"You won't believe this." He gave a nervous laugh. "But then again, maybe you will, seeing as how you're a medium and all." Another deep breath, a show of hesitation, then, "It's the case." He tapped its shiny surface. "Someone or something keeps moving it on me."
"Moving it?"
Jack nodded. "I keep finding it in places where I never put it. I mean that: never put it."
"Perhaps your wife or—"
"I live alone. Don't even have a cleaning lady. But I'm looking for one. You know of anybody? Because I—"
"Please go on."
"Oh, yeah. Well, it kept moving and I kept making excuses, blaming my memory. But Saturday… Saturday really got to me. You see, I'd planned to take it down to a locksmith that day, but when I was ready to leave, I couldn't find the case. I looked everywhere in that apartment. And finally, when the locksmith was closed and it was too late to do anything, I found the damn thing under my bed. Under my bed! Just as if someone had hidden it from me. In fact I know it was hidden from me, and I have a pretty good idea who did it."
"It was your Uncle Matt."
"I think so too."
"No. It was your uncle. He told me."
"You mean to tell me you knew about this all along? Why'd you let me go on so?"
"I needed to know if you were telling me the truth. Now I do. What you say agrees with what your uncle told me."
Yeah, right.
Foster said, "There were a bunch of scratches on the case lock. Looked like this jerk tried to pick it himself. Hit him with that."
Madame Pomerol cleared her throat. "But you left out a few things."
Jack wished he knew how to blush on cue. Probably wouldn't be noticed in this light anyway.
"Such as?"
"How you tried to open the case yourself and failed."
He covered his eyes. "Oh, man. Well, yeah. Tell Uncle Matt I'm sorry about that."
"Also, you believe the case holds valuable coins, and if so, they belong to your brother, yes?"
"Now wait just a minute, there. Uncle Matt left the coin collection to Bill and the house and its contents to me. This here case was part of the contents. So it's rightfully mine."
"Your uncle disagrees. He tells me they are silver coins of little monetary worth."
Jack could feel her eyes on him, looking for some sign that he already knew what the case held. He avoided a quick, negative reaction, but he didn't want to appear too accepting.
"Yeah?" he said, frowning as he hefted the case. "Seems kinda heavy for just silver."
The lady brushed past his doubt. "I know nothing of such things. All I know is that your uncle told me they were of great sentimental value to him. They are the very first coins he collected as a boy."
"No kidding?" Jack was getting an idea of where she might be heading with this.
"Yes, your uncle was hoping to take them along with him when he crossed over, but he could not manage it. That was why they remained in the house."
"Take them into the afterlife? Is that possible?"
She shook her head. "Sadly, no. No money in the afterlife. At least not permanently."
"Can't take it with you, eh? Well, I guess that settles it. I'll just have to give this to Bill."
"Don't let him get away!" Foster cried. "I'm telling you there's a small fortune in that case!"
Jack slapped his hands on the table, picked up the case, and made as if to stand. Wasn't she going to say anything? Was she going to let him walk out with all those rare gold coins? A mook like her? He couldn't believe it.
"One moment, Monsieur Butler. Your uncle wishes me to apport the case to the other side so that he can see them one last time."
"I thought you said that was impossible."
"I can do it, but only for a very short while, then they return."
"All right. Let's get to it."
"I am afraid that is impossible right now. It is a grueling procedure that takes many hours, and for which I must be alone."
"You mean I just give you this case and walk away? I don't think so. Not in this lifetime."
"You do not trust me?"
"Lady, I just met you two days ago."
"I have promised your uncle this favor. I cannot break a promise to the dead."
"Sorry."
Madame Pomerol closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. As they sat in silence on opposite sides of the table, Jack debated whether to ask for some security. He decided against it. Better to let her come up with the idea.
Finally Madame Pomerol raised her head and opened her eyes.
