Adduné - the Vampire's Game (19 page)

“
I know,” she lied.

“
You mean it was empty? But how did this even get open in the first place? Did you open it?”

She didn’t like doing this, but had no choice. She couldn’t let them know what really happened. She had to think of something to say – and quickly.

“
Yes, I opened it, because it was marked correctly … You can see on Reginald Charles’ list that number 23 was supposed to contain only two candlesticks. I confirmed it by looking at the packing slip. It didn’t make sense, so I opened the crate…”

“
You opened it? You know that’s not your job!”

“
Jake, will you shut up! She did the right thing under the circumstances! And if you hadn’t left her alone to do this by herself, someone could have helped her!”

Jake gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed the tag on the lid of the box. He walked to the packing list still on her desk and checked for the number. They matched. He quickly inspected a few other packing slips – they were identical and marked with other exhibit numbers. He returned to her desk. He tapped the mouse a few times until the computer screen came on. He looked at the spreadsheet.

“
Alright, Rex and I will figure it out, but you know you’re not supposed to be opening any shipments. If anything is missing, you’ll be held responsible.”

“
Fine,” Rachel said biting her lip. She just needed to get out of there. She didn’t want to be around Jake the Snake anymore.

Rex spoke up for her.

“
It’s not fine! Jake apologize to her! How could she have stolen anything? She’s still here! You think she put it in her pocket or something?”

Rachel could see Jake was going to react this time. He exploded.

“
Look, you little cocksucker! She had all night to move it out of here! She might have had an accomplice … you know, that’s it,” he said pointing his finger, “she was asking about some guy named Peter when I got here. That who you were expecting?”

“
Aw, you’re crazy! You know that? You’re just plain fucking crazy!” Rex screamed.

“
I’m crazy? Then Rachel, why don’t you just tell us who the hell this Peter is?” Jake said sitting on the side of her desk and waiting.

Rachel had had enough. As if she’d tell him about Peter. She didn’t know where the temerity she was feeling came from, but she wasn’t going to stand for Jake’s bullying – at least not anymore. She unhooked Rex’s hands from her. She patted them and walked to her desk. She retrieved her purse from the drawer she’d placed it in. She put the strap over her shoulder steadying herself with her hand on the desktop for a moment. She took a deep breath and walked past Jake feeling the violent ache coming from deep within her groin. The lips of her vagina were chafed. It felt uncomfortable to walk, but it gave her a masochistic pleasure. She walked directly to Rex. She placed her arms around him giving him a gentle hug. It felt good to press her breasts into him. Her nipples felt sore – as if they’d been sucked, kneaded, and pulled. They were tender and she took advantage of the sensation by leaning into him. Rex was shy around women. He tried desperately to back away from her without appearing rude. Rachel could tell he was not sure how to handle this much intimacy. She kept her hold on him making sure her savaged nipples maintained contact. She stared into his big brown eyes that drooped at the corners. They gave a perpetual cute puppy dog look that Rachel found appealing.

She directed her comment at Rex. As if all her comments from now on would be directed to pleasing him.

“
Peter is just some guy I used to know. And, Rex, thank you.”

She grabbed Rex’s hand and gave it a squeeze before she turned and left, leaving all the problems of Fairfield Museum for Jake to sort out on his own.

CHAPTER 10

Reginald Charles was about to dial the number when he heard the soft buzz. He picked-up the receiver and listened to the voice of his trusted secretary tell him she had Sy Feldman of Blanding Art Movers on the telephone.

“
Remarkable, Cheryl! I was just about to call him.”

Cheryl Cooke had been with him from the beginning. She knew everything he did – almost everything. There were certain things – all pertaining to Arthur Perry – that he hadn’t repeated to anyone. Loose lips sink ships. No sense taking chances.

“
Mr. Charles?”

Reginald relaxed a bit when he heard Sy’s familiar voice.

“
Yes, put mind reading or clairvoyance on your list of skills.” There was a long pause as Sy struggled to figure out the riddle.

“
I meant that I was about to give you a call about a matter that just came to my attention.”

“
Oh, oh, really, sir? Well, go right ahead with your question then.”

“
No, you first,” Reginald said leafing through his notes. He didn’t like it when things went wrong with shipments, but couldn’t complain. This was the first one in recent memory that had to do with Blanding’s. Reginald’s mind wandered back to the beginnings of Arthur’s business. While ostensibly Reginald was Arthur’s barrister, he was much more involved in his business than that. Consequently, he always seemed to get dragged into those earlier transportation tangles. Reginald knew it was because of Arthur’s penchant for using less than reputable art movers. When Reginald had questioned Arthur’s choices, Arthur would only reply that the price was right. To Reginald, it was a non-answer. How could the price be right when shipments were constantly getting lost and sent to the wrong destination? Reginald put it down to the difference between the way Arthur and Reginald did business and stifled the impulse that told him to look a little deeper. It didn’t take long for Arthur to see the light. When a priceless artifact was almost lost, he’d hired Blanding’s and never deviated from their dependable service.

Reginald looked down at the notes he took during his telephone conversation with Jake Monroe. Jake had been animated and adamant. Reginald found him a thoroughly disagreeable man under even the most pleasant of circumstances, but Miranda thought differently. Reginald swore she had a soft spot for the renegade curator/art director/charlatan or whatever his title was these days. Reginald would have been happy to see him get his comeuppance. That type always did – eventually.

