Murder with Strings Attached Page 18

  Aaron nodded and took the proffered tool. I found the leading edge of the door, which I knew had to be the side near the lock, and waited.

  Aaron placed the thin pick horizontally into the “v” of the hanger. He pulled down and out, but nothing happened. He tried several more times, but he simply couldn’t get a sufficient grip on either the hook or the little lock pick.

  “What I need is something to hold onto,” he whispered. I looked around at the near-dark room and could see nothing useful. Aaron also looked around, and suddenly his eyes fell on a familiar object. As I watched, he made his way over to one of the exhibits, again holding the little flashlight. His back was to me and I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but two minutes later he returned with a triumphant look on his face and something in his hand.

  “Voila!” he whispered, showing me what he was holding. It looked at first like a thick piece of twine, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a very different kind of string: a violin string—two of them, in fact. Aaron had taken them off the violin that we—okay, I—had earlier destroyed.

  A violin string does not make a perfect door pull by any means, but with some effort Aaron managed to hook the strings onto the picture hangers. He now had the leverage and the hold he needed to put some weight behind his effort to pull the door outward. He got just sufficient outward force to bring the piece of the wall that formed the door a fraction of an inch out of its resting place. This enabled me, using my lock pick and my fingernails, to help work it a bit farther until I was able to grip the edge with my fingers and, as Aaron continued to pull, work the door clear of the surrounding wall. At that point I could get my hand behind it, and a few seconds later it was open and beckoning for us to go through.

  Aaron and I peered from the near-darkness of the gallery into the total darkness beyond the door. But we didn’t need any light to realize this door did not lead to the outside and freedom, but to another room. Never mind, any room was preferable to the one we were leaving. After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped through the opening.

  Aaron looked back at the locked door through which Marianne or, worse, Benny might come at any moment, then followed me into the darkness.

  Chapter 34

  “Close the door behind you,” I whispered back to Aaron.

  I had been wondering how he was going to do that, considering the trouble we had had opening it, but I was pleased to find that there was an actual handle on the inside of the secret door, as well as a thumb-turn for the lock. After all, there was no need to hide the door or its hardware from anyone who was already in the room. Aaron pulled, and the door swung shut. Then he seemed to have a sudden change of heart and hurriedly reopened the door and stepped back into the gallery.

  Observing this strange behavior, I didn’t know what to make of it—surely Aaron was not planning to retreat just when victory was in sight—until he stepped back into the dark room and again closed the door.

  “What was that all about?” I whispered.

  “Re-hung the painting on the door. If they come in and find us gone, they won’t immediately see that we’re in here.”

  I looked at Aaron in a new light. I was impressed. He was starting to show the instincts of a fine burglar.

  “Good for you,” I said. “I should’ve thought of that myself. We may have to raise your status from ‘dangerous amateur’ to ‘promising apprentice’.”

  If Aaron blushed at this faint praise, it was too dark for me to tell.

  I turned the lock and breathed a little sigh of relief. Then I asked Aaron for my little flashlight, which was still in his pocket. “Stay here,” I told him, “while I look around a bit.”

  I shined the narrow beam around our immediate surroundings and found that we were standing in a narrow aisle connecting the gallery wall door with the center of what appeared to be a windowless workroom, the length of the gallery and maybe eight feet wide. On our left was some kind of workbench, on our right a table and cabinets. As I moved forward, I could see that the room was a long rectangle, and I was crossing its narrow dimension at about the center. In front of me I thought I saw the door I had mentioned to Aaron, although the flashlight beam was too weak to cast much light on that far wall.

  Turning left into the center aisle and feeling my way so as not to bump into any sharp objects, I directed the flashlight toward the top of the workbench on my left. Almost the first thing the light landed on caused me a sharp intake of breath. There on the bench, lying peacefully on a large piece of red velvet, was a beautiful old violin. Although it looked very much like the one I had almost stolen from Aaron’s suite, as well as the one I had mistakenly tried to steal from the Sanders gallery an hour or so earlier, I was somehow certain that the instrument beneath my flashlight’s beam must be the real thing.

  Of course, this time I was not going to assume I was correct. This time I had brought along an invaluable accessory, the world’s foremost expert on the authenticity of this particular violin. I made my way back to where Aaron was still standing by the gallery door, took his hand in mine, and slowly led him around to where I had found the violin. His violin, I fervently hoped.

  As we approached the front of the workbench, my heart raced and I began to perspire. I suddenly realized clearly, for the first time since the adventure had begun, that I was not just hoping that this was the real violin because it would lead to a hundred thousand dollar payoff, more than I had ever made from a single job, lawful or unlawful. Nor was it because I could finally be done with this escapade that I had never really wanted to begin. No, I was hoping even more fervently that Aaron, who wanted so badly to recover his treasure from the man who had taken it from him that he was willing to risk his career, if not his life, for it, would finally see that desire realized.

