The Gold Pawn Page 3

  After the ice had clearly been broken, we all sat down on her comfortable sofas and had a cup of tea. Robbins came in and brought us a plate of lemon sugar cookies and then proceeded to hover. He at last gave up as none of us was about to begin talking until he left the room.

  “Fio tells me that Mr. Hambro went to work, he was there most of the day, left at some point between four and six o’clock, and he’s not been heard from since. Is that right?” I asked. Fio had me go ahead and take the lead in asking some questions. He believed everyone needs an editor, an outside perspective to see the holes. I excelled at watching people, reading their nonverbal communication, and getting them to relax and talk. I enjoyed the sudden thrill of being a detective.

  “Right,” said Mrs. Hambro.

  “How about anything going on at the bank, anything out of the ordinary lately?”

  “No, nothing that I can think of,” she said openly.

  “And, family-wise, anything unusual at all? Even if it wasn’t something bad, just anything that comes to mind that was different from usual routines and habits?”

  She put a hand to her chin in contemplation. “Hmm . . . a change to habits . . . Now that I think about it, around two months ago Ted started having an early morning meeting every Wednesday. He said it was just a business meeting, but he’d never had it before and he’d leave the house by five. Whatever it was, he never said a word about it. He never acted nervous or apprehensive, but he’d definitely deflect my casual questions.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Fio. “Wasn’t it a Wednesday the day he went missing?”

  Her face paled a little. “Actually, yes. You’re right,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said. “Is there anyone at all who might know where he was going? Or who he was meeting?”

  We all thought about it for a moment while chewing our cookies, then slowly one by one, we all looked up at one another with someone in mind. Mrs. Hambro said, “Let’s talk to Robbins.” Fio and I nodded our mutual agreement.

  We contemplated tactics and at first, we thought that perhaps a subtle approach might work best. But given Robbins’s dour personality, we all doubted that subtlety would work. We agreed upon a full-force attack. Mrs. Hambro called him in on the pretense of asking his help with the tea things. Fio was first to pounce.

  “Robbins, when Mr. Hambro had his Wednesday meetings at five in the morning, did you know where he was going?”

  “Yes, Robbins,” piped in Mrs. Hambro. “Did Mr. Hambro ever say anything to you at all, even in passing, about where he was going, what he was doing, or why?”

  And I landed the final blow, appealing to his sense of duty. “Because, Robbins, we all know that a man of your responsibility rarely does not know the exact goings-on in the house. And . . .” I paused, really getting in the groove of the detective drama, which drew a cocked eyebrow from Fio. “Lastly, if you do not say everything you can to help with this inquiry, you could be accountable for obstructing a police investigation.” I was making this part up, but I figured a healthy dose of bluster couldn’t hurt.

  “Ah, Lane? You can take it down a notch,” said Fio.

  “Oh, ah, certainly. It just got a bit exciting.” Fio was about to roll his eyes, but then he caught the look on Robbins’s face.

  Robbins had become drawn and pasty, his eyes darting from side to side. Beyond a doubt, he knew something and it was costing him greatly.

  Mrs. Hambro caught the expression racing across his face and was absolutely livid. She stepped closer to him with a firm foot, pursed her lips, and pointed her finger at him like a mother telling her son if he knew what was good for him, he’d better not lie. “Robbins, you tell me every single thing. Right now,” she said in a low, quiet, menacing voice.

  He was flabbergasted at the strength of her words; it was likely he’d never heard her use that tone of voice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a shaky voice completely devoid of all his usual imperiousness. He backed up a few unsteady steps and landed awkwardly in a chair.

  “Robbins, why don’t you start at the beginning,” I said more gently. “I understand these early morning meetings began about two months ago. Tell us everything you’ve noticed or heard on any of those Wednesdays, even the smallest detail could be important. So . . . around the beginning of September or so . . . ?” I prompted.

  He cleared his throat, then inhaled deeply like he was bracing himself, and unfolded the details that he had witnessed.

