The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

seriously. I knew you and Gia were close and remembered Eddie Burkes mentioning that your assistance had proven invaluable at the Mission. Never would tell me what he needed you for, but he certainly seemed enthusiastic.'

Jack was seriously considering placing a call to 'Eddie'—hard as it was to imagine someone calling the UK Mission's security chief 'Eddie'—and telling him to button his lip. Jack always appreciated referrals, and it was nice to know he’d made such an impression on the man, but Burkes was getting just a little bit too free with his name.

'I'm flattered by your confidence, but—'

'Whatever your usual fee is, I dare say I'll gladly pay it. '

'It's a question of expertise rather than money. I just don't think I'm the right man for the job.'

'You're a detective, aren't you?'

'Sort of.' That was a lie. He wasn't any sort of detective; he was a repairman. He could feel Gia staring at him. 'The problem is, I'm not licensed as a detective, so I can't have any contact with the police. They mustn't know I'm involved in any way. They wouldn't approve.'

Nellie's face brightened. 'Then you'll help?'

The hope in her expression pushed the words to his lips.

'I'll do what I can. And as far as payment goes, let's make it contingent on success. If I don't get anywhere, there'll be no fee.'

'But your time is surely worth something, dear fellow!'

'I agree, but looking for Vicky's Aunt Grace is a special case.'

Nellie nodded. 'Then you may consider yourself hired on your terms.'

Jack forced a smile. He didn't expect much success in finding Grace, but he'd give it his best shot. If nothing else, the job would keep him in contact with Gia. He wasn't quitting yet.

The iced tea arrived and Jack sipped it appreciatively. Not a Lipton or Nestea mix, but freshly brewed from an English blend.

'Tell me about your sister,' he said when the maid had left.

Nellie leaned back and spoke in a low voice, rambling now and again, but keeping fairly close to hard facts. A picture slowly emerged. Unlike Nellie, the missing Grace Westphalen had never married. After Nellie's husband was killed by an IRA bomb in London, the two sisters, each with one third of the Westphalen fortune, moved to the States. Except for brief trips back home, both had lived on Manhattan's East Side ever since. And both were still loyal to the Queen. Never in all those years had the thought of becoming US citizens ever crossed their minds. They very naturally fell in with the small British community in Manhattan consisting mostly of well-heeled expatriates and people connected with the British Consulate and the United Kingdom's Mission to the United Nations—'a colony within the Colonies,' as they liked to call themselves—and enjoyed an active social life. They rarely saw Americans. It was almost like living in London.

Grace Westphalen was sixty-nine—two years older than Nellie. A woman of many acquaintances but few real friends. Her sister had always been her best friend. No eccentricities. Certainly no enemies.

'When did you last see Grace?' Jack asked.

'Monday night. I finished watching The Tonight Show and when I looked in to say good night, she was propped up in bed reading. That was the last time I saw her.' Nellie's lower lip trembled for an instant, then she got control of it. 'Perhaps the last time I shall ever see her.'

Jack looked to Gia. 'No signs of foul play?'

'I didn't get here until late Tuesday,' Gia said with a shrug. 'But I do know the police couldn't figure out how Grace got out without tripping the alarm.'

'You've got the place wired?' he asked Nellie.

'Wired? Oh, you mean the burglar system. Yes. And it was set—at least for downstairs. We've had so many false alarms over the years, however, that we had the upper floors disconnected.”

'What kind of false alarms?'

'Well, sometimes we'd forget and get up at night to open a window. The racket is terrifying. So now when we set the system, only the downstairs doors and windows are activated. '

'Which means Grace couldn't have left by the downstairs doors or windows without tripping an alarm...' A thought struck him. 'Wait—all these systems have delays so you can arm it and get out the door without setting it off. That must have been what she did. She just walked out.'

'But her key to the system is still upstairs on her dresser. And all her clothes are in her closets.'

'May I see?'

'By all means, do come and look,' Nellie said, rising.

They all trooped upstairs.

Jack found the small, frilly-feminine bedroom cloying. Everything seemed to be pink or have a lace ruffle, or both.

The pair of French doors at the far end of the room claimed his attention immediately. He opened them and found himself on a card-table-sized balcony rimmed with a waist-high wrought iron railing, overlooking the backyard. A good dozen feet below was a rose garden. In a shady corner sat the playhouse Vicky had mentioned; it looked far too heavy to have been dragged under the window, and would have flattened all the rose bushes if it had. Anyone wanting to climb up here had to bring a ladder with him or be one hell of a jumper.

'The police find any marks in the dirt down there?'