Lipstick and Lies (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

The bark at the base of the giant pine penetrated both layers of the sleeve of my sweater-set, prickling my skin. It was as if the tree with its rough texture was urging me away from the safety of its cover. Instead, I huddled closer. I was on stakeout, directly across the road from the massive wrought-iron gate, and needed to stay put until help could arrive.

Following my session with the Countess, I had tried to telephone Dante before leaving the jail, only to learn that one of the women arrested with the Countess had agreed to enter her plea. Dante and Connelly were in court, involved in the proceedings.

“Renner’s skipped,” their secretary, Miss Tempest, told me. “Sometime this morning he gave the agents tailing him the slip.”

“Not possible!” I was aghast and unable to hide it. I took a deep breath. “Now what?”

“There’s an intensive search on for him.”

A shiver danced across my shoulders. Hadn’t Clara said that when her husband stormed out of their house he might be heading for a showdown with V-V? Was he holed up inside V-V’s estate with him? The Countess had said V-V was a sleeper spy. If true, who knew what might be going on there.

My breath caught. For an instant the blood stood still in my veins. Had V-V duped Liberty? Placed her in jeopardy in some kind of triple cross? Gotten her kidnapped—I swallowed—or
killed
, to keep her quiet?

“Let Agent Dante know that I’ll be going to LaVue Rouge,” I said. “Tell him it’s urgent that he meet me there. I’ll be waiting for him. He should look for my Ford. It’ll be parked near the front gate. But tell him to look carefully. I’ll be hiding it.”

I had left the jail and returned to the Club, stopping just long enough to check messages and to strap on Gran Skjold’s derringer.
Personality Unlimited
begged for a final perusal. Something about the volume was different from the one the Countess had lent me. Yes, it contained secret writing, but something else.

I flipped it like a pancake, examining the leather cover’s front and back. That’s it! The copy in my hand had been personalized.

I turned to the inside front cover and stared at the gold-embossed rectangular-shaped bookplate depicting a detailed Renaissance scene of a scholar writing at a desk beside an open window.

…OKPLATE! The missing piece in the phantom ink message:
BOOKPLATE!
Perhaps:
SEE BOOKPLATE?

My razor-tool made quick work of the paste applied in tiny dabs to the rectangle’s corners. On the plate’s front, an inscription below the Renaissance scene read
To Kiki, From Your Loving Mother
. On the back side, lines of small, neat handwriting, applied with a fine-tipped fountain pen, covered the surface. I’d seen a fountain pen on Kiki’s desk in the master bedroom at LaVue Rouge, its tall peach-colored feather curving majestically up and away from a white marble base. The balled-up note paper I’d snatched from that very desk was now neatly folded and squirreled away in my pocket. I dug it out. But matching the script on the stationery to the printing on the bookplate was not helpful. Complicating things further, the four-paragraph message was in code. The first letters,
Y-Y,
suggested
it was same elementary cipher substitution code I’d come across earlier, on the memo hidden inside Kiki’s desk drawer.

I found a scrap of paper and went to work on the opening paragraph.

deciphered became:

This definitely was from Kiki! Heart racing, I unraveled the remaining three cryptic paragraphs.

The cancelled checks in Kiki’s drawer, I thought, squinting to read the final incomplete line.
Morning of the wedding…

She didn’t explain, but somehow the pearl jewelry had found its way to Dee. And V-V, perhaps using the love poem written by Philip, had found a way to leverage the situation into a means for gouging money from his wife.

Reading the note had heightened my apprehension about what might be going on at LaVue Rouge. I left the Club, raced to the estate, and settled into my current stakeout spot beneath the mammoth pine. Unsure of when Dante might arrive, I was biding my time, keeping an eye out for the G-men he’d assured me were covering the place. They wouldn’t be conspicuous, I knew; and it was more likely they’d be watching the mansion instead of covering the estate’s perimeter. Still, I needed something to keep me calm, while awaiting reinforcements.

