Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (13 page)

The four of us raced out with the innkeeper hot on our tails, but the taxi did a wheelie and disappeared. We looked at each other and shrugged. Roger paid the tab, including a large tip. The innkeeper smiled, turned, and went back into the pub.

Granddaddy Earl scooped up his bride in an octogenarian squeeze, resulting in some crunching bones. “If you need us, we’re stayin’ at the Ritz. We got us some lovin’ to do.”

Roger shot me a sarcastic look.

Chapter 33

I
t was just after one when we got back to Roger’s flat. He was in an edgy mood. I pushed the final wrong button when I suggested Darcy was behind all his problems. His attitude turned pissy. “You keep picking on that poor woman. She’s done nothing to you.”

We were exhausted, hot, cranky, and frustrated. I fed Hildy and Holly the last of the popcorn, picked up their poop-papers, and staggered into the guestroom. I wanted to be alone. Roger had become an itch I didn’t feel like scratching.

Fifteen minutes later, Roger stuck his head in the door. “I’m going to Darcy’s place to look for clues. I am worried about her. Usually she surfaces by now. Want to come?”

Just what I felt like doing. Watching Dr. Roger Jolley go through another woman’s drawers.

“I’ll pass. I have to call my office and other things…” I couldn’t think of a better excuse. “Check the girls before you leave.” I rolled over and faced the view of the Thames. He closed the door.

Half awake, I was drifting in and out of sleep on the guest bed, staring at the river through an open window. Darcy’s words floated in on a fishy dream. “I was part of the team of archaeologists that cleaned the mosaic in front of the main altar.” She was way too specific. Roger said she liked her games. Riddle me this you Botox Babe…

I lay on my right side, not my best thinking side. I flipped to the left and wrapped my right leg around the body-size pillow, pretending it was my Indiana Jones. If only he’d controlled Darcy, he might have gotten lucky. It was a squandered opportunity.

Weak from having trudged in the heat all day, my tired mind wandered back to Miami and the real world. I had to call the office and check on my agents. They were self-sufficient, but they needed to know I was available for deal rescues and commission squabbles. “I’ll call later,” I mumbled as I slipped into a dreamy sleep.

An hour later, I woke up a bit more refreshed. I stumbled out of bed calling for Roger. He was gone. There was a note on the kitchen table. A key lay on top of the note.

The locks are positively changed. You shouldn’t have to worry about Darcy. If I find any clues at her place, I’ll call you. How about dinner at eight? If you need me before then, I’ll be at the museum. Call my cell. Play nice with the other kids. No kicking or biting. R.

Believe it or not… I do love you.

I plopped back on the bed. Rolling over, I stared out at the Thames, at boats and barges and ships that pass in the day. “I’ve been to London to visit the Queen…” I mumbled.

Then it hit like a bolt of sunshine. The bitch told me where it was! She said she was invited to observe the cleaning of the Cosmati tiles. She was there, on the medieval floor in front of the High Altar in Westminster Abbey where William and Kate were married! There had to be a queen’s chair near the altar. I resolved to check it out alone, on the slim chance that I was wrong. Roger would relish the opportunity to mock my intuition.

I leaped from the bed and, ever the klutz, twisted my ankle. I limped to the kitchen. This might be a long afternoon requiring a hearty snack. Food had become a substitute for sex. Raiding Roger’s pantry confirmed his Britishness. Marmite and kippered herrings. Yuck. Foraging further, I carbon dated and binned anything older than five years. My archaeologist
must
be living alone. No woman would have ignored those expiration dates.

I fried a couple of eggs, nuked a slice of ham, and toasted two slabs of bread, slathering them with butter and cream cheese. Rich dark coffee with just a touch of heavy cream and I was ready to take on the Abbey.

After a quick shower, I tugged on my black jeans, a burgundy camisole, and a loopy crocheted ribbon top in black. I grabbed my purse and tucked Roger’s key into the coin section. There was a pen next to his note. I scribbled a quickie…
I’ve gone to the Abbey to visit the Queen.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I meant, but it felt as if I were on the right track.

Dashing down the stairs, I hesitated as I opened the front door. Just because Darcy had fallen through some crack didn’t mean she wasn’t lurking about ready to take me out in fit of jealousy. I entertained the thought of wearing a sign… I HAVE NOT SLEPT WITH ROGER JOLLEY… yet.

