Crown Jewel (14 page)

“There are no security gates like you have. I guess people didn't line up to get his autograph or think he was important enough to follow him around,” Max said. Ricky looked at him sharply but didn't say anything.

It was a beautiful house, a large Tudor on a street with equally magnificent houses. The other houses were well tended, the grass clipped, the flower beds weeded, and the shrubbery pruned. Roxy's grounds looked neglected and bedraggled. Ricky knew someone came once a month to do lawn maintenance, but that was it. He wondered if the neighbors complained. Whom would they complain to? Like he cared.

Ricky fitted the key into the lock on the front door. It turned effortlessly. The alarm system blinked, then the red light glowed steady. Roxy hadn't turned it on. What was the point, she said, if she was on the islands?

Ricky looked around the interior of the house, struggling to remember even some small detail. No memories surfaced. It was a house that didn't look lived in. A house decorated, down to the smallest detail, by some professional decorator using his or her own taste. He didn't like Oriental trappings of any kind, and he also detested lacquer. It wasn't a Roxy house or whatever he perceived to be a Roxy house.

It was all about Philly.
Why doesn't that surprise me?
he thought.

“Look,” Tyler said, “the fireplace has never been used. The brick is clean and shiny.” Ricky thought about the huge cherry logs he burned in his own fireplace in the winter when the weather cooled or when it was a raw, rainy day. He personally loved fireplaces.

They trooped through the house, all the rooms opening into other rooms, the Oriental decorating theme carrying throughout the house.

“This doesn't look to me like it was ever a happy house. It's cold and kind of sterile-looking,” Max said. “For sure there were no dogs or cats. What are we looking for?”

“I don't know.” Ricky sat down on a brocade sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. He told his sons about his early-morning dream. “I want to know who he was, why he did the things he did. I want to know why he and I never had a brotherly relationship. Roxy doesn't know. Philly's lawyer, if he knows, will take Philly's secrets to the grave with him. There are secrets. I've always known that. I just don't know what those secrets are.”

Tyler frowned. “Exactly what kind of relationship did you have with your brother when you were growing up? Was it normal?”

“Was it normal? Probably not. We were never pals. We had to work. I grumbled and complained but he never did. He called me a pest. Philly was a loner, with few if any friends. I always thought he was our parents' favorite. He told me once I was their favorite. He liked to hang out in the kitchen with Mom. He always set the table. I had to clear it. We had separate bedrooms. His was neat and tidy. Mine was a mess. I had tons of junk. I only made my bed when Mom threatened to ground me. Philly's bed was always made. He saved his money, I spent mine. One time I saw him ironing. Mom showed him how. He was meticulous. I was messy, my clothes always wrinkled. Mom hated to iron. I didn't care.

“Philly always cleaned his plate at mealtime, then said how good everything was. I was picky and finicky, preferring junk food. No, we were not close.”

“What about your parents?” Max asked.

Ricky shrugged. “I guess they were like everyone else's parents. They didn't put up with any nonsense from us, especially me. They didn't show affection if that's what you're wondering. We were not a warm and fuzzy kind of family. In my teens I was a rebel, always in trouble and it carried through in my career. A couple of times I tried to make it right, but it didn't work. Back then it was all about me. I'm not making excuses here. Do I have regrets? Bushels of them. You can't undo the past. It's gone.”

The boys looked at each other but said nothing.

“Okay, let's get to it. We came here to find out about my brother.”

“Don't take this the wrong way, Ricky, but I bet if you turned Gracie loose on this end of things, she could find out everything you want to know,” Max said.

Ricky headed for the stairs leading to the second floor. “It just might come to that. I won't have a problem asking for her help. Reporters have sources, access to things normal people don't have.

“Roxy said Philly always kept his study locked. They had separate bedrooms. My brother wasn't a warm, fuzzy person in his personal or professional life. Roxy didn't have a key to the study but gave me permission to break down the door. With the three of us, we should be able to do it. Tyler, go out to the car and get the tire iron.”

