Carolyn Jourdan - Nurse Phoebe 02 - The School for Mysteries (13 page)

Chapter  27

At that point they would’ve run out the front door, but an elderly female guide moved as if to block their way and made an emphatic gesture toward the back corner of the chateau. In fact, she jogged ahead of them, leading them into a majestic two-story library with a mezzanine level balcony that ran around the perimeter of the room in a much larger version of the one where they’d met with the media people.

The docent led them up a carved wooden staircase to the balcony and opened a panel that allowed them to stand out of sight in a space behind the fireplace flue. They stepped into the dark space and the lady closed the door on them. They heard her light footfalls as she descended the stairs.

This hideaway was plenty large enough for Nick and Phoebe to sit down in. They sat side by side on the floor. It was oddly reminiscent of the darkroom, Phoebe thought. Once her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could make out the fact that there was a door on either side of the little room. She supposed this was to allow passage around the room on the balcony level. It was a way to walk behind the chimney so you wouldn’t have to take the stairs down to the ground level and then climb back up on the other side of the fireplace.

Rich people
, Phoebe thought.

They were both sweating and breathing hard. Nick lay down and stretched out on his back. Phoebe did the same. They were both trying to be as still and quiet as possible. Phoebe turned her head to look at him. There was just enough light coming in from underneath the doors, to see each other.

She couldn’t decide whether Nick looked disreputable or handsome, or both. Before she realized what was happening, he leaned over and kissed her.

At that same moment they heard several sets of running heavy footfalls burst into the room. They both froze, their faces remaining at point blank range as they listened to the docent ask in a thin pedantic old lady voice if the visitors would like to hear the history of the library.

Apparently these particular visitors weren’t interested. The clomping of boots continued through the room and left by a side door that was on the main tour route.

A minute later Nick and Phoebe heard a loud,
Pssst
. Nick crawled over to the door and silently opened it just a crack. He peeked out and the old lady gestured with both arms, like a traffic cop, to indicate they should come down the stairs and then go out through the French doors on the opposite side of the room.

Nick and Phoebe quickly made their way down the staircase and passed through the French doors the docent unlocked for them. They found themselves on a loggia at the back of the house. There was a stupendous, life-changing panorama of immaculate rolling lawns bordered by vast artistically arranged forests, and rows of blue mountains beyond. The view was heart-stopping. So was the drop.

“Oh joy,” said Nick, as he leaned over the loggia balustrade and took in the sheer stone wall, forty or fifty feet to the immaculately maintained lawn behind the house.

“It is recommended that you not attempt to reach the garage and the vehicle you arrived in,” the old woman said, “but instead make your way round to the front of the chateau. There will be cars available there.” Then she pointed to a heavy-duty copper drainpipe that was held onto the wall with sturdy copper clamps. It ran in a straight line from the roof down the entire back of the house, passing within inches of the loggia railing.

Nick smiled at the woman, then he swept her up into a romantic embrace and kissed her on the lips with a loud smacking sound. “Thank you,” he said, obviously meaning it.

Phoebe was wondering what had gotten into him, but didn’t have time to ask before he stepped over the balustrade and gripped the sides of the drainpipe. He turned a pirate’s smile on her, said, “Follow me,” and began a long careful slide toward the ground.

As soon as Phoebe’s feet touched the ground they started a long sprint around the side of the gigantic house and uphill toward the parking area at the front.

“Well, that was fun,” Nick wheezed. “I’ve always wanted to see the chateau.”

Phoebe burst out laughing, even though she could hardly breathe. Her lungs were on fire. Now that they were running across the grass, the horror of heights left her. She realized Nick was great fun. Phoebe hadn’t had fun in a
long
time. She’d spent the last few years getting old instead.

Now she realized that even though her lifespan might be considerably shorter than she’d previously imagined, at least she’d enjoy the time left to her.

That seemed like a fair trade.

