Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (25 page)

Kingsley-Smythe’s reaction is totally unexpected. He
reaches across the table and gently pats my arm. “I’m so sorry. How
sad for you.”

He lowers his eyes and lets out a long breath. “I
hadn’t counted on this.”

He rises, slowly walks toward the stairs and turns.
“I’ll need time to consider the consequences of what occurred
today. You now know who I am. Larry seems to have turned on me. And
another trip to the bank could be dangerous.”

He gives me a halfhearted salute and disappears up
the stairs.

After the bolt snaps, I look around the room. The
bed with the wrought iron headboard beckons, but there’s no way I’m
sleeping in the same bed where two women met their deaths.

I move the lamp off the table and begin a search of
the general area where the door to the backyard might be.

I pat down the material. Nothing. Next, I lie back,
press my feet against the wall and push with every ounce of
strength I can muster.

Touchdown. I hear a muted rattle—glass on the other
side of the paneling. I press again. Again, the rattle.

Kneeling next to the wall, I run my fingertips
downward trying to visualize where the hardware would be. Then I
remember. The door is covered with some sort of cheap paneling.

Frustrated and tired, and sadly aware that my last
ace in the hole isn’t as important as I thought, I struggle to my
feet and put the lamp back on the table.

I suppress a yawn and yank several pillows, the
coverlet and blanket from the bed. After making a comfortable nest,
I fall onto the beckoning chaise and turn off the light.

————

The sound of descending footsteps cuts into my
dreams. I pull my arm from the warm cocoon and squint at my watch.
It’s ten thirty-seven. Because there’s no daylight I’ve lost all
track of time. Still, my stomach is growling.

The door opens. It’s Kingsley-Smythe still dressed
in his sweater and slacks, which leads me to believe that only a
few hours have passed since I turned out the light.

“What’s the matter?”

He points toward the bath. “We’ll have plenty of
time for questions after you take care of your basic needs. I’ll
wait.”

I slide into the bath. There’s no privacy lock, but
I can’t worry about that. Something’s up. But what?

In minutes I’ve brushed, splashed and lipsticked. I
reenter the room, grab my bag and start toward the stairs.

Kingsley-Smythe is about to open the door when a
stampede of steps approaches, and Larry appears with Cliff behind
him.

Kingsley-Smythe slides his hand into his right
pocket. “What’s going on?”

“Cliff called. Yanked me out of a dead sleep. Said
she knows who you are.” Larry points an accusing finger at me and
glares at Kingsley-Smythe. “From the way you’re dressed, looks like
Cliff was right.”

Kingsley-Smythe glances my way. “We can take care of
Miss Armington after we get the address book.”

Larry’s mouth drops. “What in hell does she have to
do with the address book?”

“Miss Armington discovered where Miss Montoya
secreted it.” “But, Jason, we don’t need it. I have everything
memorized.” “Ah, Larry, but we do.”

“But why jeopardize the situation? I can dictate the
information.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can. But we’re both getting up in
years now. You could forget a thing or two. Having that book in
our
hands would be insurance—in case something might happen
to you.”

Kingsley-Smythe turns to Cliff. “It took me a while
to realize you were the one who stole the address book and stashed
it with Miss Montoya. Ah, the perfidy of women. She never told you
where it was, did she?”

When Cliff lowers his eyes, Larry jumps up and
points an accusing finger in his direction. “For God’s sake, Jason,
this man is nothing more than a common thief, and a disloyal one at
that. You’ve had others killed for less. What’s stopping you
now?”

IT’S CLOSE TO NOON by the time Cliff and I head back
to the bank, leaving Larry and Kingsley-Smythe behind. After much
discussion, the two finally reached a tenuous agreement on how to
handle Cliff and his indiscretion.

Both Cliff and I sat there listening with mouths
agape. As far as the two old friends were concerned, we might as
well have been on another planet.

Though I’m shivering in Cliff ’s all-weather coat,
my thoughts are on the news I have about Sigrid Hale and the
dilemma I face. If I squeal, they’ll all come running. Then what
will happen? Poor Kingsley-Smythe has had enough problems. What
would a long term in prison serve? He’s been defanged. And it seems
that Larry is the really bad actor.