His sons gaped at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Max asked.

“No, I don't want to do it. I have a feeling I'm not going to like what I find. But I'm still going to do it. I should have done it the week after he died, but I was in such shock I was lucky I could function at all. This is a Medeco lock, and it takes a special key that Roxy didn't have. Special locks, special keys, tell me Philly was hiding something.”

Tyler returned with the tire iron. His expression was doubtful when he looked at the door. “It's solid,” he said, thumping on the shiny, teak door. “I guess we should pry off the molding and the frame and go for the hinges. What do you think, Max?”

“Hell, I'm no carpenter. Let's give it a whirl!” He looked at his father. “Did you consider a locksmith?”

“Roxy told me you have to have the Medeco key number or get a duplicate from the person who made the key. She tried to get a copy but was unsuccessful. I'm just going with what she told me.”

Two hours later, sweat dripping down their faces, Max undid the hinges and slammed at the door with his shoulder. It caved inward enough so that they could squeeze through the opening. The Medeco lock continued to hold fast.

Disappointment ringing in his voice, Tyler looked at his father. “It's just an office.”

“With locked filing cabinets,” Max said. “Put some muscle behind that tire iron and open them, Bro.”

The master lock on the mahogany filing cabinet popped open with one twist of the tire iron. “That was almost too easy,” Tyler said.

Ricky looked around the twelve-by-fifteen-foot office. It was plain. There were no pictures on the walls, the beige draperies were closed. He opened them. Sunlight flooded the room. He looked down at the beige carpet and was surprised to see little tufts of fiber. That only happened when new carpeting was installed. Philly had lived in that house off and on for almost twenty years. Maybe he had redecorated it fairly recently. Maybe he didn't spend much time in the colorless room. It was almost an exact duplicate of the office in Antigua. Goose bumps dotted Ricky's arms.

There was only one chair behind the desk. One chair was meant to discourage visitors. Or, maybe no visitors ever crossed the threshold. He was surprised not to see a computer. There was no fax, no television set, no VCR, and no answering machine. There was a wastebasket with nothing in it. He opened the desk drawers on the left side of the desk, one at a time. One held paper clips and rubber bands. A second held pencils and pens. One held a calculator, a stapler, and a hole-punching gadget. The middle drawer was completely empty. The drawers on the right side of the desk held plain white paper and plain white envelopes. An unopened roll of stamps was pushed back into the corner.

A day planner with no entries, compliments of a brokerage house, was in the next drawer. The last drawer held a desk calendar and a paperweight. Everything looked new, just the way the office in the islands looked.

“In the movies, when they hide something, they always tape it under the drawer or behind it,” Max volunteered.

Ricky upended each drawer. Nothing. He looked disgusted.

“It always works in the movies,” Max said lamely.

“Let's each take a drawer in the file cabinet. Like I said, I don't know what we're looking for, but I guess we'll know it when we see it. On the other hand, maybe there's nothing to find.”

“Wait!” Tyler said. “Just because there's no answering machine doesn't mean your brother didn't have voice mail. This must be a private number. I'll work on it, and you and Max do the file cabinets. There might be a message on here.”

Ricky was incredulous. “After six months?”

“You never know,” Tyler said, lifting the receiver and holding it to his ear. “Somebody has to be paying the bill for this phone because it's still connected. If no one cleared the voice mail, there could still be messages. That happens in the movies, too. They must base stuff like that on some kind of fact.”

“I'm sure Roxy is paying the bill. She does come back here from time to time. I'm not sure, but I think Reba does, too. Roxy said it didn't pay to disconnect everything, then have it all reconnected each time she or Reba comes here. All right, you work on the voice mail, and Max and I will do the file cabinet. On second thought, let's just pack it all up and take it home with us. I feel like a sneak going through my brother's things like this. You can work the phone end of it from home, can't you, Tyler?”

