So it was Justin Wright on the phone. The silence continued for a time. Apparently she was listening.
“There can’t be anything to it, darling. The woman is out of your life, if she was ever in it.” She made a scoffing sound. “So, someone mentioned Amanda Sykes. No need for you to get upset about it.”
Oh yes there is.
“Who did you say you were to phone?… Byerly! That old coot! He’s just a local busybody, pay him no mind.”
So Wright phoned Joy Fielding to see if it was okay to phone me. Great Chief Executive material!
“On the contrary, Justin, I think it might do a great deal of harm. I urge you not to do anything foolish until you’re here and we can talk. It’ll only be a couple of days. Your advance men are already in town, staying here… Please do as I say, Justin. This matter requires a lot of thought… That’s a good fellow. Yes, I feel the same way about you. See you Friday, bye.”
He heard the phone bang on the cradle, then, “That pipsqueak hasn’t the backbone of melted butter-and less brains.”
“Good morning, darling.”
Victor Dragon. He heard the unmistakable sounds of lips smacking in a kiss.
“Who has no backbone or brains?”
“It seems that nosy Walter Byerly got a message through to Justin that he has information about Amanda Sykes. He wants Justin to phone him. The idiot actually considered doing it.”
“He’ll mess us up something awful.“
“I think I got him calmed down.”
“We can’t risk it. We have to get rid of the woman and the brat. Nobody will miss them or trace them here.”
“Those two busybodies know you have the kid.”
“All they know is I got a court order for his mother.”
There was a long pause. “Let’s wait till the fund-raiser is over and Justin is back campaigning. He’ll forget all about his one-time inamorata.”
Byerly heard a heavy sigh of resignation, then, “Okay, darling, till Saturday, then we give them over to Dirk.”
“That’s what I like about you, Vic, you got balls.”
A rustling sound. “Not too hard or I’ll sing soprano… That’s more like it.”
Byerly stood up, intending to move away, but dropped his trowel. It clattered on the flagstone path.
“What’s that noise?” It was Dragon’s voice. “Somebody’s outside.”
Byerly lifted the wheelbarrow and shuffled forward.
“Hey you, down there.”
He ignored it.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
He felt forced to look up.
“What are you doing there?”
He gave his best el Viejo imitation, including the most elaborate shrug of his life. “No comprendo, Senor, no hablo Ingles.” He had to hope Dragon’s Spanish wasn’t any better than his.
“Maybe he didn’t hear anything.”
Byerly heard the window close and lock above him.
“Another case is closed, Hernandez.”
She neither saw nor heard Buster Brogan approach, but there he was at her desk. “Oh?”
“That missing blond kid I told you about turned up. He’s back safe with his mother.”
He might be back with his mother, but he definitely wasn’t safe. She knew only Victor Dragon could have told Brogan he was.
“You can quit looking for him, if you were.”
She bristled at the insinuation, started to protest, then thought of a better way. She smiled. “Don’t I always do everything you tell me, sergeant?”
He seemed surprised, unsure how to react, then mumbled, “I just wish all our cases were solved so easily.”
Crawl into bed with Victor Dragon and maybe they would be. “I learned some interesting info about the Gould case.”
“You did or your buddies the Bye-Byes did?”
“I said I did.”
“The case is closed or very nearly so. An obvious suicide.”
She shook her head. “So, you don’t want to hear anything that might-”
“What is it, Hernandez” He wore his impatience like a suit of armor.
“I spoke with a young woman over at the gym on West Carrillo, the Olympic Fitness I think it’s called.”
“Yeah, been there a couple of times. What about it?”
God, he was awful. “The woman knew Harry Gould, rather well, I gather. They worked out together. She said Harry was there the night he died. He got a phone call in the middle of his workout, then left, saying he had to go back to his office.”
“So?”
“The phone call was from Victor Dragon. Lots of people heard his name mentioned.”
Brogan blinked. His jaw went slack.
“That would make Dragon one of the last people to talk to Harry alive.”
He strode a couple of paces away, his hand stroking his lantern jaw. Now he turned back. He’d thought of a reply. “Probably didn’t mean a thing. They’re both lawyers, probably working on a case together.”
The very thing Victor Dragon would say.
Brogan smiled at her, Walter Cronkite again, encountering a misbehaving brat. “In any event I’ll look into it, detective. Thank you for telling me.”
She said nothing. Buster Brogan was digging his own grave. If he insisted a murder was a suicide, his pension was at risk.
“How’d you happen to be in that particular gym talking about Harry Gould?”
He had no right to ask, but she smiled. “I go there for the same reason you do.”
She had walked by the doorway many times. It was one of four in the passageway leading from the kitchen to the dining room. But she had been looking for a doorway in a curved wall, and the passageway was straight. Then she saw Uberreich struggling with a heavy tray while trying to unlock the door.
“Let me help you, Mrs. Uberreich. “
“I can manage, thank you.”
She persisted, holding the heavy door open while Uberreich stepped inside.
“I said not to bother. Let the door close itself. Go tend to your chores.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She saw stairs curving sharply upward. The way to the tower. At last. She kept her hand on the knob, holding the door slightly ajar, listening to Uberreich mount the stairs. A lock turned. A door closed.
DeeDee opened the passageway door, looked up. No sound from above. Now she studied the lock. It worked automatically. No way to leave it unlocked. It was just a simple depression lock, not a deadbolt, but a metal guard prevented use of a credit card to open it. Damn! She’d never get the key from Uberreich.
Then she remembered something from the Watergate scandal of the 1970s, at least the movie about it. Yes. She slipped out of her loafer and used it to keep the door ajar. Then she dashed into the kitchen, returning with scotch tape. Was it heavy enough? Had to be. She taped the latch closed and stepped back into her shoe, letting the door shut. She pulled the knob. The door opened. Good. Above she heard the key in a lock. Better hurry. She let go of the door and hurried into the kitchen.
For the next hour she and two other women set and decorated tables in the great hall for the Wright dinner, all under the close supervision of Hildegard Uberreich. Talk about picky! Would she ever leave? Finally Uberreich headed upstairs, most likely at Fielding’s summons.
DeeDee hesitated. Her stomach knotted. This was her best chance. Go for it. She hurried toward the kitchen,
