The Hinky Velvet Chair (6 page)

Rigorous training provided by the doddering fool across the
table kept Clay from rolling his eyes.

Sovay leaned toward Clay and put her elbows on the
tablecloth. “And your area of expertise is so fascinating, Mr. Dawes. I had no
idea there was a branch of psychical research called
sexualis imaginarium.”

The look Clay shot his parent would have killed if he’d had
the safety off. “Not many people do.” He lowered his voice. “Everyone talks
about sex, but when it comes to the nitty gritty of psychic phenomena in the
bedroom, they’re afraid to explore.”

Sovay leaned forward even farther. Her breasts made Griffy’s
look like prunes.
Yes, I see them,
they’re spectacular.

“But how many of us experience such a thing?” She touched
her chest, as if nobody had noticed it.

“Everyone,” Clay stated. “Every single one of us goes
through extradimensional space during the sex act.”

Sovay sucked in a deep breath. “That sounds dangerous!”

“It is. That’s why so many people prefer mystery novels,” he
said, looking deep into her eyes. “Or playing cards.”

Virgil clapped his hands. “Cards! I want poker!” he cried as
if he, too, preferred cards to sex in extradimensional space. “Griffy, get the
table ready.”

“I — I need to go to the kitchen,” Griffy said, and Clay saw
that her feelings were hurt.

“We can play three-handed,” Clay suggested.

Virgil doddered. “Of course! Do you know milking-stool
poker? Three handed. Sudden death. Good way to lose a lot of money,” he said
with a senile chortle. He patted Sovay on the hand. “You can trim the pants off
me, young lady.”

Sovay laughed. “I can try!”

Griffy blundered away from the table.

Clay was heartened to find that Virgil didn’t object to
skinning his golddigger at milking-stool poker. He followed Virgil’s signals.
Between them they took six hundred dollars off the lovely Sovay.

She only laughed and paid up on the spot.

Cash, he noted.
Hm.
Wonder which room she’s in.

To Jewel’s relief, Randy submitted beautifully to the
haircut. He didn’t even make remarks about the sexual orientation of the
hairdresser. Jewel sat for a trim.

“Pretty quiet in here, Leo,” she said. For a Michigan Avenue
salon, it had a lot of empty chairs.

“Business sucks,” Leo said, concentrating on Randy’s head. “Ever
since Bruce let that kid in here, we’re in the toilet.”

Jewel got goose bumps. “Bad stylist?”

“Bad peddlar. Came by a month ago selling love potions,” Leo
said, giving her a heart attack, “and since then we see fewer regulars every
week. Bruce claims there’s no connection.”

Bruce, snipping away at Jewel’s hair, murmured, “I don’t see
the connection.”

But Jewel saw. Buzz was at it again.

Leo said, “I ran into one of my regulars at the chocolate
counter at Neiman’s yesterday. She’s missed three appointments. Her hair and
nails were a
mess.
Know what she told
me? ‘I like myself the way I am.’ Did you ever? I said, ‘Darling, it’s not
about who you are, it’s about what you look like to other people,’ and do you
know what she said? ‘If I love me, they’ll love me.’” He shook his head. “This
was a nice haircut once,” he said to Randy. “I’ve never seen a cut like this.”

Bruce glanced over at Randy. “Where did you have it done?”

“London,” Randy said, watching the scissors flash in the
mirror.

“Figures,” Leo said.

Jewel wondered how Buzz could be singlehandedly undermining
the beauty industry in the most expensive neighborhood in Chicago. When she
caught up with him again, she would ask him.

An hour later she parked the Tercel a block from the
Thompson residence on Marine Drive, which acted as a frontage road for Lake
Shore Drive. “You don’t say anything. You don’t talk about the department. You
stay out of my way.”

Randy nodded. Too excited to argue, she guessed.
Poor guy. I guess I haven’t been respecting
his personhood.
He looked seriously hot in that Blass suit. It was too nice
a suit for a city worker. Alas, he didn’t own anything else appropriate, so
they were stuck with it.

She felt seriously hot, too, but that was because her
pantsuit was plastic.

