Coincidence is known for its long arm, but it would have to be elastic for that man to happen to be at the Casa Loma around the time of my uncle’s disappearance, standing right beside Sean, and now turn up snooping around next door, and for him not to be involved. Was he an associate of Sean’s, and was Betty one of them as well? Sean had been quick to volunteer to talk to her. As I thought it over, it seemed less likely she and Sean could have fallen into each other’s arms so easily with no former acquaintance.
Betty was a friend of my uncle’s. She could have fingered him as a likely buyer for the stolen Strad if they were all working together. Was I nuts? I was fast heading in that direction with so much confusion.
I tried diligently to marshal facts, suspicions and suspects into rows on a piece of paper, but nothing matched. Sean’s sitting on my tail was more than coincidence, but why did he lead me by the nose to discover things he’d be better off without my knowing? And there was still Etherington to consider. Was he Sean? I was suspicious that Sean, who remembered so many details, hadn’t thought to ask what Etherington looked like. An Englishman was the only way Bitwell had described him. Anybody using an English accent would be taken for an Englishman at first acquaintance. Anybody could say he was from Dorset, just like anyone could say he was from North Platte.
I checked the atlas, and North Platte was there on the Platte River, just where Sean said it was. Not that that proved anything except that Sean had an atlas. I decided to phone Dr. Bitwell and get Etherington’s description. It was Sean who had gotten his number, but Bitwell was in the Muskoka directory, and the operator gave me the number.
He hadn’t arrived yet when I first called, but the second time, he answered. “Did you remember to call the police?” I asked him.
“Yes, I did. I gave them the information before I left Toronto. They were very grateful. Have you heard anything?”
I said no, and asked him about Etherington’s appearance.
“Victor didn’t say much about his looks. Only that he was an Englishman. He said he had a moustache, and wore tinted glasses—not sunglasses, but regular glasses with a little tint. He wondered later if they were a disguise, but he didn’t seem to think so at first. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“Wait—don’t hang up. Did he say anything about his size, or what he was wearing, his hair coloring, birthmarks?”
“Nothing like that, except he said the man was well-dressed, I believe. Yes, now I look back on it, he said something about an old school tie sort of English bloke. I don’t know whether he meant it literally about the tie or just meant that type of Englishman.”
A stereotype, a sort of broad caricature, to emphasize the nationality. That’s what Etherington sounded like to me. I thanked Bitwell and hung up. The little swarthy man couldn’t be Etherington. The first thing anyone would have mentioned about him was his size. He didn’t wear a moustache, not that he couldn’t have stuck one on for the occasion, but Sean actually wore one, and he did accents too. He might own a jacket that would lead Victor, the clothes horse, to call him well dressed. He’d kept it off his back if he owned one, but it was possible.
As I considered it, Sean’s whole western persona was rather broadly drawn, more of a caricature than anything else. Easy to describe, like Etherington, and even easier to change. Just pull off the hat and boots and jeans, and cut the twang from his voice. I was sorry I hadn’t stayed on his tail when he stopped at Bay Street. And why on earth was he doing that? This strange mixture of idiocy and wily intelligence baffled me. He should have shaved off the moustache if he was Etherington. And he had led me to discover Etherington himself—curiouser and curiouser.
It wasn’t quite noon yet, but when the phone peeled, I felt a sinking, sad and certain feeling it was Sean. It was a relief to hear Ronald’s voice.
“I’ve just heard from Mom, Cassie,” he said.
“About Dr. Bitwell?”
"Yes, that’s an unexpected turn! A Stradivarius violin. It’s starting to sound like a vulgar melodrama.” The Strathroys would hate vulgar melodrama worse than they hated polyester.
“A stolen Stradivarius at that. Stolen from a neighbor of your sister, isn’t that a coincidence?” I said. “Your mother knows the Contessa Carpani.”
“The strangest thing of all is that Victor didn’t recognize the violin,” he replied. There was a tinge of insinuation in his voice.
“How could he recognize something he’d never seen?”
“That cluster of grapes should have distinguished it. I’m sure Mom must have described the thing to him in detail. However, that’s neither here nor there; I’m not suggesting your uncle is criminally involved. I called to see if you’re free for lunch.”
I had taken offense on my uncle’s behalf, and said very curtly, “I already have plans, thanks anyway.”