  We stopped in front of the workbench and again I trained the beam of my flashlight on the object in repose on its bed of velvet. As soon as I did I heard a small gasp behind me as Aaron reached out and picked up the violin. I handed him the flashlight so he could examine it as carefully as he wished. He first ran the beam of light slowly over the violin’s top, then along its sides and back. Finally he peered inside at the all-important label. When he was finished, he handed the flashlight back to me.

  I couldn’t see Aaron’s face, so I didn’t know whether it displayed a look of triumph or disappointment.

  “Well?” I whispered. “Is this the one?”

  Aaron leaned over and kissed me lightly on the forehead. “You’ve done it,” he said. “You’ve found my violin.”

  Chapter 35

  Although I was elated that we had finally found Aaron’s Guarneri, I was well aware that we were far from home free. In fact, we were far from both home and being free of our captivity. That was the next order of business.

  I knew we had very limited time in which to leave the Sanders house with both our violin and our freedom. Not only would Sanders be coming home sometime soon, but at any moment Benny or Marianne might come to check on us again.

  I turned and whispered to Aaron, who was holding his violin almost reverentially. I had to tap him on the arm to get his attention.

  “Look, we’ve gotta get out of here right now. I’ll take care of the door. You just carry the violin.”

  “How’re we getting back to the hotel without a car?” Aaron asked.

  I wasn’t ready for that question. I had been so intent on getting into the hidden room and finding the violin, I had completely forgotten that Benny had taken away Aaron’s car keys. Even if we escaped the house, we were stranded out there on La Paloma Road.

  “Shit, that’s right. We can’t exactly call a cab, and it’s way too far to walk, even if Sanders and company didn’t come after us, which they no doubt will.”

  We both were silent for a few seconds until Aaron said in a dejected tone, “I wish one of us had our cell phone…”

  Cell phone. Of course. How stupid of me.

  “Quick,” I said, handing Aaron the flashlight, “s
hine this on my wrist.”

  “On your wrist? What…”

  “Don’t argue. Just do it.”

  I’d completely forgotten about my fancy new watch. Although I’d bought it for a completely different purpose, I was sure—well, I fervently hoped—it was even more valuable than I’d thought.

  “This little baby is more than just a pretty face,” I explained to Aaron. “It’s one of those high-tech computer watches—you know, a ‘smart watch.’ I bought the best one they had, of course—my boss was paying for it—and I’ll bet it has a phone function…”

  I spent a few precious minutes finding it, but sure enough, a phone screen eventually flashed on. We were in business.

  ****

  “Talk about well-prepared. Have you got a Swiss Army knife in there too? You could’ve been a Boy Scout!” Then, looking at my chest where the lock picks had been concealed, he added, “Maybe not. So do you think if you could get hold of Sara, there’s any way she could come and get us?”

  I was thinking along the same lines. About the last thing I wanted to do was to ask Sara to come to my rescue, or to involve her directly in our burglary in any way, but I didn’t see any alternative. This was indeed the last thing I could do.

  “I’d rather not ask her,” I said to Aaron, “but there really isn’t anyone else we can rely on. Of course, it’d take her at least an hour to get here, so we’ll have to avoid capture for that long.”

  “Ah, that’s where my prison escape training comes in,” Aaron said.

  I was astonished. “You escaped from a prison?”

  “Well, no, but I’m a real fan of those prison escape movies, especially the ones where the Americans escape from a Nazi P.O.W. camp, so I know all the techniques.”

  I couldn’t tell in the dark whether Aaron was serious or just trying to lighten the mood. I assumed the latter and smiled, then turned to my wrist and dialed.

  ****

  “Sara?”

  “Flo? Are you on the way back? Have you got the violin?”

  “Uh, sort of, and yes.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Yes, we have the violin. We’re sort of on our way back, but we’ve run into a slight problem and need your help.” I could almost see Sara’s features fall, and the sound of dread in my friend’s voice confirmed it.

  “You’re not gonna ask me to come down there and rescue you, are you? Tell me this time I can stay out of the dangerous parts.”

  I sighed. I understood perfectly. I wouldn’t blame Sara if she hung up before I could ask. But I soldiered on hurriedly.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but Aaron and I were caught and locked in the gallery, and we managed to get into the hidden room next to it where we found Aaron’s violin. But Benny took away Aaron’s car keys, so we have no way to get back even if we escape the house and grounds. We need you to come down and get us.”

  “To the Sanders house? You want me to walk into the lion’s den and join you there?”

  “No, no. We’ll get outta here somehow, but we’ll need a ride home.”

  There was silence on the phone, and for a few seconds I thought Sara had indeed hung up. But then a very reluctant voice came back on and asked, “Okay, where do you want me to pick you up?”

  “The only place I can think of where we can hide until you get here, and that you’ll know how to find, is that little park we used for reconnaissance. Do you think you can find it again?”

  “I’ll find it. I can use the GPS.”

  “Can you leave right now?”

  “Well, I’m down at the bar in the hotel. I just have to go upstairs to our room and get my keys and stuff. I don’t know what traffic will be like. I’ll do the best I can.”

  “Thanks, Sara. We’ll make it up to you.”

