Radical Regatta! Page 12

  “Has Mitchum figured out Boris Spassky’s real identity?” Brien asked.

  “Yes. As soon as they ran his fingerprints, his name popped up. Alexey Volkov is a well-known thug with ties to the Russian mob.”

  “Does that mean Nizenski sent him after us?”

  “Not necessarily. He’s my choice as Uri Popov’s killer, but I don’t know whose side he’s on. Maybe he’s out for himself. There could be a bounty on Popov’s head somewhere, and he’s going to cash in on it. That’s if he wiggles out of a prison sentence or extradition to France or Italy. He called his lawyer, but Alexey’s not going anywhere for a while. Getting caught with a concealed weapon is a mistake he’s going to regret for a long, long time.”

  “His bigger mistake was getting caught. Mitchum and Brien were on to him. A tree branch in Brien’s hands is no match for a concealed weapon.”

  “Don’t get too cocky. You’re right that he underestimated you, but a tree branch might not have helped if he’d come at you firing the gun.” I gulped. Brien was silent. “It’s no coincidence he’s in the area, or that he went after you, so it’s likely he’s mixed up in the game Angela Mason and Earl Gardner are playing.”

  “Was playing in Earl Gardner’s case,” Brien corrected Bede.

  “ What can you tell me about the Blazing Star?”

  “Angela Mason’s a guest. Have a sandwich if you’re hungry and Brien can explain the action on the yacht. I’m going to keep my eyes on the proceedings.” While they ate and chatted, the exchange of greetings on the deck of the Blazing Star continued.

  Mrs. Mason seemed poised but tense. The smile on her face was plastered on as if carved into stone. As the final person shook hands with the man in the wheelchair, a server escorted them to a lounge area where a fountain appeared to be flowing with chocolate. The guests had picked up gold plates and were dipping items into the chocolate.

  I looked to see if Goldilocks and the mystery man were following the crowd. I saw him reach up and touch her hand holding onto the back of his chair. She moved her hand away quickly and gripped the handles of the wheelchair.

  Angela wheeled him near where the delegation was milling about in a plush seating area, talking and eating. She parked the man’s wheelchair near Stella and the regatta organizers who were seated as they munched. Then, I saw Angela wipe the hand he’d touched. For an instant, her mouth twisted into a grimace before the fake smile returned.

  “Mrs. Mason’s not a fan of our mystery man,” I said. “She just used a tissue to wipe the hand he touched as if he’s got a contagious disease.”

  “If it’s Nizenski in the chair, she’s got plenty of reason to dislike him, and it has nothing to do with a contagious disease.”

  “Nizenski?” Brien asked. “Why do you think it’s him?”

  “The ring is a big giveaway. Her dislike is another. The connections between Nizenski and Angelina Kolisnyk go back to their childhood. They were distant relatives, but the ties between the adults in the Russian Nizenski family and the Ukrainian Kolisnyk family became strained.”

  “Because they planned to immigrate to the U.S.?” I asked.

  “Either that or the family troubles caused the Kolisnyk family to leave the Ukraine. Anyway, years later, Nicky and Angela met again, and it ended badly.”

  “Kim read an article that said Mrs. Mason was in an accident in France and went to a clinic in Switzerland to recover.”

  “Not everyone bought that idea. Hollywood gossip columnists claimed she was at the clinic for a makeover, courtesy of her husband,” I said as I watched stewards serving drinks. Nizenski beckoned, and the stone-faced Mrs. Mason, who’d been seated across from him, moved to his side. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down and spoke into her ear. With her back to the others, she nodded yes, but shot daggers from her eyes at him. Then she scurried away, running some errand, I suppose.

  “If looks could kill, the guy in the wheelchair would be dead,” I commented. I guess they were waiting for me to say more because the conversation ended. Brien and Bede were eating, so maybe they’d stopped talking to refuel. Then Brien spoke.

  “You never said what you meant by ‘ended badly,’ Bede.” Brien tapped me on the shoulder and held out his hand for the binoculars.

  “By that, I mean she fell, and the fall left her badly disfigured.” Brien and I both flinched. “She broke several bones, and it took months for her to recover.”

