Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (8 page)

“Tomorrow this woman is gonna be owing me more interest.” He rose and exited twirling his walking stick. I think it was meant as a threat.

Matty followed him to the back door.

“Don’t do anything you might regret,” I heard him say to her, then I heard Tink snap her little jaws.

Matty was shaking as she returned to the living room. She handed me Tinkerbelle and settled back in her recliner, looking ever so much like Treanna. The child was still in there, even if the face had aged.

“You can’t sign these papers, Matty. That twerp will own your house before the year is out. The way it’s written, he can refuse your payments and force foreclosure on you. What’s this guy Smith really do for a living?”

“He works in a
very
expensive
shoe store.”

“Listen, Matty…”

Tears filled her big brown eyes. Instead of speaking, she looked around and then nodded off, sound asleep.

I touched her hand. “Matty?” She was out cold. A narcolepsy nap.

I went into Treanna’s room. “I have to go home now, sweetie. I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Here, kiss Polyester.”

I kissed the fluffy white unicorn.

“Wait, wait, China wants to kiss you, too.”

I let the brown bear make a kissing sound on my cheek.

Matty was awake when I walked back into the living room. I bent down and hugged her. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to get a mortgage on your house. I’ll take the papers with me tonight and think on it.”

Once again I left Treanna, feeling like I was treading water.

Chapter 18

I
spent the rest of the day thinking of ways to stop Mr. Smith. Each idea dead-ended in his getting revenge on Matty and Treanna.

That night, I flipped around in bed like a jumping bean worrying about the little girl and her granny… and Roger. Even the sounds of the ocean waves couldn’t lull me to sleep. I got up and took a sleeping pill. As I swallowed the last gulp of water, I heard a dog bark. A light switched on in my brain.

I dialed Matty knowing a late night call would scare the poor lady. But brilliant ideas wait for no man, woman, or dog.

“Matty, I’m sorry to call at this time. But I have an idea.”

Her disembodied voice sounded like Ella Fitzgerald. “Yes? What is it?”

“How about you and Treanna come and stay with me for a few days until I straighten out this Smith guy? I know it’s not much notice, but throw some things in a bag. School’s out this coming week. We’ll tell Tre it’s a surprise holiday. I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning. No one will notice us that early.”

“Huh?”

“You, Treanna, and Tinkerbelle are coming to my house for a vacation!”

“Oookay…” she roused herself. “You wants Tre and me to stay at your house? That’d be fine.” She hung up.

I didn’t really have a plan, but I knew I’d think better if they were safe. And I possessed the perfect safe house. Since Smith and Muscle Head were afraid of small dogs.

The pampered pooches surrounding my condo would be our first line of defense. Lexington Seidelbaum was a mini-Pincher who lived next door and barked night and day. Across the courtyard was Precious Grunstein, a Bichon Frise who waggled her fanny at all the boy dogs and had taken a piece out of the FedEx man.

If Smith dared to show up, I was sure Dakato Tishler, a Miniature Schnauzer, would hump his leg until he fell over. Once the puppy posse circled their wagons, nothing carrying testicles was going to get near my condo. Treanna and Matty would be safe in Dogville.

I finally fell asleep, dreaming Roger and Darcy were getting married in front of the pyramids and Mr. Smith was officiating. I woke up in a dizzy sweat at four and couldn’t get back to sleep. The threats I would unleash on Smith started to filter through. Why is it thinking is so much easier in the wee hours of the morning?

At exactly seven in the morning, I pulled into the alley behind Matty’s house in the Lemon City section of Miami and knocked on the door. She and Treanna were ready with their bags in their hands. I grabbed Tinkerbelle’s leash and popped her in the car, then threw their luggage in the trunk. The whole operation took less than five minutes.

Treanna jumped up and down until I scooped her into the car. She chattered during the entire drive from her house to the beach. As we approached the towering building I called home, she gulped and became silent. This was the child’s first real holiday, and her fears surfaced as we pulled past the guard gate.

“I don’t want to meet anybody here. I already know a lot of people, and until one of them dies, I couldn’t possibly meet another,” she said as she put on her big dark glasses.

