Death by Diamonds, page 15
Grunt made it halfway over to us before he tripped and went down, spilling the contents of the caddy. Hattie gave him the head-shaking, hands-on-hips glare while Maizy and I went to help him up. He dusted off his jeans while I restored the caddy and gave it back to him.
"I'm undercover," he said in a stage whisper. "Same as you, right?"
I nudged Maizy. "Did you tell him to meet us here?"
She was busy studying the contents of the caddy. "You shouldn't use this stuff," she told him. "It's not green."
"Maizy!" I snapped. "Did you plan this?"
Grunt's smile morphed into dismay. "I didn't know you'd be here, honest. I just thought I could help. Should I go?"
Suddenly I felt like Cruella De Vil in a kennel full of Dalmatian puppies. "You don't have to go," I said.
"Don't mind her," Maizy said. "She's got stage fright because she just found out she's Levidia Longenstein."
"Oh." He nodded wisely.
"Your boss," I added.
"Okay," he said.
"Yo, Grinch!" the beefy woman bellowed. She stood in front of her van, hands on hips, legs spread. "Sometime today?"
"I'm getting last-minute instructions from the boss," he called out.
The beefy woman cocked her head to glare at me, evidently planning to read my lips from afar. I glared back in a supervisory way.
"Grinch?" I asked him.
He grinned. "Levidia?"
Point taken.
He pulled a small notepad and a gnawed pencil from his pocket. "I'm ready for last-minute instructions."
What instructions? I had no in-depth experience with cleaning.
I considered. "Dust the furniture."
"Furniture." He wrote it down.
"Clean the glass," I said.
"Glass." His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he wrote that, too.
I lowered my voice even more. "See if you can find a battle-axe."
"Right." He looked up. "What about the floors?"
Geez, he was really taking this seriously.
Maizy hoisted the upright. "Got it covered."
"That's not gonna work," Grunt said. "He doesn't have carpets. All hardwood. Didn't you read the work order?"
We shook our heads. "Did you?" I asked.
"Sure," he said. "It's job one."
Maizy stuffed the vacuum back into the van. "You're not actually working for Sparkle, you know."
"Oh, I know," Grunt said. "There's a probationary period first." He tucked the notepad away. "Hattie's got a Swiffer sweeper."
"Here's the plan," Maizy said. "I'll do the floors. Jamie, after you do your thing with Kahuna, try to find an office. Brunhilda over there can move some furniture around for me."
"What's my thing, exactly?" I asked.
She pretended to give it deep consideration. Finally she shrugged and said, "Give it your best shot."
Helpful.
Brunhilda caught up with us on the front walk. "I never seen you before," she told me. She caught my hand in a bone-crushing shake that didn't seem accidental. "You must be the new supe. Hattie Vincent." She threw my hand aside more than released it. "Been with Sparkle twenty-two years," she grumbled. "Bosses keep getting younger and younger. Next year I'll be answering to a preschooler."
I liked her already.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We were let into the house by a silent, black-suited man with a noticeable bulge under his suit jacket that certainly didn't mean he was happy to see us. I was pretty sure that bulge was a gun. If Maizy thought I was going to "do my thing" with Norbert Preston and Mr. Happy, she was sorely mistaken.
"This is our supervisor, Levidia Longenstein," Maizy told him. She elbowed me. "Give him your business card."
"I'm sure he doesn't want it," I said, my jaws locked in a tight smile.
"He wants it," Maizy said. "He has to show it to Mr. Preston to clear us." She looked at him. "That's the way it works, right?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Happy said. "I'm the physical therapist."
If he was a physical therapist, then I was the supervisor of a cleaning company.
"This is a nice place," Grunt said, looking around with wide eyes. "Does Mr. Preston live here alone?"
"Not our business, rookie," Hattie cut in. She glared at Mr. Happy. "You mind if we get started? Time's wasting here, and I got a murder/suicide to take care of after this."
Mr. Happy just looked at her as footsteps sounded behind him and a woman emerged from a room along the main hall. Mid-fifties, steel gray short hair, no makeup, clutching a fistful of tissues. Her eyes were red. Either she was having an allergy attack, or she'd been crying.
