The Balloon Man (10 page)

Max didn't want to think about Alexander Kelling or his homicidal maternal parent, but he had to. He remembered something
else he had to do. Leaving Sarah to calm her infuriated uncle, he sneaked upstairs.

His natty gray wedding suit wasn't where he had left it, draped over the back of a chair. He hadn't bothered to hang it up,
since it would have to be sent to the cleaners anyhow, but Mrs. Blufert didn't put up with that kind of thinking. After some
profane searching, Max found the garment in the closet and fumbled in the pocket of the jacket.

The note was there all right. If he hadn't been so tired
and distracted, he'd have emptied his pockets when he'd undressed. Or maybe he wouldn't have. His mother had tried to raise
him right; she'd lectured him frequently about loading the pockets of his good jackets with heavy objects. That made the pockets
sag or something, as if anybody cared except mothers.

Max's pockets often did contain heavy objects, especially when he was working on a case or when he was in the company of his
son. Davy was a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, including rocks and feathers, shells and snails, and an occasional irritated
caterpillar, all of which he wanted to take home, not in his own small pockets, but in those of his father. Max hadn't changed
into his wedding suit until after he'd left Davy at Mrs. Blufert's, so the pockets were empty except for a crumpled paper
napkin.

It was one of the ones supplied by the caterers, with the initials of the bride and groom inside a tasteful heart-shaped scroll.
He was about to discard it when he realized there was writing on it.

Theonia's elegant flowing penmanship was distorted by haste and, he deduced, strong emotion. The pencil had dug holes in the
thin paper.

“Max, be careful. Something's on the boil. I don't know exactly what, but its out of the past and connected with Caroline
Kelling. Do be careful, Max; very, very careful. It's you who've become the target, not Sarah; but keep her away from it if
you can. You and I must talk, when I have something to give you.”

She'd already given him more than he wanted. He remembered the night, not too many years ago, when Theonia had examined the
dregs of her tea and, without a word, hurled one of Sarah's precious blue-and-white China export cups into the fireplace.
She'd had one of her flashes, evil directed against their circle, and had taken that means of turning it back on the ill-wisher.

If you believed in that sort of thing, you could say her trick had worked. The ill-wishers had lost, the Bittersohn Agency
had chalked up another success. You could also say that quick thinking, fast action, and good luck had solved the case and
brought the perpetrators to a well-deserved end.

Max didn't believe in that sort of thing. He'd never have hurt Theonia's feelings by scoffing at her, but it didn't require
extrasensory perception to sense danger when the agency was working on a case. People who steal expensive art objects resent
being asked to return them, and they are inclined to think ill of the inconsiderate individuals who want to put them in jail.

That was the logical way to look at it, and Max Bittersohn was a logical man. Theonia's flashes were few and far between,
though. Most of the time she was as cynical and skeptical as any woman he'd ever known. And how by all the blue-bottomed apes
in hell had she come up with the name of Caroline Kelling, just before that demonic old woman's ruby parure had appeared out
of thin air?

Could she have seen the necklace during the brief span
of time when it was in the library? That was possible, he supposed, but even if she had, would she have recognized it as part
of the Kelling parure? Like all the other members of the group, she had heard of it, but she would have no reason to study
the painted and photographed images intensively enough to identify it. There had to be some logical explanation, but he was
damned if he could think, of one.

He didn't wonder how she had slipped the note into his pocket without his noticing. Theonia's white-gloved hands had been
fluttering like the doves to which her enamored husband often compared them; she'd been laughing and hugging people and cheek
kissing as many cousins as time allowed. She could have dipped into the pockets of every member of the infatuated audience
without being caught.

A thump and a whoop from the next room informed him that Davy was awake and ready to be up and doing. He shoved the note into
his pocket and went to intercept his son. A single-minded child, Davy demanded the services of his faithful camel. Max didn't
think his knees could stand much more crawling, so he swung Davy onto his shoulder and went downstairs and joined the others.

A conference of some sort had been in progress, but even Jem left off grumbling out of deference to youthful ears and subjects
that shouldn't be mentioned in front of children. Davy was in a rambunctious mood, so they adjourned to the lawn, where he
could run around in circles
that would, his elders could only hope, tire him out enough to sleep soundly that night.

