The Rita Farmer Mystery series Box Set Read online

  “But what about us heroes?” he muttered. The broken glass would saw through his rope.

  He returned to the chasmlike lightwell. The opening was only about ten feet by three. The ten feet was good, the three feet was bad, because also the shaft was home to one wall-unit air conditioner per apartment, which narrowed the situation even further. These mechanical obstacles hummed their locustlike song up into the sky. Nevertheless, Daniel anchored his rope to a nearby steel pipe, tied himself in, and descended. He was just able to squeeze past the first air conditioner, which luckily was smaller than the others. He reached a pygmy-sized window just above Sally Jacubiak’s gurgling air conditioner.

  Experimentally, he kicked the window, an eighteen-inch square of Plexi. It did not break. Was this the bathroom? No, you don’t put an air conditioner in such a tiny space. The kitchen, then, or the bedroom.

  “Hey!” he called. “Petey! Hey! It’s Daniel!”

  A few seconds later he heard a muffled voice. “Daniel! Hey!”

  “Petey!” he shouted. A bolt of joy shot through him so hard he almost fell off the rope. He had sealed shut his emotions during the past thirty-six hours, not allowing himself to think what if about Petey, and now he felt the huge letting-go of that. He’d actually figured it out! Son of a goddang-gun. “Stand back,” he yelled happily, “I’m gonna break the window!”

  He could not reach down to the window with the hammer, unless he were to return to the top and lower himself upside down, which was too dangerous without having someone on belay. He braced himself with one hand on the opposite wall, rared back, and slammed his heel into the cloudy plastic. A corner gave way. The rest crumbled easily, like rotten ice. Now he could hear Petey’s voice clearly, though he could not see him. He couldn’t wedge himself any lower because of the air conditioner, and in any event the window was too small for him to get through.

  “Hey, buddy, you OK?”

  “Yeah,” came the small reply.

  “Good, stay that way. I’m gonna get you out of there and take you home. Wanna go home?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Can you reach this window?”

  “No,” said the boy. “It’s too high.”

  “Is there anything you can climb on?” Daniel inhaled, then felt like he needed to spit. “Christ, did a cow die in there?”

  “No, a lady.”

  “Oh, God. Look around you, boyo. Look around real good. Anything you can drag over to, you know, get up?”

  “In the living room, but I can’t ’cause it’s locked, like.”

  “Oh. Well, hey. Pete. See that air conditioner?”

  The weather-stripping around it was gray and gapped like bad denture adhesive.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re gonna push it out of the wall.”

  “Yeah?” said Petey dubiously.

  _____

  Eileen’s gait was tentative; it struck me that she probably hadn’t walked this many steps all at once in months.

  “Eileen,” I said, “first tell me a few more basics. If we’re going to plan a double murder, I really should be familiar with more facts. I get it that Richard and Norah started up an affair at some point, I guess before Norah’s hit-and-run.”

  “Right.”

  “And I get it that they ran off together when the boom started to come down on Richard’s embezzling, but they had to leave the goods behind.” It felt so pulpish to say things like “the goods,” but that was really the most useful expression in this case.

  “Right.”

  “Then their relationship hit the rocks and she took off.”

  “He tried to have her killed.”

  With a sudden burr of wings, a house finch flew across the stone path into a seaside daisy bush.

  Eileen and I both started at that, then smiled thinly at each other. I said, “How do you know he tried to have her killed?”

  “Oh, she was so stupid,” she said, her voice heavy with remembered annoyance. “She thought they’d come back to the U.S. and set up housekeeping together in Los Angeles. She thought she’d have what I had. Fancy house, fancy guy. She thought he was going to marry her, for God’s sake, and get her pregnant! When he told her he had no intention of returning to America, she couldn’t believe it.”

  “She didn’t like Brazil?”

  “Brazil per se had nothing to do with it, it just wasn’t in her game plan. He had the gall to get in touch with me and ask me to secretly sell off the gems he’d put away. He’d withdrawn everything from our joint accounts and taken it with him, but I had no idea he’d stockpiled cash as well as the stones in that locker.”

