The family of the original fencing-master; meanwhile, had been given permission to live in a section of the castle rent-free …
Uh-huh. Almost nine years in a desolate, falling-down castle was a long time. Before his relationship with Viv, I was willing to bet, Eliot had found solace in the arms of his caretaker.
I don’t hate Eliot … quite the opposite.
I was also willing to bet Michaela had had a child she wouldn’t give up, but whose existence had to be kept secret, if Eliot was going to realize his dreams for the castle, with his reputation intact. The child, I wagered, occasionally wandered away from her playroom and made sudden appearances around the castle, perhaps even wearing a miniature suit of armor. Perhaps it was one of those appearances that had somehow provoked the nasty falling-out between Eliot and Michaela I’d witnessed in the courtyard…
Not only that, but the news of Andy Balachek’s murder had brought the hard glare of publicity to the castle, a glare that might very well reveal a desperate secret that would undo all the owner’s ambitious plans.
The child. I’d heard her breathing … that night I’d stood in the drum tower by our room. I’d glimpsed her once, in the shadows of the Great Hall, wearing her little suit of armor, undoubtedly lured by the fencing demonstration my own son was putting on. Even Tom had seen her, but had put it down to hallucinogenic drugs. This curious child, I was willing to wager, could get around the castle through the unrenovated areas, climb up into the towers, and scare us with unexpected appearances… .
Flee, cook! We tried to warn you!
I stumbled down the service road, my thoughts spinning. After what seemed like an eternity, my ears made out another sound, a roaring noise… the creek. I thanked God. And when had I heard another roaring noise? Not long ago.
We tried to warn you… .
I lurched to the driveway, and saw the lights of a distant vehicle. Was it on the road? I tripped on the snow- covered ground and fell to my knees. A wave of nausea rolled over me.
What had Boyd said? The bullet that hit your house was not from the gun that shot Andy, Tom, and “Morris Hart,” the computer thief… The bullet was a warning. Somebody had tried to warn not Tom, but me. Away from what? From catering at Hyde Chapel. From catering at Hyde Castle. Why? Because a murder had been committed in the castle, and the body had been dumped not fifty feet from the doors of Hyde Chapel.
Who lived in that upstairs apartment where the child’s voice had come from? Michaela. Michaela who loved children, Michaela who had her own child, I was almost sure. Michaela had tried to warn me away by shooting out our window. Scare her; she must have thought, close down the catering business for a while, anything to keep the mother of one of my favorite fencers away from this place where Andy died I walked forward. I stayed in the shadows, knowing the person who’d perpetrated these crimes, who’d struck at me with a sword and poured boiling water onto my arm, was probably still searching for me.
And who was that person? Who had access to both the castle and Hyde Chapel? Who knew about the Lauderdales’ demand for sorbet for their son, and could ensure my return to the kitchen by tossing the first carton into the moat?
As soon as I started to dig through the pamphlets, and started to unravel the lethal web spun through the castle and its history, somebody had gotten very scared.
Who had access to Tom’s return time from New Jersey? The only way to get that was to have access to our family’s private doings… through Tom, through me … or through Arch. Whom did Arch visit every week? His father. And who had latched onto John Richard of late, convinced him, I was willing to wager, to fence some stamps and use his doctor-status and real estate greed to buy an expensive town house? No doubt she’d also figured she’d be able to follow our every move while planning her disposal of millions of dollars’ worth of stolen stamps.
The roar of an approaching van interrupted my thoughts. My van. Tom! I waved at him with my good arm. He braked, jumped out, and insisted on helping me into the passenger seat. Relief and love for him overwhelmed me.
“Miss G., look at you!” His face was wracked with worry. “You’re all wet! How did you ever - “
“Listen, Tom,” I interrupted him, shivering like a madwoman. “You need to arrest Viv Martini.”
-28-
My only question,” said Julian the next night, as he poured bubbling ginger ale into a punch bowl, “is what’s going to happen to Eliot and the castle?” We were in the Elk Park Prep gym, readying for the Valentine’s Day Dance. My left arm, which had received second-degree burns, was bandaged. I was sitting in a chair beside the table, unable to help much beyond dispensing advice, which I did freely.