  “Did Nizenski push her?” My throat was so dry that the question came out as a whisper. Brien changed his mind about the binoculars and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler for me. The cool water eased the parched feeling that had come over me. I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

  “That’s one version of the incident, according to an eyewitness. Unfortunately, the witness didn’t live long enough to testify. Angela Mason and her husband never accused him of shoving her off a second-floor balcony. In fact, they refused to cooperate with the police investigation. One officer reported that she confessed to being worried about family members in the U.S. and elsewhere.”

  “He’s not a guy you want to cross,” Brien mumbled and then spoke louder. “I wonder what she did.”

  “It’s what she didn’t do, according to her family and friends,” Bede said. “Nicky Nizenski recognized her on-screen and began pursuing her while she was still in her twenties. She didn’t reciprocate.”

  “So, what’s she doing over there with him?”

  “That’s an excellent question, isn’t it? As you’ve indicated, she doesn’t seem happy about it.”

  “It must be Dr. Mason’s idea,” Brien suggested.

  “Why would he agree to help out the guy who almost killed his wife?” I asked, although as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I remembered what Bede had said about Mason’s fondness for high-stakes gambling.

  “Money talks,” Bede said. “If Nizenski offered him enough money to get out of the hole he’s in, he might have agreed. He may have had no other choice. Someone has been buying up Dr. Mason’s gambling debts. I’d say there’s a good chance that someone is Nizenski.”

  I was trying to figure out what on earth Dr. Mason could do to rid himself of the debts hanging over his head, and then I remembered Brien joking about someone needing an emergency facelift.

  “Maybe Nizenski asked for Mason’s help because he’s a skilled plastic surgeon. Not to get an emergency facelift, but repair work if someone pushed Nizenski out a window or got in a few well-placed punches.”

  “I agree, although I haven’t heard of an incident like that. Reconstructive surgery like Dr. Mason performed on his wife makes more sense than a facelift. If Nizenski’s recovering from other injuries, that could explain why he’s in a wheelchair.”

  “It’s diabolical, isn’t it?”

  “You won’t get any argument from me, Kim. I understand that mental illness is real, and people make mistakes; but in my line of work, evil’s real, too. Until recently, Nicolai Nizenski hadn’t been seen in years. Then, a photographer, taking pictures of the yacht, snapped a couple of photos of Nizenski and published them in a British tabloid.”

  “Unless he plans to give up the yacht, anyone with an ounce of sense is going to figure he’s on board.”

  “True, but he and his crew wear the same dark-colored tracksuits with a white stripe on them. Until those photos drew so much attention, it was never easy to pick him out of the crowd.”

  “Not unless you spotted that ring,” Brien suggested.

  “He doesn’t always wear it. From what you’ve said about the dignitaries with whom he’s speaking, this is a special occasion.” In between Bede’s startling revelations, I kept an eye on the party. Greetings over and drinks served, there was an earnest discussion underway.

  “Bright eyes and cheerful smiles all around except for the stone-faced Mrs. Mason. They’ve finally gotten down to business,” I commented as I watched for any hint of opposition or displeasure to whatever the man in the chair was propos
ing. No one was going to leave this event with a recollection of his appearance except for all the bandages.

  Had they asked why he was wearing them? I wondered. Then it hit me!

  “What if Nizenski wants a new face since his old one has been in the headlines?”

  “If I were a betting man, that’s a guess worth a wager,” Bede said.

  “That was quick,” I said interrupting Bede, although I’m not sure he had more to say.

  “The party’s over?” Brien asked.

  “Yep. The glasses are being drained dry. Hand-shaking is underway.” Then Mrs. Mason, who’d taken her time running the errand, stepped forward from where she’d taken up her post as a statue and began removing gifts from a bag. “Goldilocks is handing out gifts—a beautifully wrapped box for each member of the delegation.”

  “Are they ripping them open?” Brien asked excitedly. “What did he give them?”

  “Little Faberge eggs on gold chains for the women. I can almost hear the oohing and aahing from here. Stella and the mayor are beside themselves with joy. Watches for the men. They seem more stunned than joyous. Those aren’t inexpensive baubles, are they?”

