The Balloon Man (26 page)

Dewey shook his head sadly. “I told her she didn't know how to work it.”

“Caroline Kelling wasn't the only woman who fell for Harry Lackridge,” Max said. “Calpurnia had carried a torch since the
good old days, when the Zickerys and the Kellings and their guests used to spend summers here, Their paths diverged after
that; Harry married Leila and became involved with Caroline, and Calpurnia went off and did whatever the hell she did all
those years. When the law finally caught up with good old Harry, Calpurnia heard about it; it made headlines in every newspaper
in the country, as you recall. Caroline was dead and Leila promptly sued for divorce, so there was Harry, womanless for the
first time in years, and locked up in a maximum security prison, where he couldn't get away from Calpurnia. She visited him
almost every week, and I expect he played up to her; why shouldn't he? There was nobody else.”

The police had come and gone, Davy was tucked into bed with his alligator, and the members of the Bittersohn
Detective Agency had assembled in the living room with tea and coffee and, in Jems case, a large pitcher of martinis

“I've read about women like that,” Theonia said with a delicate moue of distaste. “It is not at all unusual for prisoners
to receive proposals of marriage from women who've not even met them. Sometimes the poor fools actually marry convicted murderers.”

“There are a lot of weird people in the world,” Max agreed, trying not to look at certain members of the group. “In this case
Calpurnia had known Harry before and, God knows why, taken a girlish fancy to him. It was a nice, bloodless affair, consisting
solely of whispered endearments. That's about all you can pass through a sheet of Plexiglas with a guard watching you. It
might have ended as harmlessly if one of Harry's other old flames hadn't died.”

“The lady from Amsterdam,” Brooks contributed.

“Mevrouw Vanderwoude. I wish I'd known her better, she was obviously quite a gal. She was smart enough to hang on to the original
jewels instead of letting Harry pull one of his little switches, but they apparently had a closer relationship than I had
thought. She left instructions that the parure should go to Harry after her death. It was meant as her last malicious joke;
the letter she left with her lawyer stipulated that Harry had to collect the gems in person. If he was unable to do so within
six months, they were to be returned to the original owner—Sarah Kelling Kelling Bittersohn, by name. She assumed Harry wouldn't
be able to
comply with the conditions, since he was safely locked up. In case Harry missed the joke, she wrote to him and told him what
she'd done. I'll bet she was hugging herself with girlish glee as she pictured him in a frenzy of frustration.

“In the meantime, however, Harry had got religion. There are no atheists in foxholes, as the saying goes, and Harry wasn't
getting any younger. He had a bad heart, and I'll do him the credit of believing he honestly did want to make peace with the
people he'd swindled before he had to make peace with his Maker. He was due for another parole hearing, and figured he had
a good chance of getting out, thanks to his reformed character and poor health. His intention was to collect the parure and
return it to Sarah. Where he made his mistake was to tell Calpurnia what he meant to do.

“Calpurnia wasn't what I would call normal to begin with, and that news tipped her over the edge. All those years of visits
and cake baking, and what was she going to get out of it? She'd assumed that if he ever did get out, he'd marry her. Instead
he blandly informed her that he meant to spend the rest of his life, what there was of it, in prayer and good works, beginning
with the restoration of the Kelling jewels to their rightful owner. Calpurnia knew about the jewels, of course. The thought
of those rubies made her mouth water. She lost her temper and told Harry what she thought of him and his plan. He told her
what he thought of her, and she went wild. The guard remembered
that last visit of hers; she started screaming at Harry and had to be dragged out of the room.

“Harry had got the message. He took pains to elude her after he was released, since she'd made it clear she intended to stop
him from returning the parure, whatever it took. Alister felt he had to go along with her plans. He was terrified of her,
and he had enough family feeling left to hope he could prevent her from doing anything drastic. Apparently Callie had also
been a habitué of Danny Rate's; she remembered Louie from the old days, and figured a locksmith with few moral scruples might
come in handy.”

“How did she get in touch with him?” Sarah asked.

“Through the want ads, if you can believe it,” Jem said disgustedly. “That's how
we
found the verminous little wretch. He recommended his brother, Dewey, who'd run out of raffia and was planning his prison
break, to Calpurnia. It was a pretty damned ineffectual bunch, in fact.”

