Dooley had wandered off, and I followed him. He was looking up at that cabinet full of knickknacks, and gestured to one in particular. “That looks an awful lot like the figurine Harriet broke, doesn’t it, Max?”
I stared at the thing. In fact it didn’t just look like Marge’s goatherd. It was the exact same goatherd, only this one hadn’t been smashed to pieces. “I wonder where Garibaldi got it,” I said.
“And if there’s a message inside,” said Dooley, as if he’d read my mind.
We shared a glance, and then I was jumping up and swiping that goatherd from the cabinet. It hit the ground and smashed into pieces, and even as Garibaldi flew up out of his chair with a shouted, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing!” I’d already noticed that there was indeed some kind of writing inside. And when Garibaldi picked up the pieces, he saw it, too.
“What the…” he muttered, and studied the message. To read it completely, he had to break off another piece, but then he slowly read, “Help me—Vicky Gardner—October 11, 2000.” He looked up at Odelia. “I don’t understand.”
“Where did you get this figurine?” asked Odelia.
He paused for a moment, confusion written all over his features. “My… my mother gave it to me as a present.”
Chapter 40
“Don’t push!” Scarlett said.
“Then get a move on!” Vesta returned.
“It’s too tight!”
“No, it’s not. Lemme try.”
Scarlett wiggled, then Vesta gave her a final shove against her rear end and suddenly she was gone, having dropped down into the basement through the little window.
“See?” said Vesta. “I knew you could do it.”
“It’s filthy in here,” Scarlett’s voice came back. It sounded hollow. “So are you coming or not?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Vesta, as she lowered herself through the little window and moments later was jumping down into the basement, joining her friend and fellow watch member. She glanced around. It looked just like all basements: cement floor, cement walls, cement ceiling, a big heater in the corner, and that pervasive, musty smell.
“I hope there are no rats,” said Scarlett, as she studied one of her shoes. “I knew it. I’ve got a scuff mark.” She gave Vesta a dirty look. “You’re buying me a new pair, buddy.”
“Didn’t I tell you to wear sneakers?”
“Sneakers! Never in my life!”
As usual Scarlett was dressed very inappropriately for neighborhood watch duty: frayed Daisy Dukes, a crop top, and of course a pair of shiny red stilettos.
“So now what?” said Scarlett as she inspected the scuff mark.
Now we investigate,” said Vesta. “Which is what Chase should be doing, and my son, only they’re too busy with who knows what to conduct some real good old-fashioned police work.”
The basement consisted of several rooms. One was set up as a wine cellar, one was used as storage space, and one was some kind of atelier. And as Vesta took a closer look at a trestle table that was placed near the wall, she saw to her excitement that it was loaded with the same goatherd figurines Marge had discovered in her kitchen cupboard.
“Look, Scarlett!” she said, lifting one up for closer inspection. “Look at this!”
“Ugh. That is one ugly-ass thing,” said Scarlett.
“It’s the exact same one my daughter found!”
“So?”
“So it’s gotta mean something, right?”
“Sure,” said Scarlett doubtfully. She’d tripped over to a couch in the corner of the basement and was giving it a closer look, preparatory to taking a seat. “Thing is filthy,” she murmured, then let out a little squeak. “Vesta!”
“Yah?”
“There’s shackles here!”
“Shackles? What do you mean, shackles?”
“You know, shackles!”
Vesta went to take a closer look, and found that Scarlett was right: someone had installed a pair of shackles, bolted into the wall. “Like a medieval dungeon,” she said as she gave the things a good rattle.
“Now what did I tell you about staying away from me?” suddenly a voice called out behind them.
When Vesta looked up, she saw they’d been joined by Marcia Gardner, and the woman wasn’t looking very happy about this surprise visit.
“Vesta, she’s got a gun!” Scarlett hissed.
“Your powers of observation are excellent, Miss Canyon,” said Marcia, who was indeed holding a gun, and pointing it at her two intruders. She glanced over to the table with the figurines. “Why the sudden interest in my hobby, Mrs. Muffin?”
“Oh, no particular reason,” said Vesta. “I just happen to like this sort of thing. Otto Spiel, am I right?”
“Very good,” said Marcia. “You know your classics, Mrs. Muffin. I’m impressed. Now please join your friend on the sofa over there while I call the police. Again.”
“There’s a stack of magazines here,” suddenly Scarlett said, and picked one up.
“Don’t,” said Marcia, but too late.
“Pregnancy magazines,” said Scarlett. “Dating back twenty years.”
Both women stared at Marcia, whose face didn’t betray a single emotion.
“Twenty years ago you were, what, forty-something?” said Vesta. “So I’ll bet these aren’t yours. So could it be…”
Scarlett gave the shackles a little kick and they rattled ghoulishly.
Vesta’s frown deepened, as Marcia still watched them both with a stony-faced expression on her face, her phone in her hand, ready to call the police.
Something bubbled in Vesta’s brain, and then suddenly she got it and her face lit up. “You kidnapped your sister-in-law, didn’t you?”
“She was pregnant,” Scarlett gasped. “Vicky was pregnant and you kept her here, shackled to the wall like the man in the iron mask!”
Marcia smiled an icy smile, and put away her phone. “I see you’re a lot smarter than you look.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Vesta, stung to the quick.
“That means that you walked into the wrong house this morning. Now sit down!”
So Vesta and Scarlett sat down on the stuffy couch, and both coughed when a cloud of dust wafted up from the old fabric.
“This isn’t healthy,” said Scarlett. “Bad for the lungs.”
“You know what else is bad for the lungs?” asked Marcia as she took a step closer. “Gunshot wounds to the chest.”
“You’re not going to shoot us, are you?” said Vesta. “My son won’t like it.”
“Your son will never know what happened,” said Marcia, “and neither will anyone else.”
“Is that what happened with Vicky?” asked Vesta, figuring she’d better keep this looney-tunes talking until she figured out a plan to get out of there. “Did you end her?”
“Vicky ended herself,” said Marcia with a shrug. “When she decided to get pregnant and bump my son from the succession order by giving Quintin what he always wanted: an heir.”
“So that’s what this is all about?” asked Scarlett. “Money? How disappointing.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Canyon, but I’m not just talking about money, but about making sure that the Gardner family inheritance is kept in the right hands.”
“Your son’s,” said Vesta.
“Exactly. I’ve been grooming my boy since birth to follow in my brother’s footsteps. So when Quintin found himself a wife against all expectations I wasn’t worried because I knew my brother to be infertile. So imagine my surprise when Vicky announced she was pregnant, and made me promise not to tell my brother—she wanted it to be a surprise.”
“If your brother was infertile, then how did Vicky get pregnant?” asked Scarlett.
“What a dumb question,” said Vesta. “She two-timed the old boy, of course.”
“Actually she didn’t,” said Marcia. “Turns out Quintin had found a fertility clinic where they’d managed to snatch a few of his supposedly sedate swimmers and managed to put the little suckers to work.” She made a face. “Sordid business, if you ask me. But it worked, and Vicky ended up pregnant.”