She drew up short when she saw us. "I didn't realize—you must be the cleaning people. I've lost track of time. I'm Charlotte Preston." She focused in on me. Probably because I was standing there brandishing the phony business card like a weapon.
"This is Levidia Longenstein," Maizy said. "She just transferred here from our New York office."
Hattie glared at me. I glared back, until I realized that was my cue as the alleged supervisor to take control. I stepped forward. "I'm Levidia Longenstein. Supervisor," I added hastily.
She glanced at the card. "Sparkle. Aren't they crime scene cleaners?"
Interesting that she knew that. "We're diversifying," I said briskly. "The boardroom feels there's not enough violent crime in the world for a healthy balance sheet."
Maizy looked pleased. Hattie did a massive eye roll. Grunt did nothing. He was too busy admiring the hideous painting in the foyer that had probably cost a fortune, if it hadn't been stolen.
Charlotte dabbed at her eyes. "You can start in there." She pointed to the room off to our right. "Don't worry about the bedrooms," she added. "No one uses them anyway, and Dad is much too private to want strangers in the master."
Fine by me. The less work we had to do, the faster we could pretend to do it and get out of there. I didn't like the way Mr. Happy was eyeballing us. And I felt bad for Charlotte, having to take care of her father-in-law while Ralph raised his flag for every parade that marched his way.
"Hold up," Maizy said. "Our boss has to meet the customer first. Company policy." She looked at me. "Right?"
"He's having his lunch right now," Charlotte said.
"Well, I wouldn't want to disturb him," I said. "We can suspend the meet and greet this time."
"No," Hattie said. "We can't. Rules are rules, newbie."
Newbie?
I straightened up and gave her my sternest look. She seemed unimpressed.
"Fine," Charlotte snapped. "But make it quick. I don't want his food to get cold. Follow me."
Maizy gave me a little shove. "We'll wait here."
I smelled Kahuna before I saw him. Or more accurately, I smelled his lunch, a delicious blend of peppers and onions, which explained Charlotte's teary eyes. So she hadn't been crying over Fat Ralphie after all. The realization pleased me for some reason. He didn't deserve her tears.
The drapes were closed, the room swathed in shadows. In the pale light of a single table lamp sat…Kahuna? He looked nothing like Testa's picture. This man looked as wretched as a person could look and still be alive. Gaunt, with sparse hair and sunken eyes. An omelet sat untouched on a folding tray. SpongeBob SquarePants played on the wall-mounted TV.
I was no Sherlock Holmes, but I was pretty sure that Norbert Preston was no Kahuna.
"Dad." Charlotte shook his frail shoulder carefully. I winced on his behalf, half expecting to hear bones crunching. "The cleaners are here," she told him.
Coughing, he shifted his eyes up to me, although I wasn't sure he could see me.
"I'm Levidia Longenstein," I said, just in case. "Supervisor," I added.
Nothing.
"Thank you for your business," I said.
"Are you here to kill me?" he asked in a quavering voice.
I shot a horrified glance at Charlotte. Her gaze was level and calm. Guess she'd heard it before.
"Of course not, Mr. Preston," I told him. "I'm from Sparkle Cleaners."
If he heard or understood me, he hid it well. "Are you the masseuse?"
Oh, brother.
"I'm from the cleaning service," I said, raising my voice, as if that would increase his comprehension. I looked at Charlotte. "Is he alright?"
"He's ninety-two," she said. She shook his shoulder again. "Dad, is it okay if they clean the house?"
"I'm not hungry," he told her. He squinted at me, and just for a moment, I saw an older, meaner version of Fat Ralphie in there. It made me shiver. He might not be the Kahuna anymore, but it was all too easy to believe he used to be. "Don't starch my skivvies. It chafes the boys."
Eww. I so didn't want to hear about Norbert's boys. I didn't want to think about Norbert's boys.
"When the boys—" he began.
I did a palms-out Stop! gesture. "Got it, sir. No starch." I gave him the smile I normally reserved for the bereaved at wakes and turned to leave, when it occurred to me I was missing an opportunity.
