I do! Put her through.”

Katla McGlynn was in her office, having stopped in after an early round of golf. She lived and worked in Westchester and had started doing Nat’s legal work after buying a necklace from him over twenty years ago. In her early fifties, Katla had a small practice that catered to the varied needs of her clients.

“Hello!” Thomas practically yelled into the phone.

“Mr. Pilsner?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Katla McGlynn. I’m Nat Pemrod’s lawyer. I just read about his death and the missing diamonds. I feel terrible about Nat. He was a good guy.”

“He was,” Thomas agreed, tapping his foot.

“I just want you to know that I received a letter in the mail today that Nat and Ben Carney wrote on Thursday, declaring their intention to donate those diamonds to the club.”

Thomas nearly fainted again. “You did?”

“Yes. In case the diamonds are found, you should have a copy of the letter.”

“Did you know about the diamonds before?” Thomas asked.

“No. Nat never mentioned them to me. The only thing he joked about was those sheep of his. He said they were to go into the parlor of the club when he died. Are they there now?”

“It’s a long story,” Thomas said.

“I’ve got time. I am the executor of his estate. I want to see that his wishes are followed.”

“There was a movie company here yesterday…”

“I read about them.”

“Well, you see, apparently they used the sheep in a scene and took them to the next location without asking my permission. They’ll be back tonight.”

“I hope so. Any guy who was willing to donate such a generous gift should have his wishes honored, no matter what happens.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Thomas said emphatically.

“I’ll be down on Monday to start handling everything.” She gave Thomas her number. “Call me if you need anything between now and then.”

“Okay.”

As soon as Thomas hung up, the phone rang again.

“It’s Daphne, calling from the movie set.”

“Put her through!”

“Thomas, it’s Daphne.”

“Bring those sheep back right now!”

“I’ve got great news! They want to buy the sheep for their movie company!”

“No!”

“Please.”

“No!”

“They’re willing to pay a lot of money.”

“I don’t even want to know how much. Nat’s lawyer just called. She wanted to make sure Dolly and Bah-Bah are where Nat wanted them. And that’s in the front parlor in their own home, the Settlers’ Club.”

“But Nat would have wanted it this way. And I was always so good to him after Wendy died. If the Settlers’ Club has to close down, it won’t do us any good.”

“Absolutely not. I have half a mind to come down to that set and pick them up right now. Where are you?”

The phone clicked in his ear.