Part 11 (2/2)

”Bailey could arrange it,” she said. ”One of his people could become a dealer for a few hours.”

”You'd still need a stakeout at the house.”

”I know,” she said. ”I think the guy is an opportunist. Maybe if he sees a dealer's van, he'll move again. If not, then it's just money, Dad.”

”Right, and if it comes out of Hilde's estate, I'll have to account for it.” He scowled, then nodded. ”I surely do not want him to follow someone down to Medford to pick up whatever he's after.” Then he said, ”I'll give Bailey a call. Maybe someone should stay in the house overnight, just in case he doesn't wait for your little play to be staged.”

She finished her coffee, then poured another cup while he called Bailey and explained what they wanted. ”Done,” he said. ”You planning to stay up all night?” He was frowning at her coffee.

”Work to do,” she said. She wanted to browse in Frank's law library. Also she had not had time to make notes yet or to examine the items she had brought home from the school, which included another telephone/address book. ”Okay if I use your study?”

”Help yourself. I'm going to soak again and then go to bed.”

At ten-thirty Alan came to the study door, tapped, then opened it and entered. ”Bailey's on the phone,” he said, and handed her his cell phone.

”What's up?” she asked Bailey.

”Your dad in bed?” Bailey asked.

”Yes. Just tell me.”

”We're too late at the Franz house. Someone broke a back window and got in. Chris just called me. Do we bring in the police?”

”s.h.i.+t!” She thought a moment, then said, ”No police yet. We'll discover the break-in in the morning. Is the house a mess?”

”Nope. Looks like your guy went in and got what he was after and hightailed it out again. Neat and slick.”

”Tell Chris to stay put, and in the morning I'll meet you there at eight.”

After Alan left with his cell phone, she sat at Frank's desk, drumming her fingers. Under her breath she muttered, ”Okay, your round, Mr. Wonderful.” Neat and slick, she thought, also opportunistic and fast on his feet. And, so far at least, very lucky.

16.

The following day Barbara and Sh.e.l.ley were in Barbara's office, glum and dissatisfied.

”The cops had it all figured out. A neighborhood kid out rattling doork.n.o.bs. You know, if one gives, you walk in and pick up whatever you want and walk out. He got spooked when he saw Dad, lashed out at him, and beat it, then came back late at night. Not a pro; he would have taken everything not nailed down. The cops think he was looking for cash.”

”Did anyone bring up a possible man in her life?” Sh.e.l.ley asked.

”Dad did. Hoggarth said, So what? They are satisfied with the cause of death, and if she had a fellow, it's none of his business.”

Barbara scowled at the wall. ''I'm worried about Alex,” she said. ”He's getting cabin fever. We can't keep him a prisoner at Will's place much longer. I wonder if we shouldn't lease a car for him. At least he'd be able to get out and hike somewhere.”

”Having his own car will help,” Sh.e.l.ley said. ”I can take care of that. Get it in my name. Want me to give him a call and clear it with him?”

Barbara hesitated, a little uneasy, then nodded. ”Not a Jaguar,” she said. ”Not red, not a sporty little thing. Something inconspicuous. Okay?”

Sh.e.l.ley laughed. ”I'll ask him his preference.”

”Well, I'm off. I told Dad I'd pick him up at four.”

Frank's ”nephew” Herbert had arrived that morning in a dilapidated, rusty, rattling pickup truck; he was a big, jovial man with a beer belly, florid complexion, twinkling blue eyes, and a fierce Texas accent, dressed in baggy jeans, cowboy boots, and a stained cowboy hat. He had greeted Frank as Uncle, and Barbara as Cuz. If he tried to hug her, Barbara had thought, a swift knee to the groin would have been called for.

When they arrived back at the house, they saw him on the front sidewalk talking and laughing with one of Frank's neighbors. The only thing Cousin Herbert had going for him, Barbara thought darkly, was the fact that Bailey had hired him, and Bailey got good people. But to her eyes, Cousin Herbert looked like a hopeless drifter dodging an ex-wife or two.

”Howdy!” Herbert called when they got out of Barbara's car.

The neighbor waved and wandered off, still laughing, and Herbert lumbered toward the house. ”Uncle Frank, this is sure a pretty house y'all got here,” he said in a loud voice. ”But it sure needs a coat of paint. Here, let me show y'all something.” He pulled out a pocketknife and attacked the rail of the front stoop. ”See, needs paint.”

Frank winced. ”Stop gouging my house.”

”Didn't touch the wood,” Herbert said. ”Look up there, those blisters by the downspout? First thing you know, they pop, water gets in, and rot takes out the whole front. Needs paint.”

In spite of herself, Barbara looked up. If there were blisters, she could not see them.

”I'm going in,” Frank said, and stomped to the door, muttering something mildly obscene. Barbara followed.

''I'll just mosey on around the house and see how bad it gets,” Herbert said.

”I'm going to kill him,” Frank snarled inside the house.

Barbara considered it. He probably didn't mean Herbert; he didn't know him well enough. Bailey then. She nodded. ”He can use a little killing now and then. Cousin Herbert is a treasure, isn't he?”

Frank glared at her and stormed off to the kitchen. When Bailey arrived ten minutes later, coffee was made and Frank was rummaging through the refrigerator, still muttering.

”Where on earth did you find that gorgeous hunk outside?” Barbara asked.

Bailey gave her a suspicious look. ”You mean Herbert?” He dropped his denim bag on the floor by the table and sat down. ”Don't let first impressions con you,” he said. ”He's been around. FBI training, a rodeo performer for years, a tour of India, picking up some kind of meditation or something.”

”What we need,” Frank said bitterly. ”A circus performer.”

”And he can shoot the fleas off a dog at a hundred yards,” Bailey continued. ”Herbert's problem is that he doesn't want to stay in one place. He can paint, fix your car, put in plumbing, you name it. He can even cook.”

If Frank was mollified, it did not show. He sat down and motioned toward the carafe and cups. ”Help yourselves. What do you have for us?”

Before they started, Herbert tapped on the sliding-gla.s.s door. Bailey waved him in.

”Mr. Holloway,” he said, ”Bailey says you were roughed up a little and might not feel too well, and seeing that I've got nothing to do right now, I thought I might go buy a fish or something for all of us and use that beautiful grill you have out there. You have a beautiful garden. Okay if I pick stuff to go with fish? I don't guess you can get redfish in these parts, can you?”

”I thought we might order something,” Barbara said quickly.

”Nah. With all those beautiful vegetables out there, and that great grill? I'll just go see what I can find while Bailey's still here.” He backed out the door, grinning at them all, and left.

Bailey picked up his denim bag, gave Frank a hurried glance, then said, ”Relax. He was a chef at Antoine's in New Orleans for a while. Now, about these names.”

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