Manolos in Manhattan (43 page)

“Which puts us right back where we started,” Holly sighed, and wandered across the floor to the far end of the attic. She crossed her arms against her chest and turned to face Hugh in frustration. “I just wish we had some kind of a clue. Something...” her voice trailed away. “Wait. What’s this?”

“What’s what?” Hugh asked as he joined her.

“That!” Holly pointed to the small circle of ruffled lace on the floor near her shoe. She knelt down and picked it up to study it more closely.

Hugh knelt down beside her. “It looks like…” He lifted his eyes to hers in puzzlement. “A ladies’ garter.”

“No,” Holly said decisively, “it’s too small.” She demonstrated by picking it up and sliding it over her wrist. “See? It fits around my wrist, but I wouldn’t be able to slide it up my thigh.”

“Now there’s a visual,” Hugh murmured.

She blushed. “I’m speaking theoretically, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed. He cleared his throat. “The circumference is much too narrow.”

“So what
is
it?” Holly wondered as she studied the bit of lace in her hand. “Some sort of bracelet? And what’s it doing up here in the attic?”

“Is it something Daisy might have left behind?” Hugh suggested.

“Maybe.” Holly’s expression was doubtful. “But it looks new. And she’s not a lace and frou-frou kind of girl.”

Hugh straightened. “It’s a most unusual clue.”

“Maybe not.” Holly regarded him with growing excitement. “I don’t know if you remember, but Chaz brought Klaus with him to the party was last night.”

“I could scarcely forget,” Hugh said wryly. “They wore matching lavender frock coats.”

“Do you remember what Klaus was carrying? Besides his fan,” she added.

Hugh frowned, puzzled. “No, not really,” he began. Then he did remember, and his face cleared. “Of course! He was holding that ridiculous little dog in his arms.”

“Maximilian,” Holly agreed. “And he was dressed in a matching costume, too. This…” She held up the tiny lace ruffle. “This is what Max was wearing around his neck! Which means—”

“‒that Klaus and his dog were definitely up here in the attic at some point last night,” Hugh finished. He frowned. “I’m surprised the police didn’t notice it.”

“Well, I’m not. It’s way over here in the corner, easy to miss – and they probably thought it belonged up here. Or else it was overlooked during all the excitement.”

“I think you’re right. And I also think,” Hugh added as he cast a determined look at Holly, “that you and I need to pay a visit to Mr von Karle. I think he and his little dog Max have a bit of explaining to do.”

Chapter Seventy-Six

As she got out of Hugh’s car a short time later, Holly glanced up at the imposing turn-of-the-century building. With its gabled roof, canopied entrance, and uniformed doorman, the Dunleigh never failed to send a tiny shiver up her spine.

And to think that it had nearly become her home...

“Are you ready to confront Mr von Karle?” Hugh asked.

Holly nodded. “You bet I am. Let’s go.”

At the front desk, Holly gave Chaz’s name. A moment later, they were riding the elevator up to apartment 0827.

“Are you nervous?” Darcy asked Holly as the elevator dinged to announce their arrival on the eighth floor. “This might get ugly. Klaus is sure to deny everything.”

“He can deny it all he wants,” Holly retorted. “We have this‒” She lifted a Baggie containing Maximilian’s lace neck ruff. “to prove that he and Max were in the attic last night.”

He took her arm. “Let’s get on with it, then, shall we?”

He pressed the bell for apartment 827b. Immediately they heard Maximilian begin to bark, then all was quiet. A moment later, Chaz swung the door open. “Holly!” he enthused, and threw his arms around her as if they hadn’t seen each the night before. “Hello, Mr Darcy. You two are my first official visitors. Come in and see the place.”

“We’re not here on a social call,” Hugh warned him. “We’re here on a rather delicate matter.”

“Ooh, even better! Come in, come in,” Chaz urged. “Klaus! We have guests!”

He led them down the hallway – planked oak, atop which lay an antique Persian runner – to the living room. Holly let out a soft breath. The room boasted a breathtaking view of Central Park, and was furnished with a mixture of antiques and sleek modern pieces.

Everything was white, from the soft cream of the walls and carpet to the white linen sofa and the low-slung Eames chairs. Kilim rugs and throw pillows provided bright spots of color. The effect was at once serene and sophisticated.

Klaus was seated at a French escritoire near the fireplace, writing a letter. He rose as they came in. “Please, sit,” he commanded, and indicated the sofa. “I can offer you sparkling water or tea. I do not drink coffee. It stains the teeth.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Holly said quickly, and Hugh declined as well.

