Fleeced

“Something tells me we should do whatever we can to hang on to those sheep. They can be our logo for the company. It’ll be called Two Sheep Productions.”

“Should we try and buy them?”

“I think so.”

“What if they don’t want to sell them?”

Jacques looked at him harshly. “We’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

55

All over town, people were reading about the Settlers’ Club. Lydia’s ex-beau, Burkhard Whittlesey, was particularly enjoying the article as he rode a stationary bicycle at the cheapest, smelliest gym in New York City. It was all he could afford at the moment. But he was determined to get back in Lydia’s good graces, so he had to keep in shape. She was his best shot at a decent life. I should have treated her better, he thought. I got a little too cocky.

Of course, in the long run, he considered himself much better suited to an aristocratic type. After all, he was a good-looking guy with a certain amount of charm. That’s why he kept crashing all the high-class gatherings in town. He was always on the prowl for a bigger, better deal.

Since college, he’d managed to get himself on every party list going. He’d also mastered the art of dropping in at the cocktail hour of big benefits held in hotels, cruising around in his tux to see if there was anyone worthwhile, and then disappearing when it came time to take your seat. If he met anyone, he’d claim he had someplace else to go, but could they get together another time? But so far nothing had stuck. Every woman of means quickly figured out that he by no means had any means.

If Burkhard had put half the effort into working at a real job that he put into finding someone to take care of him, he might have been president of a Fortune 500 company. But every job he’d had started out with great promise and then imploded. Stocks he recommended tanked, deals he put together fell apart. Now at age thirty-five he was begi

As he read the newspaper, he rode the bicycle faster and faster. That club certainly has its problems. It’s going to be quite a scene tonight, he thought. I don’t care what Lydia says. I’ll go and turn on the charm for her. Show her what an asset I can be. If she doesn’t take the bait, I’ll make a point of wandering over to any reporters who show up.

At the very least, she’ll write me a check to keep my mouth shut.

Burkhard got up from the bicycle and walked to the showers. The sight of woolly-looking mold festering on the drain was too much for him. He went to his locker and threw on his sweat suit. I’ll shower when I get home, he decided. Then I’ll take a little walk around Gramercy Park, to prepare myself psychologically for tonight.

Lydia was his last shot before he’d have to move back to his parents’ house in the sticks and take a job chopping firewood. He had no intention of letting that happen.

As he exited the “health” club and finally breathed some fresh air, he smiled. It’ll be a benefit tonight. He laughed to himself. A benefit to benefit Burkhard Whittlesey.

56

Regan had just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. Here we go, she thought. It was Clara.

“Thomas told me to come upstairs and see you,” Clara said anxiously, stepping inside.

“I’ve got to go talk to him. Do you know if he’s seen the paper today?”

“He’s a mess,” Clara declared emphatically. “And that girlfriend of his is crying her eyes out.”

“She is?” Regan said.

“Wouldn’t you?” Clara answered, raising her arms in the air. “Thanks to that article people think this place is a tacky madhouse.”

Regan just looked at her.

“All right, I’ll admit calling in to that program wasn’t such a good idea. At least they didn’t mention that in the paper.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“Regan!”

“Sorry, Clara. I wanted to talk to you about Nat for a few minutes.”

“Poor man.”

“You heard about the break-in here last night?” Regan led her into the living room.

“Thomas told me. Would you look at this mess! Nat loved his books, and now they’re thrown all over.” Clara shook her head. “It’s terrible. And those sheep. They were in this living room for so long. Now they’re out of the building at that crazy movie set. Daphne had no right to let those weirdos take them away.”

“She promised they’d be back tonight.”

“She still had no right. They were Nat and Wendy’s babies.”

“How long have you worked here, Clara?”

“Ten years next Sunday.”

“So you knew both Nat and his wife?”

Clara nodded. “A darling couple. A little too crazy about sheep for my taste, but to each his own.”

“Thomas told me that Wendy was from England and had grown up in the country where there were a lot of sheep.”

“Yeah, so, I grew up next to a dog pound. You don’t find me with a bunch of stuffed dogs cluttering up my apartment.”

Regan didn’t argue the point. “They must have been perfect for each other then.”

“You know what their song was?” Clara asked Regan. ‘I Only Have Eyes for You.’ That’s E-W-E. Nat used to sing it to her all the time. They’d laugh and laugh.” Clara’s voice became softer. “He loved to play practical jokes. He definitely liked to have fun.”

“Clara, did you see any sign that Nat had a girlfriend in this past month?”

Clara looked thoughtful. “You know, Regan,” she said as she started walking down the hall, Regan following her, “he did buy a few new clothes about three weeks ago. He came in with a bunch of shopping bags, and he’d gotten a haircut and a shave at the barber’s. He told me he hadn’t gone out for a shave in years. He laughed and said the barber went to town on him, clipping his nose hairs and pruning his eyebrows. But then one day last week, as he was leaving, I asked if he was going out to get his nose hairs clipped, just kind of making a joke, and he said he didn’t need to bother with silly things like that anymore.”

That must have been when he decided to break up with her, Regan thought. “But he didn’t tell you anything about a girlfriend?”

“No! He might have felt fu

Clara paused at the door to the master bedroom. “After she died, he wanted to keep everything the same. I’m not surprised it didn’t last if he did take up with someone new.” She then wandered over to the bathroom. “He had this all redone for her.” All of a sudden she gestured wildly with her arm. “That’s what it is, Regan!”

“What?”

“Wendy’s towels are missing!”

“Wendy’s towels?”

“Yes. They always hang on the rack over there.” Clara pointed to the empty rack on the wall. “With the shock of it all yesterday, I didn’t think of it. Nat never used those towels, but he always wanted them there. Occasionally I’d wash them, just so they’d look fresh.”

“Did they have the sheep appliqué on them?” Regan asked.

“Of course.”

“I found one of those appliqués on the floor by the shower,” Regan said.

“They’re very delicate. It must have fallen off.”

So the towels are missing, Regan mused, and one of the appliqués was found by the shower. “Why would someone take the towels the night Nat died?” she asked aloud.

Clara looked befuddled. “And don’t forget, on that night Nat takes a bath, not a shower. That’s what he always took. A shower. Between ten and ten-thirty every night, he told me.”