Tom was not there yet. I hoped he would come, believed he would come. After all, he’d been willing to accept my rapid explanation of what had transpired at the castle, before he’d found Viv Martini, barely conscious, on the floor beside the murder holes. He’d brought her to her feet, told her her rights, and cuffed her. When a parent had offered to drive me to the hospital emergency room, it had been my great pleasure to see a defeated Viv being guarded by Tom in my van, where they were waiting for police cars to show up.
My mind turned back to Julian’s question: What was going to happen to Eliot? I didn’t know. He’d had to tell first the cops, and then Sukie, who had been oblivious to his hidden life, the truth: that Andy Balachek had climbed through the west-side garderobe into the study. That Balachek had received a nearly lethal charge of electricity trying to break into the castle’s former chapel. That the sudden loss of electricity had brought Michaela to the room, and that she had run to Eliot, working on jams in the kitchen, as was his wont in the wee hours. She had told him of Andy’s comatose state.
Eliot, panicked and desperate, had called Viv Martini, the third partner in the stamp heist. Viv, Eliot claimed, had been blackmailing him, threatening to expose the secret of his bastard daughter, whom Viv had discovered when she and Eliot were having one of their trysts.
All these years after their affair, Viv had decided to use Hyde Chapel as a hiding place for the stolen stamps, after Ray was arrested. She had not told Eliot what she was doing. But when Andy, who’d been getting restless to sell the stamps, had misinterpreted what Viv had finally told him about the stamps’ whereabouts, he’d been killed in his attempt to steal them. Everything had gone south, just at the very moment all Eliot’s dreams for a well-financed Elizabethan conference center seemed to be coming to fruition.
Eliot and Michaela had told police - in exchange for immunity from charges of complicity - that Viv had driven Andy away from the castle. She had used her pickup truck - her other vehicle besides the Mercedes - the same truck she later loaned to Mo Hartfield. Eliot, meanwhile, hastily threw paint over the blood, the arc, and other random spots in the castle, hoping to hide the incriminating evidence of Andy’s near-fatal accident.
The police were speculating that there was one thing Viv had been unsure of: What Andy had told Tom. She must have been certain that Andy had betrayed Ray Wolff to the police. She knew he’d tried to steal the stamps before she was ready to fence them. After he’d been electrocuted attempting the double-cross, she’d shot him and thrown his body in the creek. Then hastily, too hastily, she’d removed the stolen stamps from Hyde Chapel, leaving one behind. Unbeknownst to Eliot, Viv had sneaked back into the castle and hidden the remaining stolen stamps in the jam jar, again using her knowledge of his security system and his stillroom hobby to conceal the valuables in a way that would point away from her, if they were discovered. After that, the theory went, she’d sat in Cottonwood Park and waited to see if Tom had an inkling of what was going on. If he started to walk toward the chapel, instead of toward Andy’s body, she had to conclude he knew not only where the stamps were hidden, but her identity as well.
And when Tom headed toward me - toward the chapel-she decided he had to die.
And then there were all the other aspects of the story that we suspected, but could not prove: that at the instigation of her true boyfriend, Ray Wolff, Viv had wormed her way into the Jerk’s affections. Ray knew John Richard’s ex-wife was married to the cop who’d arrested him, because John Richard had told him so. John Richard, for once, had been the one who’d been used. As a source of data and a sex object, no less. If he wasn’t in a male-menopause support group, he certainly was going to need one now. Not to mention the help he was soon going to need if it could be proven he’d fenced stolen stamps. Plus there was that three-million-dollar, highly leveraged Beaver Creek town house to unload. Marla was going to be in heaven.
After I was released from the hospital, the helpful parent had driven me back to the castle. The police were questioning Eliot in the Great Hall. I’d gone looking for Sukie. She was alone in the kitchen, not cleaning for once. She’d been crying. She said when she’d survived cancer and her first husband’s death, then found the historic letter that had led her to a new husband, she’d thought God was finally helping her get her life back. Now she wasn’t so