She released a heavy sigh. "This is most unusual. Embarrassing almost. But your uncle thinks—"
"Wait. You were just talking to him?" He didn't ask how she'd managed to do that without all the amplified moaning and groaning.
"Yes, and he says I should provide you with a show of good faith."
Even better! Let the idea come from Uncle Matt.
"I don't think I understand."
"As a show of good faith I will put one thousand dollars in an envelope for you to keep while I apport the case to the other side. When I return the case, you will return the envelope."
"A thousand dollars… I don't think that's enough. What if the case doesn't come back from the other side? Then I'm out everything." He tapped the case. "I'll bet the coins in here are worth a couple-three thousand."
"Twenty-five hundred then, but ask no more, for I do not have it."
Jack made a show of considering this, then nodded. "I guess that'll do."
She rose with an air of wounded pride. "I shall get it."
"I hope you're not mad or anything."
"Your uncle is annoyed with you. And so, I must say, am I."
"Hey, it's not like it's for me, you know. I just feel I've got to look out for my brother's interests. I mean, seeing as how the coins in this thing are his and all."
She walked off into the darkness without another word.
She's good, he thought. Just the right mix of arrogance and hurt. And smooth.
He heard a door shut, then the lady's voice started in his ear.
"Do you believe this shit?" she said. "A thousand ain't enough for that dickhead bastard! Twenty-five hundred fucking dollars! Have we got that much in cash?"
"Let's see," Foster said. "With the cash donations from this morning and his own five hundred, we just make it."
Damn, Jack thought. They were going to give him back his own queer. Oh, well, that had been a risk all along.
"All right, stick it in an envelope for me. I'll make up the dummy." Jack heard rustling paper, then, "I tell you, I'd love to shove this twenty-five hundred right up that geek's ass!"
Carl Foster laughed. "What difference does it make how much he wants? He's not going to walk away with a cent of it."
Madame added her own laugh. "You've got that right!"
That's what you think, my friends.
While apparently adjusting his position in the chair, Jack counted five bills off his pile of queer and shoved them back into his sleeve, leaving twenty-five in his lap.
"It's the principle, Carl. He should have trusted me for a thousand. It's the fucking principle!" More rustling paper, then, "All right. I'm set. Showtime."
With that, the overheads and chandelier came on, flooding the room with light.
What the hell?
Jack glanced down at the pile of bills in his lap. He'd been counting on the semi-darkness of the séance; now he'd have to do his work in full light. This complicated matters—big time.
He leaned forward to cover the bills as Madame Pomerol returned. She carried a white legal-size envelope and a small wooden box. With a great show of noblesse oblige, she tossed the envelope onto the table.
"Here is your good faith. Please count it."
"Hey, no, that's—"
"Please. I insist."
Shrugging, Jack took the envelope and opened it. He noticed it was the security kind with a crisscross pattern printed on
the inner surface to keep anyone from scoping out the contents through the paper.
Now the hard part… made harder by all this damn light… had to play this just right… be cool and casual…
He removed the wad of bills from the envelope and lowered it beneath the level of the table top. As he pretended to count them he felt the muscles along the back of his neck and shoulders tighten. He knew the Fosters had a camera in the chandelier, but he couldn't remember if it was a simple, wide-angle stationary, or a remote-controlled directional. If Carl Foster spotted Jack's switch, he might do something rash. Like shoot him in the back.
Jack decided to risk it. He'd come too far to back down now. And his ear piece would give him a heads-up if Foster got wise.
Keeping close to the table, Jack switched Madame Pomerol's bills with the counterfeits waiting in his lap.
"It's all here," he said as he brought the stack of queer onto the tabletop and shoved it into the envelope.
He listened for comment from Foster, but the husband remained silent. Had he got away with it?
The lady picked up the envelope, took a quick look inside, then ran her tongue over the glued flap.
"Please check to make sure the lock on your case is secure," she said. "For I wish to return it to you in the exact condition that you gave it to me."
