Confidence Tricks (14 page)

What was it with people and that design aesthetic? She could almost understand it at a place like Charles Appraisals and Insurance, but at someone’s home? It was hardly inviting. She’d rather live in an airport hangar.

Wait a minute…

“Do you know, I’ve worked next door a whole month now, and I still haven’t met the family that lives here?” Poppy said, doing her best to sound like a twenty-year-old nanny. “Are they nice?”

“Oh, it’s no family.” The woman motioned for Poppy to follow her through the impressive living room into an elongated hallway that had been half-tiled in iridescent gray, which moved in waves as if to propel them straight through. “It’s just Mr. Charles these days.”

“Asprey Charles?” she ventured.
That sneaky bastard.
If this was seriously his house, she was taking a heck of a lot more than the espresso machine, that was for sure. She’d spied a really nice television on the way in.

The woman laughed. “You young girls are always zeroing in on him first, aren’t you? No, it’s the oldest one, Winston. Used to be the whole family lived here, but it’s grown quiet of late. The rest of the kids don’t come around much anymore. Now, where did you say the ball went?”

They’d reached the kitchen, an oversized vault of a room that looked more like a morgue than a place to prepare meals. At the far end, a sliding glass door looked out over the patio. To her left, Poppy caught a glimpse of another large window, this one above a set of black barstools and a long wet bar. Neither one of these would have been terribly exciting except for a French blue flash of color and the telltale click of the latch moving at the side window.

Asprey was planning on coming in that way.

“Why don’t I go get it?” Poppy asked. The second Rose left the kitchen, Asprey would be in and out while she was still struggling to come up with a plan that didn’t involve grabbing the oversized espresso machine that sat against the metallic backsplash and making a break for it. “I’ll be just a sec.”

“Sure thing. Would you like something to drink?”

“A cup of coffee would be lovely,” she said, not losing a beat.

Despite the grandeur of the house, the backyard wasn’t all that big, the perimeter taken up primarily with overdone landscaping. She trotted down the steps of the cedar patio to make a convincing show of looking for the nonexistent ball when a hand reached out from one of the bushes and pulled her into the shrubbery.

“Thanks for getting the alarm turned off for me.” Asprey’s arms moved around her waist, his words a low whisper in her ear. She shivered, his nearness and the damp foliage working double time on her nervous system.

“I can’t believe you’re breaking into your brother’s house to steal his coffeemaker. Your family is so weird.”

“Every time I take one of his espresso machines, he steps up the security. It’s getting really difficult,” Asprey explained. The vibration of his voice against her earlobe did strange things to her sense of equilibrium. “I needed the help of an outside professional like yourself.”

She pressed her hands against his chest, curling her fingers a little as she forced space between them. “Geez, Asprey. How many times have you taken it?”

He thought for a second. “This will make six. He had the security system added a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to find a way around it.”

“Couldn’t you just walk in the front door and say hello?”

He released her and pushed farther back into the bushes. “You’re missing the point.”

“And what, exactly,
is
the point?” she asked, growing exasperated. He was like a twelve-year-old, playing spies with his brothers and sister for a lack of anything better to do.

He let out a soft tsking noise. “I don’t think so. You only get to ask that question if you get to the espresso machine first.”

She let out a grunt of irritation and amusement—two emotions that often sprang to the forefront whenever Asprey was around—and trotted back up to the house. She could hear Asprey rustling along the outer edge of the yard, making his way back to the kitchen window with virtually no stealth at all.

“Did you find it?” Rose asked. “You look like you had to tackle the tree back there.”

Poppy pulled a few twigs from her hair. “It was in that row of bushes near the back—I had to dig a little deeper than I expected. I tossed the ball back over the fence. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Did you still want that cup of coffee?”

She hated to play into Asprey’s neurotic games any more than she absolutely had to, but she really wanted to ask him a question. Besides, the second Rose showed her the door, Asprey would swoop in and take the machine. She needed to take advantage of the situation while she had it.

“That sounds great, thanks. If you’re not too busy,” she hastily amended.

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I was just finishing up for the day. I could use a few minutes to unwind.”

Poppy slid onto one of the barstools so that she blocked the window. “You’re sure I’m not in the way? The owner won’t mind?”

Rose began pushing buttons on the espresso machine, which was big enough to be in a coffee shop and really did look like it came from Sharper Image. “Mr. Charles never gets home until a little before eight o’clock.”

Of course.
That would explain Asprey’s time constraints. She put her feet up on the opposite stool and leaned back, hoping to peek out the window. Asprey was there, sitting on the outer windowsill. He waved.

He was waiting her out, was he? She’d see about that.

“So have you always worked here?” Poppy asked as soon as a tiny white ceramic cup was placed in her hand. She took a sip but wasn’t all that impressed. Coffee was coffee.

“Oh, fifteen years or so,” Rose replied. “I bet that seems long to a girl your age.”

Poppy accepted the compliment with a wave of her hand and tried not to appear too interested. “So you were employed when the rest of the family lived here. I mean…like you said before, when it was more than just the one owner?”

“I was.” Rose peered at her over the cup of coffee. “Why?”

Poppy shrugged. “Just curious. I haven’t lived in Seattle very long, but I’ve heard the Charles name mentioned a few times. They’re kind of a big deal, aren’t they?”

If Rose thought it was odd to be suddenly grilled by a nanny about her employers, she hid it under her obvious love of company and chatter. “Oh, you know these old families. We all like to pretend that things like money and lineage don’t matter in this day and age, but when you start talking about the people who founded our city, it’s hard not to pay respect where it’s due.”

“They’re
that
big of a deal?” Poppy asked, settling into her seat.

