The Infamous Frankie Lorde 1, page 11
“And you are?” he asked.
I reached across my chest, pulled at the patch with our fake company logo on it, and pointed to the name stitched in black lettering underneath it.
“Time After Time?” the guy asked, with an unimpressed sound to his voice.
I wanted to say, Well, let’s see if you can come up with something better on such short notice, but I kept my mouth shut as he ran his finger down the list.
“Sorry, don’t have you on here,” he said finally.
I’d expected this, since we had not, in fact, been added to any list allowing us entry to the house.
Ollie had no idea how I’d planned to gain entry to the estate, and as he watched the exchange, I began to feel his eyes boring into me. It took everything in me not to shoot him a look, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention to him than he was already drawing to himself.
“Are you sure? How about under the name Val? That’s me. Or maybe my boss, Bob? He’s the one who set this whole thing up. Apparently, he thinks it would be a good idea to do this job pro bono, since Mr. Miles is a celebrity or something? That means free. Not that the guy can’t afford it…”
I muttered this last bit like I was a slightly disgruntled employee who would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else than cleaning some dumb expensive watches at some billionaire’s house.
The security guard, whose name tag read PHIL, sighed and scanned his list again. When he got to the bottom, he shook his head. “Nope. No Val. No Bob.”
“Can you just call your boss? I’m sure it’s just a mistake or something,” I said. “Please? It’s just that we’re all the way out here already and if we go back to work without doing this, we’ll just get yelled at and sent back another day. And then we’ll have to bother you again. Just call him and see what he says?”
The security guard gave me a look that said calling his boss was the last thing he wanted to do, but I could also tell I was beginning to fully annoy him, and my ability to annoy seemed to win out.
He picked up his walkie-talkie and mumbled into it.
“Hey, it’s me. The boss there?” he asked, just loudly enough for us to hear. “Yeah, so I got these guys from a company called Time After Time, that say he won some sort of free watch cleaning? They say their boss worked out the details? Yeah. It’s free. Okay. Yeah. Yeah, bye.”
The guard replaced his black walkie-talkie in its holder at his shoulder and went back to his booth. When he emerged, he walked over to Ollie and me and clipped VISITOR badges on our uniforms.
“Wait here,” he said gruffly. “Someone’s coming from the main house to drive you up and get you settled.”
“Super,” I said, matching his enthusiasm.
The guard opened up the gate and then went back into his booth, where he unceremoniously closed the door on us.
“What just happened?” Ollie asked in a whisper as soon as we were sure the guard couldn’t hear us.
“I got us in,” I said.
“But how did you know that would work?” he asked, looking both relieved and impressed at the same time.
“Something you need to know about rich people is that for all the money they have, they really love free stuff,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense, I know. Then again, half the stuff they do doesn’t make any sense. But it’s true. If it’s free, they can’t say no.”
Ollie just shook his head in disbelief.
As if out of nowhere, a golf cart suddenly appeared behind the large fence and came to a stop in the middle of the driveway. I had to squint in the sunlight to see who was behind the wheel but could just make out another muscly man, dressed in the same style of uniform as the guy in the booth. This one didn’t have to cross his arms to make his muscles bulge out like a WWE champion. They just seemed to do it naturally. I wondered if Christian Miles found all his security detail at the same fitness gym.
“Come with me,” the guy said, all seriousness and frowns.
It dawned on me then that the very large guard looked sort of funny sitting there in his tiny golf cart, and I had to hold back a giggle. It reminded me of a clown car; that much man just didn’t quite fit into the vehicle he was driving.
Somehow I managed to hold it together and turned to Ollie to make sure he was following me.
That’s when I saw that Ollie was having a tougher time keeping a straight face than I was. He looked one hundred percent freaked out. Like he was going to pass out any minute. So once we were seated in the backseat of the cart, I leaned toward him and gripped his leg firmly.
“Breathe,” I reminded him, barely above a whisper.
I saw his chest begin to rise and fall at a slightly less hurried pace than before and finally let go of his leg. I took in the scenery as we made our way up the long, tree-lined driveway that led to Christian Miles’s multimillion-dollar property.
It was much cooler under the cover of the trees than it had been out on the street, and I welcomed the breeze that blew across my overheated face and body. Luckily, I’d pinned the wig well enough that it didn’t move an inch as we sped along, and the glasses kept the wind out of my eyes.
The air was quiet, like we were the only people for miles. The only things I could hear were the hum of the cart and its tires on the pavement and maybe the occasional bird chirping as we drove along.
I could see why Miles had paid an arm and a leg to live here. It was beyond peaceful.
And just as I’d gotten used to the peace and quiet, the trees suddenly opened up into a clearing that showcased a circular driveway and an enormous house looming behind it.
“Whoa,” Ollie said under his breath as we drove up to the three-story structure that Christian Miles called home.
Entry Twenty-Four
If I hadn’t been ready for it, I might’ve echoed Ollie’s sentiment. But I’d done some research online before arriving and had seen dozens of pictures from an old posting of the house on a real estate website.