“
Well, sir, I don’t quite know how to say this, so I’ll come straight out with it. Was there anything wrong with the Fairfield shipment? Is that why you were going to call?” Sy asked finally connecting the dots.

“
Why do you ask?” Reginald heard himself ask instead of the real question which was
“How did you know?”

“
I got … we got … a disturbing phone call this morning. It was from the wife of Herb Pinckus. Concerned an item in the shipment to Fairfield Museum – item 23.”

Reginald reacted when he heard the number. It matched what he had written down. According to Jake, the candlesticks never arrived. They were lost and needed finding. How could a pair of Victorian candlesticks be causing this many problems? They certainly weren’t the most valuable items shipped and Reginald had been prepared to write them off, but perhaps it wasn’t necessary. Maybe Sy could solve the mystery as to where they were.

“
As a matter of fact there was a problem. I just got off the phone with Jake Monroe and he insists that the packing crate for the candlesticks was empty. Any guess as to why? And before you answer, would you mind telling me what possessed you to package them in a crate big enough to hide a body?”

He heard Sy let out a lengthy expulsion of air that seemed to convey frustration with more than a tinge of confusion.

“
Empty? That’s odd. And it’s an interesting choice of words you used.”

Reginald could hear Sy take another deep breath before continuing.

“
Well, they weren’t my words, they were Mr. Monroe’s. He’s actually seen the crate.”

“
Well, it’s a long story, Mr. Charles. The only person that really could have answered all these questions is Herbert Pinckus. You must remember him. Believe I introduced you to him myself. He was the unofficial supervisor that day.”

Reginald did remember. He had seemed a nice enough young man. He had fit in with the type that Blanding’s usually hired.

“
Yes, yes, of course I remember. Very pleasant. Did he leave his employment with Blanding’s? Is that why you said
could
have given us answers?”

“
Left? In a sense, but I’m afraid he’s left more than his job. He’s dead. Hung himself sometime during the night. His wife found him this morning.”

Reginald stopped looking over the morning paper and stiffened in his chair. He pushed the pages aside and concentrated on what Sy had to say. He didn’t like it when people took their own lives. He knew the despair that led to that sort of desperate act. He should know. He lived through the pain of it himself when his beloved grandfather ended his life rather than live through the agonizing hell of a prolonged, debilitating, incurable illness. He’d taken his old military-issued pistol and shot himself through the head.

He leaned back until his head was resting on the cushion top. He tried to remember more details of his meeting Herb Pinckus. He’d seemed such a cheerful young man. Reginald hadn’t detected a smidgen of grief on his jovial face. He’d taken an instant liking to him. He idly wondered what could have possessed someone with such a genial, good-natured disposition to make such a rash decision. He reasoned that no one really knows what lurks beneath the surface.

“
I am sorry to hear that, Sy.”

“
Yes, sir, we all are. It’s rather a twisted tale, but I’m just glad I didn’t stand in his way of getting the job at Blanding’s. I would have never forgiven myself for being a part of what happened.”

“
But why would you have done that, Sy?”

“
I knew something about his ways before he was hired on at Blanding’s. I objected to them taking him on, but kept my mouth shut about it. I figured everyone deserves a second chance so I figured I’d let him rise and fall on his own merits. And fall he did. Right next to his body was a note – and the pair of your candlesticks that are supposed to be safely in Fairfield.”

“
What? Why on earth would he …? Do you know what the note said?”

“
Yes, I should. It was addressed to me.”

“
You?”

“
I have no idea why. Think it was his way of offering an explanation for dragging me into this, although he must have been drunk when he wrote it for all the sense it made.”

“
Or snapped. Was he under any sort of pressure?”

“
Suppose he was. I know that his wife was in the family way more than a couple of times. Families and obligations do put pressure on a man to grow up, but most men dig in and handle it. He was the type that looked for shortcuts. Probably felt stealing was better than working.”

“
Isn’t that being a little harsh, Sy?”

“
Harsh? Not nearly, but then it’s me that he lied to, and looking me right in the eyes when he did. Just to satisfy my curiosity, were there paintings you wanted sent to Fairfield to be restored?”

“
Paintings? Why, no, Sy. Nothing like that.”

“
Well, there you have it. He made all that up to cover his thieving ways. Should’a known you wouldn’t want things sent out in a coffin.”

“
Coffin?”

“
Yes, sir that crate contained a coffin-like box. At least, that’s what it looked like to me. Not the usual shape, but it had the length and width. Saw it myself. In a tunnel … in the basement. Right through this door that was in the room we were working in. That’s why I was surprised when you used that word. Especially if the crate had been empty.”

Reggie felt his heart begin to beat at a more rapid pace. He tried to keep his breath even to slow it down. His conversation with Figgs was coming back to him. Figgs’ dream about a coffin and a tunnel – a secret room. It couldn’t be. He’d had the police do a thorough search and they’d found nothing. He heard Sy’s voice continue.

“
I had my suspicions, of course, but he stood there and told me you personally came down and left orders for it to be sent. Said it contained paintings needing restoration. He had me fooled. I took his word instead of just asking you. And it did have a tag on it. He must have put it there because I saw it. It’s why I didn’t ask you for confirmation like I should have, sir.”