“Very amateurish,” Brooks agreed. “One must make allowances, however. Calpurnia hadn't had enough experience with organized
crime to find better material”

Max grinned at his second in command. “A pity she didn't ask our advice, isn't it? They didn't do that badly for a bunch of
amateurs. Harry wasn't as careful as he might have been, either. Before the blowup he had told Calpurnia about his pretty
fancy of returning the rubies in person. Isn't there something in the Bible about doing good without proclaiming your deeds
aloud? You get extra points for anonymity, I think. When he heard about the wedding he
decided his best chance of sneaking into the house was during the confusion of an event like that. He applied to Omar Inc,
for a job, which they were happy to give him since they were having trouble finding suckers who'd work for pennies and no
benefits.”

“He could have sent it by mail,” Brooks said. “Registered, of course.”

“Maybe he didn't trust the U.S. Post Office, or maybe he was afraid we could trace him that way, or maybe he'd got it into
his head that he had to deliver the damned thing in person. Don't ask me to account for the actions of a religious fanatic.
Harry was wearing a plain white shirt and black pants and bow tie under those coveralls; in that outfit he could pass as one
of the waiters. After he'd managed to sneak the jewels into the library among the wedding presents, he changed back into his
coveralls and hung around, in case Calpurnia had figured out what he meant to do. Which she had. Then the balloon descended,
and there, to his horror, was dear old Calpurnia.

“According to Louie, who is not, I admit, the most reliable witness you could find, Harry then followed the Zickerys home
and started delivering a sermon. Louie said if: was quite a performance. The more Harry talked about righteousness, the madder
Calpurnia got and the more nervous poor old Alister got. He knew his sister had gone off the deep end and was capable of almost
anything. He finally broke in and suggested Harry had better leave. The
minute Harry turned his back she grabbed a two-by-four and let him have it.”

“Do you believe Louie?” Brooks asked skeptically.

“Oh, yes. He's no killer. Neither is Dewey. But she had them over a barrel; there was Harry, dead as a mackerel, and there
was Dewey, an escaped convict on the lam, and there was Calpurnia, a respectable elderly female from a good family. Whom would
the cops have believed? They had to do as she directed.”

“I suppose it was her idea to put Harry's body under the tent,” Sarah said.

“So Louie maintains. It took her till morning to think that one up, though, by which time the tent people were on their way
here. The smoke bomb was Calpurnia's idea, too. Not a very bright idea, but it worked. They trundled poor old Harry up the
back road on a wheelbarrow, with Louie carrying a lantern to guide them. He said it was one of the most horrible times of
his life, feeling his way through that black fog, hearing the puffing and panting and the squeaking of the wheelbarrow following
him. He decided he'd had enough. While the rest of them were dealing with the corpse, he went looking for transportation,
recognized Jems car, and took off. He was too unnerved by his experiences to think straight, but after we'd had our little
talk he came to the conclusion that he'd be safer in jail than with a madwoman on his trail. She scared the bejesus out of
him.”

“So it was the rubies she wanted all along,” Sarah said.

“She wanted the money she expected they would bring,” Theonia said soberly. “And revenge on Max. She'd heard Harry cursing
him before he saw the light, and in her twisted way she blamed Max for having Harry put in prison.”

“But she hated Harry, too,” Sarah protested.

“She hated both of them. She wasn't exactly reasonable toward the end,” Theonia said. “She'd come to believe the rubies were
hers by rights, that she ought to have been Harry's sole heir. When Louie failed to get them back for her she thought, of
another scheme. She persuaded the others to help her kidnap Max, telling them she meant to exchange him for the rubies. But
once she had him in her hands she went completely berserk. She ordered Dewey and Alister to take him out in the balloon and
drop him overboard to drown. They were afraid to disobey, but neither of them wanted to commit murder, so they untied him
before they threw him into the water.”