Beyond the gate, a funnel of dust swirled down the lane, coming toward me from the house. I pressed my back deeper into the prickly bark and waited until the noise of the engine grew loud enough for me to be reasonably certain the vehicle had reached the gate. Leaning forward, I glimpsed a champagne-colored sedan slowing to round the stone pillar. Tires bit asphalt, and the driver, a tough-looking thug with buzz-cut hair and the neck and shoulders of a weightlifter, peeled off in the direction of downtown Detroit.

The property line was enclosed by a spiked ornamental fence extending from the curlicued gate. I scooted across the narrow lane, aware that I would have a better view of the occupants of any additional cars barreling in or out of the estate if I were inside the cove of shrubs bordering the fence.

Moments later, a man appeared, walking a horse in the woods beyond. The horse had a white coat stained with large blotches of chocolate, an Appaloosa. The Appaloosa was not saddled and one of its legs was swathed in white tape. I guessed the horse had injured its leg and the man leading him was a trainer, exercising the animal as part of the healing process. The trainer, a Negro, wore denim overalls and a white collarless shirt, his sleeves rolled up. A newsboy cap partially covered his fuzzy salt-and-pepper hair.

The man and horse were following a bridle path coming from the Rouge River that defined the property to my left. Leafy fall-colored trees, muted by a gloomy sky, formed a backdrop. When they were about fifty yards away from me, the trainer stopped and glanced around. He vaulted onto the horse’s back, and I recognized the wide nose and white stubble along the man’s chin. The trainer was no trainer. It was Leo! My pulse quickened as I remembered that Leo sometimes assisted the Bureau. Could he be part of the team surveilling the estate?

I wanted to call out but before I could, he kicked the Appaloosa’s flanks. The horse clearly was not injured; he galloped off with Leo riding bareback.

When I had driven through the grounds the night before I’d thought the horse stable was located near where Leo appeared to be racing. I checked my watch. One or both of the men in the house, V-V and Renner, knew something about Liberty’s whereabouts, I felt sure of it. And while I waited for backup, she as well as Kiki and Irina could be in grave danger.

Seeing Leo on the grounds infused me with confidence and bolstered my resolve. Back across the road at the Ford I left a note on the dash, amending my earlier instructions to Dante.
I’ve seen Leo. I’m following him to the stable. I’ll wait for you there
.

The gate had been left open. Sprinting a zig-zag course through the sparsely forested grounds, I reached the cover of a broad-based tree near the stable and paused to catch my breath.

The stable was part of a cluster of three buildings that together formed a U. I was near the left leg, an outbuilding made of weathered wood. The stable, another low-lying wooden structure fronted by horse stalls, was off to my right. A stone shelter I thought might be a bunk house spanned the two legs; a vacant dirt yard filled the U’s center.

No Leo. In fact, the place was so eerily quiet that a clump of tumbleweed somersaulting across the yard would have seemed natural. Finally, a horse in one of the stalls whinnied.

I stared through the large gaps in the slatted wall, assessing the interior of the outbuilding before me. No sign of horses or other animals, but I did observe a horse cart, suggesting the building was used as storage space. The space would offer protection as well as a good perspective of the surroundings.

I entered cautiously. The light was dim and the air was thick with the musty-sweet smell of hay and manure. It took a moment, but my eyes adjusted and I could get a fix on not only the cart but the tack dangling from big hooks along the wall. Peering through another slatted wall, I observed that the adjacent stall was also vacant.

I went to the front and looked out on the dirt courtyard. Opposite me, the upper halves of the Dutch doors enclosing the stalls were open, the long faces of chestnut, palomino, and black stallions protruding through them. I heard male voices somewhere out back. I turned and listened. Two men were approaching from the central bunk house, their voices and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves growing louder.

The entourage halted near a back corner. The men continued their conversation as I crept over, listening and hoping one of them was Leo. The fit of the boards at the rear of the building was tighter than anywhere else and it was impossible to see outdoors. Finally, dropping to my knees, I found a suitable gap.