  We kept walking, slowly circling the acres-wide garden and the pool.

  “All I wanted was to be Mrs. Beverly Hills,” Eileen continued. She flipped a strand of hair that had gotten caught in a squint-line. In that gesture I caught a glimpse of the easy California-girl beauty that must have attracted the young Richard Tenaway. “I liked shopping and going to lunch. It was what I did, OK? I looked forward to fighting to get Gabriella into the top schools, you know, Wildwood, and Marlborough eventually, I think. I liked the parties. I liked flying into Tahoe for the weekend.”

  She stopped walking and touched my elbow. I turned.

  “That’s all I wanted,” she said.

  We resumed our stroll. “Not much to ask,” I commented. Mercy, no. Simple little life.

  Without irony she nodded in agreement.

  “But back to Richard and Norah,” I prompted.

  “Yes. I hadn’t known about his embezzling. I thought he was leaving on another business trip. He asked for my help packing. Then he essentially said, ‘They’re after me. I have to take you into my confidence.’ He gave me a key and the name of the storage place in case something happened to him. He said, ‘Honey, we’re going to be tremendously rich, very soon, for real.’ I said OK! Good! He said, ‘Just tell me you’ll do what I say, without questioning.’ I said I would if he’d get rid of Norah. That was my deal: I keep my mouth shut about whatever’s in that locker, and you quit your affair with my sister.

  “He was surprised that I knew, like duh, you asshole, but he agreed. Well, Norah dropped out of sight, and I had no idea whether she’d taken off with him or he’d gone alone or what. Richard managed to get word to me to just sit tight and wait. So I did.

  “Turns out they had left together after all, but after a few weeks Norah got on his nerves. He’d never really dealt consistently with her moods before. I didn’t want him to kill her, for God’s sake, but that’s what he tried to do. The guy he hired botched it. He fell off the balcony before he got to her, and she figured out what the hell almost happened. She got out of there and came back to the States pretty mad.”

  “I’ll bet. But how do you know all that?”

  “Oh, I got it out of her in dribs and drabs.”

  “When?”

  “That night.”

  “What fucking night?” I wanted to slap her so hard.

  “When Gabriella died.”

  “Oh. Well, I wish you’d get to that, you know?”

  “We’re safe here,” she said. “There’s no hurry. No need for you to be impatient. You picked a wonderful spot for me. You know”—she smiled softly—“I guess I forgot to thank you for helping with my defense.”

  Like finally. “Think nothing of it,” I said with a smile that tasted cold on the inside.

  “Richard,” she said, taking up her story again, “suddenly had all sorts of problems, even though he’d supposedly vanished! McGower was after him—the whole of Gemini wanted to get him, needless to say, but McGower was the only one who knew how much Richard had betrayed everyone.”

  “You mean how much he’d stolen?”

  “Basically, yeah. So one day I get this call, Mrs. Tenaway, your husband has been found, and he’s dead. I believed it! I go to Brazil and they hand me a death certificate and a picture. They stick me in some hotel to wait for the cremation, give me some song and dance about why I
can’t see the body. There was an autopsy, because of course Padraig wanted to make sure. The insurance company didn’t require it, but he wanted it. He believed Richard was dead because he wanted to believe it. He was sick of the unpleasantness, and he was just as glad as anybody for Gemini to get the $10 million death benefit. I mean, he could cover a lot of Richard’s tracks with that.

  “I didn’t want to bring his body back. But I did realize something was up. So I found the funeral place and slipped the guy some money to let me see it. Well, it wasn’t Richard. Some doctor must have faked that autopsy report for a payoff.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “But you know what? I pretended it was him. On the spot, I realized what he was doing and why. I figured he’d stay in hiding until I got the insurance money, which was his way of saying he was sorry. Then, I think, he hoped I’d split it with him, once everything had blown over. Unless, that is, I decided to take off with Gabriella and the gems myself. But the thought of fencing gems in Singapore or wherever, dragging Gabriella all over the world as a fugitive from the law—and from Richard—didn’t appeal to me much.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  She gave me an evaluating look, as if I were a nosy new hairstylist. “I would like to love him again,” she said at last. “But that won’t happen. I have tried to love him for a very long time.”