“They used to be.” Rose set her cup down and gestured around the kitchen. “When I was hired here, it was a different place. Dinner parties every weekend, all the kids living at home—it was like one of those movies where the women always wore heels and perfume, the men in tuxedos. So glamorous. Mrs. Charles died when the children were very young, but Mr. Charles—their father—was a huge patron of the arts and the house was filled with people who shared that love. Did you know there’s a wing at the art museum dedicated to him?”

Poppy shook her head.
A whole wing? Like the kinds of people who had hospitals named after them?

“I told you.” Rose smiled. “They were a big deal, but it hasn’t been like that in a long time. When Mr. Charles died, the parties stopped. So did the donations and the people coming over. They’re still rich as you please, don’t get me wrong, and Asprey—he’s the one you girls are all sweet on—still does the parties and glamour. But it’s not the same, and I don’t think Winston has any intention of trying to get things back the way they were.”

Rose stopped, and it was obvious she expected Poppy to say something, but the words were difficult to find. “They don’t do anything illegal, do they?” she asked. Clearly the family dynamics went beyond espresso-machine pranks, but she was having a hard time seeing where forgeries and robberies fit in.

Rose laughed. “Not that I’m aware of, sweetie. But I will say this. Someone has it out for Winston these days. That espresso machine we’re drinking from? Every few weeks it disappears, and in its place there is always a black mask.”

Poppy snuck a peek out the window. Asprey was still there, lounging like he hadn’t a care in the world. “A black mask?”

“Winston treats it like a personal threat, but I’m pretty sure it’s one of his brothers playing a trick on him. You wouldn’t believe the pranks they used to pull on one another when they were kids.”

Um, yes, actually. That was one thing she could readily believe.

But all she said was, “Oh?” politely over the rim of her cup.

“You name it, they did it. Buckets of water on top of doors, bicycles hidden on the roof, magic tricks.”

“Magic tricks?”

“Graff was always excellent at sleight of hand.”

Good—that’s one thing I’m definitely counting on.
“Sounds harmless enough,” Poppy offered. Remembering she was supposed to be playing a role, she added, “I’ve seen quite a bit of that myself. You know, being a nanny and all.”

Rose nodded. “In my experience, bright children left unsupervised turn out one of two ways. They either get into a little harmless mischief, or they become criminals. I’m glad the kids chose the first path, though you’d think they’d have grown out of it by now.” She shook her head, more amused than regretful. “But boys will be boys.”

Poppy almost shot espresso out her nose. Rose obviously didn’t know her beloved charges enough. Without saying a word, she grabbed Rose’s empty cup and began rinsing the dishes in the sink. She needed a second to process.
 

For reasons she couldn’t even begin to understand—at least beyond his generally unappealing personality—Winston was yet another victim of the Graff-Asprey-Tiffany robbery scheme. But why? And what good did it do to take the same piece of equipment over and over again?

“You don’t have to do that,” Rose protested, but she didn’t get up. The poor woman probably needed a break. Working for this family, even just a few days a week, had to be a strange and trying experience. Poppy had been around them all of two weeks and had never been so confused.

All the more reason to get that espresso machine out the door and into my care.

“You know, now that I think about it, there
was
a guy with a black mask in the neighborhood today. He parked over on the other side of the block and took about a ten-minute stroll. I thought he was one of those weird hipster types.” She placed the cups on the dish rack next to the sink.

“You don’t say?” Rose didn’t seem surprised.

“But I jotted down his license plate number just to be sure—safety is so important when you work with kids. I have the number in my purse, which I think I set down by the front door. Do you want me to grab it? Let me just finish these last few dishes and dry my hands…” She let the words trail off and tackled the sink with renewed interest.

As expected, common courtesy won out, and Rose offered to grab the bag herself. It was the exact thing Poppy needed. Just a few seconds, nothing more. The moment Rose was out of sight down the hallway, she grabbed the machine and gave the cord a yank. It was heavier than it looked, and the residual heat from the nozzle burned sharp and painfully against her upper arm, but she lugged it out the door and tossed it over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. The crash of a hundred plastic and metal parts hitting the ground couldn’t be helped. For the rest of it, well…
He didn’t say it has to be functional.

Before she could be spotted, Poppy ran to the back fence and climbed the bottom foothold, peering over as if looking for someone in the alleyway.

Rose emerged from the back door about thirty seconds later. “I couldn’t find your purse. What are you doing out here?”

Poppy turned. “I heard something. It sounded like garbage cans crashing, but there’s no one here. Weird.”

“Well, no worries. It was probably the Parson’s cat. What’s its name again?”

Poppy pretended not to hear. She wasn’t about to give her cover up now over not knowing the name of a silly pet. She was too close. In fact, this was the part where an exit strategy made all the difference.

“Now that I think about it, I might have left my purse next door. I should probably go.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Poppy hid a frown and followed Rose back into the house. She’d been hoping to escape through the yard, but there was a gentle firmness to the woman that brooked no argument. Hopefully, they could make it through the kitchen without taking stock of the inventory.

Luck, however, was not on Poppy’s side. She shouldn’t have been surprised—luck had long since given up on her, just like the rest of the world. As they ambled through the kitchen, Rose happened to glance over to the countertop, where instead of the gaping hole left by the stolen espresso machine, there sat a simple black mask, velvety and banded, very much like the one Poppy had seen Asprey wear the night they met.

Does he carry them around in his pants?

“Oh dear,” Rose said and covered her mouth. Poppy felt a twinge of guilt until she saw that Rose wasn’t covering her horror—in fact, it looked very much like she was smiling. “I guess that was the sound you heard. It was a distraction to get you out of the kitchen.”