Queen of Hearts (Royal Spyness Mysteries) (28 page)

“No, son, you’ve got it wrong.” The sheriff looked relaxed, as if he was about to enjoy what was coming. “I treat you this way because I know you killed Mr. Goldman.”

“You know? How do you know?” Juan demanded. “You try to pin this on me because I am foreign. I know how the police work in America. They like to find the—how you say—scapegoat. They don’t care about the truth. But I say this—if I killed Mr. Goldman, where is your proof?”

“Well, as a matter of fact I have my proof right here,” Sheriff Billings said in his slow drawl. “You see, someone saw you kill Goldman.”

“Who? Who saw me? What nonsense is this?”

“This young lady saw you,” the sheriff answered. He stepped aside to reveal Bella.

Juan appeared to notice Bella for the first time. “Wait,” he said, frowning. “You are not Stella. Who are you?”

“She’s Stella’s sister,” I said. “She came here to steal the candlesticks. . . .”

“A common thief?”

“Better than a common murderer,” Bella said defiantly. “And that’s right. I was going to steal the candlesticks, but I saw you kill Mr. Goldman. I climbed down the wall and in through the window.”

“Down the wall? That is not possible. What are you, a fly?” He was still insolent, defiant.

“Do you want me to demonstrate?” Bella started for the window.

The color had drained from Juan’s face, then his eyes flashed with anger. “He deserved to die,” he said. “He insulted me and my culture and my religion and my family. When I met him in Spain he was so polite, so excited. He would make me a big star, he said. And I thought this would solve our problems. My family is no longer rich. We can no longer afford to run our hacienda. I believed I would go home with money and fame. But when I came here, I found out he was a liar and a thief.”

“A thief? What did he steal?”

“He stole my heritage,” Juan said. “Those candlesticks, they came from the convent where my great-aunt is mother superior. My family has always sent our women to that convent, for centuries now. They are simple women. Holy women. I am sure they did not realize the value of what they had. And the convent was badly in need of repair. Mr. Goldman offered them money and they sold their candlesticks. They sold an El Greco painting for pennies. To them it was a Madonna with child, not an El Greco. And that devil boasted he had bought an entire chapel in Spain. He was going to have it shipped here, stone by stone, and rebuilt as his bathhouse. A holy chapel turned into a changing room? That’s when I decided I would take back the things he stole from my great-aunt’s convent. I would do justice on their behalf.”

“So you only pretended to go to bed after dinner?” the sheriff asked.

“Of course. I went to the front door, slammed it, then I went into the library ahead of them and waited behind the curtains in an alcove. When the last men left and Mr. Goldman was alone I decided it was the right time to confront him. I came out from behind the curtains. He was surprised to see me, but friendly. Not worried. ‘Hey there, Juan. Couldn’t sleep after all? Have a brandy,’ he said. ‘Have a cigar. I won’t be a minute while I put these candlesticks back in their box and into the safe.’

“‘You will not do that,’ I said to him. ‘I have come on behalf of the sisters of Santa Theresa to take back their property.’

“He laughed. ‘My property now, son,’ he said. ‘Too late to change their minds. Besides, these’ll look better on my dining table than in their gloomy old chapel.’”

Juan paused, as if in physical pain. “He turned away from me. I picked up the candlestick and I hit him, once across the head. He fell. I dropped the candlestick, appalled at what I had done. Then I crept out down the hallway and hid behind a statue in one of the niches. Then there was a great crash and everyone ran to see what had happened. I took my chance and slipped out and went to bed. And if you ask me if I am sorry—no. I told you. He was a man who deserved to die. I am proud to avenge the honor of my people and my country.”

“You won’t be so cocky when you’re facing the gas chamber,” the sheriff said.

“I spit on your gas chamber,” Juan said. “And I spit on you.”

He spat on the marble floor. Then he turned and ran out of the open front door.