When Cliff lets out a pained grunt, I look over to
see he’s shuddering in his down-filled, knee-length parka. That
sort of puts us in the same boat with one major exception: the
Luger, safety off, is clutched in Cliff ’s hand jammed inside his
right pocket.

We trot to keep our blood circulating. Not one word
out of Cliff. Not that I expect casual chitchat. If he feels
anything like I do, he’s so cold his mouth has stuck shut.

My message to Greene was for nothing. Even if they
had a chance to “duplicate” the address book with changes, it won’t
do any good. Larry will catch the discrepancies in seconds.

————

I make my way through the bank to the vault and hand
over my key to the same woman as before.

She looks at my signature, then up at me. “Oh,
yes.”

After she inserts both keys into box fifteen
forty-two, she opens the door. The safe-deposit box has been
removed. “Is this what you requested, Miss Armington?”

When I nod she points me toward the private rooms.
“Room three, please.”

Mindy, bundled like she’s about to be off for one of
the Poles, is waiting.

I’m so happy to see a friendly face I throw my arms
around her. Then I feel her tense beneath all those layers and
realize I’ve overstepped my bounds.

I drop my arms and take a step back. “Thank God,
Greene came through.”

She hands me the red leather address book. “We got a
court order and were in here an hour after you left. All done. Just
like you asked.”

I open it. “Is this the copy?”

“This is the book with the changes. Your guess was a
good one. We’re pretty sure these are the numbers of Swiss bank
accounts where the laundered drug money is stashed.”

She points to one string of numbers. “Only two of
the digits have been altered in each sequence. The numbers chosen
are random so the untrained eye can’t pick up a pattern. One would
have had to memorize the string to catch the inconsistency.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s the problem.
I’ve just found out Larry Templeton has a photographic memory.
That’s how the drug shipments were able to continue after Caro was
killed. I sure hope you have the original here.”

Mindy raises the lid of the safe-deposit box.
“Voilá.” She takes out the second book, but doesn’t hand it over.
“Actually, they’re both copies. Though the original is in good
shape, Greene wanted a little insurance. We purchased two address
books. The lab ‘aged’ them with identical stress marks and tears.
The only way you can tell the ‘real’ from the bogus is the small
tear in the last page of the bogus.”

I turn to the back of the book. The tear is so small
that unless you were comparing the two page by page you’d never
notice the difference.

“Greene thought it best to remove the original to a
safer place.”

She hands me the bogus original, and I put it in the
right-hand pocket of Cliff ’s all-weather and shove the altered
book into the left-hand pocket of my tweed jacket.

“Greene told me the woman impersonating you was
picked up and interrogated. Not much there. She was an out-of-work
actress who needed money. She was just carrying out orders.”

When I start for the door Mindy catches my arm.
“Greene’s worried we can’t cover you as close as we’d like. My
orders are to bring you with me.”

“But I’m right in the middle of this. If I don’t go
back to the townhouse—look, Mindy, things are pretty dicey between
Cliff, Larry and Hale. If Cliff comes back without me, I’m almost
positive they’ll bolt. And then what?”

She studies me for a few seconds, then says, “He
won’t like it. But—” Mindy pulls her .38 snub-nose revolver from
her shoulder holster and hands it to me. “Greene told us they
lifted your weapon.”

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to return it in good
condition.”

I check the safety and shove it in the back of my
waistband beneath my jacket.

When I emerge into the beginning snow, Cliff is
jumping up and down slapping his gloved hands together. “God. I’m
freezing. What took you so long?”

I reach in my pocket. “Do you want it now?”

He looks around. “Wait until we start north on
Third.” We walk in silence to the corner, then he says, “Now.”

I pass him the address book. He riffs through the
pages. “That’s it.”

AGAIN SEATED around the dining room table, we watch
Larry go through the address book and pronounce it authentic.

When he starts to pocket it, Kingsley-Smythe holds
out his hand. “Your brain and this book are too important to be in
such close proximity. Don’t you agree?”

Larry shrugs and hands the book over. “You’re the
boss.” Then he points at me. “But we still have a problem.”

“I’ll handle her. Just so you know, I’ve covered all
the bases. They think she’s in Texas.”