“I don't see why not. I'm starting to feel like a detective,” he mumbled.

“For someone with a secret life, your brother sure had a lot of files,” Max said. “Why don't we just take the drawers? It will make it a lot easier. They'll fit in the trunk of the Beemer.”

“Good idea. We only have to make one stop at the grocery store. I'm tired of eating out of cans, and I'm tired of eating out. I'll grill us some steaks tonight.”

 

Gracie Lick shifted gears as she steered the Blazer up the steep, winding roads that led to Ricky Lam's house. Suddenly she saw a dark streak flash in front of her. She slammed on the brakes, jolting Jonas, the photographer, forward. She was out of the car a second later, racing to the side of the road. “Oh, no,” she wailed. “C'mon, c'mon, I need some help here!” she shouted to the photographer. A second later, she stripped off her secondhand Armani jacket. A second after that, she yanked and pulled at her silk blouse. “Oh, you poor baby! Look, she's so thin, and she looks starved. These must be her pups. Look, that must be the father. Oh, God, how did this happen? Easy, easy, I won't hurt you,” Gracie crooned. “C'mere, baby, come on.”

The photographer watched as one of Gracie's shoes slid off and rolled into the ditch the father dog was guarding. He looked down to see three sickly-looking pups. He backed up when the male dog showed his teeth.

Fearless, Gracie stretched out her hand, palm down, so both the male and female could get her scent. The female licked her hand. Tears sprang to Gracie's eyes as she picked up the pups, one by one, and wrapped them in her jacket and blouse. She looked down at her skirt and knew it had to come off. “Quick, open the car door. They have to see we're going to take them
all
with us. Move, move!”

The three pups cradled in her arms, Gracie still managed to pat the mother dog on the head. A second later, she was on her feet, the male and female dog right behind her. They looked at her, then at the open door. She tried to shoo them inside. When they didn't move, she climbed in and scooted over on the seat. Both dogs leaped into the back with her. “Shut the door, Jonas, and drive!” she ordered.

“Yes, ma'am,” the photographer said, sliding behind the wheel. He ripped up the road going ninety miles an hour. Gracie shouted out the code to the gate. Jonas punched it in, and the gate slid open. He barreled through, his foot heavy on the gas pedal.

“Okay, this is good,” Gracie said. “Now, get out and open the door for me.”

Max, alerted to the sound of the Blazer's engine, opened the kitchen door. “What the hell…”

Gracie ran inside, the dogs trailing behind her. “Some asshole probably dumped these dogs, and they're starved. Call a vet. Make some food. Don't just stand there, dammit, do it! These pups might die. They're cold and they're hungry. Send your brother to the store to get baby stuff! I thought I told you to move! Now!

“Tyler! Ricky! I think you better come out here!”

Tears rolled down Gracie's cheeks. “Why in hell do I always have to do everything? Can't you follow a simple order? Go!”

Ricky looked at the crying girl, at the pups in her arms, at the two strange dogs in the middle of his kitchen. He knew exactly what to do. “Tyler, call a vet. There's a vet clinic about two miles from here. It's on…Piedmont, I think. Tell him to come here right away and be sure to say it's an emergency. Max, go to the drugstore and get baby bottles with nipples, the smallest ones you can find. Get some baby cereal. And some newborn baby formula. Burn rubber, son.”

Ricky dropped to his knees. He remembered another time, much like this one, when he'd found a stray dog with pups and taken them home. God, how he'd loved that dog, and the dog had loved him. It had hated Philly, though. He reached out to stroke both animals. “I know, you're hungry. We're going to fix you up all right.”

“Throw stuff in a pot and boil it. Meat, vegetables, potatoes. You'll have to mash it up. Their stomachs aren't going to be able to handle anything else. I don't know how long they've been on the run. The pups look to be brand-new,” Gracie said. “They won't die, will they?”