  “All right, for the first few meetings there was nothing out of the ordinary about it other than the very early hour. Mr. Hambro would get up, dress, eat something quickly in the kitchen, and be out the door. Mr. Hambro always walks everywhere and he likes to take public transportation, even when he has meetings down on Wall Street, and that was the first odd thing that I noticed. Around the middle of September, he walked out the door and I happened to come by the side window. He had walked to the right, down to the corner . . . and I saw him get in the backseat of a car that must have been waiting for him.”

  “What kind of car was it?” piped in Fiorello.

  “Oh, it was a large black sedan, dark windows, quite nondescript. I couldn’t see anyone in the car as I was too far away.”

  “All right, what else did you notice?” I asked.

  “Then maybe a couple of weeks later I saw him carry a rucksack out with him, which was highly unusual as he only ever carried his briefcase. I went up to his room, and as I’m familiar with all of his clothing, I’m Mr. Hambro’s valet as well, I saw that he had taken a set of his casual clothes with him. There was a pair of wool pants and a flannel work shirt and an old, scuffed pair of work boots that he used when going shooting or playing with the dogs at his brother’s home in Long Island. After that, a few other items also seemed to disappear, too. An odd sweater or pair of pants, a shabby hat . . .”

  Mrs. Hambro looked like it wasn’t adding up at all in her mind. “That is so odd, Robbins,” she said. “I mean, what could he have been doing?”

  “I have no idea, madam, but the last thing I saw that was out of the ordinary, was one day a week ago. I think it was Monday. I was here to see him gather the mail that had come that afternoon. Something had been posted to him in a red envelope that looked like an invitation to one of the many parties you both attend. He selected that out of the pile, slashing it open so quickly that he got a bad paper cut. As he read it, he stumbled once and dropped the note. I went over to help him, but he had caught himself on the foyer table. And when I bent down to get the note for him, he looked up at me with wild eyes and said fiercely, ‘Don’t touch it!’”

  “What did you do after that, Robbins?” asked Mrs. Hambro curiously.

  “Well . . . I went back to work,” he offered guiltily. But you could hardly blame the man, servants were taught to mind their own business, and ones who didn’t were never at a job for long. Mrs. Hambro looked mutinous nonetheless.

  Fio caught the look on her face and intercepted her. “Ah, Cynthia. . .” he said as he shook his head slightly. With a crestfallen look, she sat back into the sofa.

  “Is there anything else at all that you can think of, or anything that the other household staff may have mentioned to you?” I asked, hoping to prod his memory once more. He shook his head miserably.

  To sum it up, we had a disappearance, sudden mysterious visits with an anonymous person in a car, and a striking red envelope that delivered a terrifying message. This was quickly becoming a most interesting case.

  CHAPTER 4

  Back at the office, we dove back into the day’s routine. About an hour later, I was typing up some notes. Now, I had seen a lot in my line of work. My boss keeps us all on our toes. In fact, the press camped out across from City Hall, waiting for a good scoop, and Fio never disappointed. But this day, I looked up from my desk and jerked out of my chair, practically falling over because I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  A short, five-foot-two-inch tiger was trying to get through the door.
I saw a top hat hit the floor and heard the loud screeching of a delighted Fiorello as he wrestled a full-size tiger skin into the office. He made it through the doorway passing right by me with a wake of office staff gawking at him. He hummed a little ditty as he went through to his office, looked around finding the perfect angle, and spread out the skin with the massive head facing toward the door with a menacing greeting.

  “Hmm hmm hmm,” he hummed. “That about does it. Lane!” he barked out.

  I’d been leaning up against the doorframe, my ankles crossed, arms folded across my chest, shaking my head. “What are you doing, Fio?”

  He smiled his bright, La Guardia grin at me and waggled his brows. “Do you get it?”

  I looked down at the tiger. “Oh, good grief. It’s the Tammany Tiger.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, rubbing his hands together with a sneer of delight.

  The Tammany mascot was the tiger. This was most decidedly a jab at Tammany, a declaration of Fiorello’s victory in ousting the corruption.