The disappearance of the tent was a bitter blow. Max had to explain in detail that it hadn't belonged to them and that they'd
had to give it back. It was a mercy there hadn't been any bloodstains, since Davy refused to believe the tent was all gone
until after he had inspected the area foot by foot. Deprived of the tent, he then demanded another balloon and/or a visit
to the Martian lady who had been in it. What with one thing and another, Max could have cheered with relief when a car zoomed
up the drive and came to a sudden stop. Nobody but a teenager drove like that. He welcomed his apprentice with a fervor that
made Jesse blush and beam.

“The others won't be along till later,” he explained. “Theonia said don't worry about food, she'd bring it. I didn't have
anything to do, so I figured I might as well come on over. Hi, Dave. How are you doing, tiger?”

“He's running poor old daddy tiger ragged,” said Sarah, joining them. “Jesse, you're a sight for sore eyes and a blessing
to sore shins. Can you entertain the baby tiger for a while?”

“Keep him moving,” Max advised. “But don't let him out of arm's reach.”

“Sure. Has something happened?”

“Well, yes. We'll talk about it later.” Sarah took her sagging spouse by the arm. “Come and rest, darling. What about a cup
of tea?”

Tea was the last beverage he wanted just then, with Theonia's warning fresh in his mind. “I don't want you running around
waiting on me, schatzele. Can I do anything for you? Cook, dust, rub your feet?”

He dropped gratefully into one of the pretty old wicker lawn chairs he and Sarah had picked up at a local auction. Mr. Lomax
had applied a coat of fresh white paint, and Miriam had made chintz-covered cushions for the seats and back.

“There's more than enough food, especially if Theonia is bringing her usual bounty,” Sarah answered. “Mrs. Blufert made potato
salad, bless her heart.”

“Who gives a damn about potato salad?” Jem demanded. “How's the gin holding out?”

“There's plenty, but you can't have any more until the sun is over the yardarm,” his niece said severely.

“It's already over the yardarm in California.”

“No, it isn't. You've got it backward.”

“The Canary Islands?”

“You aren't in the Canary Islands.”

The Kellings could keep this up for hours. Max turned to Egbert. “No word about the car?”

“One could not reasonably expect results so soon, Mr. Max. They said they'd do the usual thing. I don't know exactly what
that means, but your Sergeant Jofferty seems a most competent individual. He did ask me to pass on a message. To quote him
exactly, it was What the hell next?'”

“I wish I knew.” Max stretched his aching legs and
forced himself to loosen up. Davy and Jesse were playing catch. Since Davy's catching and throwing skills were about on a
par with each other, both parties spent most of the time running after the ball.

“I've been wondering about that smoke bomb,” Egbert said. “Could it have been set off in order to facilitate the theft of
the vehicle?”

“Driving an unfamiliar vehicle through a cloud of blinding black smoke wouldn't be my idea of fun. He certainly didn't come
down the driveway. I followed it back to the house, and I think I'd have noticed if a car the size of Jem's had passed by
or over me.”

Egbert was not to be moved by sarcasm. “What about that track down the hill and through the pasture?”

“Even harder to negotiate in total darkness. I suppose I could have a look, though it's unlikely he'd have left tracks. It
hasn't rained all week.”

He made no move to do so, though. Sarah and Jem had finished thrashing out the ramifications of time zones and their effect
on the consumption of martinis. She looked tired. Small wonder, Max thought. Conversations with Jem had that effect on him,
too. Sarah was used to her relatives, but she'd had altogether too many people around for too long. He took her hand.

“Want to go down and walk on the beach for a few minutes? The rest of the gang won't be here for almost an hour.”

Sarah's feeble objections were overruled by Jem, who
wasn't such a bad old goat after all, Max thought. He'd seen that Sarah needed a respite. “The food is ready, you said so
yourself. If anything else needs to be done, Egbert will do it.”

“With pleasure” said the gentleman's gentleman.

Down under the cliff the wind was brisk, blowing straight across the Atlantic. It blew fresh color into Sarah's cheeks. She
let out a little sigh. “I'm so glad you thought of this, darling. It's so lovely and peaceful here. Nobody but us. Even the
tide's gone out. That was one of Alexander's little jokes. Oh, Max, really I hadn't…”

“Hadn't what?”

