Murder with Strings Attached Read online

  “Right. Steal it back from Martin.”

  “And substitute this copy,” Aaron added.

  “Of course, Sanders’ll know it’s a copy as soon as he looks closely at it.”

  “I know that, but by that time it’ll be too late.”

  “He won’t be too happy with Mr. Martin, I should think.”

  “No. And if I’m really lucky, he won’t examine it closely until he’s ready to make the exchange with the Japanese fellow. That should prove mighty embarrassing for the son-of-a-bitch, don’t you think?” Aaron broke out in a grin, the first time he had smiled since beginning his story of the theft.

  I considered this. Then I said, “Yeah, I’d say so. And if the switch is done well, he won’t have any idea how the original turned into a fake!”

  Aaron brightened. “So you’ll do it? You’ll help me get my violin back?”

  I held up a hand to stop the premature celebration. “Maybe. There’s a lot of details we’d have to work out. Like whether the job is even doable, given the lay of the land and all; and what’s in it for me.” It occurred to me that I already owed Aaron for letting me off the hook, but this sort of thing would require an additional inducement.

  “I don’t know the layout, but I assume we could find it out. As for what’s in it for you, I have no idea. I’ve never hired a burglar before, and until you entered the picture an hour ago, I had no intention of doing so. What would be fair?”

  I didn’t have a ready answer for that.

  “I don’t ordinarily hire my services out, either. I usually work on my own. So we’re both in virgin territory here. Let me think.”

  I sat back silently on my downy cushion, while Aaron got up and walked to the mini bar, where he poured us both refills. Then he sat back down and waited.

  I couldn’t come up with a good answer off the top of my head, so I said, “Maybe we should analyze the situation and see where it leads us.”

  “Okay by me. You go first.”

  I got up and began to pace. “Let’s see. The violin is worth several million dollars, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And I’d be putting myself in a very dangerous position, with regard to both Martin—and Sanders—and the law.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “You, on the other hand, would get all the benefit without any of the risk.”

  Here Aaron jumped up excitedly and waved me off.

  “No, no, I think you misunderstand. I don’t expect you to do this on your own.

  “I want you to help me do it.”

  Chapter 6

  I guess I looked surprised, because I was. I shook my head. “No thanks. I don’t work well with others. Never have. My mother had to take me out of play groups because I couldn’t share with my playmates. At school I got F’s in ‘Cooperates with Others’.”

  Aaron seemed unmoved. “No deal, then. This is a personal thing for me. I don’t just want to get my violin back, but I’m sufficiently pissed off about having it stolen by that s.o.b. Sanders that I want to get it back myself. Now with professional help, of course,” he said, nodding at me.

  “But you’d be committing a crime. You could go to jail,” I protested. I was beginning to think the guy was a nut case, although a likeable nut case.

  Aaron shook his head. “Look, I’d be committing basically the same crime if I hired you to steal the violin as if I stole it myself, I know that much law. But it can’t be much of a crime to take back what someone has just stolen from you. Maybe some minor trespass for entering his property. And besides, it’s worth the risk. I won’t let the bastard get away with it!”

  Aaron had worked himself into quite a state, even pounding his fist into his palm to emphasize his last point. No doubt he generally saved this kind of emotion for the concert hall.

  I let him vent, and when he was finished, I said, “Sorry, but no way. You’d probably just get in the way. No offense, but you’re an amateur. It would be like me trying to go out on stage and play a violin duet with you.”

  This seemed to bring Aaron up short. He considered my analogy, which was a pretty good one, if I do say so myself. I’m sure the very thought of appearing onstage in a duet with someone who had never played the violin before sent shivers down his spine.

  “I see your point,” he said quietly. “I can’t blame you for not wanting to do this job with someone like me along.”

  I was relieved. I felt sorry for having to squelch Aaron’s plan for personal revenge, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “I understand how you feel,” I said, “but at least if I can get the violin back for you…”

  “Oh, no,” Aaron interjected before I could finish my sentence. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to take me along, so I’ll have to do it myself. No way I’m letting someone else do my dirty work for me!”

  I was taken aback. “Are you serious?” He had to be joking.

  “Absolutely. The more I think about it, the more determined I am to get that violin back, and to do it myself. It would have been great to have professional help, but since you’re the only ‘professional’ I know, I’ll just have to do without it.”

  I hardly knew what to say. Taking on this job with Aaron along would put us both at risk, and the logical thing to do was simply to thank him for his offer, and of course for not having me arrested for trying to steal his violin. But for reasons I could not quite explain to myself, the prospect of sending him off to do the job himself, with the near certainty that he would fail and end up in prison, or worse, appealed to me even less. I needed time to think.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Give me overnight to think this through. It’s kind of a new concept for me, you might say. Can we get together tomorrow?”

  Aaron perked right up at the suggestion. “Sure. How about lunch here at the hotel?”

  “Uh, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not come back here for a while. I’ve led some people to believe I work here, and…”

  “Oh sure, I understand. How about McCormick’s?”

  “Fine. I’ll see you there at noon.”

  At least I would get a free lunch out of this.

  Chapter 7

  “Sara?”

  “Oh, hi, Flo. What’s up? How’d the great violin grab go?”

  “Well, at the moment I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of the Regency. I’ve just had the most bizarre experience of my short criminal career, and it’s not quite over. I need some advice. Are you available?”

  “You mean now? It would be a bit awkward.” I heard a man’s voice and then Sara giggled, and it wasn’t from anything I had said. I got the message.

  “Well, this evening would be okay. Can you come over about seven?”