I looked right then left. Dashed across the street and hailed a big black cab that, by virtue of its color, was guaranteed to be licensed. I’d only just recently seen the posters cautioning “An Unlicensed Cab is merely a Stranger’s Car.” Wish I would have known that safety tip last week. I wouldn’t have ruined my Katherine Hepburn tea dress leaping like a circus acrobat from a kidnapper’s taxi.

Chapter 34

T
hirty minutes later, I stepped through the huge doorway of Westminster Abbey, into the foyer jammed with tourists, and on to the nave. A rush of cool, damp air hit me like a kiss from the grave. The cathedral ceilings rose light and high and spacious, falling just short of touching heaven.

I raced around the tomb of the Unknown Warrior, surrounded by crimson Flanders poppies, then gave a nod Sir Winston Churchill’s memorial. The sunlight coming through the painted glass of the great west window cast dancing beams of color on the pale marble floors.

My legs shook as I approached the south choir aisle. The black and white checkered marble floors of the choir could have been from Alice in Wonderland. I worked my way to the exquisite High Altar and stood still for a minute, trying to catch my breath in the face of such beauty.

I scooted down on the floor, sitting on my purse near the first of the five steps that lead to the pale red, green, and brown Cosmati tiles at the foot of the altar. Visitors are not allowed to go further, but Darcy with her credentials could have. As I stared at the High Altar, a red-gowned marshal approached me. “Can I help you, miss?”

“May I just sit here for a bit and meditate?”

The man smiled, nodded, and walked away, his crimson robe swooshing behind him.

This was a moment in my life I would always remember. Looking up at the towering cathedral ceiling, I imagined I heard heavenly music in my mind.

I got up, grabbed my purse, and walked round the altar to the tiny enclosed chapel of St. Edward the Confessor. There stood the ancient throne on which sovereigns had been crowned since the very beginning of Britain.

As I leaned down a bit too far, I almost lost my balance. There
was
something in the darkness under the chair. Tipping further, I fell on the stone floor, my eyes never leaving the shadowy form. If Roger had not shown me the twelve Lost Boys in their jewel-encrusted forms, if I had not seen them before, I would not have recognized
Thirteen.

A laugh born of joy caught in my chest and forced its way to the surface. I covered my mouth with my hands. There it was. And if I dared reach for the throne, all the alarms in the Abbey would sound. Chaos would ensue. I’d be carried off by the police. And the last Lost Boy would probably be stolen again.

I walked to the Poet’s Corner on legs that trembled like a new-born lamb. I pretended to look at the grave plaques while kicking the plotting side of my brain into high gear. I needed help.

Roger should be the one to recover the last Shadow. I walked out into the street to call him. His phone rang and rang. He must have laid it down. Finally, someone picked up but said nothing at first. Darcy popped into my mind; I tossed that thought aside like a pair of skinny jeans.

A man’s voice came through faintly, “Dr. Jolley is away from his phone. This is his clerk, would you like to leave a message?”

I hesitated. Roger never mentioned having a clerk, but then again, he didn’t share a whole lot of information. Maybe it was a graduate student. The distant voice seemed vaguely familiar. I decided to leave a cautious message. “Tell him it
is
under the Queen’s chair. And tell him to call me as soon as possible.” I clicked off.

Before I could move, a nasty cloth that smelled like a doctor’s office was slapped over my mouth. I struggled against it and the big hard hand that forced it to my nose. A bag was pulled over my head. I scratched at the air. Powerful arms lifted me into an ashtray… no, a car… it just smelled like an ashtray. The engine started and I conked out.

Chapter 35

I
had no idea how long I’d been unconscious, but when I awoke I really had to pee. My wrists were bound in front of me with plastic strips cutting into my flesh. The strips weren’t real Flex-Cuffs. They were more like flimsy garbage bag ties. The room was moving round me. When it finally slowed, I focused on the face of Dame Judi Dench and then a second Dame Judi. It was enough to make me forget about my bladder. There were two kidnappers with me, both wearing masks. One Judi wore a pinstripe brown suit and was at least fifty pounds overweight; the other wore khaki shorts and had skinny knees like a baby elephant and ears to match.

