Strange Brew by P. N. Elrod

Author:P. N. Elrod
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

ESCOTT DROVE US to Bawks House; Miss Weaver—Mabel now, she insisted—sat next to him. I had the backseat to myself, slumping low in case she noticed I wasn’t reflecting in the rearview mirror.

She fussed with her hat, trying to secure it better. She was cheerful, almost relaxed, and made a point of turning around to beam at me now and then as we talked. Escott had instructed her to trust us. With her, trust must also include liking a person. She acted as though we were all old friends. I’d have been uncomfortable, but she’d forget it in a few weeks.

We had the windows down on his Nash; the hot air blowing in was viscous as tar. Through breaks in the buildings we saw restless clouds thickening, making plans. Lightning defined their shifting forms for an instant, thunder grumbled, and they went dark until the next flash. We headed north, right into it.

Escott gently plied questions under the guise of conversation.

Since discovering the fake gem, Mabel had been careful not to give anything away to her cousin, otherwise the real diamond would evaporate to a safer hiding place. For the present, it was still in the house, cached in a shoe in her cousin’s bedroom closet.

“How did you find that out?” he asked.

“Agnes is always eavesdropping on the extensions, but until now I had no reason to do the same to her. She thinks I’m too goody-goody. Well, I started listening, too, and got an earful on everything.”

“You must have had opportunity to switch pendants prior to this.”

“No, I have not. One or the other of them is always home, they keep their bedroom door locked, and I don’t have a key. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more time, but only this morning did I learn about the collector coming tonight. Agnes’s husband found him. Agnes married him just a few months ago. He saw the big house, met our sick grandmother, and assumed he’d be coming into big money soon enough. Agnes didn’t set him straight. She and Clive were made for each other: both sly, greedy Philistines.”

Escott came subtly alert. “Is he English? That’s not a common first name in America.”

“Clive Latshaw’s no more English than I’m Greta Garbo. He puts on a good show, though. He’ll high-hat anyone if he thinks he can get away with it. He even charmed Grandma, but not enough so she’d change her will.”

“Who is this private collector?”

“I didn’t get a name, but they’re meeting at Bawks House at ten. We’ll be able to sneak in with no trouble. Agnes and Clive are always in the parlor with the radio on. She won’t go up for the Eye unless she sees the money.”

“This is very uncertain, if they should catch us—”

“Then I came home early from dinner, and you’re my invited guests. If we’re caught, I’ll be embarrassed, but I’m getting my property back. If it was me facing just Agnes I’d be fine, but Clive would step in, and he can be mean.

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