Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (12 page)

Chapter 31

F
our hours later, we’d peeked under every chair a royal fanny could fit in. The snooping being done from a distance of a dozen feet made it more of a challenge. I saw enough dust bunnies to repopulate the planet but no Shadow.

“That’s all I’m permitted to show you,” Ian said. “I can’t imagine anything being hidden under any of the Queen’s chairs without someone finding it. Her corgis are forever sniffing out new things. Those dogs would have howled if there were something suspicious.”

“Thank you, Ian,” I said. As I looked back at the line of tourists shuffling shoulder to shoulder through the Picture Gallery past the Rembrandts, Van Dycks, Rubens, and Vermeers, I saw an ear flapping. It flapped again. It looked like a salmon swimming upstream to spawn in a river of humanity. That ear belonged to Algy Green.

“Roger!” I nudged him.

By the time we both looked back, Algy was gone.

With clenched jaws Roger said, “That bugger
is
following us.”

“He’s really hungry for the reward,” I said.

“Speaking of hungry. Let’s grab a bite. I know a great pub near here.”

I wondered what Granddaddy Earl and Prince Charles were having for lunch.

***

At two in the afternoon, Roger, Angus, and I were sitting in a darkened pub. Sunlight filtering through red and green glass. The walls were rough stone and had probably been there for hundreds of years. Angus got a call and left us on our own.

“What’s next?” I asked.

“You have any suggestions?”

“Granddaddy said something about the wax museum. Isn’t there a likeness of the Queen at Madame Tussauds?”

Roger sighed. “Tomorrow we’ll check it out. Whoever murdered Benny might be hot on the same trail. If they did take Darcy, they would know where to look for the Lost Boy, so she must have eluded them. She is still alive you know.”

I shot him a questioning glance. What made him so sure the crazy lady was among the living?

“Has Darcy been in touch with you?”

He snorted. “No. And that’s unusual for her.”

“How can you be sure she’s alive?”

“How can you be so sure she’s not?”

“Humph. Never bloody mind.”

***

We taxied back to Roger’s flat. I never knew how independent being behind the wheel of a car made me feel until I’d done without it for a few days. Having to rely on the availability of cabbies was like being a baby in a stroller.

“Honk!” The geese greeted us at the door and ran to the pantry like two puppies.

“They’re your geese,” Roger said.

“We’re going to have to get food for these two, and soon!” I said as I dumped the un-popped kernels into the popcorn maker.

“Not the plan. Remember? You’re calling animal control.”

“We can’t do that. Someone will take them home for Sunday dinner. Let’s try to find them a good home.”

Roger shook his head. “I’m fresh out of farmer friends. Okay, one more day.”

My back ached from picking up pooped-on papers. I circled back replacing with clean papers. “We’re going to need more paper, too.”

Scrunching off my shoes, I plopped on Roger’s sofa. Every part of me ached. I lay back and flopped over. I stretched my feet to one end of the couch and my arms up to the other, wiggling my tushie to get the kinks out of my lower back. Hildy nipped gently at my toes. I patted the side of the sofa and she waddled over. Holly followed. They rested their two heads close together. I yawned as I petted their grey noggins. Tomb raiding was exhausting work.

I lay there thinking about the wonders of the palace while Roger prepared tea for two. The next thing I knew, he was splayed over me his lips seeking mine. The geese scrambled for safety. I rolled into his kiss and then froze.

“Don’t just lie there, do something!” he said.

From over his shoulder, I had a perfect view of a window washer’s platform hung in front of the panoramic glass. Dangling like a mouse in a hurricane was a little dude in white coveralls. Algy Green. The nutter was spying on us. Pushing off my frustrated would-be lover, I grabbed for the blanket and hugged it to me.

“Look over at the window,” I whispered.

Roger did. “I’ll be fucked!” He jumped up and ran to the glass, Hildy and Holly at his side. They honked at our peeping tom, beating their wings against the glass.

Algy’s eyes were two pink gumballs. He scrambled to lower the plank. One end dropped down, sending him sliding to the end of the board – his skinny, boneless body slumped on the edge and his eyeballs spun in fight-or-flight response.

Roger pushed open the lower part of the window. “Get off that plank, you little blighter, before I pull it out from under you. If I see your face again, you’ll regret it!”