I jumped to my feet shrieking at them. “Algy Green, I’d recognize you anywhere! And Nobby Seemore? Idiots! Take off the masks! Let me go you fools.” I was looking at a matched set of morons. I rubbed my face. “I
must
have ‘kidnap me’ stamped on my forehead, or are you all members of some eccentric kidnappers’ cult?”

Algy walked toward me with his hands on his hips. “Keep it down. Nobby may look like a side of beef, but he can be lethal. So just watch your mouth, missy!”

They took off their masks, powder fluming from both heads.

“Is that hair thing genetic?” I asked as I nodded at the clouds around their noggins.

“No… it’s just talcum powder.”

Nobby grabbed me and pushed me back into the wooden kitchen chair.

“We’re experienced at interrogation and will torture you if we have to. If you want to leave here with all your fingernails, you’ll tell us what you know about the Lost Boy.

“My fingernails are acrylic. They pop off.”

The kidnappers looked at each other. “We’ll think of something else. I’m warning you Nobby’s a sociopath.” Algy nodded his head at the tub of lard trying to look dangerous.

“How do you even know what a sociopath is?”

“Psychology is my hobby. I took a correspondence course. I’m rather good at it. Like I could tell from our first meeting you were attracted to me.”

If my hands had been free, I’d have wrung my face, but I smiled on the inside. This was going to be easy-peasy. I checked out the surroundings. We were in a seedy flat with a pull-down bed and a tin kitchen table with three mismatched chairs. A roach scrambled across the floor.

“If you don’t talk, we’ll hold you hostage until that archaeologist brings us the thirteenth Boy.”

“This dump is unacceptable! Couldn’t you find a nicer place to hold me hostage? You’re in violation of the Geneva Convention.”

Nobby looked around as if seeing the place for the first time. “Sorry. We rented it by the day. It was all we could afford.”

“I’ve been held hostage for weeks on a super-yacht with gourmet food. This slum is the best you can do? Untie me or I’ll … well it won’t be pleasant. I have friends in high places.” I struggled with the plastic bindings that held my wrists together.

The room was hot, airless, and aromatic “Wait! I smell fish ‘n’ chips!” I said jumping from my seat.

Nobby snapped, “Shut up, Goldilocks, or I’ll stuff a sock in your mouth.”

Algy and I both did a double take as Nobby tried to talk thug.

I laughed. “I’ll bet you don’t own a sock.” I managed to poke his chest with one finger. “And don’t you touch me again, you bloody ape.”

“That’s not very nice. You don’t know me well enough to call me names,” Nobby said.

Algy’s ears flapped as he forced me back onto the chair.

“You forgot to superglue your ears.” He pushed my chair over, and my head hit the slimy floor. I scrambled to stand up.

I was so woozy, I almost passed out – not just from hitting my head and whatever they used to knock me out, but it was oven-hot in the tiny room. Not a fan or an open window. If it was over one hundred degrees on the street, it had to be twenty more in the flat. I took a deep breath to clear the cobwebs. “Look guys… I don’t know where the Lost Boy is. But I’m to check in with Roger at exactly… what time is it?”

Nobby looked at his watch. “Ten minutes after twelve.”

“Thanks. At exactly ten minutes after twelve. He is going to tell me where the Lost Boy is. Hand me my purse. I’ll call him.”

They looked at each other and shrugged. Algy lifted my purse from the floor and handed it to me.

“How about cutting these bracelets off so I can reach my phone?”

“Nope.” Algy gave his head a quick shake, causing his ears to flap. “I’ll get your phone out.”

I tugged the bag away. “Get your germy hands off!”

It was tough work getting to my phone with my hands tied. The cell was in a little case strapped to the inside of the bag. I flipped it open and hit speed dial for Roger, glaring at my two captors. Algy leaned in to listen, his ear flapping against my hand.

My brilliant Indiana Jones picked up on the second ring. “Hey… Glad you called. I’m meeting a new client this afternoon. He might join us for dinner.”

I cut him off, trying to get across my predicament without letting him spill any beans about the last Lost Boy. “About dinner, I might not be able to make it.”

Roger sounded perturbed. “Now what did I do wrong?”

“I’m
tied
up. I bumped into an old friend of yours.”

“That’s nice.” He slid right past my hint. “I’d really like you to meet Victor. He’s from Switzerland. He was an acquaintance of Benny’s.”