Klaus went to stand beside the fireplace and regarded them with a flinty eye. “What is it that brings you here, eh?”

Hugh cleared his throat. “We’ve come on a matter of some urgency—”

“A painting was stolen from the brownstone last night,” Holly cut in. “And we think
you
took it, Mr von Karle.”

Chaz looked at her in astonishment and gasped. “
What
?”

Von Karle regarded Holly in amusement. “Indeed? And on what do you base this ridiculous supposition, my dear girl?”

“I base it,” she replied, “on this.” And she withdrew the Baggie and held it up.

He studied it. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“This is Maximilian’s neck ruff. We found it in the attic. He wore it at the party last night.” She glanced around the apartment curiously. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Chaz put him in the study when you arrived,” von Karle replied. His smile was gone. “Maximilian does not take well to visitors. Now, back to this – thing that you say belongs to my dog. What is your point?”

“Our point,” Hugh said evenly, “is this. That neck ruff proves that you – and your dog – were in the attic last night, just before the painting was stolen.”

“Painting? What painting?”

“It was a portrait of a flapper who used to sing at the brownstone when it was a speakeasy,” Holly said, and muttered, “As if you didn’t know.”

“I see.” Klaus crossed his arms against his chest, his amusement mingled with skepticism. “First of all, why would I want this painting of a…flapper, you say? And secondly, how do you propose to prove that
that
—” he indicated the Baggie with a raised brow “‒ belongs to my dog? You could have bought it at any pet store in New York and claimed it was Maximilian’s.”

“I could have,” Holly said hotly, “but I didn’t! I found it on the attic floor. Didn’t I, Mr Darcy?”

“Yes, you did,” Hugh said. “I was there.”

Klaus shrugged. “Even if it does belong to Maximilian...what does that prove? It proves only that my dog was in the attic. I do let him wander from time to time, you know.”

Holly looked at Hugh in dismay. She hadn’t thought of that possibility.

“So you see,” Klaus finished, “your accusation is ludicrous and groundless ‒ unless you mean to say that my
dog
stole your painting?” He smirked.

“My God, Holly, I can’t believe you’d accuse Klaus of sneaking up to the attic to steal that old painting!” Chaz snapped. “That’s just so...rude!”

“It’s all right,” Klaus admonished him, and shot him a quelling glance. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I refuse to allow these ridiculous accusations to ruffle my feathers.”

“Well, sorry, but they sure as hell ruffle mine!” Chaz snapped. “Besides, it was too cold up there to hang around long – much less steal that stupid painting!”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, a horrified expression settled on Chaz’s face. “Oops,” he murmured.

“Idiot!” Klaus hissed.

“So you
were
in the attic last night – both of you!” Holly exclaimed. “I knew it!”

“Yes, we were in the attic,” Klaus confirmed, irritation plain in his guttural German accent as he glowered at Chaz. “We went up there for a few...private moments. That was all.”

“You understand that Holly and I have to report this to the police,” Hugh told him, his expression grim, “since I’m sure neither of you reported it.”

“Go ahead,” Chaz blustered, “tell them! Like Klaus said, that neck ruff doesn’t prove we stole that painting – it only proves we were in the attic!”

“Enough!” von Karle barked. “You’ve said far too much as it is.”

Chaz rounded on Holly and Hugh. Anger darkened his face. “I think it’s time you both left.”

“Very well,” Darcy agreed as he stood up, “we’ll go. But rest assured, our first stop when we leave here is the local police precinct.”

They were halfway across the living room when Klaus let out a dramatic sigh. “That won’t be necessary.”

Holly and Hugh paused and turned around.

“Klaus,” Chaz protested, panicked, “what are you
doing
?”

“They’ve left me no choice.” Klaus eyed his visitors in resignation. “If you promise that no charges will be made, I’ll tell you what happened. What really happened.”

Holly exchanged a glance with Hugh. “Okay,” she agreed, “but you have to give the painting back.”

He scowled. “I cannot promise that.”

“Why not?” Holly demanded, indignant. “After all, it belongs to my father!” Her face clouded. “You do still
have
the painting, don’t you?”

“Yes, he said impatiently, “I have it.” Klaus turned to Chaz and said shortly, “Go and get it, and bring it here.”

“Klaus,” Chaz warned, “you’re making a big mistake—”

“Just get it!”

