Deadly Traditions, page 34
“Hmm. That is strange. Uncle Bob would know all the pieces Uncle Ralph has.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well,” Char began. “Uncle Bob was the one who got Uncle Ralph into antiques in the first place. He has his own shop in the Midlands, and I think Uncle Ralph gave him the money to get started.”
“You should write that down, too.”
She dutifully put pen to paper again. “I wish Adrian was here.”
Adrian was Char’s new boyfriend, who happened to be a cop.
“No way!” I protested. “Nancy and Trixie ride again, wrapping up the case in time for dinner,” I said to remind her about how we used to play Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew when we were little, solving all the neighborhood mysteries. “Now that we know Ralph is fine, the real police would only get in the way.”
“I just can’t believe Uncle Ralph is really Barbie’s father. Do you think that’s why he said she could have whatever she wanted? To make up for not raising her?”
“Maybe,” I said. “People do a lot because of guilt.”
Char shook her head and wrote some more.
“There's something else I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
She sat up straighter, pen at the ready.
“When I was downstairs with Jackie, we went into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She told me to choose a flavor from the pantry, but when I went in, I found someone had knocked the tea boxes over. And on the floor was a mortar and pestle with some bits of white powder.”
Char stared at me, pen still poised.
“You know, like the white powder that was around Ralph’s mouth?”
Realization dawned for her. “Oh! Do you know what the white powder was?”
“No,” I sighed. “Jackie was waiting for me, and I didn’t want to mention it in case…”
“In case she had something to do with it.” Char finished for me. “But if she did, surely she wouldn’t have sent you in there to find the evidence.”
“Unless she wanted to look innocent. Or she hadn’t realized everything had fallen over.”
“Good point.” Char made more entries in the notebook.
“Now that everyone’s in bed, we should go down and have a look.”
I hopped up. D’Artagnan yawned and stretched, then walked around in a circle before settling back in position.
Char and I crept along the hall and were about to head down the stairs when Ralph startled us on his way up, holding a mug.
“All right, Uncle Ralph?” Char said nervously.
“Oh, fine, fine,” he said. “Came down to get a cup of Smooth and Steady tea, and there it was, waiting for me—a little cold, but nothing a turn in the microwave couldn’t fix. Jackie takes such good care of me.”
“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” I cautioned. “After what happened?”
“And what happened, my dear? Just an old man with too much Christmas cheer. Now, did you ladies need something?”
Carlo, dressed only in boxers, appeared in his doorway. He flexed his abs. “Have the signorinas received the fright in the night?”
I pursed my lips to stifle a smile. “No, grazie, Carlo. Just getting a cup of tea.”
“Bene. If you need, my room is here, anytime.”
Ralph considered Carlo as if he’d just smelled something stinky.
“Okay. Thank you,” I said to Carlo in a serious tone that I hoped masked my amusement.
“Night, Uncle Ralph,” Char said, giving the old man a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“You’re a good girl, Charlotte.” He smiled at her. “Don’t stay up too late, now.”
Char and I made our way downstairs, the soft glow of the elegant table lamps down on the entry table below guiding our path.
When we got to the kitchen, the first thing I noticed was the absence of the tea I’d left earlier. Maybe that was the cold tea Ralph had found and assumed was his. I made a beeline for the pantry door, flung it open, then flicked the light on. To my dismay, the tea boxes were all in their proper order, and the mortar and pestle were clean and back on a shelf next to the microwave. Did the person who left it come back to cover his or her tracks? Or had someone stumbled upon the mess and just cleaned it up?
I let out a deep breath. “Well, that was a dead end.”
“Cup of tea since we’re down?” Char offered.
“Might as well.”
This time I chose a festive cinnamon apple blend that, when I lifted the bag to my nose, enveloped me in a comforting Christmas hug. While Char boiled the kettle, I sat at the table and poured over the notes of what we knew so far. Char had written the names of everyone in the house, but there wasn’t much about Ralph’s man, Carlo.