Still, nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing the house in all its grandeur, up close and in person.
Looking up at it from the cart was an intimidating experience. Miles Manor—as the plaque near the door read—was covered in gray stone and adorned with old-looking lanterns and gargoyles that peeked out over the edges of its roof. Ivy clung to the structure in places, giving it a slightly enchanted feeling. It sort of resembled an old castle, but with all the modern amenities expected of someone with wealth.
Two cars were parked outside in the sun. One I recognized as a Tesla; the other was a metallic-purple sports car. Both looked like they’d been brought out as decoration for guests who might stop by on a whim. Considering the guy had a garage full of them, it didn’t surprise me that he might want to keep a few on display.
“Mr. Miles’s house assistant will meet you inside to take you to the watches,” the golf cart driver said, cutting into my thoughts and gesturing for us to vacate the vehicle and head toward the front door.
“Uh, sure,” I said, regaining my voice. “Thanks.”
I got out but quickly noticed that Ollie wasn’t moving. He was still just staring up at the house.
“Um, Stu?” I said, using Ollie’s cover name and hoping he’d remember it. When he didn’t respond, I said it more loudly. “Stu! Move it.”
I looked over at the security officer and made a face at him. “Sorry. He’s new.”
The security guy gave me a look that said he either understood or, more likely, didn’t care.
I reached into the cart and practically pulled Ollie out of it. After stumbling a bit, he followed me to the door.
When we got there, I leaned in and rang the doorbell. I could hear the chime echo throughout the many rooms inside and cringed as I thought about how many people’s days had just been interrupted.
Because no way did a house like this not have staff.
Seconds later, the door swung open and a round woman with bright pink cheeks peeked out at us.
“Well, hello,” she said in the gentlest of voices. “I’m Mrs. Bailey. And you two are here about Master Miles’s watches?”
Of course he would have his servants call him Master.
I disliked him a little more with every piece of information I learned about him.
I smiled at the woman in front of us and tried to tone down my disaffected youth persona, because she didn’t deserve it. I was sure she got enough attitude from her employer.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said politely, while still using the voice I’d created for Val. “If you can just point us in the right direction, we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Certainly,” the older woman said, and stepped back to let us in.
Walking into Miles’s foyer was like walking into another world. The entranceway could only be described as grand and was roughly the same size as the first floor of Uncle Scotty’s house. There was a large round marble table in the center of the open space, which held the biggest centerpiece of flowers I’d ever seen, and the floors gleamed white and gold as the sunlight shone in through windows above us.
Beyond that were two sweeping staircases that started on opposites sides of the house but curved around and met in the middle at the second story. Beneath them was an opening that gave a clear view of an even larger room beyond it, with floor-to-ceiling crystal-clear windows. This was no doubt to showcase the incredible view of the backyard, which included an infinity pool, a rectangular pond at least two hundred feet long flanked by cobblestone walkways, several gardens, a tennis court, and a small concrete patch off in the distance that I recognized as a helicopter landing pad.
It was the epitome of luxury, and I knew from experience that the rest of the house would be just as impressive. Still, it wasn’t my first time being in a house of this size, so the shock of it all wore off pretty quickly.
I held up my bag as a gesture that we were ready to get started and said to Mrs. Bailey, “Lead the way.”
And lead she did. Up the stairs and through a labyrinth of hallways until we reached the end of one wing of the house, which turned out to be where Christian Miles’s bedroom was. Mrs. Bailey pushed open the heavy double doors with little difficulty and then marched through the room and almost immediately into another adjoining room that was nearly as big.
That room turned out to be his closet.
It wasn’t a normal closet, though. It was more like a small department store. Every available space was filled up with suits, button-downs, shoes, hats, and ties. Clothes were either displayed on silk-covered hangers or folded neatly on designated shelves.
The lighting inside had obviously been professionally done, spotlighting each section like a runway, and there was a triple-sided mirror at the end of the room to give Mr. Miles a 360-degree look at each outfit he tried on.
There was definitely no shabby dressing room effect in here. Only the best kind of perfection that money could pay for.
Mrs. Bailey walked over to a far set of drawers and pulled each one out one by one, displaying her boss’s extensive collection of high-end watches.
As I ventured closer, I could see that each watch had its own space in a drawer, along with a gold placard describing the piece, the date Miles had gotten it, and its estimated worth. It was obnoxious, but I could at least appreciate the fact that he treated the possessions he collected with some sort of pride and respect. They weren’t just bought to be tossed into a drawer somewhere. He actually cared about them.
And of course, this made me want to steal them from him. Because, well, it seemed like the Karmic thing to do.
“There you go,” Mrs. Bailey said when she was finished pulling each drawer out for us. “I’ve disarmed the alarm so you can take them out of their places to clean them, and I’ll check back in with you when you’re done to make sure everything’s where Master Miles likes it to be. Do you need anything before I take leave?”
“Do you have any—” Ollie began.
“No thanks. We’re good,” I said quickly, cutting him off and giving Mrs. Bailey an appreciative smile.
