Chapter 10

I figured that jeans and an old sweatshirt really wouldn’t do, so I changed into light wool tan slacks, a pale green blouse and dark green blazer. Cindy wasn’t thrilled that I’d accepted Dana’s last-minute invitation to lunch, but it really was business—I assumed—and could be important. Surely, Cindy didn’t think I was interested in the girl. In thirty years, I might be chasing eighteen-year-olds, but not yet.

Dana met me at the door, and I was glad I had changed clothes. She was in a blue dress that complemented her coloring, and I thought had been chosen to make her look older. From the beginning, she was the gracious hostess. From the beginning, I was amused.

We went immediately to the large dining room, where places were set at the head of the table and the first seat on the right. Cozy. But it also meant we wouldn’t have to speak loudly down the table length. At the tinkle of a bell, the maid served a luscious fruit cup of mango, pineapple and avocado with sesame seed dressing. It was followed by a thick slice of cold roast beef with Stilton cheese, beet salad with all the trimmings plus warm French bread. In her most adult voice Dana said, “We have most anything you want to drink, but I find a good dry beer goes best. At least that’s what I’m having.” She glanced at me quickly, judging whether I would make some reference to her age. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of making what I am sure would have been a clever retort.

“Beer suits me fine,” I agreed. Dana nodded to the maid who disappeared quickly and returned shortly with chilled glasses and two bottles of Lee’s Manchester Beer, which I’d never heard of. I assumed it was English. The maid poured my glass and got it just right with a head that would have measured exactly a half-inch with a ruler.

After she poured Dana’s, I lifted mine and said, “To Zoe.”

“To Zoe,” she replied, and I noticed her hand shook a little.

If I ever get rich, Manchester Beer will be in my larder. Somehow the beer, the beef, the beets with enormous black olives, capers and celery on Boston lettuce, and the warm crusty bread came together perfectly.

I complimented Dana on her menu and she demurred sweetly. “It was mostly the cook’s idea—except for the beer. And Dad swears she and Nana drink a lot of that.” She laughed. “By the way, Nana sends her regrets that she isn’t here to join us. She’s in Boston for the day.”

I just smiled. It sounded pretty handy to me. I wondered if Grandma even knew I was here or remembered who I was in the first place.

Dana looked a lot better than she had a couple of nights ago. The dress sleeves concealed the scrapes, an Ace bandage had replaced the soft cast on her ankle, and lightly tinted glasses pretty well covered the black eye.

“I invited you to luncheon mainly to apologize for my behavior Friday. I was taking pain pills, and I think they must have made me a little crazy. Not that it’s any excuse. I really behaved badly, and I really do love Zoe dearly, although it certainly didn’t sound it.”

She looked at me closely. “Do you think we are too young to really be in love? I adore being with her. We talk seriously about all kinds of things, and we also laugh a lot and, of course, other things.” She blushed slightly, the first genuine gesture I had noticed, and it was inadvertent.

“I think you are just the right age to be deeply in lust. That always comes first, you know. If you are lucky, love arrives a little later. Even if it doesn’t, you’ve had a helluva good ride. Some people fall in love at sixteen, and it’s life-long. Others are thirty. I know one lady who fell really in love for the first time in her fifties. Who knows?”

“Oh, dear, I hope I don’t have to wait that long.”

“I think that’s probably a bit unusual. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

She turned serious again. “What I worry about is Zoe. I mean, as well as this kidnapping thing going wrong. I think she is maybe too intense. About us. Insisting I should rearrange my life and cause an uproar with my dad over changing schools, just so I can be in New York all the time with her. Anyway, she will probably be living in Fairfield in Connecticut—a half hour from Yale. And this whole kidnapping thing, I know, I went along with it, but it need never have happened. It’s not even halfway sensible, even if nothing terrible happens. But anytime I brought up objections to anything she wanted, like what made her think she could just walk onto a stage and be an instant star, she’d cry and say I didn’t love her.”