“With the American you went to the concert with?” he asked stiffly.
“That’s the one.”
“Have you been seeing a lot of him?” he asked. An edge of jealously was definitely creeping into his voice now, and I gave it a shove.
“Practically all of him.”
“I beg your pardon?” A joke is wasted on the Strathroys, which is one of the things I find off-putting about them.
“A fair bit,” I translated. “He doesn’t know anyone else in town.”
“He didn’t have any trouble picking you up. You’d think he’d have the common courtesy to leave you alone at a time like this.” He was trying to hide his jealousy beneath a veneer of concern, but the rebuke was intended for me all the same. I didn’t even have the excuse of saying the Strathroys had abandoned me. They’d been hounding me incessantly.
“He’s helped me a lot,” was my only defense.
“Helped?” A light, incredulous laugh trailed into my ear. “I wasn't aware you'd accomplished much so far. It’s more likely he’s involved in the whole plot.”
My own suspicions were unacceptable when they came from Ronald. “Don’t be silly. He’s never even met Victor.”
“Well, I don’t like it. I think you should go and stay with Mom for a few days, just till Victor comes back. We don’t know who the guy is. You may be the next one to disappear,” he cautioned. The concern sounded genuine, and the idea that I might suddenly vanish from the face of Toronto wasn’t exactly comforting either.
But still I’d rather live in fear than be locked up behind the stone walls and iron palings of the Strathroy mansion with those two pretentious stone lions snarling at passersby.
“I couldn’t possibly. I have to be here, but thanks for the offer.”
“I’ll drop in after work. We’ll go to the club for dinner. I promise to have you home early.”
I agreed for two reasons. I didn’t intend to see Sean and didn’t much want to be alone, but more importantly, if Victor ended up in a jam because of this stolen violin business, you couldn’t have better friends than the Strathroys. Any judge they weren’t actually related to was bound to be a good friend.
“All right, I’ll see you around five-thirty.”
“Take good care of yourself now. I’ll see you later.”
It was a quarter to twelve, and I decided to give the apartment a lick and a promise because I was too jittery to sit still. I made a couple of phone calls; to Rhoda putting her off until further notice, and to Marjie Klein, my best friend at work. All Marjie wanted to talk about was Victor’s disappearance. I went over the highlights, she commiserated and assured me that nobody could be crazy enough to hurt that doll of a Victor. Of course they couldn’t, I agreed, but when I hung up, I was very worried that they had. I felt a deep, heavy aching in my chest and a panicky desperation to find him.
CHAPTER 12
Ronald’s call increased my doubts about Sean. It was true he’d only befriended me after he knew I was connected with Victor. A little more thinking convinced me he couldn’t be Etherington, though. Victor had looked right at him and smiled at Casa Loma, so he hadn’t recognized him. But Sean was more than a tourist; he knew too much, knew exactly what had happened. He’d led the conversation around to make it seem like logic, or inspiration, but in fact he knew. He couldn’t know if he weren’t a part of it all. Even the police didn’t know, so he had to be on the other side of it. And therefore he knew where Victor was. I wouldn’t let Sean back into the apartment, not when I was alone anyway, but I couldn’t afford to lose track of him, either.
I thought of calling the police, but my ramblings would hardly be considered evidence. It would just take Sean out of commission for a few hours, and alert him that I was on to him. It would be better to follow Sean at a safe distance myself, and to do that, I had to keep in contact with him. That wouldn’t be much trouble when he was at such pains to keep in contact with me. Why?
The answer was right there, staring me in the face. He stayed with me because they hadn’t got the Stradivarius back, and he hoped I would lead them to it. Nothing could be plainer. Keeping the Strad under wraps was important to them until they’d arranged their financial affairs and left. And I, gullible fool, had taken Sean trotting up to Victor’s cottage at Caledon, down to Union Station and all over, sharing my clues with him. He knew from his colleagues that Victor had locked the case at Union Station, and he was hanging around to wait for the key to turn up since it wasn’t on my uncle, and he hadn’t broken down and told them where it was. Sean must have been one disappointed man when the case held my old Adidas! That brought a travesty of a smile to my face.
Sean said he’d call me at noon; it was already five past twelve, and I didn’t know what I’d say when he called. When the phone rang, I took three deep breaths to lower my nervous voice and said, “Hello.”