Jack bent over the case, pretending to examine the lock, but kept watch on the lady's hands. There! As soon as his head dipped, he saw her switch the cash envelope with another from her billowy sleeve.
One good switch deserves another. But I'm still one ahead.
"Yep," he said, looking up. "Still locked up tight."
"Now," she said as she opened her little wooden box, "I am going to seal the envelope."
She withdrew a purple candle from the box, followed by a book of matches and something that looked like a ring. She struck a match and lit the candle. She dribbled some of the wax onto the back of the envelope, then pressed the ring thing into it.
"There. I have affixed a spirit seal to the envelope. You are not to open it. Only if the case does not return from the other side may you open it. If you break the spirit seal before then, your uncle will punish you."
Jack swallowed hard. "Punish me? How?"
"Most likely he will make the money disappear. But he may do worse." She wagged a finger at him as she pushed the envelope across the table. "So do not open it before you return."
Very clever, Jack thought. She's covering all exits.
"Don't worry. I won't." He put the envelope in his lap, then quickly transferred that plus her twenty-five-hundred dollars to his side coat pocket. "Oh, hey, I got a little business trip tomorrow—overnight to Chicago—so I can't come back till Thursday. Will you have ap-whatevered it by then?"
"Apported. Yes, and I believe it will have returned by then."
You mean, he thought, that you believe you will have been able to replace the gold coins with junk silver by then.
He pushed the case toward her. "Then fire away. And good luck, Uncle Matt, wherever you are."
Jack rose, waved to Madame Pomerol, and headed for the door. "See you Thursday."
He felt laughter bubbling in his throat as he strode through the waiting room and hurried down the hall, but he suppressed it. He didn't want to arouse their suspicions. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator because a load of shit was poised over a windtunnel fan and he wanted to be out of range when it dropped.
"Lock the front door," Madame Pomerol said through Jack's earpiece, "and let's take a look at those coins."
Jack had made it to the lobby when he heard Foster say, "Shit! Something's up with this lock!"
"What's wrong?"
"Like it's jammed."
Good diagnosis, Carl, Jack thought as he waved to the doorman and stepped out onto the street. He'd broken off a pin tip in the lock of the second case.
Instead of hurrying away, Jack loitered on the sidewalk outside. He wanted to hear this.
"Look at that," Foster said. "Wonder how that got in there. No matter, it's out now. Only take me a few seconds to… there. Now, feast your eyes on—oh, shit! Oh, no!"
"Let me—" Madame Pomerol cut herself off with a gasp. "What the fuck? You told me this was packed with gold coins! Are you fucking blind?"
"It was! I swear it was! I don't know what—"
"I do! The shit pulled a switch! He was conning us from the get-go! And you let him in!"
"Me?"
"Yes, you, you needle-dick jerk! You're supposed to screen these assholes!"
"I did! I checked out his address, I called the phone number he gave me."
"Yeah, well, you can bet your sorry ass the Robert Butler at that address ain't the guy we had here today, and the phone you called is not at that address. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
"Hey, let's look on the bright side. He thinks he walked out of here with two-and-a-half large, but all he's got is sliced-up newspaper. And we've still got his five hundred. I wish I could see his face when he opens that envelope. He may have pulled one over on us, but we're the ones that come out ahead."
"You think I give a shit about that? I don't give a rat's ass about five hundred bucks. What I care about is he scammed us. He's out some cash, but as far as I'm concerned, he came out on top. He walked into our place and fucking scammed us—in our own place! Like we were punk amateurs. If word of this gets out we'll never be able to hold our heads up. We look like big fucking jerks."
That's right, Jack thought, plucking out his ear piece as he moved on. But soon you're going to look like even bigger jerks.
He hoped they stayed good and mad, too mad to see the barb still waiting at the end of Jack's sting.
He pumped his fist as he danced across the street. This was sweet, and going to get sweeter.