I finished my beer, and a new one miraculously appeared and was poured into a fresh glass. “Slow down, Dana. You’re beginning to babble. I have the picture. I’ve thought from the beginning Zoe sounded pretty spoiled. But so are you—in a different way. Face it, kids with your kind of money and Zoe’s are used to getting most of what they want. Now the two of you want some important different things, so it’s causing problems.” I paused for a moment to sip this beer of the gods.

I wiped my lips and continued. “I met some quite successful actors last summer, and I can tell you, Zoe has a long, tough way to go before she even gets a role with twelve lines. And you can add in the fact that Zoe seems a bit immature to boot. The time to have thought up the kidnap plot—as it originally stood—was when she was thirteen, not seventeen.”

“I never thought of that. You’re right. And Harry fits right in. He thinks all the world spins around a hockey puck. His grades are iffy. Unless he gets into a school with big-time sports, he’ll never get a scholarship. He’ll be lucky to pay his way into some college. But with Zoe picking up the tab, he could live in New York and maybe get on some second-rate hockey team. He is good at that. But that worries me, too.”

Dessert arrived: Italian ice, some marvelously delicate cookies that melted on your tongue and good strong coffee.

Dana clarified her last statement. “Zoe sort of looks upon Harry as her mission in life. I think they both know if he doesn’t play hockey, he’ll pump gas. A large part of this is for him. God, I hope he’s not the one who got us all involved with those two creeps.”

Startled, I almost spilled my coffee. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“A lot of not-so-nice people hang around athletes. Harry has been approached to throw games, although he says he never has. And I believe him. But he would know where to find the type of people who would know how to set up this kidnap thing. You know, make it for real, take Zoe God knows where, toss me casually out of a car, hold out for a bigger cut . . . or just disappear with all of it. Minus a nice amount for Harry, maybe.”

“He seemed genuinely upset the other day,” I answered rather weakly.

“Yes. He would be. It’s out of his hands now and he’s afraid of what he’s gone and done.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “Or maybe I’m just being bitchy again.” She tried to smile. “What can I blame it on this time? The beer?”

“Maybe we’d better just take a closer look at Harry. This beer is too good to blame anything on, except maybe greed.”

We chatted about beers in general for a few minutes, graduated briefly to the weather and the tourist exodus. Then I thanked her for lunch, she thanked me for listening, and we parted with a cool, brief hug.

As I got to the end of the driveway from Dana’s castle, I pulled over and took my cell phone from the glove compartment. Okay, it wasn’t on my person, but at least it was with me, not home in last night’s dirty shirt. Fortunately, Rob picked up and agreed to meet me at Mickey’s in a few minutes.

I got there first and managed to secure one of the few indoor tables. It was clouding over and the breeze felt like rain was due any minute. When Rob came in a few minutes after I did, I noticed a few scattered raindrops on his jacket. I was pretty good at predicting weather. Why couldn’t I apply that to kidnappings? The only thing I seemed to do was add suspects, when the whole idea of an investigation was to eliminate all but the one who was guilty.

We ordered coffee—a little rough and ready after the smooth cup I had just consumed. I casually mentioned the idea of Harry Maddock’s being involved criminally in Zoe’s kidnapping, and was answered by a deep, genuine laugh.

“Harry? Involved in this kidnapping as some sort of mastermind? Alex, you may have noticed the Catlett family does not own a dog. Harry is Zoe’s. He adores her and is content with the occasional pat on the head. She takes care of him. You might call him her mission. Trying to get him onto some hockey club is just one part of it. If he doesn’t go through life carrying a hockey stick, believe me, he’ll be carrying a waiter’s tray. Harry is not the brightest light on the tree.”

The vote was beginning to seem unanimous.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “Moving right along. Rob, do you, by any chance, know anything about a prenuptial agreement or your father’s will? Anything that you’d be willing to share?”

He thought a moment. “As long as you leave Grandma out of this, yes.”

“Unless she’s criminally involved somehow in the kidnapping, I can’t imagine why she would be of any interest. That said, anything about her stays private, I promise you.”

“Okay. Her first. There’s a trust fund in case she ever needs it. She can draw on it with the approval of the executor, John Frost. Whatever she doesn’t use reverts equally to me, Zoe and Marvin on her death.”