“It’s okay honey. My neighbors are all very nice, but I don’t expect you to talk to them. You just have fun watching videos and coloring with Grandma Matty. I’m going to buy you the biggest box of crayons you ever saw. With double magentas.

As I drove into my garage, Tinkerbelle began scratching at the window. “Grab her leash,” I said as I swung open the car door. Dog and child went flying with Tink choosing one of the pack’s favorite bushes to pee on. Treanna laughed as she scolded her pup, “Naughty dog.”

Poor Matty had that wide-eyed displaced disaster victim look on her face as she stepped from my car. I wished I could offer more comfort but the rest of my super plan hadn’t materialized yet.

Cocoa Weiner, a silky Shih Tzu, and Bentley Goldman, a mini-Maltese, ran into my garage howling like an eight-legged beast. Tinkerbelle barked in response, her shrill voice bouncing off the garage walls. Pop! A manicured hand yanked the intruders’ leashes. The pooches rose in the air and flipped out of sight. I pressed the button and lowered the door.

Treanna clung to me. “It’s okay Tre… they’re friendly.” Terror and trust tangoed in her dark eyes as we carried her small purple backpack into my living room. She plopped down on the floor cuddling Tink.

Chapter 19

T
reanna and I spent the morning building a tent out of sheets and lightweight blankets. When “Fort Tinkerbelle” was complete, I crawled into the tent like a dog, carrying a bag of pretzels in my mouth and a bottle of chocolate milk tucked in my belt. Tre hooted with laughter while Tinkerbelle barked in fear. “It’s me Tink!” I rolled over on the floor trying to convince the dog I wasn’t a monster.

CNN played quietly in the background. The drone of news from London hadn’t changed in days. A record-breaking heat wave had invaded the British Isles. No one was immune. City folks were dying as they sought respite in many of the ancient stone buildings. Air conditioning was rare in the UK and frequently inadequate. Only old, damp structures might provide escape from the heat that continued at over one hundred degrees.

Treanna tapped my arm. “Please turn that off so we can have a private conversation.” She sounded so grown-up it startled me.

I flicked off the set and crawled back into our tent. Matty snored softly on the sofa.

“Here’s what I really want to know.” The child looked up at me, her pupils lit like two iridescent marbles. “What color do you see me as?”

The question was so direct, it caught me off guard. I snuggled next to her and gave her my most honest answer. “I don’t see you as any color.”

A grin spread from her lips to her chubby cheeks. She slipped her little arms around my neck. “Good, because I don’t see you as any color either.” She settled down, resting her head in my lap and waving a pretzel in the air like a tiny wand. “Can I lick off all the salt?”

“Only if you intend to eat it when you’re done.”

“But the salt’s the best part. I’ll give you the pretzel after I clean off the salt.”

“You lick the salt, you eat the pretzel. In every life there comes a time when you have to eat the pretzel, too.” I tickled her under the arm and she squiggled away. “Speaking of pretzels, I have to make a private call. You keep Tink quiet while I’m on the phone.”

She put her hand to her mouth to cover her giggle. “Are you calling a pretzel?”

“It’s very important the pretzel not hear Tinkerbelle barking or you talking. Okay?”

“I’ll read my nursery rhyme book to her until you come back. She flipped to the middle of the book… “Pussy cat, Pussy cat, where have you been?”

I did a double take. Haunted by a friggin’ nursery rhyme.

Scrambling out of Fort Tinkerbelle, I walked into my den. Two rings and I had the skinny hamster on the line. It was time for some little white lies.

“Mr. Smith, I’ve sent Matty and her granddaughter on a vacation.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’ve turned your paperwork over to a fed friend of mine. Now hear me and hear me good. I highly recommend
nothing
happens to Matty’s house while she’s away.”

“But… but…”

“No buts, Mr. Smith. That is if you want to hang onto your butt. You’re being watched,” I fibbed. “Anything happens to the house or to Leon, Matty, or the child, and my fed friend stands ready to take you down. He pulled up your record and he sure didn’t like what he saw. You’ll be feeling his teeth in your neck for the rest of your life if you step out of line. You doubt me? Run my name through Google. See who I hang with and the criminals I’ve run aground or buried at sea.” I was impressed with my ability to bluff using my imaginary fed friend.

I clicked off just in time, as the noise from the tent grew louder.