  “No, they are not. The delegates have plenty of reason to be moved by the billionaire’s generosity,” Bede replied. “I’d say it’s been a good day’s work for you two. I appreciate you taking this on after the trouble you had so early this morning. I’m going to call and suggest to our detective friend that it’s time for a chat with Mayor Buckley. Mitchum should know what they agreed to do that earned them such lovely prizes from Nizenski.”

  “Make sure he asks them if their host explained why he was in a wheelchair and wearing bandages.”

  “Will do!” Then Bede got up, gave Archie a pat on the head, and went through his blessing again. This time his lips moved as he held out his hands before making the sign of the cross.

  “He’d tell us if he was giving us the last rites, wouldn’t he?” Brien asked as soon as Bede was out of earshot.

  “Yes, he would. To get that blessing, I’m pretty sure you have to confess your sins.”

  “All of them?” Brien asked. “I’d be dead before I could finish.”

  “I doubt that! You don’t have an evil bone in your hunky body.”

  “I make more than my share of mistakes,” Brien added as he began picking up items from the blanket.

  “Two blessings in two days is his version of Mitchum’s warning to cool it.”

  “He asked us to spy for him today,” Brien said as he continued to clean up. I took one last look at the yacht. The taxi was carrying the happy dignitaries away. Angela Mason was waving. The man in the wheelchair backed away, turned the chair around, and stood up.

  “I’ll be darned. Our man of mystery is on his feet.” When he disappeared through a doorway, I stowed the binoculars.

  “Let’s get home, and we’ll give Mitchum a call.”

  The minute we pulled into the driveway and headed for the patio, I heard Pepe screech. When his wings flapped, I couldn’t believe that he’d escaped from his cage again. Brien looked at me and answered my question before I’d even asked it.

  “I don’t know how he does it.” Brien unlocked the door to the screened-in patio, as Archie and I slipped inside. I was so shocked at the sight that awaited me that I didn’t shut the door. “Be careful, or Pepe might get out.”

  “Promise?” I asked as I took a step forward so Brien could get into the screened room and shut the door. Pepe dive-bombed us from the rafters, and then he shouted.

  “Tarde! Tarde!”

  “What have you done, Pepe?” Brien asked surveying the damage.

  “Basta! Basta!” Pepe screamed as he flew into his cage and pulled the door closed by a dangling shred of the twine Brien had used to tie it shut.

  The twine wasn’t the only thing in shreds. Pepe had clawed or used his beak to tear up the seat cushions in the room. The empty husk of one of them hung from the rafters. Stuffing was strewn everywhere. A houseplant on one of the tables had been knocked to the ground, the plant was in shreds, and dirt was everywhere. The glass candy dish Brien had filled with water for Pepe when he first arrived was on the ground, broken into pieces. Archie’s toys were scattered everywhere. A couple of the smaller ones were in Pepe’s cage.

  “Could he really have done this all on his own? Do you think someone broke in trying to find that dog collar?”

  I tried the door handle leading into the house. Like the door into the patio, this one was locked as it was when we’d left. Archie was almost tiptoeing through the debris and sniffing each of his toys. Surely, he’d be barking if a stranger was inside the house unless he was shell-shocked at the sight of the latest disaster.

  Still, I stopped to listen in case someone was ripping our place apart. Not a sound. I turned to make eye contact with Brien. Silence didn’t mean there wasn’t a person inside, quietly waiting for us to enter, with an unconcealed weapon pointing at the door.

  15 An Invitation

  Brien made a talking motion with his hand as he quietly exited the patio through the screen door. I began babbling as if Brien was still in the room.

  “What a mess. Don’t move while I clean up this broken glass, okay, Brien?” I set down the stuff I’d been carrying and grabbed a broom and dustpan that Brien had left on the patio last night when he ran to help me. Why not do something useful during this charade?

  “Archie, sit!” I said as I swept glass, dirt, and shreds of foam into a pile. It seemed like Brien left an hour ago, even though it couldn’t be more than a few minutes. It suddenly dawned on me that I probably shouldn’t be cleaning if this was a crime scene.

  “Sit!” Pepe screeched at Archie.

