watching my departure through a crack in the curtains. But maybe I was imagining it, the way I was everything else. I punched in Sergeant Boyd’s number on the cellular and told him of my interview with the auction agent. After I described the interchange about the stamps and McIntire’s reaction to my photos, I took a deep breath. Then I said:
“I suspect that the person who sold McIntire the stamp was my ex-con ex-husband, John Richard Korman.”
“Goldy, that is such a long shot.”
“Listen, Sergeant Boyd. John Richard knew Ray Wolff in jail, and now he’s deeply involved with Viv Martini, Wolff?s ex-girlfriend. John Richard just bought a car from Buddy Lauderdale that he can’t possibly afford, not to mention a condo he can’t even begin to afford. He must be getting that money from somewhere. Maybe he cut a deal with Buddy. Not only that, but John Richard treated Sukie Hyde for cancer, and she never mentioned it to me - “
“Take it easy, Goldy,” Boyd interrupted, obviously determined to put an end to my speculations. “First, we have to question McIntire. Then if we strongly suspect the man received stolen goods connected to a robbery, we’ll try to get a search warrant for his house. If we can arrest him and he agrees to identify Korman from a lineup, we’ll have something to go on. But, all this stuff about Buddy Lauderdale?” He hesitated. “I don’t know, Goldy. It’s beginning to look like you’ve got something against the guy.”
“Maybe he sold the stamp to McIntire,” I said quickly. “It’s so obvious. You can see The Stamp Fox from his showroom, I was just there - “
“Goldy, stop.”
“I want to know who shot Tom.”
“So do we all. But you’re reaching. For example, do you really think Sukie Hyde would give you the details of her cancer treatment? Especially since it was your ex-husband who treated her? Come on.”
I exhaled. “You think I’m losing it.”
“I think you’re reading bizarre stuff into the way some people act. And I think you need to be cautious.”
“A driver’s been killed. A robber’s been killed and dumped in a creek. My husband’s been shot. Our house has been vandalized and burgled. And you’re saying my problem is I can’t deal with some people, and I need to be cautious?”
“Just trying to help out,” Boyd replied. “We think we might have a line on your computers, by the way. An older guy matching the description you gave offered to sell a couple that sounded like yours to an undercover cop this morning.”
“Where?”
“In a bar.”
“Morris Han brought our computers to a bar? And tried to sell them there? And one of your guys just happened to be tying one on, first thing in the morning?”
“Hey, our undercover guys go to bars when they open. It’s their job. Where do you think crooks go in the morning? To the office?”
“Can you visit McIntire soon? Please?” Okay, I was wheedling, but I really needed his help. He agreed and signed off.
It was three o’clock. Either Julian or I needed to pick up Arch from fencing practice al; five. At the castle, I had a lot of cooking to do and labyrinth research to review. I shook my head and pressed the accelerator.
Approaching the Hogback, a sudden cold wind rolled out of the foothills and rocked the van. Was I deluded? Or did I truly believe that Buddy or Charde or Viv - all of whom either did have or might have the security codes for the castle - or Eliot, or Sukie, or even Michaela, who also had access to everything and seemed awfully angry about something, was guilty of grand-scale theft? Could anyone of them commit murder? Or was the killer some compatriot of Ray Wolff’s, such as the man who stole our computers?
Fast-moving dark clouds raced from north to south as I headed west, up into the canyon that led to Aspen Meadow. It was true that Andy had been found in the creek, not far from the place where Tom was later shot… and both spots were within spitting distance of the fence surrounding the Hyde Castle estate. Somebody was up to I something, but whether it was John Richard, Viv Martini, Charde Lauderdale, or her smarmy sharpshooting husband Buddy Lauderdale, I did not know. What worried .I me more was having Arch, Tom, and Julian in such close proximity to the Hydes and their friends. Yes, we could arm our doors at night, but what about during the day? If someone brandished a gun like the one that killed Andy Balachek, a butcher knife wasn’t going to be much defense.
Boyd’s warning had been, You need to be cautious. I even imagined what he would say to me, if I presented him with my worry about susceptibility. Boyd would insist that our family had already been at the castle one night, enough for a determined killer to have a go at us. So if the killer was in the castle, why hadn’t he or she made a move?
Tom will know what to do, I thought as I swung through the castle gates. Snowflakes swirled down. I slowed the van, as the icy patches of the long drive were treacherous in the white blur. Concentrating on not slipping, I reflected that being completely honest with Tom was not something I’d been very good at lately. Covert ops and frustration had intruded - in the form of Sara Beth O’Malley. My mind spun back to the question tormenting me for the last two days: What secret is Tom keeping from me? For my part, I was definitely shielding my investigation of Nurse O’Malley from him. He was crazy about her. Connie Oliver had said of Tom and Sara Beth. He was terribly protective of her: Maybe he didn’t love her anymore, as he’d claimed to me. But could he be protecting her? From what? How would I find out without asking him? As I strode into the castle, I realized that while I had many questions, I didn’t have a single answer. It was time to bite the bullet.
I was surprised to see Tom in the kitchen, groping through one of the glass-fronted cabinets. With his right shoulder bandaged and his arm immobilized by the sling, he was moving with a slowness that made me cringe. In contrast, Julian bounced back and forth from the counter - where an enticing array of miniature finger-shaped sandwiches was arranged - and the kitchen table. Tom shuffled to a stop and gave me a baleful look.
“Miss G.” His voice was an attempt at joviality, but his eyes betrayed his physical pain. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Tom,” I scolded, “you shouldn’t be up.”
“Please. I couldn’t lie there another minute. Looking at all that old English furniture gave me the heebie- jeebies. So I thought Julian and I could make tea - “
Julian interjected, “Make that he tells me what he wants for a Brit-style tea, and I make all the sandwiches and cakes. Hungry?”
The Italian ice cream was a distant memory. I grinned and nodded. Tom loved to cook and to direct cooking. Before relaxing, though, I had to check the dinner ingredients. On the counter beside the refrigerator, the Hydes’ lamb roast was happily defrosting. I washed my hands and stuck the meat with a thermometer probe so that room temperature for the interior wouldn’t be a matter of guesswork. Now all I had to find was some mint jelly to go with the lamb. If you were going to be English, you had to go all the way, right?
“Well, boss,” Julian remarked, “In one department, our tea won’t be authentic.” His smile was impish. “No smoked salmon. So I made cucumber sandwiches. And I’m about to spread cream cheese on that sweet bread you made. Eat your heart out, Weight Watchers.”
Tom awkwardly stretched his free hand to unlock a high cabinet. “If this isn’t where Sukie stores her tea strainer, and teapot, I’m going to have words with that woman.” He fumbled about on the shelf and ultimately drew out a box of English Breakfast tea leaves, a silver strainer, and Eliot’s ceramic teapot shaped like an English butler. Tom pulled the key from the cupboard. “And before you ask, Goldy, Sukie gave me the keys and told me to get out anything we needed. The trick is just to find which key goes with which hole.” He surveyed the kitchen table. “What else do we need?”
“Scones!” Julian and I said in unison.
Julian offered to put together butter, jams, and thick whipped cream if I would bake the treats. I was happy for scone duty, since I had a recipe that I’d been tinkering with back in Ye Olde Home Kitchen, the same one I’d tried ? unsuccessfully - to make for the cops. Eliot had mentioned that he eventually wanted to serve Victorian-style tea to conference clients, and I was eager to offer irresistible samples of my wares. My laptop booted while I rummaged through my boxes for a package of currants. I inserted the disk with British-fare recipes. Eventually the scone recipe flashed on the screen.
