“Hannibal Jones. The troubleshooter. You got to love the way that sounds.”
Hannibal stood to shake hands. “Well, not quite as nice as Ben Blair, boy billionaire.”
Blair responded with an easy grin. That and the hair apparently plopped onto his head like a pile of straw did give him a boyish look. In fact, he was still on the good side of forty, which made him fairly young for a business success. In Dockers and a golf shirt, he seemed unusually comfortable in his own skin. At the same time he was a bundle of nervous energy, one of those people who have trouble sitting still for long. His trim physique implied that he burned off a good deal of that energy playing sports. He headed for the refrigerator while he spoke to Hannibal.
“I’m really glad you were able to get over here to see me, Mr. Jones. I’m faced with a puzzle that I don’t have time to solve, you know? Although I do like puzzles. Consider this: some months have 30 days and some have 31. How many months have 28 days?”
Hannibal smiled. “Well, if you want to be technical about it, all of them.”
Blair nodded toward Hannibal as if some suspicion had been confirmed. “Anyway, a friend of mine has been taken advantage of and I want to get the situation fixed. Juice?”
“Um, sure,” Hannibal said. Blair placed two tall glasses of orange juice on the table and settled into a chair facing Hannibal. He dropped a cell phone on the table also, next to one that was already there. Hannibal wondered if they were designated business and pleasure, or maybe friend and foe.
“Here’s the deal,” Blair said, leaning in toward Hannibal. “A friend of mine was robbed of something very valuable to them by someone they trusted. This item could make a world of difference to my friend’s life, you know? I need to find the thief and get the item returned. Do you like puzzles, Mr. Jones?”
“You called me about someone else’s problem?”
“Well, I can afford your fee, Mr. Jones,” Blair said. “My friend can’t, you know?
But they saw you in the Zei Club last weekend and told me you were the man who could help them.”
“I see. Is she particularly close to you?”
Blair had to be a canny businessman, but Hannibal figured he must be an awful poker player. “Did I say she?”
“No,” Hannibal said. “You said they. If it was a man you’d have said 'he' easily enough. I just want to know how personal this is for you.”
The lady involved is my cleaning lady, if you must know. No romantic connection or anything like that. But I like and respect her very much, and I want her to have what’s hers, you know? And it is a puzzle.”
“Is the missing item of great value financially?”
“I’m not really sure,” Blair said, standing. “I know it was a gift from her father, and I know he wasn’t wealthy. Besides, I don’t want you to think this is a money thing to me. Piece of fruit?” Blair was poking in the refrigerator again. It was as orderly as a supermarket cooler. Hannibal noticed that the kitchen held no smell at all, not even of breakfast, and thought the cleaning woman must be quite special indeed.
“I know you’re not all about the money,” he said to Blair’s back. “That Lexus in your driveway has to be six years old.”
“You’re pretty observant,” Blair said, tossing an orange to Hannibal. “You must like puzzles too. I think you’re the right guy for this treasure hunt.”
“And just what is the treasure?” Hannibal asked, accepting the paper towel Blair offered him.
Blair regained his seat and set to peeling his orange over his own paper towel. “Don’t really know. Ms. Cooper told me her father left her a treasure map to what he promised would be a pot of gold. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t being literal, but what ever it is, the thief probably has it now. Find the thief, you find the treasure.”
Blair was popping orange sections into his mouth while his eyes wandered out the window. Hannibal, slowly peeling his own orange, felt he was also slowly peeling away the layers of his host’s mystery. He wondered if this guy suffered from attention deficit disorder or hyperactivity.
“Yes, well to do that I’ll have to talk to the lady who’s been robbed. I have to know if there’s enough to go on for me to even take the case.”
“Naturally,” Blair said, standing. “Wait here. I’ll have Franklin bring her in.”
“She’s here?” Hannibal asked, also getting to his feet. But Blair was already bouncing out of the room. Hannibal stood confused for just a moment. Then the butler entered from the living room. The woman following him stopped behind a chair.
“Miss Anita Cooper,” the butler announced just before he withdrew.
3
As silences go, this one was pretty awkward. Anita Cooper was a small woman, certainly less then a hundred pounds and no more than an inch over five feet tall. She was blessed with shiny black skin and the small nose, full lips, high cheekbones and erect carriage Hannibal associated with pictures of ancient Egyptian princesses.
“Mister Blair said you wanted to talk to me?”
“I understood that you needed some help,” Hannibal said, finally biting into his orange. It was so sweet he could almost forget the acid it carried.
“I’ve got some trouble, and your card says you’re a troubleshooter,” she said, looking up to make eye contact.
“And how do you come to have my card?”
Anita’s feet shuffled, and her eyes went down again. “I saw you at the Zei Friday night. I picked your card up off that guy you knocked out.”
Hannibal couldn’t suppress his smile at that. This girl was more than she showed on the surface. She wore her kinky hair in a short but natural style. Her makeup was so subtle it could be overlooked. And her fingernails were perfectly done, which he knew could not be easy to maintain when one cleaned houses for a living. all of a sudden, he wanted to know her story.
“Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me what the trouble is.”
Anita nodded, and smoothed the back of the simple sundress hanging from her shoulders as she sat. She seemed to be waiting for something. Hannibal guessed it might be instructions, or simply permission to speak.
“So, your father left you a treasure of some type?”
“That’s what he said.” Anita hesitated, as if wrestling with difficult memories. Hannibal rotated his hand as if to say, “Go on.”
“Daddy was a research chemist over at Isermann — Borner up in Rockville,” Anita said. “Worked there for years, before my mother left even. I stayed with Daddy through high school. He was so proud when I started at MIT. But, you don’t want to hear all that.”
“Actually, I do,” Hannibal said, folding his hands in front of himself on the table. “Whatever you need to tell me that leads up to why I’m here.”
Anita licked her lips, took a deep breath and pressed on. “I guess the start was the day Daddy called home from work. I was home for the summer after my freshman year. He was so excited, but all he really said was that he had had a really good day, and that we should celebrate. He sounded so happy. So, while he was on his way home I went out and got a bottle of champagne and a couple of lobsters and all the fixings.”
Anita’s eyes focused out the window and dampened. Hannibal was prepared to wait, but after a full minute of silence he began to worry that she might not be able to pull herself back if she was gone too long in the past. He asked, “Are you all right?” in a gentle tone.
Anita shook herself. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I could use some… would you like some more coffee?”
Without waiting for a reply, Anita picked up Hannibal’s almost-empty cup. She crossed the wide kitchen and started fussing with a complex looking espresso machine. She kept her back to him while she worked.
“I’ll make cappuccino,” she said. “You’ll love it. Anyway, um, see, Daddy was home when I got back. He didn’t look happy any more. He said that there had been an accident. He hit a man who was on the side of the road up on 270 on his way in. He shouldn’t have left the scene, you know, but he had to make it home first.”
The machine made its screaming hissing noise loud enough that if Anita had sobbed, Hannibal might have missed it. She wiped her face once or twice while she worked with cups and heated the milk, but when she
