Thieves! (25 page)

For some reason I felt awkward, wondering how close knit the “tribe” was and if Noah might have mentioned our own little tryst from the night before.

I waited for him to draw alongside, anxious to hear his thoughts on the recent silver scandal, noting that, unlike Barbara, he didn’t look the worse for wear. I couldn’t help wondering what happened after I left them to it.

“Did you hear about the robbery last night?”

“They’re trying to pin that one on us, too,” snorted Jimmy with disbelief. “I insisted the cops search our wagons.”

“That was a good idea,” I said. “Are the cops still there now?” I did not want to bump into Stalk.

“No. They’ve gone,” said Jimmy. “We’ll be moving on next week.”

“What about Belcher Pike’s soul?”

“It’s his decision, not ours.” Jimmy gestured to the shouting and banging going on around us. “This place is like a three-ringed circus. We’re accused of theft and fly-tipping. It’s no place for a dying man.” Jimmy touched his forelock. “Best get on.”

News of their departure filled me with mixed feelings. Apart from the obvious fact that I would not have to deal with Belcher Pike’s funeral, I realized this meant Noah would be moving on, too, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Thoughts of Noah were soon forgotten when I pulled into the rear of The Grange. Jimmy had been mistaken about the police being gone—D.I. Probes’s ridiculously small Smart car was dwarfed next to Topaz’s Ford Capri.

As Topaz’s very distant cousin, it stood to reason that she’d have involved Probes in recovering the family heirlooms. Of course, he and I were the only two people who knew of Topaz’s double life.

I found the back door unlocked and ajar—defeating the purpose of all Topaz’s new warning signs.

Presumably, Topaz was in her “suite of rooms.” I took the stairs up to the first floor, pausing to admire the stained glass window depicting the family motto—HOMO PROPONIT SED DEUS DISPONIT—“Man proposes, God disposes.” A faint bark greeted my footsteps and, looking up, I saw Slipper wagging her tail.

A door, set into the wooden partition—custom-made to seal off the upper floor during Sir Hugh and Lady Clarissa Trewallyn’s time—stood open. With Slipper trailing behind me, I stepped through into a labyrinth of long cavernous corridors.

Slipper took the one to my left, and I dutifully followed. We rounded a corner and made for a faint light coming through an open doorway a few yards farther on.

Slipper pushed the door open and went on in, but I decided to wait outside—partially because I wasn’t sure how Topaz would receive me, and partially because I was hoping to eavesdrop on whatever conversation she might be having with Probes.

I had a good view of the sitting room. It was lovely and bright, with huge sash windows overlooking the park.

The wallpaper was made of pale yellow silk and hung with heavily framed family portraits. In front of an ornate fireplace stood an exquisitely embroidered tapestry fire-guard. Dark-crimson velvet curtains fell from crested pelmets; a sand-colored Knole sofa trimmed with gold fringe and enormous tassels was joined by a pair of matching wingback chairs. Bowls of roses in crystal vases sat on several antique occasional tables atop a glorious Persian carpet.

It was a far cry from the tattered Victorian chairs and grime of The Copper Kettle kitchen, and frankly, I felt a little intimidated.

Topaz often pulled the aristocracy card on me, but I usually took it with a pinch of salt. Here, despite her silly lowly waitress act, I realized there really was a class gap between us.

At first I couldn’t see her. She was standing partially shielded by a large potted palm in a ceramic pot next to another door.

Dressed in a frumpy beige canvas skirt, white short-sleeved shirt, sandals, and pearls, Topaz’s short brown hair lay flat on top of her head. On the sofa sat the discarded Jackie O wig.

“It’s just not fair!” Topaz shouted through the door. “Don’t you care about the Spat silver?”

“You know as well as I do that this is not the work of the gypsies,” came a muffled voice I recognized as Probes.

There was the sound of a toilet flushing and the loud crack of a lock being drawn across. Probes emerged dressed in plain clothes.

Topaz stood aside to let him pass. “Annabel said it was the work of a famous silver thief called The Fog.”

“The
Fog
?” said Probes sharply.

My stomach turned over. So this was what Annabel was up to! Was she trying to lure Dad to Gipping-on-Plym? The idea was ludicrous—and yet . . .
not
impossible.

“I’d think it highly unlikely,” said Probes. “He’s still on the run. Interpol has been after him for months, and we’d know if he’d entered the country.”

“But he’s supposed to be frightfully clever,” said Topaz. “That’s why he’s called The Fog—because he creeps in so slowly and then disappears.”

“The Fog wouldn’t dare return to England, let alone Gipping-on-Plym.”

Thank you, Probes.
Then I thought, wait—Probes seems to know a little too much about my dad. Naturally, I knew Probes had connections with Interpol, and, yes, it was common knowledge that the reason why Dad had fled the country was because of a botched robbery, but even so . . .

“Did you know that he’s one of the top ten famous criminals in the world?” Topaz declared. I couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit of pride that Dad was in the top ten and wondered exactly which number.

Probes walked to the window and gazed out over the parkland beyond. “Why would Annabel think The Fog would come to Gipping?”

“Apparently his specialty is Georgian tea urns.” Topaz flounced over to the Knole sofa, tossed her wig on the floor, and flung herself into the corner. “Really, this is all so frightfully tedious. I still don’t know why you won’t let me evict the gypsies today. That eviction service from Plymouth is jolly good and had a last-minute cancellation at five.”

“We searched the wagons. The gypsies haven’t done anything wrong, and you know it,” said Probes wearily. “Where have you hidden the silver, Ethel?”

I’d never heard Topaz addressed by her real name before.