  “That’s not going too far, is it, Fio?” I asked, trying hard to stifle a laugh.

  “Nope! I never go too far.”

  That was laughably debatable. I walked over toward his desk. I looked forward to witnessing all the surprised office guests over the next few hours. I sat down and asked, “So Fio, have you heard of any kind of red envelope being delivered to other people like the one Mr. Hambro received? It seems like red continues to be a color that surfaces when any trouble arises. . . .”

  He nodded, putting his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together. “I personally haven’t heard of any red envelopes, but I wonder if they are indeed a link to the Red Scroll Network. Let’s get with Kirkland and see if he’s heard of them. I’ll wire Finn about it, too, make sure he knows what’s going on. I can’t imagine Hambro being involved with that group in any way, but it’s too coincidental to dismiss outright.”

  I sat back, crossing my legs. I started thinking about the people behind the latest threat against the city and Fio and how we’d thwarted their efforts. “Well, we know Donagan is in Sing Sing. Eliza is probably on the loose and that rumor of a new über gangster in town is a possibility to consider. But again, they might not be involved at all. This could be something totally isolated.” I wanted to sound hopeful. But it was an odd string of events: a red envelope, a disappearance, mysterious meetings . . . “It feels like someone’s playing games. This isn’t a typical crime.”

  He nodded again. “I agree. It’s very odd, Lane, very odd indeed. Let’s keep our eyes open. All right! We’ve got work to do!” he said as he clapped his hands.

  “Gotcha, boss! Let me know if you hear from Finn, okay?”

  He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “Of course, Lane. You got it. And don’t trip over the tiger. He’s even bigger than I’d hoped!”

  * * *

  That night, the Orchard Club was a lot of fun. I had a Bad Romance. The drink. I found Roarke, my close friend and sleuthing partner, and we got a chance to catch up while we danced. He looked fantastic in his signature wide-striped suit and black tie. He always cut a dashing figure. He smiled, full dimples, and said, “You look great, Lane! Hey, I hear you’re heading to Michigan on Monday. Are you excited?”

  He twirled me and then brought me back in. “Yeah! I am. I think I am.”

  He looked at me closely and then said, “I can imagine that might be a daunting and complicated trip. Exciting, but surreal, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hey, make sure to pop into the barber shop and say hi to my friends. They helped a lot when I needed some information about those gangster ties from Detroit.”

  “Will do!” He filled me in on some of his favorite places in Detroit and new friends in Rochester. It helped. It made it more real and concrete instead of just a ten-year-old’s memory.

  “Oh! And while I’m gone, can you keep an eye on Fio?” I asked.

  “Of course. Is the Little Flower getting himself into more trouble?” he asked. His fervor for investigative reporting knew no bounds. His eyes immediately glistened with interest; it was his passion. The hunt for a good story was powerful. I filled him in on some of the details he hadn’t heard yet about Hambro and the red envelope.

  “And just wait until you see Fio’s new office décor.” I grinned and shook my head.

  “Hmm,” he said skeptically. “That should be interesting.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Will Fiorello let Finn know about the red envelope? I think he should know about that. Feels like it could be connected to our last case.”

  I gave him a satisfied smile. Roarke was the only one to join me in calling our last big intrigue a case. He was a great sleuthing partner. Except for getting me into trouble. But I could take care of myself. Pretty much.

  “Yes, and I’ll write him about it, too.”

  I started to mentally toss around the new developments with Hambro and the red envelope. When the silver gun of my nightmares recently resurfaced in the hands of some local criminals, it seemed as if old ghosts and villains were returning. Perhaps the red envelope and subsequent disappearance of Hambro was a notice of their arrival. To top it all off, we’d been warned that a new über gangster was in town with ties to this revived syndicate. That particular person was thought to have swapped out a body at a crime scene, to throw us off the scent of the real victim. Or, as we expected, throw the scent off the fact that the victim, Eliza, was still alive. Whoever this new gangster was in town, he—or she—was powerful enough to have disguised himself as medical staff, find a similar body in another morgue, and exchange it.