Larry rolls his eyes. “‘They’ think she’s in Texas?
She’s working with ‘they.’ Don’t you get it, Jason? ‘They’ want to
bring us down.” Kingsley-Smythe slowly shakes his head. “I’ve been
patient with you, Larry—more than patient. Over the years I’ve
tried to overlook your atrocities toward women. Yet, despite my
loyal efforts on your behalf, you refuse to support the plan I’ve
already put in motion.”

Larry shakes his head. “For some time now, Cliff and
I have been trying to find a way to stop this wacky plan of yours.
We both agree you should abandon this project immediately.”

He turns to Cliff. “Right?”

Cliff ’s face registers surprise followed by
disbelief. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Larry. You and
I have never discussed—”

“What?” Larry jerks back to stare at Cliff for a few
seconds, then spits, “You’re not going to tell Jason about our
phone calls and meetings over the past few weeks? How worried we’ve
been? How we both came to the conclusion that this insanity must
not go forward?”

Cliff looks away.

“Okay, okay, I apologize. I didn’t mean to call you
a thief and disloyal. I was a little overwrought. Sorry.” He stands
and extends his hand. “Let bygones be bygones, you and I need to
pull together on this. C’mon Cliff.”

“No, Larry. This time you went too far.”

Larry lowers himself slowly to his chair. “Why did I
ever think I could trust you? You’re Jason’s bitch. You’ve never
been anything but.”

Then his puzzlement fades. “Oh, I get it. You found
out about this summer.”

Kingsley-Smythe stands up so quickly his chair
clatters to the floor. “Cliff doesn’t know anything, Larry. Trim
your sails.”

Larry ignores the warning tone and gives Cliff a
self-satisfied sneer. “Guess your hot tamale never got around to
true confession time. Well, I’m not afraid to tell you what went
on. Caro was seeing me on the sly. She was nuts about me. I had her
anytime I wanted. Went crazy if I tickled that cute little freckle
on the inside of her left thigh. First lay I ever had who didn’t
fake multiple orgasms.”

Cliff gives a strangled cry and leaps to his
feet.

Kingsley-Smythe raises a cautionary hand. His words
are low and measured. “It’s best you leave now, Larry.”

Cliff leans across the table to wave the Luger in
Larry’s face. “Sit down, old man, Larry’s not going anywhere except
to hell.”

Then it hits and my heart hammers so hard I see
yellow spots. Larry Templeton killed Caro. Carved the X—wiped her
down with that disinfectant. I’ll never be able to smell pine again
without seeing her puffy discolored face.

He was the one she called “Mi Amor.” But why would
she choose Larry over Cliff? Next to Cliff the man was an ugly
brute. It had to be the drugs.

It’s then I have the sudden urge to make sure Cliff
has backup. He must not fail. Larry Templeton, that despicable
bastard, deserves whatever Cliff deals him.

My hand slides beneath my jacket to reach for the
snub-nose just as Larry screams, “Don’t just stand there, Jason, do
some—”

Cliff fires before he can finish the sentence.

The bullet shreds a gaping, blood-spurting hole in
Larry’s dark-blue pinstripe. The impact hurls him and the chair
back to strike the floor. There’s a grunting groan. Then
silence.

Kingsley-Smythe wrenches the Luger away from Cliff,
who collapses into his chair, puts his head in his hands and
blubbers, “Why didn’t I pick up on what was happening this summer?
When I realized Caro was doing drugs, I begged her to stop. She
laughed at me. Said she could stop anytime she wanted. But she
couldn’t. Not with that bastard supplying the stuff.”

He looks up at Kingsley-Smythe with accusing eyes.
“You knew what Larry was. What he did when he got tired of his
women. You knew he was supplying her.”

“No, Cliff, no. You have to believe me. I didn’t
know about the drugs. I wish I had. Maybe I could have done
something.” Kingsley-Smythe leans over to pat the man on his
heaving back. “We can give thanks for one thing, dear boy. Larry’s
sick little games are over.”

I finally find my voice. “What happens now?”

“I’ll call for help.” Kingsley-Smythe disappears
into the kitchen. I hear him lift the receiver and punch in a
number. After a long pause he says, “Come now.”

Cliff wipes his nose on his coat sleeve then rises.
“I need a drink.”