“Take that rowboat,” Spike said, pointing. “Go left and follow the waterfront until you reach the main public pier.”
I patted my empty pockets. “I’d give you a tip, but I’ve been cleaned out.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I looked up at the apparently lifeless warehouse that hid the club. It was gray against the dark sky. “So does the Dwarf really run this place?”
“Canino runs it. The Dwarf just pays the bills.”
“So is the Dwarf here?”
“No. I’ve never seen him. But Canino goes up to one of the estates on Brillion Hill a lot.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. I’m not one of the girls who gets invited to those sorts of parties. But he always brings back fresh flowers for the rest of us, if that helps any.”
I bent and kissed the top of her head. “What’s your real name?”
“Allison,” she said with no inflection.
“Thanks, Allison.”
I climbed into the rowboat, untied it and pulled away from the dock. The last I saw of her was a silhouette against the warehouse, moonlight reflecting like tiny stars off the golden balls at her neck.
I STAGGERED INTO my boarding house at dawn. Luckily the tavern on the ground floor was empty. I slept for about three hours, cleaned up as best I could, then went down to Bernie’s office. I got there before he did, so I was asleep in his chair when he arrived and knocked my boots off his desk.
“You look like you spent the night in a barrel with a bobcat,” he said as I moved to the guest chair. “I’m surprised the desk sergeant let you in. What happened?”
“I got snarked at the Dragonfly Club.”
He paused in arranging the parchments and papers on his desk. “You didn’t tell me you were going to the Dragonfly.”
“If I’d known I was going to get snarked, I would have.”
He closed his office door. “We’ve been trying to get undercover people in there for months. If anybody connects you up with me, they’ll shut the place up tighter than a convent on May Day. Thanks.”
“They didn’t know me,” I said. “Canino dug up my alias, but not my real name.”
“Canino,” he repeated as he sat down. “Did you take him out like you did Saye’s friend?”
“I wish. No, basically I curled into a ball and whimpered.” I gave him the short version of the previous night’s events. Spike had confirmed the Dwarf’s existence, and considerably narrowed my search area. If I’d only thought to press her about Andrew Reese, I might know for sure that I was on the right track. Still, it was a lot more than I had any right to expect, and it sure beat a stint as Canino’s punching bag. “Any idea which estate on Brillion Hill might be the right one?”
Bernie walked to the big map of Cape Querna on the wall. “This is Brillion Hill. You can see how the streets all wind around almost like it was designed to confuse people. There’s probably twenty mansions up there, and this time of year they’ve all got flowers. They even have a big garden tour to show ’em off.”
I joined him to gaze at the map. He was right, the roads resembled some sailor’s arcane knot. “It would be somewhere they could discreetly have wild parties with the girls from the Dragonfly.”
He made an inclusive gesture. “You could do that at any of ’em. These are the cream of C.Q. society. They invented decadence, and they’re able to pay to keep it quiet.”
I pondered as much as my still-fogged brain allowed. It could take weeks to check each house; there had to be a way to narrow the search. “How old are these houses?”
“Varies.”
“Any of them built in, say, the last twenty years?”
“I don’t think so. That hill had the defensive high ground over the harbor, so it was the first place settled. It has some of the oldest buildings in town. Big stone things, like castles that never grew all the way up.”
“But they’ve changed hands over the years, right? They’re not still owned by the founding families.”
“Some are. Most aren’t.”
“So if you were rich and powerful enough to buy one of these, but also, let’s say, deformed, you might have your mansion modified to suit your disability.”
He sighed. “Enough with the damn Dwarf, Eddie. Your little girlfriend might’ve been feeding you a line, you know.”
“ Somebody yanks Canino’s chain.”
“Yeah, and you’re yanking mine.”
I ignored his skepticism; I’d just had an idea. “Who’s the best mason in town?”
“Like I’d know,” Bernie said. But I knew he’d find out.
Cape Querna’s top household design man, who’d turned his masonry skills to making sure rich people always felt rich at home, had a shop right on the edge of the Brillion Hill district, in a refurbished home that had probably once been as grand as those he now served. It was surrounded by a small landscaped yard and trees pruned to perfection. It advertised, without actually advertising, that gracious living was its prime commodity. Bernie and I tied our horses next to an expensive covered buggy with a liveryman and driver lounging beside it.
A tasteful sign by the road identified the business as Tanko Interiors. Beneath it was the slogan: The best homes for the best people. A tall young man in ruffled cuffs opened the door before we could knock. He disdainfully regarded our attire. “Yes?”
Bernie held up his identification pendant. “Civil Security. We need to speak with Mr. Tanko.”
“He’s with an important client right now,” the ruffled guy said snottily. “Perhaps if you made an appointm-”
I could’ve told him that wasn’t the attitude to take with my pal. Bernie punched him right in the center of his chest, so fast I barely saw his hand move. Ruffles made a tiny “oof!” sound, his eyes popped wide and he started to fall. Bernie stepped forward and caught him.
“Hey! You got a fella in distress here!” Bernie yelled. He lowered the red-faced young man to the floor, where he wheezed as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry, friend,” Bernie muttered as he undid the florid collar. “Next time try manners.”
The foyer was huge, with well-chosen paintings on the salmon-colored walls. Luxurious chairs and couches were provided for waiting clients, and a decanter of wine stood open beside a tray of classy, jewel-crusted mugs. Overhead a huge chandelier hung like a diamond rose. At night, with all the candles lit, it would’ve been bright enough for ships to navigate by.
A door slammed at the far end of the room, and a man walked rapidly toward us. He seemed to be enveloped in a swirl of colors, with a bright blue puff-sleeved shirt offset by a yellow scarf and his own frightfully red hair. “Oh, my God!” he cried in a high, twittering voice. “What’s happened to Cecil?”
“Looks like some kind of seizure,” Bernie said. He stood to greet this newcomer. “Happens sometimes when folks don’t cooperate. You the owner?”
“Good heavens, did you do this?” the yellow-scarfed man exclaimed. If possible, his voice grew even more shrill. “You rude wolverine, you! This man is an artist, he has a delicate constitution!”
Again Bernie held out his identification. “He’ll be fine, and so will you if you just calm down. We’re looking for Robert Tanko. Is that you?”
“Yes, yes, that’s me,” he said as he fell to his knees beside Cecil. “My little dove, can you hear me?”
A woman with an enormous plumed hat appeared from the same door that had disgorged Tanko. She had a body that curved in all the right ways, and her clothes were cut to show it off. “Bobby,” she called impatiently, “they’re walk-ins, and I had an appointment.”
“Reschedule it,” Bernie told her. “Civil Security business.”
The woman’s eyes first opened in surprise, then contemptuously narrowed. She started to speak, but Bernie cut her off. “And don’t ask me if I ‘know who you are,’ because then I’d have to say I do. And yes, I know who your husband is. And I know about your little jaunts down to Lewis Beach with your herbalist, something I bet your husband doesn’t know.”
Her mouth snapped shut, and she turned red even through her considerable make-up. She flounced past us