Algy cleared his throat and attempted to stand, clinging to the rope as he wobbled on the platform. “I’m ready to do a deal.”

“You have nothing to deal with, you idiot.”

“That’s beside the point. Let’s talk. I’m all ears.”

Roger and I fell onto each other laughing as the plank slipped slowly to the ground. We leaned out the window. Algy limped away from his spy-rig dragging one foot, his ears catching the wind. He looked like a white mouse after an experiment gone bad.

We settled down with our tea and our geese and promptly fell asleep on the sofa. I woke during the night. Roger was sound asleep in his bed, the watch-geese on the floor at his side. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be jealous.

Chapter 32

“
I
think we’re being followed,” I said to Roger as our taxi pulled in front of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum on Marylebone Road. It was the morning of the third day of our frantic treasure hunt, and my nerves were raw. Extreme heat can play nasty tricks on even the most balanced of minds.

“Is it that little moron again?” he asked.

“Can’t tell. It’s a black sedan with tinted glass; looks like an undercover cop car. It’s been on us for a few blocks.”

Roger got out first and stood at the curb, his eyes fixed on the street. I jumped from the cab, my beige sundress sticking to my thighs, the shoulder straps falling on my upper arms like soggy noodles.

We hadn’t counted on a queue for the un-ticketed masses. The killer heat wave did nothing to discourage the summer tourists who stood in long lines, chattering in their native tongues. Their voices rose and fell in a gibberish soup. The racket worsened the pain in my head. The ticket line extending halfway down the block made me want to cry. Exhaustion drained my usual power of positive thinking.

Roger held up his laminated photo ID card from the British Museum as a bluff, and in an impressive display of chutzpah, he got us past the confused crowds and into the chilly lobby. I assumed they had to keep it icy-cold to prevent Elvis from melting into Margaret Thatcher.

The cold snapped me out of my funk. I was Wendy Darlin, Assistant Tomb Raider … in a building full of wax dummies. Okay, maybe assistant tomb raiding wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

While rubbing my bare arms to warm them, I spotted a tall, redheaded guy in a suit. It looked like the back of Angus’s head. I pointed him out to Roger. “Is that Angus? What’s he doing here?”

“Devil if I know, but he can get us on the fast track.” Roger shoved his way through the crowd toward his friend. I followed, wondering why a cop was in a tourist trap.

“Angus!” Roger called, waving to his friend.

I followed my guy’s lead, losing sight of the detective in the crowd.

“Excuse me,” he said to a lady in a fluorescent pink t-shirt and short shorts.

“No cutting in!” she snapped, stepping in with a full body-block. I approached her from behind and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around, Roger slipped past, and I joined him. We repeated this routine twice, causing near riots. Dummies for dummies.

“Over here!” Roger shouted.

Angus turned in our direction. His face registered a combo of surprise and irritation when he saw us forging the crowd to get to him. His lips pulled back in a strained smile. “I got a lead on a wanted killer hiding in this building.” He looked around as if the criminal were nearby.

Roger clapped him on the back, “We’re here to look for the last Lost Boy under the Queen’s chair and anywhere else resembling a place she’d plant her bum.”

The detective raised one pale eyebrow, “Buckingham Palace wasn’t enough? I’ll get you in. Follow me.” He elbowed his way to the ticket booth, with Roger close behind. I held onto my archaeologist’s belt to avoid being separated in the throng.

Angus flashed his badge at the ticket clerk and then the security guard. We walked through the gates and into the eerie hall. It was semi-dark with muted spotlights on the mannequins. There was something ick about pale wax people looking one-off from celebrities and standing quite still. They creeped me out. I shivered, not just from the temperature.

We read the directory for the groupings…
Sports Stars, Pop Stars, World Leaders, Hollywood Stars,
and even
Bollywood Stars.
There was
Royalty.
We dashed ahead, with Angus dropping back. Roger was in the lead as we raced into the Royalty exhibit. He stopped short and I slammed into him. “Nuts!”

The Queen was standing, not sitting. There was no royal throne, no chair, not even a stool. She stood on the “Royal Balcony” dressed in white, wearing a crown. An Asian couple stood on either side of her as someone snapped a photo for them.

Roger slumped in a discouraged heap, while Angus pulled attitude. “This has been great fun, but I must get back to headquarters; some of us still have to work. I don’t see any killers here.” The detective disappeared into the darkness.