  “Yeah. Tell Aaron he owes me big time.” Despite the words, I could tell Sara was smiling. She was a trooper, if a reluctant one.

  I conveyed the plan to Aaron and then proceeded to examine the outside door. As with the door to the gallery, whoever had built it had seen no reason to conceal the hardware or make it difficult to open from that side, although it probably was securely locked from the outside. A turn of a simple deadbolt was all that was required, and a few minutes later Aaron and I, in an impromptu and unrehearsed remake of “Stalag 17,” began our escape.

  Chapter 36

  I assumed Sara was carrying out her end of the rescue with all due speed—an assumption that proved to be premature, but more on that later—while back at Chez Sanders things were not running as smoothly as they might. Although there had been no problem in getting the outside door to the workshop open, there definitely was a problem leaving the building through it. The door was in full view of the detached garage, where Benny was either taking out a transmission or putting one in; in either case, he was doing it out in front, where he was bound to see us if we attempted to leave through the door. But as there was no other practical way to leave, Aaron and I had to wait until Benny either finished the job or he got tired and went back to the house. We had no idea how long either might take.

  A half hour passed. Then an hour. I was sure Marianne would come back to the gallery at any minute and find us missing.

  We were still trapped in the workshop watching Benny when my watch/phone vibrated and buzzed softly.

  “Sara?”

  “Yes. We’re here. Where are you?”

  “We’re still at the house. And who is ‘we’?”

  “I’ll explain later. Why aren’t you here yet?”

  “Benny, Sanders’ driver, is working on a car out in the garage, right where we have to pass. I don’t know how long he’ll be there.”

  “Well, can’t you get past him somehow?”

  “I don’t think so, not without taking quite a chance.”

  “Hmm. So you need to get him away from the garage.”

  A pause while both sides considered this. At my end, a whispered conversation with Aaron. Then: “How about if you call the house and ask for Benny. He gets called in, and we scoot past while he’s away.”

  “Do you know the number?”

  “No, but you probably can find it on the internet using your phone. That’s how I found it to call this morning.”

  “What if there’s a phone in the garage?”

  I thought about this. “It’s possible, but it’s worth a try. Even if there is one, it may be far enough inside that we can still sneak past. We’ll have to chance it. The longer we wait, the more likely Sanders will come home or Marianne the housekeeper will find us missing from where they locked us up.”

  Another pause. “Okay. I’ll phone as soon as I find the number. Watch to see if he leaves. And good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  I told Aaron the plan. And we waited and watched.

  ****

  Aaron and I waited impatiently for several minutes, watching Benny from a slightly opened door. We strained to hear some kind of ringing sound to indicate that Sara had found the number and called, but as we were at least two rooms away from where the nearest phone might be, we heard nothing. Nevertheless, after about five minutes had passed we saw Benny put down his tools and trudge slowly from the garage across the gravel driveway and toward the house.

  We knew we had only a minute or two between the time Benny took the phone and the point at which whatever ruse Sara had used to get him there became ineffective. As soon as Benny disappeared behind the side of the house, I opened the door and motioned Aaron to follow me. He had wrapped the red velvet blanket around the instrument to protect it, and he carried it as gingerly as if it were a bottle of nitro-glycerin, precisely like a person trying to avoid a second violin-crushing incident in one day.

  We closed the door, which opened inward, as far as we could, then half-ran to the corner of the building, where I peeked around to see if the coast was still clear. It was, and we scooted across the open space of the circular driveway, keeping low just in case Benny or Marianne happened to glance o
ut the front window just at that inopportune moment. Across the driveway we took refuge in the thick privet hedge lining the drive.

  So far so good.

  Concealed from the house by the hedge, we began to inch our way down the drive toward the security gate. It was after five o’clock and I hoped Jerry had already ended his shift and gone home.

  We had not gone more than ten feet when we heard the front door of the house slam and Benny trudge back across the gravel, back to the garage. We froze. He was unlikely to notice us anyway, however, because from the way his feet were pounding the ground with every step and he was muttering loudly, it was obvious he was more than a little pissed off at being called away for Sara’s bogus phone call.

  Once Benny was back at work in the garage, Aaron and I proceeded down the side of the drive, still hidden by the privet hedge. When we finally arrived at the security gate, it didn’t seem to be manned, by Jerry or anyone else. We were both letting out a sigh of relief, Aaron even flashing me the thumbs-up sign, when we heard about the last sound we wanted to hear just then: the soft whine of a car’s motor as a Prius with the livery of a Yellow Cab climbed slowly up the drive, no doubt carrying James Edward Sanders, grocery store magnate, collector of illicit art, and soon-to-be extremely irritated employer.

  ****

  I wondered whether Marianne had actually gotten hold of Sanders or she was just trying to put a scare into us. On the other hand, it didn’t really matter, because if he didn’t know about us already, he would very soon, including the fact that the would-be burglars were no longer imprisoned in the gallery. I hoped it would take a little longer to discover that we had escaped through the workshop, and that we had taken the Guarneri with us. Because at that point, the excrement would absolutely hit the whirling blades of the Sanders fan.