“I told you, I haven’t touched it,” she said. “Why would Uncle Hugh say they could stay here? Why, after all this time, have they come back?”

Up until last night, I had been asking myself the same question, but now I knew the answer. The gypsies were back because Jimmy Kitchen realized he couldn’t live without his first love and had come to get her. It was too romantic for words.

“You do know that wasting police time is a criminal offense,” Probes said sternly. “And if you are thinking of making a false claim on an insurance policy, you could go to prison.”

“An insurance claim?” Topaz brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. What a frightfully good idea.”

Probes gave a heavy sigh. “You’re impossible.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t see the canister of furniture polish left on the ground by Mrs. Evans. It made a very loud noise as it rolled across the floor and stopped at Topaz’s feet.

Topaz looked up. “Omigod! Vicky!” she shrieked and leapt to her feet, racing across the room and flinging herself into my arms. “I’ve missed you!”

“I heard the news about the silver.” I tried to extract myself from her enthusiastic embrace. “Your
ladyship
?”

Topaz jumped back and became lady-of-the-manor once again. “Thank you for your concern,” she said with a haughty sniff. “I am quite well, but it was a frightful shock.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” groaned Probes. “Do we have to continue this charade? Vicky knows exactly who you are.”

“What was stolen, Topaz?”

Topaz gave a heavy sigh. “Obviously, the
priceless
Trewallyn chalice—and some littler knickknacks at the church.”

“You mean the ancient artifacts that have been there for hundreds of years?” I said.

“And the Georgian tea urns, of course,” said Topaz. “They’re the ones that we’re really worried about, aren’t we, Colin?”

“We would be if they were really missing and not just”—Probes looked me straight in the eye and actually winked—“
mislaid.
”

I was glad to see Probes had more intelligence than I normally gave him credit for.

“Of course they’re not mislaid,” said Topaz with scorn. “The window was smashed. It was the work of a professional, I’m sure.”

“A professional who hurls a brick through a glass window?” said Probes wryly.

“Personally, I think the gypsies are in cahoots with professional thieves.”

So
this
was the angle Annabel was taking!

“Can I see the heirloom room?” I asked.

“Be my guest,” said Topaz. “You’ll see what I mean.” We all trooped down to the heirloom room—as it now seemed to be officially called.

“Are the fingerprint people coming?” I said.

“Colin refused to call them out.” Topaz lowered her voice. “He’s being frightfully difficult about it all.”

“I heard that,” said Probes.

The heirloom room was in chaos. The silver on the refectory table had been disturbed and scattered about.

Having been privy to Topaz’s closely guarded list of inventory in the past, I started to count the pieces. Excluding the Georgian urns, the original list numbered thirty-seven items, so it was somewhat startling to find that the number was exactly the same. Even the exquisite silver swan centerpieces were still there, hidden underneath an upturned teapot.

For a fleeting moment, it crossed my mind that Dad could be involved, but then I reminded myself that he always worked alone. Furthermore, he had earned his nickname, The Fog, for a reason.

Dad had never been the smash-and-grab type. Often his victims did not discover the theft for weeks afterward because of the way he only took specific pieces. His method of breaking and entering without leaving a trace was legendary—so much so that his peers have begged him to write a textbook on the art of “stealth burglary.”

I was now certain that Annabel and Topaz were in cahoots. It was amusing, really.

Probes poked around muttering various comments like, “I thought that belonged to my mother” and “Grandfather said this cigarette box was mine.”

Moving over to the sash window, I almost laughed.
What amateurs!

The lower half had a fist-sized hole in it, but the latch was still firmly shut. In fact, it had been painted over, as had the pulley ropes on either side of the frame that raised the window.

On the carpet lay a large brick. There was a sprinkling of glass on the floor by the skirting board, but peering outside, I saw a pile of shards on the patio. Whoever had thrown the brick had done so from inside this room.

I turned to Topaz, who was hovering in the doorway. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear the glass smash.”

“How would I? This is a frightfully large house, and the heirloom room is in a different wing.”

“I’ve already warned her she’s wasting police time,” said Probes, who seemed to have glided silently to my side. He had a musky scent that I was never quite sure if I found attractive or not. “My cousin seems to think the focus was on the Georgian tea urns. Why do you think she would say that?”

“I have no idea,” I said quickly.

“Are you two quite finished?’ said Topaz. “I can’t stand here all day. I’m busy.”

I closed the shutters, and Probes said he’d return later with some wood to patch up the hole in the glass. “No point tempting fate,” he said grimly.

After locking the door carefully behind us, Topaz said, “And don’t think I’ll be making you any tea. This isn’t a café.”

“Let me escort you to your car, Vicky,” said Probes. “We need to talk.”

“I have no influence over your cousin.”

“Not about Ethel or Topaz or whatever she’s called,” said Probes. “This is about you.”

I
followed Probes outside, expecting to be taken to my Fiat. Instead, he veered left and took the narrow pathway around the side of the pigsty. No doubt Probes had found out about Topaz sabotaging the gypsies’ recycling efforts. I wondered if I should mention that Dora had caught her on camera, too.

We stopped next to the recycling bins, which were still in ship-shape condition.

Probes seemed nervous, jostling from foot to foot and scanning the area. After some moments, he said, “Sorry to be so cloak-and-daggerish. I don’t want us to be overheard.”

“Are you telling me a secret?” I joked.

“You could say that.” Probes’s face wore that contorted look that had
anguished struggle
written all over it.

“Is this about the recycling or the silver?” I said, suddenly feeling sick. Probes seemed to know a lot about Dad’s movements. “You know the gypsies didn’t take it.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that.” Probes seemed irritated. “My cousin has nearly ruined everything.” He fell silent again.