9
Gia awoke from a dream about blue eyes.
She yawned and stretched in the big leather recliner where she and Jack would often snuggle together and watch one of his weird movies.
She yawned again. She never napped. She'd sat down and closed her eyes, just for a minute, and suddenly it was forty minutes later. Maybe it was the pregnancy, combined with being up late with Jack last night. She remembered being very tired carrying Vicky.
Whatever the reason, the nap hadn't refreshed her. Images of the blond child from yesterday had filled her sleep, her sad, lonely blue eyes calling to Gia, beseeching her…
For what? Why couldn't she get that little girl out of her head?
The pregnancy again. Sure, blame everything on the hormonal shifts. Being alone in the house on a summer day with no prospect of seeing Vicky till the end of the week didn't help either.
Gia pushed herself up from the chair and grabbed her purse. She didn't want to stay in the house. As soon as she stepped out into the warm humid afternoon she knew where she wanted to go.
She'd never liked the subway—the closed-in feeling of the dark tunnels made her edgy—but today it seemed to be the way to go. A quick walk over to Lexington took her to the Fifty-ninth Street station which she knew to be a stop for the N and R trains, known citywide as the "Never" and the "Rarely." She wasn't familiar with the Brooklyn and Queens lines, but the map by the token booth showed her that the N would take her right to the heart of Astoria.
She was just ahead of rush hour and her car was nearly full; the rocking made her queasy until the tracks broke free of the tunnel and into the air. She sighed with relief as sunlight filtered through the spiderweb-fine graffiti scratches on the windows.
The elevated tracks ended at her stop, Ditmars Boulevard. She stepped out of the car and headed for the stairs down to street level. She had a pretty good idea of Menelaus Manor's location in relation to Ditmars. She'd have to orient herself once she reached—
"Gia?"
She jumped at the sound of her name. When she turned she saw a man with long red hair and a mustache approaching her. For an instant she didn't recognize him, then—
"Jack?"
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"Gia, what are you doing here?"
His heels beat a staccato rhythm as he strode toward her along the platform. Were those cowboy boots?
He leaned in to kiss her but she held up a hand. "Without the mustache, please?"
He smiled. "Oh, yeah."
He peeled it off and they kissed.
He kept his hands on her waist and looked into her eyes. "You're the last person I expected to see here. What's up?"
"I'm not sure," she said.
She felt off balance. What had she been thinking, anyway? That she'd just knock on the Kentons' door and ask if they had any little blond girls wandering around their house today? She hadn't thought this through. She'd been operating on impulse and that wasn't like her.
"It's that little girl you saw, isn't it?"
She stared at him. "How on earth did you know?"
"You've mentioned her a number of times since yesterday. She seems to be stuck in your head."
"She is. I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking about her. Maybe if she hadn't disappeared and we'd spoken to her, it would be different. But now, the way it is… she's a mystery."
"Not one we're likely to solve. And maybe not something you should be worrying about and traveling to Astoria for. I mean, you being pregnant and all."
"Jack, it's just half a dozen stops from home."
"Yeah, but subways are full of people, some of them sick. I don't want you catching anything."
"You never seemed to worry about that before I was pregnant."
"I did, but now I'm twice as worried, if you know what I mean."
She was touched by his concern for her and the baby, but he was going a bit overboard.
She sighed. "I just wanted to have another look, I guess."
"Well, since I'm on my way to see Lyle and Charlie myself—" he offered her his arm with exaggerated courtliness—"I shall be delighted to escort you there."
Gia batted her eyes and got into the game. "That's very kind of you, sir, but I sorely fear for my reputation if I'm seen walking with a man with that sort of haircut. I might never again be able to hold up my head in polite society."
"A new haircut? Say the word, madam, and it is done."
With a flourish Jack pulled off that hideous wig and shoved it into the pocket of his equally hideous sport coat. She combed her fingers through his tousled hair to straighten it.