For a moment I think we were all rather stunned. I know I was. The sheriff recovered first. “Stupid fool,” he said. “Where does he think he can go? He can’t get out and he can’t hide for long. We’ll have dogs here soon and we’ll track him down.”

We followed him to the front door. There was no sign of Juan, who must have already disappeared into the trees. The sheriff rushed over to the telephone, bawling out instructions. He looked satisfied when he returned to us. “The truck with the dog handlers is already on its way,” he said, “and I’ve alerted the guys at the gatehouse to have their weapons ready. Shoot to kill if necessary. Well, I guess that’s all we can do for now. I don’t know about you, but I need my breakfast.”

We followed him through to the dining room where Belinda, Ronnie and one of the deputies were tucking into a hearty meal.

“These pancakes are jolly good.” Belinda looked up as we came in.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, but I felt too sick to eat. I’d heard the words “shoot to kill.” Whatever Juan had done, he had felt he was justified. I suppose I might have felt that way if vandals had taken big chunks of Castle Rannoch. My problem is that I’m too softhearted. I can often see the criminal’s point of view. I looked across at Bella, who had also helped herself to a plate of eggs, pancakes and bacon. She had no such sensibilities. I wondered what would happen to her now—would Darcy have the authority to take her home in handcuffs to face trial? I wondered how soon he would return and wished he hadn’t gone on a wasted journey.

I was just managing to nibble a piece of toast when the telephone rang. One of the deputies went to answer it.

“That will be our boys arriving at the gate,” the sheriff said, a large hunk of ham poised on his fork.

But then the deputy came hurrying back. “You’re wanted on the telephone, sir,” he said.

We heard his big boots echoing on the marble floor. Then we clearly heard, “Damn it. The goddamned fool. What does he think he can achieve with that? I’ll get men onto it right away.”

And at the same moment the front door burst open and Craig Hart came in, still wearing a striped silk bathrobe. “I smelled smoke,” he said.

“That damned Spaniard seems to have started a fire just inside the gate area,” the sheriff said. “I don’t know what he thinks he can do. Does he expect everyone to rush out of the gatehouse so that he can slip out?”

“I’d better go and call the fire department, and get the groundsmen onto it as soon as possible.” Ronnie stood up. “Fire can spread real quickly at this time of year.”

He had scarcely left when Maria rushed in. “
Fuego,
senors,” she called. “Fire.”

“Yes, we know, Maria. The guys at the gate told us and we’ve already sent someone to put the men onto it.”

“No, senor. Not at the gate. Up behind the house. Big flames.”

We ran to the front door. The air was already heavy with smoke. The wind had picked up, blowing away the fog and fanning the flames. We could see the orange glow below us and hear the crackle and roar as the fire spread.

“It can’t have spread as fast as that,” Craig said. “Look. It’s already way over to the right.”

“And up above,” I shouted as I turned to see a tree go up in flames behind the house.

“He’s ringed us with fire, the bastard,” the sheriff said in a horrified voice. “How the hell are we going to get out?” He ran back to the telephone, jiggled it, then slammed it down. “The line has gone dead,” he said. “Let’s hope those fire trucks get here in time to clear a way to the gate.”

Even as we looked new bursts of flame appeared in the woodland. The ring of fire was now in place and it was coming toward us from all sides, feeding on dry grass and scrub.

“Go wake everybody up,” the sheriff said. “Everyone should be ready to leave if we get a chance.”

“I’ll go wake Algie,” Ronnie said.

“I’ll go and get my mother.” I headed in the direction of Mr. Chaplin’s suite behind the pool.

“And Maria, go and get Mrs. Goldman and her friend,” the sheriff barked.

“Francisco!” Maria wailed. “Where is my Francisco? Francisco!” And she rushed off to the back of the house, shouting for him.

“The rest of you stay where I can see you,” the sheriff barked.

I didn’t get as far as the pool. Mummy and Charlie Chaplin came running toward us, my mother’s hair still in curlers—which shows you how frightened she was. Mummy never allowed a soul to see her without makeup and perfect hair.