I turned around again, thinking. "You know," I told Charlotte, "when my Aunt Agnes turned 92, she had a problem eating, too. We discovered that taking her out to a restaurant really improved her appetite. She especially liked Cynthia's." I smiled at Norbert. "Have you ever been to Cynthia's, Mr. Preston?"
"They stole my teeth," he said.
I looked at Charlotte.
"He's never been," she said with a shrug. "But I don't think a restaurant will fix what's wrong with him." She dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Right, Dad?"
"I hate starched skivvies," he grumbled.
That made two of us.
Charlotte followed me back to the foyer, where Maizy and Hattie waited with differing degrees of impatience. Grunt remained in front of the painting, head cocked sideways, appraising, oblivious to our return and pretty much everything else.
Hattie immediately pushed away from the wall and hoisted her bucket. "Let's go, troops," she barked. "Where's the bathroom? I'll start there. You come with me, Grinder. I wanna keep an eye on you."
With one final look at the painting—what was it with that painting?—Grunt tripped off down the hall behind her.
Charlotte headed up the stairs.
Mr. Happy fired off another suspicious glare before retreating to another room.
Maizy turned to me. "Well? What's he like?"
I shuddered. "He's old and sick."
"You can't trust Kahunas," she said. "He could be pretending."
"I'm pretty sure he's not," I told her. "You didn't see him. He's really skinny and pale, and he's sitting there watching SpongeBob."
"You just described you," she said.
I stared at her.
"I can see I'll have to take control," she said. "Go keep Charlotte upstairs."
"How am I supposed to do that?" I demanded. "I can't hold her hostage."
"Ask to borrow something," she said. "Hand cream or something." She gave me a little push. "Hurry up, before she comes back."
I didn't move. "What do you plan to do?"
"Simple. I'll just—"
"Never mind," I cut in. "Don't tell me." I'd lived through enough of Maizy's distraction tactics. Advance knowledge could only be a hindrance. Instead, I left her to it, whatever it was, and stormed up the stairs to be confronted with…nothing. Nothing but closed doors, that is.
Charlotte must be holed up behind one of those doors. Or maybe she'd gone straight down some back stairs and out to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts for some TLC. Either way, it gave me a perfect chance to look for Kahuna's office. I knew I was supposed to be distracting Charlotte, but opportunity was knocking. Or maybe that was my knees.
I tiptoed to the nearest door, put my ear against the cool wood, and listened. Nothing. The house was eerily quiet, upstairs and down. No voices, no whisk of sweeping brooms, no white noise from a television or radio. Still, I waited another few seconds before opening the door very slowly, one eye glued to the expanding crack.
It was just a standard issue bedroom. Dresser, queen-size bed, nightstand, done in restful shades of green. Nice, but not an office.
I closed the door and moved on. Next was a bathroom, and a nice one. Glass-enclosed shower, double sinks, expensive-looking tile work. The sort of room you'd see in the post-renovation reveal on a home improvement program. The ghost scent of shower gel or soap or cologne haunted the space.
I closed that door, too, pausing again to listen. Nothing from upstairs, but I heard Hattie yell, "Gibley, stop!" downstairs. Then I heard muffled voices on the first floor, but I couldn't make out the words. I didn't waste time trying. I trusted Maizy to keep Kahuna and Mr. Happy occupied. I wasn't so sure Grunt was up to the job, but he was Hattie's problem. And I knew Hattie was potential trouble, but hopefully she was elbow-deep in a toilet at the moment.
The third door opened to another bedroom, a replica of the first but with a twist: a large floor safe stood open in the corner, which suggested that someone didn't understand the basic concept of a safe.
Unless it was a trap.
But that made no sense. Leaving the safe open with a cleaning crew at work implied an unlikely level of carelessness.
Maybe whoever had left it was planning to come right back.
Which meant I had to get moving. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder before slipping inside. It didn't occur to me until I was standing in front of the safe that there might be a security camera hidden somewhere, recording every shake of my knees. No point worrying about that; if I was being watched, I wouldn't be alone for long. That would be the time to start worrying.
