Страница 49 из 84
Cranepool looked surprised. “ Galway? He has family in Galway, Ireland? That explains so much. Recently, Casey was stressed to an extraordinary degree over a trivial matter. He was brokering a contract for a client to loan some jewelry to the Galway Museum. He worked on it constantly, to the detriment of business that was more important to the firm. We actually argued. It was such an inconsequential transaction, but now I understand. He wanted to be sure everything was perfect so he could shine in front of his family. Please assure the relatives. Casey was overanxious. Nothing more.”
Then the gleam of lechery slid back into his eye. “Perhaps I could check more thoroughly. If we have lunch later in the week, I could let you know what I discover.” He definitely oozed that last sentence.
“Thank you kindly, but no.”
I dipped a half curtsey, effectively slipping my arm from the old fool’s grasp.
I walked over to Madison Avenue and boarded the Ml bus home. All the while, I was wondering. Linda knew Casey was stressed about a work project that had something to do with jewelry. Cranepool didn’t understand why Casey was so beleaguered about the jewelry. Yet his assistant Jeremy had feigned complete ignorance about the matter. How could that be?
MY tried-and-true recipe of a drop of Yahoo, a dash of Google, with a soupçon of Ask.com, produced Casey Rheingold’s client in no time at all. Mrs. A
The article alongside told of the other rings in Mrs. Curry’s collection. Some bore the jeweler marks of both George and Andrew Robinson, and any number were crafted by all three Dillons. Her entire collection was in the trusting care of her longtime attorney, Casey Rheingold, who stood smiling with his arm around Mrs. Curry in a series of snapshots from her ninetieth birthday celebration. In one of the pictures I caught sight of both Linda and Jeremy in the background. Neither seemed to be having as fine a time as Mrs. Curry.
I leaned back in my chair. This was a job for the crone. She could easily pass for A
I called anyone who might be looking for me over the next day or so and said I’d be out of town on family business. Then I took a shower and went to bed.
I ate my yogurt and granola, while an egg boiled on the stove. The crone values high-quality protein as a start to the day. When the egg was done, I looked around, and satisfied that all was ready, I summoned her.
Fingertips poised on the opposite shoulders, I called for the wise auld one, and in an instant, the crone was sitting in my chair, and the young maid was gone. My wild, curly hair was still long, but the red had turned to gray.
I cracked the soft-boiled egg and went over the plan for the day while I ate.
I studied the pictures. I’d have to do something to hide all my hair. Finally I put on a blue serge dress, white knit jacket, sturdy walking shoes, and I was ready to make the telephone call.
The young lady who answered the phone put me through immediately.
“Mrs. Curry, so nice to hear from you. So sad about Mr. Rheingold. Naturally, I’m assisting Mrs. Rheingold. Do you need to know the arrangements? We haven’t…”
If I let him, he’d go on forever.
“Mr. Lycroft, Mr. Rheingold called and left a message for me just yesterday. He said it was urgent we speak about my collection. Is there a problem? Are my rings safe?”
Jeremy squeaked as if his tie were a thick rope tightening around his neck.
“Safe? Of course they’re safe. The vault here at Stoddard and Weiss is impenetrable.”
“Fine. I’ll just come down there and see them for myself.”
“I’d be glad to show them to you, but I have meetings outside the office all day. We’ll get to it as soon as possible.”
I tightened the thumbscrews. “Tomorrow, then. We must meet tomorrow. I won’t stand for further delay. I want you to send my Claddagh collection to the Galway City Museum immediately.”
Jeremy tried to postpone, but I was adamant.
“Mr. Lycroft, let’s not argue. It’s time for my exercise. The doctor says if I spend half an hour a day walking by the Pond in Central Park, I’ll live well past one hundred. And I intend to do just that. I’ll see you tomorrow. Your office. Ten o’clock.”
I twisted my long gray hair into a bun, topped it with a hat that matched my jacket, slipped on a pair of overlarge sunglasses, and left the house.
I leaned heavily on my father’s blackthorn shillelagh as I climbed down from the M1 bus on Fifth Avenue near Central Park South.
I avoided the crowded park entrance near the statue of General Sherman, and shuffled along to Sixtieth Street, where I followed the descending path to the comma-shaped Pond that was tucked well below street level.
Two joggers, pushing oddly shaped baby strollers, waved as they sped past me.
I’d just reached the monstrous boulder that sits at a bend in the pathway and was eyeing the empty side lane to my left, when Jeremy Lycroft materialized before me.
I stopped walking and planted my shillelagh in front of me, resting both hands on the solid, knobby top.
“Mrs. Curry, how nice to see you.”
He grabbed my arm and propelled me off the path.
“You sounded so eager to learn about your rings, I decided to meet you here. Let’s move closer to the Pond, so we can speak without interruption.”
His forceful grip was impossible to shake off. He dragged me behind the boulder, in the direction of the Pond.
“Really, Mr. Lycroft, this conversation would serve us both far better in your office. And I could review my collection.”
He kept advancing us to the Pond’s edge. When we were inches from the water, he spoke.
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Curry, that reviewing your collection is exactly what you ca
And with a sudden push, he thrust me into the water, which lapped at my shins. My shoes were sinking into the muddy Pond floor. Only my father’s shillelagh kept me from falling.
I raised the shillelagh and smacked Jeremy smartly across his hip. He pulled a gun from his pocket and held it a few inches from my face. Then he ordered me to move deeper into the Pond.
“I pla
I moved my forehead until it rested against the gun barrel and said, “If that’s the same gun that killed Casey Rheingold, then go right ahead, so
“It’s the same gun, for all that matters. Casey left me no choice. He kept arguing that you had the right to send the collection to Ireland. I kept stalling. Casey got suspicious. When he insisted on having the collection authenticated, he signed his death warrant and yours, too, since you continue to insist on sending rings you no longer own to Ireland.”
“You stole the ancient Claddagh rings.”
“I borrowed a half dozen and replaced them with excellent copies. I gambled on your dying before anyone looked at the rings again, and then who would know what you really had in the collection. But the thought of an examination by a curator from the Galway City Museum made me nervous. Don’t resist. Walk into the Pond. The end will come quickly.”
He wanted the end. So be it.