“After you have seen to our guest’s horse, go back and check on Dr. Shevchenko. Make sure he does everything necessary to make our latest visitor comfortable.”

The clipped tone of the rider’s voice sounded familiar. I also recognized the boots and jodhpurs. It was V-V! My vantage point gave me a uniquely limited perspective of his steed’s lower half. The hooves were perfectly manicured, and his gray and white coat had been brushed to a dull shine. The other man, clad in olive green fatigues and Army boots, stood beside the dapple gray, holding the reins of a second horse.

“Yah sure, Cap-i-tan,” the fatigue-clad man replied.

My blood froze. The second horse was an Appaloosa with a bandaged leg. I tilted my head every which way, trying to see above me. Where was Leo? A platoon of shivers charged my spine. Was he the guest V-V had been referring to?

“I must go to the boat house,” he said. “But Zerov, after you have looked in on our guests, be sure Dr. Shevchenko has the merchandise in order. Then, find Yakutovych. Let him know the truck that will pick up the good Doctor’s shipment is due here shortly. Yakutovych and his men are to help load it. Tomorrow is spaghetti night at the base. That means the staff will begin preparing the sauce tonight. The goods must reach the kitchen well beforehand.”

“Yah, Cap-i-tan. What a ‘moving’ experience the chef and his staff will have with Dr. Shevchenko’s special ingredient.” The twosome chortled loudly over the comment.

“Hand up the picnic basket, Zerov. I must go to my wife. She will be feeling anxious.”

From my crouched position, I saw a wicker basket pass from Zerov’s thick fist to V-V’s black-gloved grip.

“Ah, you are making joke, Cap-i-tan, yes? She cannot be feeling anything but relaxed, thanks to our good Doctor.”

The men were engaged in double-speak that did not sound good for Kiki.

The dapple-gray snorted, protesting the extra weight of the basket. V-V’s gloved hand reached for the rein, drawing it up and forming a loop against the horse’s neck.

“Today you will also get the green light from Berlin, yah?” Zerov asked.

“Berlin,” V-V scoffed. “Yes, today is the latest in a string of promised dates. Why they are having such difficulty making contact, I do not understand. By now I had hoped to have the actual document in the
Abwehr’
s hands in order to coordinate the ground and air attacks. It is a travesty. Our men are trained and at the ready, but they must hang back, hovering at the start line, while
I
await the checkered flag from Berlin.”

Zerov grunted. “I am sure they will make contact soon.”

“Soon may be too late. But thanks to Cardillac we have an alternate funding source.”

They were discussing the air raid plot! And V-V had formed an underground army!

Cardillac?
Who was Cardillac?

The villain in V-V’s favorite Hoffmann story, Mademoiselle de Scudéri, was called Cardillac. A Jekyll-Hyde sort of character, that Cardillac was by day a renowned genius-jeweler, by night a robber and tormented dagger-wielding serial killer.

V-V’s mount’s hooves danced, raising a tiny cloud of dust. Zerov grabbed the steed’s bridle, patting the horse and calming him.

My throat had felt parched even before dust-strewn air reached it. Now I swallowed a few times to moisten it.

“See you at the bunker then.” V-V pressed his boot into his horse’s flank.

Bunker?
I squinted after him. Had he meant boathouse?

V-V headed toward the river. I watched until he was out of sight, then turned my attention back to Zerov. He was gone. I assumed he was following V-V’s order, leading Leo’s Appaloosa to the barn. Sidestepping rapidly past the sulky, I went to the front and peered out again.
What had happened to Leo? And where was Dante?

A burning sensation seared my gut. I couldn’t return to my car. The note I had left for Dante said that I would be at the stable. If he had already arrived and was on his way to meet me, either plowing up the driveway or dodging through the forest, I would miss him.

I checked my watch. I couldn’t remain inside this shed either. Kiki was a helpless pawn in the plot V-V and his associate, Cardillac, were brewing. But without a sense of how many other disciples V-V had in reserve, it seemed foolhardy to dash after him.