Wow, the Thompson place was one of those limestone landmark
mansions with a lake view. Marble front steps. Woof.

She led Randy up the steps. He knocked.

An actual butler answered the door. Jewel blinked. Randy
cleared his throat and she sent him a
shut
up
look.

“I’m Senior Investigator Jewel Heiss with the Chicago
Department of Consumer Services. I want to see Mr. Virgil Thompson. In private.
Official business.”

The butler shut the door in their faces.

“You should have permitted me,” Randy said. He knocked again,
pushing Jewel to one side.

The butler opened the door.

Randy said in his most languid tone, “Lord Pontarsais to see
Mr. Thompson.” He flicked his fingers and a card appeared.

Jewel stared.
When did
he get a visiting card?

The butler examined the card, bowed again, and stepped back.
“If you would step this way, milord.” He parked them in a front room with dead
animal heads on the walls and disappeared.

“You have any more of those cards?”

Randy handed her one.
Randolph
Llew Carstairs Athelbury Darner, third Earl Pontarsais,
it read in tight,
loopy script. Clay must have bought him the cards.

“You realize there may be an Earl Pontarsais alive right
this minute.”

Randy favored her with a look of pitying hauteur. “I’ll
fight him for it.”

“I don’t think,” she whispered, “they still do trial by
combat in Wales.”

The door opened. “In here? Thank you, Mellish. Ah, hello,
good afternoon, I’m Virgil Thompson.” Thompson was an old guy with a bald head
like a turtle’s, about three inches shorter than Jewel. “Lord Pontarsais.”
Thompson shook hands with Randy. “Marvelous. And your lovely, lovely lady
friend?” He took her hand and gazed up at her as if she were Mount Rushmore.

She gave Thompson a businesslike smile and repeated her
credentials. “We’re sorry to disturb your privacy, sir.”

“Not at all, not at all.” Thompson appealed to her in a
fossilized way. There was a gleam in his turtle eye, as if he might at any
moment say
Yowza
or
Hotcha, cutie-pie.
“And how may I serve
the lovely hand of the law?”

“Sir, I’m sorry to inform you that a known criminal was
observed entering your home yesterday.”

“You terrify me,” Thompson said, looking unterrified. “Is
this man a burglar?”

“No, sir, he’s a con man. He calls himself Clay Dawes.
Perhaps he insinuated himself into your house as a guest. He’s a very smooth
talker. We’ve had him under observation for weeks. When we realized he was in
your home, we felt it was time to reveal our presence. In confidence, sir, if
you feel you can keep the secret.”

Turtlehead Thompson blinked at her. “Oh, I can keep a
secret. With confidence. Yes, he came by yesterday posing as an
aficionado
of old machines. I have a remarkable collection, you know. It happens that a
friend has brought me a valuable antique for repair and appraisal. Of course
he’s after that.”

“Perhaps. It wouldn’t do for us to make assumptions about
his motives yet.” Now to see if she could talk her way into the house. Jewel
shot Randy a warning look.

“Ye-e-es, I quite see.” Thompson’s pale blue eyes got
bright. “My goodness, how exciting! I feel as if I were in a film about master
thieves.” He turned a mischievous smile on Jewel. “As I see it, you two must
become my guests, as well.” He tapped his lips with a skeletal finger. “But not
as fraud investigators.”

This was almost too easy. “Uh, of course not,” Jewel said
uncertainly.

“No, no. You must fit into the decor. Hm.” The turtle head
turned from Jewel to Randy and back. “I have it. You shall be psychical
investigators. I am considered something of an expert in the history of such
matters, so no one will feel any surprise at your visit. Lord Pontarsais can
remain himself, but perhaps we should disguise his name a little? Lord, hm.”
Thompson looked at Randy’s visiting card.

Randy’s eyes sparkled. “You might style me Lord Darner. I
have a personal interest in supernatural phenomena.”

Virgil Thompson bowed. “Very neat. And you, my dear? Perhaps
you are his hired expert.”

Jewel set her foot on Randy’s toe and leaned forward. “I’d
rather be his hired debunker. Trailing him around the country, keeping him from
spending money on fakes and bull — and nonsense.” She smiled another warning at
Randy.