Chapter  28

Because they’d arrived from the back and been preoccupied since then, Phoebe and Nick had no idea that an antique car show and rally was getting set up around the edges of the formal driveway in front of the house. As they burst around the corner and ran along the parterre, they became aware of the dozens of restored antique convertibles lining the drive. The splendid cars were backed in so the grilles faced out. Proud owners stood nearby in period costume.

Phoebe jogged past the automobiles reading the names drawn in florid script on small cardboard signs that rested against the windshield of each car. Most of them were brands she’d never heard of: Berliet, Amilcar, Delaugère Clayette & Cie, Ballot, Chenard-Walcker, Cottin & Desgouttes, and De Dion-Bouton.
Phoebe adored cars, especially ones like these. She much rather have a vintage vehicle than jewelry or furs. She never wore jewelry and was a vegetarian, but she did drive, a lot.

Phoebe slowed down and got practical. She checked each car she race-walked passed it to see how the floor pedals were configured, if the vehicle required a metal crank to be started, if it required a key, and, if so, was the key in the ignition.

She formulated a plan. She continued down the row of cars, scanning another group of vehicles: Turcat Méry, Doriot Flandrin Parant, Rayet-Liénart, Hotchkiss, Mors, Sizaire Fréres et Naudin, and Unic. The value of each car was written at the bottom of each placard. The numbers were in five figures.

Phoebe veered toward a car that’s engine happened to be running. The vehicle was a bizarre concoction of wood in the shape of a boat mounted on a rolling chassis. She checked the floor. It was a right hand drive, but had three normal looking foot pedals. The one on the right was long and narrow, the two on the left were square-ish and the same size.

In a flash she leaped into the driver’s seat. She literally had to leap because the car had no doors. She shouted to Nick, “Get in!”

He did a double take, then ran around to the other side, stepped up on the running board, and hopped in. Phoebe put the car in gear and floored it. In mere seconds she’d cleared the tall gates at the entrance to the chateau. Nick got himself settled in the passenger seat and looked for a seatbelt. There wasn’t one.

In the rear view mirror Phoebe could see bemused spectators, smiling tourists who were waving at them in delight, and an enraged couple in costume who were attempting to give chase on foot. She was relieved to note there were no henchpersons in sight.

Just as the splendid car raced away, three men dressed in black jumpsuits emerged from behind the house barely in time to see Nick and Phoebe disappear into the decorative forest that surrounded the estate.

Phoebe’s friends were convened around the biggest table in White Oak at the café in Hamilton’s Store: Leon, Ivy, Waneeta, Jill, Doc, Lester, and Fate.

Jill, the owner, set a plate of deviled eggs in the middle of the table along with a pitcher of sweet tea. “If you want anything else, get it yourself,” she said, and took a seat.

Leon, Ivy, and Waneeta filled everyone in on the parts of the story they knew. They had no idea where Phoebe’s new job was, or if she’d been able to show up for it.

“What next?” Doc asked. Now retired, he’d been Phoebe’s mentor since she was a little girl.

“Let’s all just sit tight close to a phone at our usual hangouts and wait. I’m pretty sure one of us’ll be gittin a call before too long,” said Lester. Since Lester and Fate were professional criminals, they were the experts in this kind of situation. Everyone nodded at Lester’s sensible advice, then the meeting broke up and they all went their separate ways.

Phoebe and Nick gained a considerable lead thanks to their spur of the moment grand theft auto. They were miles from the chateau by the time their pursuers were able to regroup and recalibrate. They were helped by the chateau guards who locked the main gates as soon as they realized one of the antique cars had been stolen.

Nick twisted around and rummaged in the back seat of the boatmobile. He retrieved a magnificent wide brim hat with feathers on it. He offered it to Phoebe, but she shook her head. Next he held out a vintage Hermes scarf. She took that asked him to steer while she tied it around her head Grace Kelly style. She suspected at her age she actually looked more like the Queen, but she still enjoyed wearing a $300 scarf.

She put her hands back on the steering wheel and next Nick flourished an extremely elegant pair of round retro sunglasses. She put those on, too.