“What is it?” she called. “What’s going on?”

“Juan’s set some fires,” I shouted back.

“Juan? Whatever for?”

“A final act of malice, I’d say,” the sheriff responded. “Doesn’t want to face the gas chamber.”

“Juan killed Cy Goldman? I don’t believe it.” Mummy reached us, breathing heavily after having run.

“He confessed. Kinda proud of it, I’d say. Avenging his heritage, he said.”

“Cy should never have made fun of his accent,” Mummy said. “Has someone called the fire brigade? Shouldn’t someone be getting out hoses and things?”

“The men should be onto it by now and the fire trucks have been called. But the nearest fire department is a long way from here. Malibu, perhaps, or even Oxnard. And I can’t call again. The phone line is down.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Mummy demanded.

“Nothing much we can do,” the sheriff said. “As you can see that whole area in front of the gate is in flames. We’d never manage to drive through that.”

“Then how do we get out?”

“We should be okay here,” the sheriff said. “There’s a good gap between the house and the nearest foliage.”

As he spoke flying embers fell crackling around us and we hurriedly stepped back inside.

“That’s not good. Part of the house has a shake roof,” Ronnie said as he joined us with a terrified-looking Algie in tow.

“Oh my God. We’re going to be burned alive,” Algie wailed. “Somebody do something.”

“Do shut up,” Belinda said angrily. “I’m going to rescue my things from the cottage. I’ve a couple of Chanel outfits I’d hate to lose.”

“Belinda, no.” I tried to grab her.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be quite safe. The fire can’t move as fast as that. I’ll be in and out in a jiffy.” And she ran down the hill. I was half tempted to follow her, wondering if I had anything worth saving. Then I remembered one thing. “Queenie. Queenie must be there, Belinda. And Mummy’s maid. Get them out.”

We stood in the forecourt, waiting. Holding our breath while the swirling smoke stung our eyes and made us cough. We could see the flames rushing toward us from all sides. It really was quite terrifying. Suddenly a zebra burst from the trees, followed by another. A giraffe lumbered out at surprising speed. They stopped on the gravel, trembling, unsure where to go.

“I wish Belinda would hurry up,” I said. The flames were awfully close now. Suddenly there was a great whoosh and crackle and the Brothers Grimm cottage where Bella had spent the night went up in flames.

“Belinda!” I screamed.

And at that moment Queenie emerged from the trees, running up the hill with surprising agility for one so large, followed by Claudette and Belinda, each with items hanging from a half-shut suitcase.

“Oh, she’s brought my things. How thoughtful of her,” Mummy said. “She really is a gem.”

I noted that Queenie hadn’t had the same sentiments about my stuff. She was running toward us like a charging hippo, her face red with determination.

“I had no idea fire could move that quickly,” Belinda gasped, brushing a strand of hair from a sooty face as she reached us. “One minute we were fine and the next that horrid little German house went up, poof. Darling, I had to leave my favorite face cream behind, and do you know how much it cost in Paris?”

“Better than being cooked to a crisp or having your face so badly burned that you’d never need it again,” I said.

“You do have a point there, I suppose.” She wiped a smear of soot from her face again, but she was still looking longingly in the direction of the cottage.

“Cor swipe me, miss,” Queenie said. “I thought I was a goner that time.”

“Why didn’t you come up before?” I asked, feeling moved that duty had kept her to her post until instructed otherwise.

“Well, Claudette was in such a state about packing your mum’s things that she wouldn’t get out. So I thought I’d better help her or she’d find herself trapped. I almost had to drag her out of there in the end, and then she tripped over a fallen branch and I had to go back for her again. Bloody Froggies.” She made a face. “It never struck me about packing up your things until it was too late. Sorry, but then your mum’s clothes are better than yours, aren’t they? And I thought she’d make a right old fuss if I didn’t save them for her.”