  “I see,” I said.

  We walked along the pretty stone path.

  “Isn’t that sad?” said Eileen.

  _____

  Daniel had been perspiring heavily since he roped in. His right hand slipped on the rope, but he caught himself with his left. He dried his hands alternately on his pants and blinked sweat out of his eyes. How long before the kidnapper would return? Maybe Rita found the ransom stuff and this kidnapper chick had gone off to get it.

  “Unplug the air conditioner, Pete, OK?”

  “OK!” The machine went silent.

  “Good job! Now find something like a stick or a tool. Something to poke with. See anything pointy?”

  “Here’s an umbrella.”

  “OK, take that and stab it around the air conditioner. You want to get it loose, see?”

  If the unit was a good one, there would be a flange blocking him from doing that, Daniel thought, but it looked like a piece of crap, badly installed.

  He thought of calling 911, but at this point that would likely use up more time than it would save.

  A light went on in the corresponding window in the next apartment. Miz foil-head’s place.

  He heard Petey chipping at the caulking around the air conditioner. The kid was fairly coordinated, for a four-and-a-half-year-old. Mostly his blows made contact with the puttylike weather-stripping, only occasionally missing and striking the metal. The umbrella tip began to pop into view and out.

  The foil-headed lady unlatched her window, pushed it open, and peeped out.

  “Police, ma’am,” said Daniel curtly, dangling from his rope. “Do you happen to have a key to this apartment?”

  “I’m afraid not. Hey, aren’t you—weren’t you on, uh, that show with—”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Who’s in there? Is Sally back?”

  “Ma’am, for your safety I have to ask you to stay inside with your windows locked. Right now.”

  Petey kept at his chipping. After a few minutes Daniel called, “OK, Petey, now try pushing it.”

  An earnest little grunt came to his ears.

  “I can’t.”

  “Try some more.”

  More grunts, the last of which threatened to turn into a wail. “The lady said she’d be right back!”

  “Be calm, Petey, I’m here. Can’t budge it?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 38 – The Fingershredder

  It occurred to me that Eileen, probably innocent of murdering her own child, had yet been plotting a bloodbath for some time. That was why I’d found her demeanor so mixed, so puzzling: she was trying to cope with her daughter’s death—by negligence or malice or both—but what was keeping her going were thoughts of murders she’d like to commit. With Richard and Norah dead, there would be no more conflict in Eileen’s life. Nothing but an empty peacefulness.

  By our third circuit around the grounds I started to really worry about Richard. Norah was on her way for certain, and I’d promised him to her. George Rowe would show soon but I wasn’t sure he could make everything come out all right for me. My ears constantly attended to the cell phone at my waist, listening for

  Daniel’s song, “Dancing Queen.” I knew better than to hope he would figure out where Petey was, but I couldn’t help it.

  There was only one thing I could do to try to ensure Petey’s safety: find out where Eileen had stashed the goddamn loot and hook Norah up to it. An idea struck me—a crude idea, but it was an idea.

  “Eileen, let’s take our mugs inside,” I suggested lightly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little tired.”

  I sort of guided us to taking seats on the thronelike barstools at the kitchen counter, placed so that guests could enjoy a drink and schmooze with the cook.

  Such a pleasant room, this kitchen, all earth tones and granite, with those Spanish-style French doors leading out to the garden.

  We’d left a bag of brown Bosc pears on the opposite counter, next to the sink. I got up, took a pear and bit into it, then said, “Hm, what shall we put these pears in, they’re so pretty?” I scanned the glass-fronted cupboards.

  “Who cares, Rita, we need to talk about how—”

  “Here!” I put down my pear and took out a heavy stoneware bowl. As I moved toward the bag of fruit I seemed to stumble on something. The bowl fell from my hands.