“Okay,” she said, and began to walk away. “Well, give me a ring if you need anything.”
She pointed to a button on the wall that appeared to be connected to an intercom.
“Thanks,” I said, turning back to my bag and beginning to take out cleaning equipment. “We will.”
As soon as she’d gone, I turned to look at Ollie, who was pouting in the corner.
“Rude” was all he said to me.
“If you ask for something, she comes back,” I said bluntly. “Do you want her to come back or do you want to do what we came here to do?”
After a few moments, Ollie grumbled, “Fine.”
“Okay,” I said. “Good. Now, I’m going to start by looking around in the bedroom for anything that might resemble a hidden vault or safe or somewhere Miles might be stashing his more valuable stuff. Once I finish that, I’ll head out to the other rooms of the house. I saw cameras around the whole estate—inside and outside—so I’m going to have to scramble them so no one finds out what we’re really doing.”
“And what should I do?” Ollie asked, looking at me eagerly for his assignment.
“You stay here and clean the watches,” I said.
Ollie’s face dropped.
“Are you serious?” he asked me. “We’re really gonna clean them? All of them?”
“Look, we can’t chance blowing our cover, and our slogan is ‘Satisfaction Guaranteed,’ after all,” I said, holding in the slight bit of glee I was feeling. “Or you can be the one slinking around the house, trying not to get caught stealing from a billionaire. Either way. Be my guest.”
We both knew there was really no choice there, and I waited for Ollie to accept it before going ahead with my original plan. Finally he huffed at me as he snatched the bag of cleaning equipment from the chaise lounge I’d set it on and turned his back.
“Fine. Whatever,” he said miserably. “But I’m only giving it, like, seventy-five percent. I’m not giving it my all.”
“Do what you’ve gotta do, Stu,” I said before waving my fingers at him and heading out the door.
Entry Twenty-Five
Most people don’t keep surveillance cameras in their bedrooms. Hidden cameras for their own personal use, maybe. But cameras that some security guy is going to be watching 24/7? Not so much. People are usually willing to give up a certain amount of privacy in their home for their safety to be guaranteed, but rarely will they give up all of it.
And from what I’d gathered about Christian Miles, he was the kind of guy who had secrets he wanted to keep hidden.
A quick glance around his bedroom proved my theory right, as there were no cameras to be seen.
So I got to work. I started by studying the walls. I looked for cracks or openings that could indicate there was something other than basic drywall there. I felt along the smooth wallpaper and knocked lightly in places to see if I could hear the familiar echo of an empty room on the other side. I pulled paintings and decorations away from their hanging spots to check behind them for safes or secret spaces or keys that would lead to treasures hidden somewhere else.
I looked under his bed, in between his mattresses, in the backs of his bedside tables. I riffled through the stack of books that had been strategically placed on a table-top near the lounge chair in the corner, just in case one of them was hollowed out and held something valuable within its pages.
There was nothing.
Well, nothing that was valuable enough for me to steal.
Which meant those valuable items were hidden somewhere else on the property.
“Hey, I’m heading out to look around,” I said to Ollie, popping my head around the corner of the closet door and startling him.
“Geez!” he said, bending down to pick up the watch he’d just dropped. “They should make you wear a bell.”
“Now that would be a challenge,” I said, nodding. “But I wasn’t even trying to be quiet there. So keep an ear out here while you’re in there. It’ll be helpful for you to know if Mrs. Bailey is coming back. That way you’re not caught off guard when she asks you where I am.”
“What should I say if she does?” he asked, suddenly looking worried.
“Tell her I’m in the loo,” I said. “She’s not going to go in and see if you’re telling the truth, and it’ll give you time to get her to leave.”
“Okay, but what if—” Ollie began again before I cut him off.
“You’ve done improv, right?” I asked him quickly.
“Sure,” he said, his face going blank. “It’s one of my specialties.”
“Then just improv your butt off,” I said. I gave him a big thumbs-up. “You’ll do great, Ollie. I know you will.”
Ollie’s chest puffed up a little at the compliment and he went back to polishing the watch in his hands.
I took this as my opportunity to leave and ran lightly across the floor to the double doors, which Mrs. Bailey had closed behind her earlier. Pulling them open a few inches, I glanced out to survey the immediate area.
Nobody was in the hallway as far as I could see, and there were only two cameras visible—one directly across from the bedroom door I was currently peeking out of, and the other at the end of the hallway. More specifically, the exact direction I wanted to go in to search the rest of the house.
Slipping back inside the bedroom, I pulled at the snaps on my jumpsuit until they sprang open like those rip-away pants basketball players wear. The only difference was that the lining of my uniform held all the tools I needed to move through any place undetected.
I pulled a small black rectangular object out of its hiding place near my armpit. It looked a lot like the walkie-talkie the gate guard had used earlier. Only, this one had three antennas sticking out of the top and was definitely not a walkie-talkie. This was a scrambler. One that could wirelessly disable any surveillance camera within twenty feet of it.