“I’ve been to London to visit the Queen!” Treanna belted out, with Tinkerbelle howling along with her. “Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you doooo there? I frightened the little mouse under her chair!” She sang at the top of her voice.

London? Queen? I felt like I’d been smacked in the head with a smart stick. A picture was forming, but before it arrived, my phone rang. It was Roger. I hadn’t heard from him since I stormed off three days ago.

“You sitting down?”

Chapter 20

I
sat at the kitchen counter and held my breath.

“Benny’s still missing. I filed a report with the Met. You’ll be called back to England as a material witness in the investigation of his disappearance.”

“That poor dear man! Do you think he’s been murdered?”

“Could be…” Roger’s response came out as a long drawn out sigh. “He does have a dark past that may have caught up with him.”

“Any suspects?”

“You were the last one to see him.”

“I left him with Samuel… sort of.”

“Samuel’s disappeared.”

“It has to be Darcy. You said she was violent. And she knew him.”

“Loopy violent, not murder violent.”

“She’s a professional thief. I’m a respected real estate broker.”

“It’ll look very suspicious if you don’t come back to face the police. Plus… I need your help.”

This sounded familiar. Pacing the kitchen, I thought about the promises I had made to Matty. I had a child in a tent reading to a dog and a snoozing grandmother to help. Now here comes another U-turn into my life, and that U-turn rhymes with duck.

“Come back and help me find the last Lost Boy. My greatest fear is that some regular bloke will trip across it, not know what he has, and stick it on his mantel or in the back of his closet.”

I zeroed in on the nasty Ms. Bone. Not one to nag, I hated myself for repeating, but I did…“It has to be Darcy.”

There was a transatlantic pause. I could feel it hit the back of my throat.

“Darcy’s also missing.”

“Is anybody left in London?”

“Wendy, you’ve got to make yourself available to the police.”

“Am I in danger?”

“You could be. Fly back. I’ll pick you up at Gatwick.”

The concern in Roger’s voice plus the loss he suffered as a child squeezed my heart until it hurt. I caught my reflection in the kitchen window as I spoke, “Okay. Today’s Friday. I’m on responsibility overload at this moment. I’ll be on the Sunday evening Virgin flight arriving Monday morning.”

“How will I know you? It’s been so long. Are you still wearing that angry scowl?”

“Are you still wearing that big-boned blonde? Oh that’s right, you’ve misplaced her.”

“Funny.”

“You’ll know me when you see me. I’m in the middle of the rat race, tap dancing like crazy.”

I hung up feeling dizzy from the emotional high brought on by the idea of returning to broiling London as an investigator, missing person suspect, and possible archaeologist-lover. A little voice in the wee corner of my brain said… if there’s a murder, there’s a killer. I shivered.

Chapter 21

I
needed to make sure my houseguests were taken care of before I left. It was time to run to the grocery and stock up on kid-friendly provisions for Treanna, crunchy stuff to keep Matty awake, and dog food for Tinkerbelle. They’d be safe with the guard on duty as long as they stayed inside or close to the buildings. Mr. Smith and his pet Ox shouldn’t be able to get at them. I prayed I’d scared off Smith for the time being.

“Treanna, I’m running to the store. You take good care of our tent. Anything special you’d like for dinner or breakfast?”

Her eyes lit up at the thought of having a choice of things to eat. She rattled off a selection I knew had to have come from television ads.

“You sit tight. When I get back, we’ll take Tink for a walk.”

I woke Matty, got her list of basic needs and extra treats, and grabbed my purse. I jumped in the car, looking both ways for dogs on strings, then put the vehicle in reverse. I exited the garage waving at the guard as I left our gated compound.

So much to do and so little time. Half my brain was on food supplies and the other half was creating a mental list of lightweight clothing for my return to hot London. What to wear when you’re being interrogated by the cops? Basic black or innocent pastels? I don’t own any pastels.

***

The supermarket was nearly deserted. I was racing so fast with the grocery cart and so deep in thought, I found myself absent-mindedly hitting a non-existent turn signal on the basket. Zipping toward the cereal aisle, I realized I’d forgotten the pet food. I negotiated a sharp U-turn and banged into a wall of steroids, otherwise known as Ox.