  Cruck! It lay on the floor in three or four pieces.

  “Oh, no!” I stooped to pick them up. “Here, maybe it can be fixed.” I laid the pieces on the counter. “In the meantime I’ll just—” And I turned to the fix-it shelf, grabbing the duct tape.

  “Well, duct tape won’t—” Eileen began.

  “No, I just want to keep the pieces together for when, you know—here, hold these pieces together, just nest them like that, and I’ll just wrap them up in—”

  Zeck-zeck-zeck.

  And before she knew it—almost before I knew it—I’d bound her wrists firmly together.

  “Hey!” She dropped the pieces.

  I jumped to her side, drawing the tape as I went. I whipped it over her head, bringing the roll around her, binding her upper body to the barstool’s back.

  “Hey!” she cried again. “Rita! What are you doing?”

  She struggled, kicking her feet. She tried to hop off the stool but only succeeded in knocking herself over. Thinking fast—I needed her conscious—I placed my foot at the spot I judged her head would hit the floor, and it cushioned the blow as she and the stool toppled to the tile. As she lay dazed I strapped her legs to the barstool’s legs. I moved very fast through all this before I lost my nerve.

  She was so shocked she could hardly talk. “Rita! What the—what the—”

  “Look, babycakes,” now talking still more like a pre-Code gun moll, “I have to know where you hid that loot. I’m not gonna fuck around with you anymore.”

  “Well, to hell with you!” she bluffed, searching my face. “I’ll rot before I’ll—”

  “No, you won’t rot, you’re going to tell me because I will kill you slowly if you don’t.” I kicked her in the stomach.

  Yes, I did, I kicked her in the stomach. The blunt toe of my Banana Republic slingback sank into her gut, then rebounded away with a live-rubber feeling.

  She cried out in pain, her mouth drawn like a fish’s on a hook, her eyes bulging. “Rita! I—I thought you were my friend!”

  “Oh, you bet I am, just like Beatrice Rhinegold.” I picked Le Cork Weasel from its drawer.

  “What are you—what are you—”

  I thought of Petey.

  I could do this.

  “Where
is the goddamn stash, friend?”

  “I—I don’t know! It got stolen!”

  I knelt to her. Very close. Burning, efficient anger coursed through me.

  I drew deep on the spirit of Gramma Gladys.

  I took one of her fingers—happened to be her right index—and, just as I’d cracked almonds with the sturdy gear teeth on my identical wine opener at home, I held the device upside down, inserted her fingertip, and squeezed the levers.

  She shrieked, truly and horribly.

  The hair on my arms stood up. I felt a sick rush of power. “Goddamn you!” I yelled into her face. “Goddamn all of you!” I bore down hard enough to make it really hurt. Then I stopped. She gasped for breath, and I saw a wet stain widening on her dress. Her urine ran to the floor. I’d scared the pee out of her, a wonderful accomplishment. She tried to head-butt me but couldn’t reach.

  I checked her fingertip, which had gone fairly flat and was beginning to ooze blood. Didn’t look at all good.

  “I will shred each and every one of your fingers unless you—”

  “All right! All right! I’ll tell you. It’s in—”

  A tremendous pounding on the front door shattered our special moment.

  _____

  Petey could not budge the air conditioner.

  “OK,” said Daniel, “I think I can sort of jump on it to loosen it. Wait a sec.”

  He reached up the rope, hauled himself vertically, then slammed down on the unit with both feet. He felt the shock into his hips. The unit rocked, almost free now.

  “Petey, look, it’s loose, but I can’t pull it out for you. I can’t get the leverage. You’re gonna have to tip it out, OK? You can do it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take the umbrella and jam it under it. OK? Jam it in really hard. Super strong. Super strong. Now hammer it in with something.”

  “There’s a frying pan.”

  “Yeah, hit it with that.”

  Sounds of banging.

  “Got it? Is it firm in there?”