  We needed more information. My parents had ties with that network back in the war. If these new developments were linked to the underground crime organization, the Red Scroll Network, then maybe my trip to Michigan would not only reveal more about my parents and their untimely deaths, but perhaps I might find information on this syndicate that began before I was born.

  “Ooh, you’re far away,” said Roarke.

  I laughed. “Sorry. I’m just thinking through the case.”

  “Are you going to do any sleuthing back in Michigan?” he asked with a wistful look in his eyes.

  “Most definitely.”

  “Hmmm. Keep me posted and let me know if you need anything. Boy, I wish I could go, too. But I have some major deadlines,” he said, shaking his head.

  “That’s okay, I really need to do this on my own. It’s been a long time coming. I just haven’t been up for . . . facing all that, you know?”

  “I know. It’s a lot. But if there’s anyone who can face it head on, and find some clues to the mystery to boot . . . it’s you. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

  We joined Valerie and some other friends at the bar. By the time I finished my drink, I had mentally wrapped up my week and was ready for my trip to Detroit and Rochester. My capable friends would hold the fort here, Fio and I would get word to Finn about this new development of the red envelope, the police would dig into Hambro’s disappearance, and I’d start a new journey to fill in the holes from my past. And maybe, just maybe, it would shed some light on this new case developing in New York.

  CHAPTER 5

  Finn sat at the café table, his hands clasped around a bowl of café au lait that was sending out ribbons of steam into the chilly air. Up ahead he could make out the form of the giant that watched over London with a lordly eye. Big Ben. He’d never tire of it, despite his rather antsy feelings about being back in his hometown, after many years away. A lifetime away. Finn had a lot of ghosts to face here.

  But what was really troubling, making him uneasy and wakeful even in the middle of the foggy London nights, was not the ghosts of his own past, but Lane’s. He’d sensed for a while that her path was taking her somewhere that would join her past and her present very soon. Her parents had been murdered when she was only ten years old, and the same event that killed them could have easily killed her as well. Lane always ma
de cracks about her past being like a predictable beginning to an adventure story. She’d scoff at books and movies where nothing seemed to happen to a central figure unless one or both of their parents died. However, beneath that veneer of humor, he read anxiety. And deep-rooted pain. She had a family who not only took her in, but loved her and gave her a great life. But you can’t just skip over a tragic beginning. He, of all people, knew that well. The beginning of that painful history happened back in Michigan, back in her hometown where she was planning on visiting soon.

  And he was stuck here. Damp, cold London. Full of old memories and old pain. Except for one person whom he was delighted to get to spend time with. And she’d love Lane. They would become fast friends; of this he was absolutely certain.

  Finn reclined in his chair as he lit a cigarette and watched a line of jostling, laughing students walking home from their day at school in their navy jackets, red ties, and plaid skirts for the girls. One of the boys leaped up and grabbed a high branch showing off to the other lads. He smiled inwardly, wondering what exactly made boys constantly jump and leap to see how high they could smack the sign, the tree branch, the awning . . . They all did it.

  The thought of grabbing onto the tree branch made him think of the time this fall that he and Lane had helped Mr. Kirkland take down the more delicate lights and chandeliers from their enchanting patio to prepare for the winter. He’d never imagined such a place. It was just a simple, rather tight backyard just off their townhouse, surrounded by other townhouses like a rugby scrum. Kirkland had flowers all over the place plus several pieces of comfortable outdoor furniture. But the ingenious thing was the maple tree that he had kept pruned to form a natural canopy. They’d strung lights, small chandeliers and lanterns, all mismatched in friendly randomness on the branches of the tree to create a place that seemed straight out of a fairy tale, yet not silly or frivolous. It was a welcoming place that seemed alive when the breeze would dance with the glowing lights.

  Finn had been bringing up some boxes from the basement for those lights that couldn’t handle a New York winter. He walked outside to find Lane dangling from a branch, one hand holding her up, the other holding a lantern she’d just unhooked. The ladder had been sent sprawling from an errant kick.