  “Shh!” I said. Pepe mimicked or mocked me. Shh, shh, shh was an improvement. I jumped when Brien opened the door wide and invited me inside.

  “All clear!” Brien said as he stepped next to me and shook his head.

  “That means this was all Pepe’s handiwork.” I harrumphed as I grabbed the dustpan and scanned the area for pieces of glass I might have missed. “What are we going to do with him while we’re at work if he can’t be left alone for even a few hours?”

  “Archie can babysit him. What do other people do with their pets? They’ve got to work to pay for the damage they do. Al warned me when we decided to take care of Archie that he had a dog that ate his couch.”

  “Most pets aren’t that destructive. Are they?” Then I saw a white envelope in Brien’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brien replied. “It’s addressed to Brien Williams and Kim Reed. There’s no stamp on it.” When Brien held up the envelope, Pepe went bonkers.

  “Mal hombre!” He kicked the cage, the door flew open, and then Pepe dove for that invitation. He shrieked hysterically, “mal hombre!”

  “Esta bien!” Brien said as he hid the envelope in a pocket. “It’s okay, Pepe.” Pepe squawked and circled the room as Brien continued to tell him it was okay in Spanish and English.

  “Okay,” Pepe responded as he finally settled down onto Archie’s back. Archie wagged his tail.

  “I take it Pepe’s telling us we had a visitor while we were gone,” I whispered. “I’ll bet our guard parrot was a big surprise if he came around back here to deliver that to us!”

  “Yes! Good for him,” Brien whispered. Then he bent over and held out his hand. Pepe hopped on it.

  “Gracias, Pepe!”

  “No problema!” Pepe replied as Brien carried him to his cage.

  “Where are his treats?”

  “In the pantry. I’ll get them.” I sighed as Archie and I went into the house. Pepe has me on a roller coaster of emotions. I want to like him, I really do, but he scares me. Guilt suddenly overwhelmed my fear. Pepe’s less scary than any mal hombre who’d paid us an uninvited visit. Had the guy been nasty to Pepe?

  What was so urgent that he’d gone to the back door? Maybe it was a pretense to break in until Pepe made all that noise
. Then I laughed at how startled the bad man must have been. Burglars don’t like noise.

  “Brien, did you open that envelope?” I handed Brien the treats for Pepe.

  “No. I don’t want to stir him up again. He’s sleeping, see?” Pepe was almost completely covered by his blankie. “I’ll put these in here as a surprise for when he wakes up from his nap.”

  As soon as we were inside the house, Brien whipped out the envelope, holding it by one corner. I wanted to grab it and rip it open, but what if it was a death threat? That parrot’s whacko, but when he says mal hombre, I believe him.

  “Here, use this.” I handed Brien a letter opener, and he slit open the envelope and pulled out the card in it. His eyes widened. My heart pounded.

  “Is the mal hombre going to come back and kill us even if he has to go mano-a-claw-o with our terrifying parrot?”

  “No, it’s a more devious plot than that.” He handed me the card. “We’re invited to a party on the Blazing Star!”

  “You’re kidding! Do we have to bring the collar or the dog or else?” Before Brien replied, the doorbell rang. “If that’s him asking for us to RSVP, just say no!”

  Brien peeked out through the peephole in the front door and then opened it. I had another shock when I stepped next to him and found a “mini delegation” on our porch.

  “Mayor Buckley, please come in,” I said. She stepped in, and Stella followed her. I waited for her to curtsy, but it didn’t happen. Wearing a bejeweled golden Faberge egg pendant, she was now the royalty in the room, I guess.

  “Hello, Stella.” Stella also had the sparkly bauble hanging around her neck. No royal pretensions, though, as she greeted me with a big hug.

  “Hey, Al. How’s it going?” Brien asked as his boss walked in and Brien shut the door. The last member of our mini delegation, he wasn’t nearly as ecstatic as the two women ahead of him. Brien held the envelope, and I held the card we’d taken from it.

  “How wonderful! You received your invitation. Nicolai said he was having one delivered to you.” Then, Mayor Buckley stopped speaking as she caught sight of Archie. “Is that the dog you saved? Dr. Mason and his wife are very grateful to you, I’m sure.”