He waved a pair of old-style driving gauntlets toward her but she shook her head. Nick tossed the feathered hat into the back with the gloves, a pair of antique driving goggles, and a flat tweed cap.

The windshield of the car was made of two horizontal pieces of glass. The top half was capable of being tilted like a louver to create an opening between the two halves. Old school air-conditioning, Nick presumed, although it was plenty windy with it closed. The view on his side was being blocked by a cardboard placard, so he raised up and reached across the top of the windshield and plucked the sign out from underneath a windshield wiper.

He read the text to himself, then said to Phoebe, “You have stolen a 1914 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost Boat-Tail Skiff.”

They exchanged bemused smiles. Despite their desperate circumstances, Phoebe felt younger than she had in years. Nick resumed reading the description of the car aloud.

“‘
The Silver Ghost was the most comfortable luxury car ever built and the only one available that was quiet enough to allow for normal conversation at speed. The automobile ran in complete silence without a puff of smoke—a feat that could not be matched at the time and has never been duplicated since.’”

The engine
was
extremely quiet, but road noise and wind sounds were still there.

“‘The construction of skiff bodies on an automobile chassis was primarily a French innovation,’” Nick continued. “‘Boat-shaped automobiles were designed specifically to cheat the wind.’”

“Love that old language,” Phoebe sighed. “It’s so poetic. I’ve heard the phrase
land yacht
, but I never realized somebody had actually made one. Or that I’d be driving it!”

“Blah, blah, blah … something about steam power, quadricycles, and flying tricycles,” Nick said. “Bottom line, this baby has 48 horsepower and will go 75 miles an hour.”

“Quadricycles?” Phoebe asked.

“We’re in one,” Nick said, “ a vehicle with four wheels. I guess they didn’t call them
cars
yet.”

“Flying tricycles?”

“You got me there. Hey, here’s something that explains why this thing looks like a boat.
Some fabulously rich rowing fanatic went to a car maker—at the turn of the century it was apparently common for rich people to have custom cars manufactured to order—and the guy told the car maker, ‘M
ake me a torpedo without doors.’

“‘
But how will you get in?’ asks the car maker.”

“‘
One will step over,’ says the rich guy.”

“‘
And the ladies?’ asks the car maker.”

“‘
Well, they will also step over,’ says the rich guy. ‘We will finally see their legs!’”

Phoebe snorted, and thought, but didn’t say aloud,
Men
.
Where all lines of thought eventually converge on women’s body parts
. Men had their own idiotic variation of non-Euclidean geometry.

“So,” Phoebe said, “some French guy was rich enough to commission the only car in the world that was silent and built almost exactly like a boat so he could sail on dry land at 75 miles an hour and maintain civilized conversation.”

They traded a quick glance with raised eyebrows.

“Not a French guy. This particular car was owned by a gentleman from Cairo,” Nick said, then set the placard in the footwell of the back seat.

“Do you think they’re still following us?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Nick said. He took a long look at Phoebe in her scarf and sunglasses. She was the picture of chic, vintage adventure.

“I don’t understand why they didn’t shoot us. Don’t they wanna kill you, or do you think they intend to torture you first?”

Nick drew a deep breath and pondered her question. “I believe we can feel fairly certain they intended to kill me—based on the whole throwing-me-out-of-the-helicopter episode. I suppose they were reluctant to shoot us in front of all those people at St. Cloud. But now I’ve embarrassed them by remaining alive several times despite their best, highly professional, efforts.

And, of course, now they’ll be annoyed with you, too. Being outwitted, humiliated in public, by a woman is bound to get on the nerves of even the most egalitarian male assassin. So, I’d say the odds favor at least a modicum of torture, and then death, for us both.”

They each thought about that, but were surprised to find it didn’t really frighten them as much as perhaps it should. They’d exhausted their
fight or flight
hormones at this point. Nothing was particularly scary any more, at least while they were on the ground, at least for a while.

“The new development is that I’m pretty sure we’ve got new set of pursuers now.”

“Why?” asked Phoebe.

“Because this car, the one you stole, is worth $1.2 million dollars.”