“Hi. I’ve got to talk to you right away,” Sean said excitedly. Even that struck me as suspicious. It was a sure way to get me to see him, but I wouldn’t let him come up here. “It’s noon—why don’t we meet somewhere for lunch? Where are you?”
“I’m at my hotel. I’ll pick you up.”
“I have to go downtown anyway. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at your hotel—the Delta Inn, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but . . ."
I cut in before he could object. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Order me a cold salad plate, okay?”
“What, are you back on that vegetarian kick? I recommend the barbeque chicken.”
Still playing the hick role to the hilt. “I’ll just have a wing of yours.”
“You’re welcome to grab my wing any time you like. See you.” He sounded exactly as usual.
Rather than waiting around for buses and subway trains, I took a taxi to his hotel. The busy hum of the city at noon hour, the accelerated rhythm of pedestrians and cars was still exciting to me. I’d lost the claustrophobic feeling of being in a glass-lined tunnel, and come to like the hectic, pell-mell dash to catch lights, the zig to avoid the wave of oncoming walkers, the sudden feeling of déjà vu when I caught that doppelganger reflected life-size in a plate glass window pretending she was me.
Sean had cornered a table for us in the full coffee shop. He was sipping coffee and stood up and waved to catch my attention. An involuntary smile lit my face, then froze there as I remembered to distrust his friendly, open smile. The brown puppy eyes were suspect, the overlapped teeth not boyish but deceptive—in a word, crooked.
“That didn’t take you long,” he said when I slid into the seat.
“I splurged and took a taxi. What’s the big news?”
“It’s about the Strathroys. Of course, you already know I followed Eleanor. Her ‘appointment’ was at about a dozen exclusive shops at that little Rodeo Drive North mall near your place.”
“I figured that was why you offered her a lift,” I said noncommittally.
“It was worth a shot, but I don’t see why you bothered to follow me?”
He made it a question, but didn’t seem to notice when I evaded answering. “Ah heck, you spotted me.”
“You weren’t trying to hide from
me,
were you?” he laughed. “I was going to wait for you to catch up to me, but I figured we’d be less conspicuous alone. Those zebra stripes are designed for jungle camouflage, not the city,” he added, looking at my dress. “Nice, but noticeable.”
“I was just curious to see what she was up to,” I said since he’d made that assumption. “But since you had her covered, I dropped out at Ronald’s office.”
A cheery, impatient smile gave advance notice that he had more revelations to come. “That’s just where things got interesting.”
“What happened?” My heart pounded in response to his excitement.
“She only stayed for about five minutes. I imagine it was Ronald she was seeing. I couldn’t decide whether to go on following her or hang around and see what I could learn about Ronald. I was a bit bored with the window shopping, and if they’re behind this scam, Ronald’s a more likely agent than the old lady. I mean a fine gentleman like Ronald,” he said with a grossly ironic look, “wouldn’t let his Momma deal with creeps like Etherington. Besides, she’s the one who let out about their knowing that Contessa in Italy.”
I looked to see if he was joking. When I decided he wasn’t, I closed my mouth, then opened it again and laughed in disbelief. “Oh boy, are you off base! The Strathroys are loaded. A couple of hundred thousand wouldn’t mean a thing to them. Their house alone would be worth a couple of million.”
He shrugged. “Houses have been known to carry mortgages. And you don’t know what I learned at Graymar Trust yet.” His brows lifted in a significant way. “I hung around the switchboard for a minute. I heard a Mr. Stone leaving, telling the receptionist he’d be back at two. I chatted up the girl, a cute little blonde with green eyes,” he added, with an infuriating smile. “I told her I had an appointment with Mr. Stone, but I couldn’t remember the exact time. She asked me what it was about, said maybe one of the other men could help me out.”
I gave a weary sigh. “Does all this eventually have something to do with Victor?”
“It has to do with Sir Ronald. I talked to the blonde between calls. There were a lot of calls for Ronald. Yesiree, I wouldn’t be surprised if your Ronald is in the ejection seat. His boss—you
did
know he’s only a junior partner there?—told him to get his tail into his office. I’d become a rich Texan looking for a safe place to hide a million or so bucks by that time. I offered to get Barbie a coffee to while away her hours at the board. Funny thing is, she knew damned well Stone wouldn’t be back till two, but she didn’t say so.”