With obvious reluctance, Chaz left. He reappeared a few minutes later with the portrait of Daisy in his hands and lifted it up onto the fireplace mantel.

“There!” he said, and cast Holly a black look. “Happy?”

“Why did you take it?” she asked Klaus, ignoring Chaz. “You can’t possibly need the money,” she observed as she glanced around the sumptuous, expensively furnished apartment. “And I doubt if the painting’s worth much, anyway.”

He clicked his tongue in impatience. “No, of course I don’t need the money! And I have no wish to sell the painting. Quite the contrary – I want to keep it. Because the fact is, Miss James,” He paused and met her eyes, “Daisy Drayer was my great-aunt.”

Chapter Seventy-Seven

A stunned silence greeted Klaus’ words.

“Your great-aunt,” Holly said at last. “So your grandmother was...Dora? Daisy’s half-sister?”

He nodded. “She married my grandfather, Braydon Averell, a year after Daisy disappeared.”

“Bix,” Holly whispered. “Bix was your grandfather?”

“It wasn’t a happy marriage,” Klaus continued, and lowered himself heavily into a club chair. Holly and Hugh returned to the sofa and followed suit. “My grandfather never got over losing Daisy. He loved her very much.”

“Then why did he marry Dora?” Holly wondered.

Klaus shrugged. “Dora wasn’t beautiful, like Daisy; but she was very determined. She convinced my grandfather that she had enough affection for both of them, and he married her in 1929, just before the stock market crash.”

“They had a son?” Hugh asked.

“Yes, my father, Joseph.”

“But…your name is von Karle,” Holly said, confused.

“I changed it for professional reasons, long ago. My real name is William Brayden Averell.”

“Oh,” she murmured, and blinked.

“I recognized Daisy the moment Chaz took me up to the attic and showed me the painting,” Klaus went on. “My grandmother had a photograph of Daisy. She showed it to me when I was a child. It was a newspaper clipping with a photograph of the portrait. The painting disappeared, she said, and no one ever knew what became of it. I was obsessed. So beautiful my Great-Aunt Daisy was! Unlike my grandmother, who was plain as a poker.

“So I took the painting,” Klaus finished, “because by rights, it belongs to me. Daisy and I are related, after all.”

“But Clyde Caruso commissioned that portrait,” Holly objected, “not Dora. That means it belongs to my father, since it was found in the brownstone. You can’t just...take it!”

“Holly’s right. We’ll have the painting valued,” Hugh told von Karle. “If you wish to buy it, then perhaps Alastair will consider selling it to you for its market valuation.”

Klaus inclined his head. “Very well,” he agreed.

“How did the painting end up in the attic, anyway?” Holly asked.

“I can tell you that,” Klaus said. “My grandmother went to visit Daisy the night she disappeared. Clyde was there. He’d gotten back from a trip to Chicago, and he came in to sign some papers. She mentioned that Daisy was eloping with Bix. He didn’t know; he was furious. He stormed into the lobby and grabbed Daisy’s portrait from the easel and carried it off, vowing that since she was throwing her career away on Bix, he’d throw her portrait away, too.

”But he must have had second thoughts, and hid it away in the attic instead. He probably meant to go back and get it, but once the massacre took place, he never got the chance. Daisy told Dora that Clyde wanted to marry her. She rebuffed him. He spent the rest of his life in and out of prison. He died in Alcatraz.”

“Well,” Holly mused thoughtfully, “at least that solves one mystery – we know how Daisy’s portrait ended up in the attic.” She looked up at Hugh with a frown. “But it gives us another murder suspect, too.”

“It does,” Hugh agreed. “Dora said that when Clyde found out Daisy was eloping with Bix, he was furious. Was he furious enough to go back and kill her?”

“No,” Klaus said, his words measured.

“How can you be so sure?” Holly scoffed. “You weren’t there.”

“No. But I knew someone who was.” He paused. “Clyde Caruso did not murder my great-aunt. I know, because the person who did kill Daisy confessed to me on her deathbed.”

Holly’s eyes widened. “
Her
? You don’t mean—”

“The person who killed Daisy Drayer,” Klaus said quietly, “was my grandmother. Her half-sister...Dora.”

“Before she died,” Klaus said into the stunned silence, “Dora confessed that she killed Daisy. She hadn’t meant to, of course; it was a terrible accident. She only meant to knock her half-sister unconscious and prevent her from boarding the Cunard liner in time to sail to Paris with Bix. Dora loved Bix desperately, you see, and she wanted him for herself.”