The gardeners had now hooked up hoses and were making feeble attempts to prevent the wall of flame from reaching the house. But there were only two hoses and they were not long enough to cross the broad forecourt to the nearest of the trees. Antelopes burst from the forest and dashed past, only to be repelled by the flames behind the house. Smaller animals—a fox, squirrels, jackrabbits—joined them. Mummy’s description of the place being a bloody zoo was now suddenly apt.

We could feel the heat now and the crackle of flames had become a roar. Smoke stung at my eyes so that I could hardly see.

“Maybe we should go back into the house,” Craig suggested.

“The fire trucks must get here soon.” Ronnie was staring down into the flames, almost willing himself to see fire trucks breaking through. “I don’t know if we’re any safer inside.”

“Isn’t the house made of stone?” Craig asked. “That can’t burn, surely?”

“The stonework is only a façade.” Ronnie’s face was grim. “The whole framework underneath is timber.”

“What are we going to do?” Algie demanded. “Somebody go for help. We’ll be burned alive.”

“We may be okay when it reaches the gravel and burns itself out,” the sheriff said, not sounding too confident about this. “Isn’t there a better outlet for those damned hoses?”

Suddenly there was a crackle above us and smoke rose from the roof.

“The roof has caught,” Ronnie shouted. “Come on, let’s try and put it out before it takes hold.”

Craig, the sheriff, and his remaining deputy followed Ronnie into the house. I hesitated, then decided I might be able to help too. “Buckets. We need buckets,” I heard him shouting. “Maria? Francisco?”

His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged foyer. At that moment Maria came flying down the stairs, followed by Mrs. Goldman and Miss Kindell, clutching at each other and still in their robes.

“The whole place is on fire,” Barbara Kindell shouted. “You can’t go up there.”

“Someone should save the candlesticks.” Mrs. Goldman waved her arms frantically.

“Relax, honey. They’re insured, aren’t they?” Barbara tried to calm her.

“I don’t know. Did he say he’d insured them or he was going to?”

I noticed that her concern wasn’t for her husband’s body.

Ronnie had grabbed some pots and pans and now ran up the stairs. I followed, reluctantly. We crossed the landing and were at the foot of the second staircase when Ronnie turned back, his face ashen. “It’s no use. The fire has come through the ceiling up there.” And even as he was speaking we heard the creak and crash of collapsing timber and exploding glass.

“Everyone into the pool,” Charlie Chaplin shouted as we appeared from the front door again. “It’s our only hope right now.”

We didn’t wait to be urged a second time. Algie, Belinda and my mother made it first with surprising speed. I believe Algie knocked my mother out of the way to get down the steps first. The rest of us followed. Queenie hesitated as we jumped in. “I can’t swim, miss,” she called.

“Then get in the shallow end and duck under the water if the fire comes over us.”

The surface of that lovely blue water was already marred with ash and I wondered what we would do if the fire really did come over us. How long could we hold our breath under the water? Smoke was now billowing from the open front door and the roar and crackle echoed out. Suddenly from above us there was a horrible scream. I looked up to see Stella at an open window, high above us. We had forgotten all about her.

“My door is locked,” she screamed. “I can’t get out. Someone help me.”

Bella was out of the pool like a shot. “Hang on, Gertie, I’m coming,” she shouted. She ran around the side of the house until she found a part of the wall that was made of rough stone. She went up this like a spider, then inched her way across on a ledge until she reached her sister’s window.

“Come on, Gertie. You’ve got to trust me. Come on. Follow me.”

“I can’t,” Stella wailed. “I’ll fall.”

“No you won’t. Remember how we used to do that balance beam routine? You were good. Come on, ducks, or we’ll both burn.”

Stella inched herself out of the window. The fire was right above them now. Painfully slowly they made their way along the ledge, past a window, then another. At last they reached the section of wall where Bella had climbed up. Bella went first, talking her sister down, showing her where to put her hands and feet. Charlie, Craig and Ronnie rushed over to them, standing ready to break a fall, then helping them down the last few feet to the ground. Bella took her sister’s hand and dragged her into the pool just as flames erupted from Stella’s window.