“Nice of them,” Max grunted. “Dewey claims he was the one who thought of putting my old bathrobe into that plastic bag. He
hasn't admitted it yet, but I'm pretty sure he was also the one who stole my wristwatch. That's what Louie would have done.
Petty larceny runs in the family”

“Alister wouldn't have swiped your watch,” Jem said. “But he hadn't changed from the old days, when he'd pick a fight and
then back off”

“Same old Alister,” Max agreed. “He was afraid to defy Calpurnia and afraid to cooperate fully with her. Having,
as she thought, disposed of me, she needed another hostage to be exchanged for the rubies, so she lured Davy over there with
promises of balloon rides and God knows what else. A trip to Mars, maybe. I don't think she'd have hurt him, but Alister was
afraid she might.”

“He was chasing us to get us to run away,” Sarah said with a shiver. “To run away from Calpurnia. He knew she had a gun”

“And that she was crazier than a loon. It was the first time he had had guts enough to defy her. I have to give the guy credit,
he acted to save you and Davy. Calpurnia had to shoot him. He knew too much, and after that she couldn't count on him to keep
his mouth shut.”

“What are you going to do with the rubies?” Theonia asked.

“According to Uncle Jake, the question of legal ownership still presents a problem,” Max answered. “It may take years to work
it out. In the meantime—”

“In the meantime they re going to the police,” Sarah said firmly. “They re evidence, aren't they? I don't ever want to see
them or have them in the house again. If they do come to me, and I don't see why they should, l'll sell them and give the
money to Dolph and Mary for the senior citizens' center.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jem said. “What do you say, Egbert? Shall we head for home? Brooks and Theonia can drop us off.”

“We can retreat with honor,” Egbert agreed. “Having done our duty like gentlemen.”

Sarah and Max exchanged glances. “If you're sure” Sarah began.

“They re sure,” Max said firmly.

“Quite,” said Brooks, rising. “We'll have a real celebration after we've caught up on sleep and office work and a few other
things.”

“Miriam will certainly want to throw a party,” Sarah said with a smile. “I must call her.”

“Tomorrow,” Max said.

The hints were falling as thick as autumn leaves, not that anybody needed them. Jesse had been put to bed with an ice pack
on his head and a hefty dose of painkillers. He'd sleep till morning. Max helped Brooks transfer Jem's and Egbert's suitcases
from Sarah's car to the company vehicle Brooks was driving and stood waving till the taillights disappeared.

“Nice night,” Max said. “Are you cold?”

“No, I have my nice woolly sweater.”

He put his arm around her anyway.

“Do you think Davy's old enough now to have a puppy?” Sarah asked.

“What brought that on?”

“I was just thinking. They say, whoever they may be, that a properly trained and cared-for dog can be worth a whole kennelful
of police. If you're having spasms about villains
and vampires peeking in the windows, a watchdog might not be a bad companion to have around.”

“Who's going to train it?” Max wasn't ready to commit himself, and for cogent reasons.

“Why, you, my love.” Sarah was quite willing to take a chance. “Growing up in the city, I never had a dog of my own.”

“I always wondered why your mother-in-law didn't have a Seeing Eye dog. They can be trained to help the deaf as well as the
blind, and she was both.”

“She wouldn't have wanted a smelly, messy dog around, fastidious as she was. Anyhow, why would she need a dog when she had
Alexander?”

Max was sorry he'd brought the subject up. The moonlight was silvery bright and the air was cool, and Sarah was a warm weight
against his shoulder. He was sick and tired of hearing his beloved talk about poor Alexander, but he'd never say so, not to
Sarah.

“He didn't have much of a chance, did he?” Max tried his damnedest to sound sympathetic.

“I don't know about that, Max. I think you take your chances as they come and do what you can with what you get. Some people
get more, some get less because they re afraid to hold out their plates for what they really want. I sometimes wonder what
I'd have done with my life if Alexander and his mother hadn't been killed in the old electric car. Alexander would have been
kind to me as he always was, he'd have puttered around with his odd jobs and visits
to the relatives and waiting on his mother hand and foot. Eventually I'd have become an old woman and died without ever having
had the chance to be young.

“Can't you just see me, sitting in a rocking chair that had been my great-grandmothers, working a piece of needlepoint one
tiny stitch at a time, wondering whether anybody was going to drop by unheralded by teatime and whether Alexander had remembered
about the acidophilus milk for Aunt Appie, which of course he would have had on hand in a carefully stoppered pitcher. He
was always thoughtful about small matters. Where he failed was in the big things.”