“So, that Carlo… What's his deal? He definitely lives up to the stereotype.” I grinned as Char brought our mugs to the table. Mine was deep blue with a logo of a bubbling test tube and the words Her Majesty’s Pharma Consortium stamped on the side in gold. “Huh,” I said, lifting the mug to my lips. “Her Majesty’s Pharma Consortium. Sounds fancy.”
“Must be Uncle Ralph’s. He was a scientist. Made his money in pharmaceuticals before going into antiques with Uncle Bob.”
“What kind of pharmaceuticals?”
“Not sure. Experimental. Cancer? Tumors?” Char shrugged. “Whatever it was, my grandfather said his brother made a whole lot of money and then ran off to the continent. Only he didn’t say, ran, if you know what I mean.”
I did.
Char continued. “Granddad said Uncle Ralph was a lucky so-and-so who left just before his company went under. Said he was terribly good at not being the last one holding the bag.” She propped her head up and yawned widely. “Anyway, it was all a long time ago, and I’m quite ready for Bedfordshire if you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not.” I smiled at her. “Sorry for keeping you up. I should probably try to sleep now, too.”
We put our mugs in the dishwasher, then headed up to our rooms.
Sliding into bed, I hit a nice warm patch next to D’Artagnan, who had burrowed under the covers and was snoring softly. All set to read before turning the lights out, I reached for my Poor Relation book. But the minute I found my place, a thought struck me. What if what was going on here at La Casetta was just like the story? What if Char’s relatives had been descending on her uncle every few months to grab an item or two they thought wouldn’t be missed so they could sell them to stay afloat back in England? Bob was in the antiques business, after all. But why would he take pieces earmarked for Barbie’s inheritance? I’d only been around a day, but that didn’t feel like Bob’s style.
D’Artagnan crept up to nestle against my ribs, his little pink nose poking out from under the covers. I turned over to run a hand along the length of his fluffy side as the unanswered questions surfaced. The remnant of a howling wind found its way through a crack between the window and the sill, rustling the curtains. My bedside lamp flickered. It all would've been deliciously atmospheric if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with the feeling I was on the cusp of some sort of discovery.
Turning back to my phone, I searched for Her Majesty’s Pharma Consortium. I found several articles about a lawsuit from the 1990s and a photo of a much younger Ralph. The caption surprised me though.
Another Day in Court for Robert Hinley.
That wasn’t Ralph in the photo. It was Bob. If Ralph took his money and ran, leaving Bob to clean up, Bob would definitely have reason to hold a grudge. Two reasons, actually, considering the whole question of Barbie’s paternity.
“Golly,” I whispered. What had I gotten myself into this Christmas? Ralph seemed like a nice old man, but maybe he was really awful. Bob acted like he was relaxed and always trying to keep everyone calm, but maybe he was a seething volcano ready to erupt. Where did Jackie fit in? And Carlo? Was Jackie as lovely and warm and devoted to Ralph as she made out to be? But then there was definitely something smoldering between Carlo and her. Wasn’t there? And if so, why did she stay? Why didn’t she and Carlo just run off and be together?
Then there were the threatening notes Jackie and Barbie had received. Both of them had their names spelled incorrectly, as did I on my Christmas stocking. I knew Barbie was the one who embroidered my stocking and spelled my name wrong. Was she the one who wrote the notes, too? But why? Speaking of Barbie and Jackie, was it mere coincidence that Jackie was here after running into her old classmate in London earlier this year? And what about what happened to Ralph tonight? Did he really drink himself unconscious? He had powder on his face. Were there more nefarious forces at work trying to implicate me by using my cookies as a vehicle to put him out? Rude!
I noticed my foot had started jiggling in slight frustration. I felt so close to answers, but not close enough.
As I stared up at the wooden beams on the ceiling, my lids grew heavy. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed twice, and D’Artagnan stretched out a paw until it rested on my cheek. I sighed. I had to admit to myself there wasn’t much more I could discover until morning, and at times like these, it was best to let my brain take over while I slept.
