The Sayers Swindle (A Book Collector Mystery) (6 page)

I headed down the walk and interrupted Uncle Kevin and Mr. Yerxa, who were in a deep and meaningful discussion about the spectacular specimen of burning bush on the front lawn. I said, “So sorry to interrupt, but I just realized we are very late for our appointment with the lawyer. And you know what? My stupid pen ran dry so I couldn’t leave a note for the Adamses.” I smiled winningly at Mr. Yerxa. “Would you be kind enough to mention to the Adamses that we were here? Thank you so much. Must run! I’ll drop off a card later.”

Kevin responded instantly, and within a second we were in the Kia and around the corner.

“T
HAT
WAS
A good hedge. I like boxwood,” Uncle Kev said. “What’s our hurry?”

“Crazy security there. I didn’t want to be too identifiable on the camera. So I hope he really does mention that some Realtor was here.”

“What kind of security? Cameras?”

“Yup. And not just one, plus double dead bolts. Not to mention connections on the windows and who knows what else. They’d even removed the foundation plantings. No one could hide there to gain access through a window.”

“They had a murder in the neighborhood, Harry told me.”

“A murder? In Burton?”

“Yeah. Some guy got himself stabbed not a block from here.”

“That’s terrible. Was it a robbery? A domestic assault?”

Kev said, “Doesn’t look like it. Harry thinks it was some drifter. I figure more like a falling-out between gangs, but I kept my opinion to myself. The neighborhood’s spooked.”

“I’m not surprised. So maybe that’s what the Adamses are worried about. But something tells me they also have stuff they don’t want stolen, such as a collection of first editions that includes some pristine Sayers first editions. I hope the cameras didn’t pick up me taking a shot of the house earlier.”

Kevin grinned. “So should we come back looking very different?” As his mustache was half flopping off, the answer was easy.

“Yes. Different. But first I’ll have to try the address, the name Adams and show the picture of the house to Karen, to see if any of it strikes a chord. I am betting that they have that security for some good reason. Did you find out anything about them during your gardening chat?”

“Don’t knock the gardening, Jordan. People melt when they talk about their gardens. You can get anything out of them.”

“And did you?”

“There are three people in the family, an older man who is either the husband or the father of a very pretty woman, and an adolescent who is either the son or grandchild of the older man. The woman is definitely the mother, as the kid calls her ‘Mama.’”

“The older man sounds right, and Karen remembers a woman when she delivered the books. Anything else?”

“They’ve lived there about three years and they did a lot of interior remodeling when they first moved in. Harry says they’re well-off, driving an Audi, and he thinks they sunk a ton of money into the inside of that house, even though they have pretty well destroyed the landscaping and the foundation plantings. I gotta say I agree with him on that. And he suggests that you warn your client they will probably expect to recoup their investment when they sell.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. My imaginary client thanks you.”

“Anything I can do to help, just ask,” Kevin said, stepping on the gas. It would have been a perfect getaway if we hadn’t passed a police cruiser idling by the curb as we shot by. I tensed, waiting for sirens and flashing lights before my brain processed the visual information. We were in the town of Burton. So what possible reason could there be for a Harrison Falls police officer to be—and there is only one way to describe it—lurking around so far from home.

Sure enough. Kevin pulled over. But only after giving me his well-known “Should we make a break for it?” look.

“There won’t be any way to trace this Kia, will there?” he said.

“It’s a valuable asset to Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky. I’m pretty sure the documents will be in order,” I said. “And for the record, we haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Impersonating a real estate agent.”

“Not sure that’s a felony,” I said. We both jumped at the knock on the window. Uncle Kevin turned the color of boiled rice.

What do you know? The tall, slightly pudgy yet adorable Officer Tyler Dekker smiled his innocent smile as a serious blush raced from his neck to the top of his wavy blond hair.

“Did you take a wrong turn, Officer?” I said.

“Just taking a drive for my break,” he said. “You?”

“Funny thing, I had the same idea. Just drive around. See the sights.”

He nodded. “Nice way to try out the new hairdo.” That smile of his with the small chip in the left incisor always gets me.

“What?”

“Of course, I did like you as a brunette. A lot.” His ears were practically glowing at this point.

“Thank you. It’s just a wig. I thought I’d try it before making a drastic color switch.”

“Good thinking. And will you keep it?”

“The wig?”

“The red.”

This wig had cost me some serious dollars and I hated the idea that I’d have to get rid of it because the law was onto me. On the other hand, I hadn’t done anything wrong. But talking to cops is something that no one in my family is comfortable with. Especially Uncle Kevin. I figured he was near death sitting next to me. I didn’t dare look at him, and I certainly didn’t intend to introduce him to Officer Smiley.

He leaned in. “So, who’s your friend?”

Even though I knew CPR, I hoped Uncle Kevin didn’t have an undiagnosed heart condition.

“Friend?”

He pointed to Uncle Kevin.

“The one in the driver’s seat.”

“Oh. Right. He’s an old acquaintance visiting from Denmark.”

Officer Smiley blinked.

Uncle Kevin was quivering like an aspen.

I said, “Yes, he’s visiting and just wanted to see the sights.”

“Guten Tag,” Kevin said.

Dekker blinked.

“Um, he has been touring. Most recently Germany, as you can hear. And now it’s time to get him back to catch his plane.”

I smiled and rolled up the window before Kevin said “Arrivederci” or something even more Kevin-like.