I looked around. “While we’re here, why not try the movie stars? Who’s Darcy’s favorite?”

“Colin Firth,” he said.

Roger answered way too quickly. He kept Darcy and her desires near his frontal lobe. If he never cared for her that way, then how did he know her so well?

We hunted and hunted, but no Colin Firth. A small sign said he was out on loan. “Maybe Darcy’s taken him, too.” I said.

Roger didn’t smile at my joke. He was nagging to leave when I spotted Johnny Depp’s figure. I tugged on my partner’s sleeve, and he followed me obligingly. Poor Johnny. He had a dull look to his eyes and his hair was lifeless. “Stand next to him,” I directed Roger. “I’ll use my camera phone to snap you together. I never realized… you’re so much better looking.”

The world-traveling, high-adventure, tomb-raider-rescuer blushed at the compliment.

I pretended to kiss the dummy Johnny just to bring Dr. Jolley back to earth.

“You’re making me jealous!” Roger laughed as he swooped me into his arms, pulling me behind a red curtain that draped the wall from ceiling to floor. “How about I take you? Right here, right now?”

Our passion overcame our worry and fatigue. We went into a deep Depp kiss with Roger sliding my dress up my thigh, when I heard a familiar voice.

“They were here a minute ago, Alg… I saw ‘em.” It was Nobby’s voice.

I pulled an edge of the curtain and peeked. It
was
the deadly dodos.

“Bloody hell!” Nobby said as he stumbled over the velvet rope hung round the entrance to Angelina Jolie’s area.

“Oh bugs’ feet… that’s that cop friend of Dr. Jolley’s!” Algy said.

Peeking from our niche, I looked where he’d pointed in time to see Angus slip behind Helen Mirren. Weird, he’d said he was leaving.

“Here, get under the curtain with me,” Algy said to Nobby as he crawled under the opposite end of the very same drape where Roger and I were hiding.

I put my hand out in a “stay-still” motion at Roger. We froze, waiting to see what would happen.

Angus disappeared. I counted to one hundred, hoping the goofy thugs would exit first. They must have been counting also, because just as I hit ninety-nine, they slipped from behind the red velvet drape.

Crouching in a guilty duck-walk, their heads pivoting back and forth, they looked to be checking for the detective. “The copper’s gone,” Algy said, pulling a penknife from his pocket. “I’m going to leave my signature in the wax museum.” He moved on the figure of Johnny Depp and began to carve something in his neck.

“Could that be the murder weapon?” I whispered to Roger. I stepped from behind the curtain causing the goons to jump. Roger made a run for Algy, and I tripped Nobby who grabbed my ankle pulling me down.

“I saw you grab that woman!” Granddaddy Earl came out of nowhere. The octogenarian kicked Nobby in his wiggly bits and the big guy stayed down.

Roger had Algy by the scruff of his neck. “Knife’s too small. Not the murder weapon.” He folded it and passed it to Granddaddy who popped it in his pocket.

“What you got there, Dr. Jolley? Looks like a giant possum.”

“He might as well be a possum,” Roger dropped Algy who buckled as he hit the ground. “This is your last chance. Stop stalking us, or I’m coming after you.”

Nobby stumbled to his feet. The duo scuttled off into the darkness of the World Leaders exhibit, banging into Tony Blair and clobbering Margaret Thatcher.

“Imagine bumping into you again! What’re the odds? Those hooligans giving you trouble? Let me at ‘em. I been aching for a fight,” Granddaddy Earl said.

Birdie slipped her arm into his, grinning with a perfect set of dentures.

“You remember my bride, Birdie,” he gave her a squeeze. “We’ve been coming here every day since we landed in England. It’s our pilgrimage to the king… Elvis. Ya’ll seen him yet?”

After we paid homage to Elvis, Roger invited the honeymooners to join us for a cuppa.

We were sipping coffee with Granddaddy Earl and Birdie in a pub across from the wax museum and filling them in, a little, on the Algy – Nobby connection.

“Now I’m really impressed. That the kind of work you two do? Diggin’ up treasure. We wouldn’t mind helping you out. Give us a call if you need helpers.”

While Roger signaled for the check, I gazed out the window and saw the beat up yellow taxi with the orange door sitting at the curb. “That’s the guy who tried to kidnap me!”