Chapter 4
Four hours later, I became aware of a weight on my chest. I opened my eyes to find D’Artagnan staring down at me, his whiskers tickling my cheek as he sniffed around my nose. When he discerned I was awake, he jumped down and pawed the door. A vibrating tail signaled to me that this was probably his breakfast time. But it was a crunch, crunch, crunch sound that drove me to the window first.
I pulled the curtain aside ever so slightly. Someone was making tracks in the freshly fallen snow toward an outbuilding, holding a box. The dark, cobalt blue of the pre-dawn winter morning made it hard to get a proper view, but it was definitely a man. He didn’t have the limp of someone who needed a cane, so it wasn’t Ralph. And he didn’t have a youthful swagger, so it wasn’t Carlo. That left Bob.
What was Bob doing up this early? And what was in the box?
The house was still dark as I followed D’Artagnan down the hall, but voices coming from Carlo’s room stopped me in my tracks. I positioned my ear near the door and heard another British man I didn’t recognize say, “I expect this has gone far enough, don’t you? Someone might actually get hurt.”
“Nonsense! It’s the only way to… them out.”
Rush them out? Flush them out? I couldn’t hear the word, but it sort of sounded like Ralph. Who was the other man? It couldn’t be Bob if Bob was outside. Or was he?
I bit the corner of my lip as I leaned in more closely. No, I was certain I’d seen Bob through the window. So, who was in this room with Ralph then?
“What was that?” the other man said as the wooden floor creaked beneath me. I gingerly stepped backward, then hurried to the kitchen.
Someone had tidied up, and my elegant Ginger Luxe box peeked out from the recycling. Luckily, it was on top and easy to rescue. If they hadn’t planned on keeping it, it was only fair to take it back and reuse it myself. As I lifted the pink and gold cookie carrier, another bit of shiny cardboard caught my eye. It was a box for prescription sleeping pills with Ralph’s name on it. I immediately had a picture in my mind of the mortar and pestle, and my intuition said this was the white powder around Ralph’s mouth. Someone had to have laced my cookies with crushed up sleeping tablets to knock him out.
Or worse.
I fished the little box out of the recycling bin and shoved it into my bathrobe pocket just as I heard someone come up behind me. I wheeled around.
Barbie.
I blurted, “Sorry. D’Artagnan was hungry, but I didn’t know what to give him.”
“What have you got there?” she asked, nodding to my bathrobe pocket.
“Nothing?” I answered, but it came out more like a question.
“Then you won’t mind showing me.”
Barbie was smiling, but there was something menacing there, too. I pulled the empty prescription box out and held it up.
“I knew it was you all along,” Barbie said slowly, her voice dripping with venom.
“What are you talking about? I just found this in the recycling.”
“You tried to poison him!” Barbie cried. “Was Charlotte behind this? Was she too weak to do away with him, so she invited her henchwoman over for Christmas to do it? What did he promise her, hmm? How much is he leaving her!?”
If I wasn’t so shocked, I would’ve laughed at being referred to as a henchwoman.
Barbie’s voice was shrill and thankfully brought several pairs of feet pounding down the stairs before she became really unhinged.
Jackie was first on the scene as D’Artagnan bolted out of the kitchen. “What’s happening?”
She was followed by the rest of the household, save for Bob who rushed in through the side door brushing a bit of snow out of his thin hair. So it was Bob I’d seen from my bedroom window.
He hurried to Barbie’s side. “I heard yelling. What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Ralph answered.
“It was her!” Barbie wailed in Ralph’s direction, pointing a bony finger at me. “She tried to poison you last night. No doubt she and Charlotte cooked it all up together.”
“Me?” Char gasped.
Barbie tore the pill packet out of my hand. “See? When I came downstairs, I caught her trying to hide evidence!”
“You have officially lost it, Barbie,” Jackie said, staring at the woman in disbelief.
“Now, wait a moment!” Bob shot back at Jackie as he put a protective arm around Barbie’s shoulders. “There’s no need for that. I know we had an agreement, but I draw the line at bullying my Barbie.”