Scarcely aware I was holding my breath, I bent to look in the safe and immediately felt that breath leave me in a rush. There was enough jewelry in there to launch a Harry Winston branch. I was no Ori, but I saw white diamonds, pink diamonds, chocolate diamonds, some watches and necklaces and tennis bracelets. They must have knocked off half of Jewelers' Row for this kind of haul. And probably all of it to be turned into cash as quickly as possible.
Maybe Norbert was the Big Kahuna after all. Maybe his walking dead motif was just an act. Maybe that's why Charlotte hadn't seemed unsettled by him and his skivvies. It had all been a twisted show for my benefit. That made Kahuna even more cunning than we'd presumed. But that still didn't tell us who he'd dispatched to kill Amber. Sure, the Disposer would be the logical choice, but Maizy wasn't able to point a definitive finger at him. Any way I looked at it, we were in a very dangerous place.
Suddenly I heard hushed voices in the hallway right outside the door.
A second later, the door began to open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Last time I'd moved that fast, the supermarket had been having a flash Tastykake sale. I dove beneath the bed and stopped breathing. Might as well get used to that, since I was bound to be discovered under there. Everyone knew the first place to check was under the bed. Which meant my life was going to end on a dusty carpet—who was Charlotte kidding, the bedrooms didn't need cleaning?—and Ashley was going to be an orphan. Although I was pretty sure she'd be okay. Ashley had always liked Curt better than me, anyway. And Curt would be okay, too. He could rent my apartment to someone who could actually afford to pay rent. Howard could hire someone else to misinterpret Wally's handwriting and type Complaints for his broken toy clients. And Honest Aaron could add my Escort to his fleet. Sure, it was cleaner than his usual offerings, but what it lacked in bloodstains, it made up for in rust patches.
Lying there with my face plastered to the underside of a musty box spring, I decided it served me right for pretending to be a detective in the first place. Maizy, she was a detective. She could have spirited away the contents of the safe and been gone out a window before Kahuna realized she wasn't off Swiffering the kitchen floor.
But I wasn't Maizy. If I managed to survive this, I was going to stop pretending to be something I wasn't. I'd apply myself to my job. I'd stop mooching from Curt. I'd be content with having all the curves of a Number 2 pencil. It occurred to me I'd made those promises before, and here I was in the same old place. Not beneath a bed; I'd never been there before. But trapped in a corner, so to speak, awaiting my fate. I just knew I was about to die a horrible, untimely, and dusty death.
The voices had stopped. They knew something was amiss. Had I left the safe door open farther than I'd found it? Had I moved anything inside? Had I been caught on camera after all?
Footsteps slapped across the room, stopping beside the bed. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for merciless hands to grab my ankles and yank me out into the sunlight, like in the movie Taken.
"Cool."
My eyes flew open. I knew that voice.
"Grunt?" I whispered.
Nothing. Except for soft clacking sounds. Grunt must be playing with the diamonds.
"Grunt!" I whispered savagely.
The clacking stopped. "Magic diamonds," he murmured, "how do you know my name?"
I snaked my arm out from under the bed and grabbed his ankle. He shrieked, and diamonds rained down, pelting my forearm.
I stuck my head out. "Will you knock it off? It's me!"
"Levidia?" He stared down at me. "The lady said we're not supposed to clean the bedrooms."
"I'm not cleaning," I hissed. "I'm looking for Kahuna's office."
"This isn't it," he told me.
I did a huge eye roll. "Keep your voice down. I know that. This must be where he stashes the stolen diamonds until he can fence them." I shook a chocolate diamond off my arm. "You need to put those back in the safe."
"No way." He shook his head. "These are magic diamonds. They should be shared with the world."
Bad idea. "They're not magic," I said. "That was me talking, not them."
"I'd like to believe that," he said. "But—"
"Ssh." I held a finger to my lips. "Did you hear that?"
"It's the diamonds!" He dropped to his knees to gather them up. "I'm listening," he whispered to them.
Oh, for pete's sake.
Something tapped softly against the door. I grabbed Grunt's arm and hauled him under the bed. He didn't seem at all disturbed by the dust bunnies, or the musty mattress, or the fact that Kahuna might be about to kill two birds with one Disposer. He was entranced by the diamonds whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