“What fun! A believer and a skeptic. We shall call you, mm,
Julia Hess. That way if Lord, er, Darner happens to forget and calls you by
your real name, it won’t be noticed.” Thompson rubbed his hands together,
looking tickled to death to be in a complicated intrigue. “You should send for
some other clothes, however, my dear,” he said, eyeing her polyester. “You look
so
federal.”
Well, that was a new way
to describe her wardrobe. He clapped his hands. “How thrilling! You must stay
as long as you like. Corner this criminal. He won’t suspect a thing.”

“Mr. Thompson, you’re being very cooperative.” Jewel shook
his hand again.

“Oh, call me Virgil. Everyone does. And now you must meet my
sister Griffy, who keeps house for me.” For a hundred-year-old fossil, Virgil
had the sexiest twinkle in his eye.

Jewel twinkled back at him. She felt like hunting Clay up
and singing Nyah-nyah at him.
I’m
undercover! Woohoo!

o0o

Griffy was charmed with the new guests. She guessed right
away that they must be Clay’s partners. The man was handsome in a very stiff,
English way, and the woman Jewel was tall and righteous-looking, with an FBI
chin, exactly the sort of person you could trust to chase away scheming
floozies who tried to ruin a good woman’s relationship.

Virgil introduced them. “Griffy, this is Lord Darner, the
prominent British supernaturalist, and his assistant, Julia Hess.”

“Call me J-Julia,” Clay’s partner stammered, shaking
Griffy’s hand.

Oh, good grief. More secrets. Well, she just wouldn’t worry
about it. Who cared what their real names were? “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“Room,” Lord Darner said. “One room will suffice.”

Julia looked grumpy. Griffy wondered if they were getting
along.
He thinks they’re together and she
doesn’t.

“Our bags will be coming later,” Julia said, showing her
teeth at Lord Darner.

Yup. Trouble. Maybe it was only a tiff.

“Come with me, Lord Darner,” Virgil said. “The women can put
their heads together while you and I have brandy and a cigar in my collection
room. I can’t wait to show you my latest toy.”

“This would be the, er, antique machine?” Lord Darner said.

Julia looked nervous. “You’re not going to b-buy it, are
you, Lord Darner?” she said. She seemed to have a stammer.

“Not a chance!” Virgil cackled. “
I’m
going to buy it. Since I’m appraising it, I’ll offer the owner
double what it’s worth. I can’t let it out of the house, now that I’ve seen it!”
He towed Lord Darner away.

Julia sighed. “I hope he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Men!” Griffy said. “If you saw all the junk he’s got up
there. I’ll show you around. You must be good with people.”

“Well, I like to see justice done,” said Clay’s investigator
friend.

Griffy’s eyes widened. “That sounds strict!”

“I like to think of myself as cruel but fair.” Julia was
looking at the grand staircase in the foyer. “Wow, some house.”

“The marble kills your knees going up and downstairs. And
it’s awful to clean. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that. We have all these
people from Household Temps now. I can’t keep track of the stuff I can say and
can’t say,” she complained. “At least you know I’m not Virgil’s sister. Well,
how could I be? He’s twenty-five years older than me!”

“Mm-hm,” Julia said.

“Wait til you see this woman,” Griffy said darkly, thinking
of that female fiend, Sovay Sacheverell. “She looks like his granddaughter. But
I’ll say no more. You’ll make your own professional assessment. It won’t be
easy. Virgil is
determined.”
She
caught herself on a gasp and covered her mouth. “In eighteen years, I’ve never
seen him like this.”

Julia came to the top of the stairs and looked down at
Griffy with kind eyes. “You love him.”

Griffy sniffled and blotted the tears away from her mascara.
“The old buzzard,” she gulped.

“I was thinking turtle,” Julia said.

Griffy felt a warm place in her heart. “I won’t worry
anymore. I know we’re in good hands.”

She tried to smile, and Julia smiled back.

o0o

Hm,
Jewel thought.
It almost sounded as if Griffy knew she was a cop. But how could Virgil have
told her the truth already?