Every head swiveled toward Bob.
“Agreement?” Ralph asked, glancing sideways at Carlo. “What agreement could you have with my fiancée, Bob?”
Bob was a deer caught in the headlights. Jackie’s eyes were wide as saucers. Nobody said a word, allowing the tension to build until neither Bob nor Jackie seemed to be able to stand it anymore.
His shoulders drooped as he caved. “All right!”
“Bob, no!” Jackie said.
Like a tennis match, all heads turned to Jackie.
“Does this have anything to do with the box you were carrying to a back building earlier?” I asked Bob.
“What box?” Barbie sniffed.
I remembered the plot of the Poor Relation book I’d been reading and took a chance. “Char told me Bob has been visiting more and more often. My guess is he’s been helping himself to a few items each time he comes, assuming nobody would miss them.”
“Well, that’s just not true!” Barbie shot back. “I was here twice in autumn, and he hadn’t been since summer. My grandparents’ clock disappeared in between my visits.”
“Maybe he had help.” I turned to Jackie. “From you?”
“What… what do you mean?” Jackie stammered.
“It would only be fair since you and your family lost so much when your father became ill…” Here goes nothing. I softened my voice. “He did die from taking Ralph’s experimental drug, didn’t he?” Jackie’s breath caught as I turned to Bob. “And you were left to face the music when Ralph took off with the company money and moved to Italy. A few pilfered pieces here and there would hardly make up for it, but at least it was something.”
Jackie appeared resigned as her lip trembled. “I had to leave school, give up my dreams. I thought it was a sign when I ran into Barbie in London and she bragged about coming to Miele di Rosa to visit her rich, single old uncle, Ralph Hinley.”
“Uncle!” Bob scoffed.
“How could you?” Barbie howled at Bob. “You were stealing from me!”
“I did it for you, love!” Bob objected. “He left me with nothing but a pittance to buy a failing little shop, and then was here promising you the world. Your mum passed, and I didn’t want to lose you, too. I wanted to have something to give you. Yes, I sold the pieces, but I saved the money for you.”
Barbie brightened at that last statement.
What a piece of work.
“You told me the money was being held up because you couldn’t find a buyer!” Jackie shouted.
“Oh, you haven’t done too badly for yourself, love,” Bob countered. “Living la dolce vita over here…”
Char appeared completely flabbergasted as she watched her bickering relatives, and I offered what I hoped was an apologetic smile.
Ralph sighed heavily. “I had a feeling you had something to do with this, Jackie.”
“So you were just pretending not to notice the missing items, Uncle Ralph?” Char asked.
“I was. And I didn’t want to believe it of Jackie, but I had to be sure.” He addressed her then. “So, it was all a lie.”
“Not all of it.” Jackie’s tears flowed freely, but she turned away from Ralph to face his butler. “I truly do care for you, Carlo, and I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was.”
“Oh, you’re not the only one, Jackie.” I turned to Carlo, too. “I have to say, the Italian act was very entertaining, but who are you really?”
He put a hand to his heart. “But signorina, I swear to you—”
“Come on,” I interrupted. “I just heard you and Ralph talking upstairs. I know you’re not Italian.”
He froze for an instant, then shrugged at Ralph.
“Fine,” Ralph began. “When I began to notice items missing earlier this year, I hired a private detective to pose as my butler. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…”
“Charles Phillips.” Carlo, or Charles, introduced himself with a crisp English accent.
“That explains the caricature performance,” I muttered.
Charles gave the impression of genuine hurt.
Jackie glowered at him. “So, you pretended to fall for me in order to… to what? Trap me?”
“Let’s not forget, you were essentially stepping out on me, old girl,” Ralph reminded her.
“Guess the wedding’s off, then,” Barbie announced with an air of triumph.
“Yes, it is. You win!” Jackie said through gritted teeth, ripping the ring off and tossing it. It landed on the floor several feet away and Barbie scrambled to retrieve it.