Really, it might have been better to have simply said that I was searching for a house of a collector who may have bought some of Vera’s missing books from Karen Smith. What would have been wrong with that? If it had just been me, I would have done it. I’ve developed a soft spot for Officer Smiley, but there was the matter of Uncle Kevin. If his business acquaintances were interested in getting their mitts on him, the forces of law and order were even more so. And according to Uncle Mick, cops are the biggest gossips on the planet.

I waved as I drove away. Maybe the wave was a bit too frenetic. But the coincidence of Tyler Dekker showing up on that exact street did bother me just the tiniest bit.

• • •

I CHECKED MY
iPhone as soon as Officer Smiley was a dot in the rearview. Dead. It’s not like me to forget to charge it, but I was a bit off my game worrying about these missing Sayers books and feeling lonely without a word from Tiff and getting saddled with Kev and all the dangers that could present. I felt almost naked without my phone, so I weighed the pros and cons, pun intended, of bringing Uncle Kevin back to my flowery garret while I recharged the phone, instead of ditching him with Mick. The anxiety of not having the world at my fingertips was too great. I don’t like to drive alone without it. I have my reasons. Kevin gunned it and headed for the Van Alst House, chirping away at my side as he drove.

Boy, could he chatter. He could have talked for the US of A in the Olympics.

I tried not to think of the disastrous implications of my uncle and Vera coming face-to-face.

When Kevin volunteered to remain in the car, I felt relief at getting away from the constant conversation. The relief was mixed with anxiety that he might get restless, leave the vehicle and encounter the signora or, worse, Vera.

As fast as my little legs would carry me, I was up the stairs and through the door into my cabbage rose–clad garret, the very best perk of this job. It was a bit messy at the moment, which I truly tried to avoid at all costs, lest there be some sort of impromptu inspection by the boss. And yes, I’m sure she could manage to find a way around the lack of wheelchair accessibility. All witches can fly, right?

After a desperate scan of my morning chaos, I spotted the car charger. It was sitting on top of four very nice New English Library reissues of Sayers books on my Lucite coffee table. I loved the cover designs. I gracefully dodged piles of my favorite vintage summer clothes, on the way to winter storage. The inheritance of my mother’s stunning wardrobe had started my love of all things vintage. Her clothing—in pristine condition—had been saved until I grew into it, another of the many reasons I felt so grateful to Uncle Mick and Uncle Lucky. Seeing the stacks of bright summer wear on every surface in my sitting room lit a flame of pride in me. But there was no time to fondle my treasures. I practically tumbled down the narrow back stairs to get myself outside before Uncle Kev got on the loose. To my utter, breathless amazement, Kevin sat, round eyed and expectant, still belted in the car. He was hardly even chatty on the way home. That was a relief after the ongoing verbiage of the drive over, but I didn’t pay much attention to the change in one-sided conversation. I was delighted to have my recharged phone buzz with a text message from Lance.

Would the lovely lady like to join me for dinner, dancing and dishing? Say 6 o’clock at the Hudson Café?

I texted back.

Well, I’m up for dishing, but over coffee! Dinner, drinking and dancing some other time. Lol. See you at 6.

I decided my day might still turn around. Being at a dead end with work and on the hook for Uncle Kevin must have settled some Karmic debt. An evening with Lance would keep me from missing Tiffany too much and could actually pan out as far as a lead on these swindled books. I got to hang out with an oh-so-good-looking friend who loved to flirt like a devil. Or an angel. Something.

I was still smiling when I arrived at Uncle Mick’s. I happily regained my former identity, abandoned Uncle Kev to park the Kia, took a deep breath, reclaimed the Saab and was off.

• • •

KAREN’S APARTMENT WAS
beyond stuffed when I arrived at the Cozy Corpse and hustled up the stairs. The presence of Uncle Lucky was key to that. As you have probably figured out, he’s a man who fills any room. And Walter added to the general chaos of the place. Karen was lounging in her brown corduroy chair, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks red. Walter was busy cavorting and knocking over stacks of books, happy to be home again. Uncle Lucky was perched on a nearby dining chair, one of one. He made me think of a lovesick moose.

Uncle Lucky keeps his thoughts to himself, but Karen couldn’t keep her eyes off him. I really needed her to pay attention to me so that I could talk to her about the Adams residence and the possibility that these people were the clients.

After picking up seven toppled stacks of books, I gave Uncle Lucky a meaningful look. “Walter looks like he needs to go out. I’ll keep Karen company if you don’t mind doing that.”

“He’s fine, just a bit excited,” Karen said, with a girlish giggle.

I shot Uncle Lucky an even more meaningful look and he located a plastic bag and lumbered to the stairs with Walter. The Kellys know how to take a hint.

Karen gazed at Lucky the way a teenage girl stares at Justin Bieber. At any moment I expected her to declare him dreamy.

I said, “Watch out for Walter and the neighbors’ lawn. They’re ready to go to war.” I took over his chair, leaned forward and said, “Karen, I think I found the house. Does the address 87 Lincoln Way mean anything to you?”

She frowned, concentrating.

Please, please, remember, I thought.

“How about the name Adams for the clients?”

She bit her lip.

I hated that sinking feeling.

I held up my iPhone and showed her the shot of the house.

It was hard to keep breathing while I waited.

Finally, Karen’s smile was back. “You know, I think that
is
the house. At least I’m pretty sure. Well, it might be.”

“And, as I said, the name is Adams.” My voice shot up an octave, showing my near desperation.

She shrugged.

I tried to stay optimistic. “Well, we’ll go with what we have. We need to get over there and find out if we can get those books back without alerting this Mr. Adams—if indeed he is the client—to the fact that Vera wants them back and is beside herself over their loss.”