“Hadn't thought much about him since Davy was born. I feel guilty about that. Alexander was such a good man, at least he tried
to be. But it was awfully hard, with Aunt Caroline demanding his full attention every minute of the day and often half the
night. He didn't have time to pay much attention to me after we were married.”

Max had his own opinions about that and a lot of other things about Alexander Kelling, but he wouldn't dream of expressing
them.

“You were very young,” he said gently.

“I was only eighteen when Alexander and I got married. Alexander was forty-one. We were fifth cousins once removed, or something
along that line. Nobody found the discrepancy in our ages anything special; it was just a matter of keeping the money in the
family. Alexander and I stood up in front of the fireplace in what had been my parents'
front parlor. The minister showed up, and half a dozen or so of the relatives. The minister said what he had to say and left.
I made a pot of tea and set out a plate of cookies. The relatives ate the cookies, and then they left. Nobody kissed the bride,
not even Alexander. That was not the Kelling way.”

Sarah hadn't meant to sound sarcastic. She didn't know why she was dragging up that old stuff after such a wonderful day.
Perhaps Max knew better than she. He encouraged her to keep talking.

“What happened to your parents' house?”

“It was sold furnished without my being asked what I might like to keep. That would have meant next to nothing because the
house to which I was going must not be cluttered up with objects that poor brave blind Aunt Caroline wasn't familiar with
and might stumble over. So I moved in with her and Alexander and started wearing my mother's clothes.”

“Why, in God's name?”

“Because Aunt Bodie, I believe it was, took it upon herself to gather up the clothes I'd worn before the wedding and send
all but the underwear to the Goodwill. I was a married woman now and mustn't dress like a child anymore. Unfortunately, she
didn't offer to buy me anything more appropriate. Neither did Alexander; I didn't know why and thought it would be rude to
ask. I did know that Father had left me some money in his will. He'd never mentioned how much, but I wasn't supposed to get
any of it
until I was twenty-seven. I wasn't trained for anything except what my governesses had taught me about art, poetry, and local
history and what the cook we used to have showed me about cooking and housekeeping. So I did the best I could with what I'd
learned at my father's house, tried to make over Mother's hand-me-downs so they wouldn't look quite so frumpy, and hoped for
something good to happen.”

Sarah heaved another, deeper sigh. “Max, dear, I'm sorry I've been boring you like this. I've probably told you most of it
before, though I've tried not to.”

“So what if you did? How many times have you listened to my uncle Jake's courtroom yarns? Sit down and rest your feet. This
looks like a fairly comfortable rock.”

“How did you know? This is my old wishing rock. Alexander and I used to sit on it for hours, looking out to sea while he told
me stories about the mermaids who rode the waves on their thoroughbred dolphins. I made believe I could see them with their
golden hair streaming out behind them and their silvery fishtails slapping the water.”

Sarah's voice was shaky now. Max put his arm around her and felt her quivering; he didn't think it was from the chill that
was coming up with the night mist.

“What's the matter, fischele? Can't find your dolphin?”

She turned into his arms and hid her face against his shoulder. “I did find it. I don't want to lose it.”

Being compared to a dolphin wasn't one of the most graceful accolades Max Bittersohn had ever received, but he
wouldn't have traded this one for the Nobel Prize, the Congressional Medal of Honor, or the plaudits of all the crowned heads
of Europe.

“Fat chance,” he said tenderly, holding her close.

Sarah raised a flushed, tearstained face. “Aren't we ever going to be rid of them? I want to lay Alexander to rest, as a gentle
memory, but she won't let me! That sounds demented, doesn't it?”

“If you're referring to your ex-mother-in-law, I'm not sure it does.”

“I'm being silly. I don't really believe in evil spirits or curses, but if anybody could make a deal with the devil, it was
Aunt Caroline. She murdered her husband and my father, robbed me of Alexander's love and most of the money I should have inherited—not
that I cared about that!—and she'd have disposed of me just as coolly if it had suited her purposes. Now that—that damned
necklace has turned up. It's as if she won't let go, as if I have to go on fighting her. Well, she's not going to win this
time!”