“Nothing unusual there. What about Merrilou?”

His mouth tightened. “All the whipped cream. She gets the house here in Ptown, which she’ll have us evicted from in an hour. All the furnishings except a few specified things Mom wanted us kids to have. Insurance policies, stocks, bonds go to sweet M. We get money for education, including post grad if our grades are good. We get the little house of Mom’s down in the Poconos—though I wonder how we’re supposed to pay for its upkeep. And we each get a trust fund we can’t touch till each of us reaches thirty—and it ain’t no giant, anyway.”

“Oh,” he added, “there are some bequests to people who have worked for Dad, and quite a bit to charity.”

“So Merrilou makes out quite well.” I badly wanted a cigarette. The rain was still just a sprinkle, so I suggested we move out under the awning. We took another cup of coffee along and I began to get that over-caffeinated feeling. I zipped up my jacket. It was definitely fall.

Rob gave a grimace. “She makes out too damn well. But she better stay married to Dad. The prenuptial ain’t so hot. John Frost must have been on the ball that day.”

“Oh? She comes up short?” I could understand his father possibly informing him about the will. Or maybe telling Grandma, who decided to share the information with Rob. But the pre nup? Did Rob really have the details of that, too? And if so, how did he get them?

“She comes up financially amputated. Under certain circumstances. If she gets the divorce because of his proven infidelity and/or physical abuse, she gets a hundred thousand a year, plus a one-time payment of two hundred thousand. If either of them gets a divorce on general incompatibility, she gets seventy-five thou a year. And—I love this one—if he divorces her for infidelity, she gets ten thousand dollars for moving expenses. Period. Not even attorney’s fees. Moving expenses. I’m sure you know which one we’re cheering for.”

“I believe I can figure that one out. But tell me, Sherlock, how come you know all these details? I can’t see Reed sharing this with the family at-large over Sunday breakfast.”

“Oh, no.” He stared distastefully at the bottom of his coffee cup and set it down. “No, Marvin and I check his papers now and then—like when he married this money-grabber. We wanted to make sure at least Grandma was still okay. She’s the one we have to take care of.”

“And how did you do that?” I doubted they were tacked to the refrigerator door with a Disneyland magnet.

“Oh, Marvin and I figured out the safe combination years ago. We fiddled with birthdays and holidays and anniversaries, et cetera. It’s Mom’s birthday, backward. And his computer password is the three kids’ birthdays by month. Two figures per kid. Oh!” He looked embarrassed. “I guess you know them, too, now, if you just look up the dates.”

“I’ve already forgotten everything you said. But, Rob, that final clause in the prenuptial agreement sounds awfully tough, and it’s a little unusual to have that sort of clause at all, at least not worded so blatantly. Usually it just says something like if he divorces her with cause, or something along those lines. Is there some reason to think that might occur?”

“I don’t know. All I know is she was married before, to some Episcopalian minister down south in some rich parish. I have no idea what happened to him. Marvin heard her talking to Emily Bartles about it. She also said that the women in the parish had been out to get her. That’s all I know. I have to run, Alex. It’s my turn to be home in case the phone rings.”

“Oh, don’t let me make you late for that.” I stood. “But don’t be surprised if the Tweedles go silent a few days. They are probably confused, mad, a little scared . . . and they’re going to let you suffer, too. Silence is hard to bear, but hopefully they’ll call tomorrow as they said. Thanks for all your help. Hang in, we’ll get ’em yet.”

He took my hand for a moment. “I’m glad you’re around, Alex.” And then he sprinted to his car.

The house was spotless. So was Cindy, curled up in front of the TV watching the Ravens flying all over the Bengals.

“Go, Baltimore,” I cheered as I kissed the top of her head hello.

“How was your lunch?”

“Delicious roast beef and other goodies. And Dana will make someone a gracious hostess someday. For dessert, I had coffee at Mickey’s with Rob Catlett, gentleman to the core. Maybe there is something to this kid stuff.”

“Gee, that’s too bad,” she sighed. “I had thought we might enjoy some old-time stuff on a rainy afternoon.”

“Old-time can be good, too.”

And it was.