  “I think so. I’d planned on dropping in anyway. Can you give me a hint what this is about? I assume it has something to do with Aaron Levy.”

  “It has everything to do with Aaron Levy. And it’s about whether I should let him stick his head in a noose, or I should accompany him into a noose for two.

  “See you at seven.”

  ****

  Promptly at seven o’clock, Sara appeared at my door. She had a bottle of Merlot in one hand; the other was on her hip.

  “Okay, it sounded like we’re gonna need this,” she said, thrusting the bottle into my hands. We retreated to the living room.

  Sara and I settled ourselves on the sofa. Sara poured the wine.

  “Okay,” she said, “explain.”

  I did. I recounted briefly how I got into Aaron Levy’s room, and in great detail my encounter with Aaron himself. It made quite a good story, punctuated by Sara with several repetitions of “No!,” “Really?,” and “You’re kidding.”

  When I reached the part at which Aaron stated his determination to “go it alone,” Sara switched to: “He’s out of his mind!”

  “That was my reaction, too,” I said. “The only thing is, I believe he really intends to do it, or to try to do it, alone if he has
to.” I sighed. “In fact, he seems to be treating it like a challenge of some sort, like he’s eager to prove he can do it.”

  “You know,” Sara said, “I’ve read that famous violinists have a reputation for being gamblers. Something about their personalities. I believe Paganini once lost his priceless violin in a card game.”

  “This would be a much more dangerous game than cards,” I said.

  Sara agreed. “But what’s that got to do with you? If he’s crazy enough to break into a lion’s den and try to steal the lion’s prize violin…no, wait, I’m mixing my metaphors here…oh, you know what I mean. It’s not your affair.”

  I looked down at my glass, then took a long sip.

  “You’re right, of course. It’s just that he seems like such a nice guy, not at all what I’d expect a big celebrity to be like, and he did save me from my first stint at the license plate factory, and…well, I hate to leave him out there helpless. And believe me, he would be helpless! I’m sure he hasn’t a clue how to steal a pencil from a blind beggar, much less a Guarneri from a wary billionaire.”

  “Millionaire,” Sara said. “You said millionaire.”

  “Whatever. The point is, do I do the sensible thing and let him jump off the cliff by himself, or the stupid thing and jump off with him, hoping that two can fly better than one?”

  Sara considered this.

  “I don’t know, Flo,” she said after a long pause. “It’s not like you never take chances in your, uh, line of work. In a way, this is just another risk, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is, but the difference is that this is an unnecessary one. I can avoid it by refusing to take the job.”

  “You can, of course; but then the risk is that he’ll get himself arrested, or even killed, and then you’ll feel guilty as hell for the rest of your life.” Usually so practical, Sara seemed to have taken Aaron’s noble cause—or foolhardy adventure—to heart. At the very least, she was not trying to talk me out of jumping. In fact, it looked like no one was going to save me from what might easily turn out to be the most foolish venture I had ever undertaken.

  Or the most exciting.

  Or both.

  ****

  Promptly at 12:30 p.m., a less-than-confident Florence Palmer entered McCormick’s Fish House & Bar on Fourth Avenue. A throwback to the style and décor of the turn of the last century, McCormick’s could induce nostalgia even in those too young to have actual memories of its wood and brass splendor. But I was too nervous to notice the elegance, as I looked around for Aaron. Spotting him at a corner table, I made my way there.

  Aaron was reading the menu and looking quite serious about it when he looked up and saw me. His features brightened and he put down the menu, stood up, and went around to hold the chair for me. That’s unusual, I thought. It’s not a gesture I see very often these days.

  After we’d been seated for a few minutes and had a chance to exchange a bit of small talk, a waitress came over to take a drinks order. Aaron ordered a bottle of champagne.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked. I hoped he hadn’t simply assumed I would agree to his proposition.

  Apparently he hadn’t. “Well,” he answered, “at least one of us will have something to celebrate: You should be celebrating your escaping that close brush with the law, and perhaps I’ll be celebrating your agreeing to help me to recover my violin. Either one calls for champagne.”

  I couldn’t object to that. But whether Aaron had reason to celebrate was still an open question.

  “Before we decide who’s celebrating what,” I said, “let’s settle this matter of who’s going to go after that violin.”

  Aaron was all smiles and attention and waited for me to continue. He sure seemed to be enjoying himself. I wished I could say the same.

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought,” I said, “and this is what I’ve decided: I have a list of conditions under which I might—and I say ‘might’—be willing to do this job with you tagging along. If you’re okay with all of them…”

  As I seemed to run out of steam there, Aaron jumped in. “Then you’ll do it?”

  Reluctantly, I said, “Yeah, then I’ll do it. Or at least take the next step, which would be trying to come up with a workable plan. Some things simply can’t be done at all.”

  “I understand,” Aaron replied eagerly. “So let’s see this list.”

  “Before we go over the list,” I said, holding up my hand to check his momentum, “we never did settle the matter of what’s in this for me.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Aaron. “What did you decide would be fair?”

  I cleared my throat. We were now talking business. “Well,” I said, “given the value of the object, the degree of risk, and the financial circumstances of the client (you), I think $100,000 plus expenses would be fair.” I had more or less pulled the figure out of the air, since I had no precedent for this job, and I waited to see what his reaction would be. I actually was expecting either a gasp of disbelief or an outright rejection, in which case I was ready to negotiate.

  Aaron thought about my offer for a minute, with wrinkled brow. Then he said slowly, “And…what if we aren’t successful? If we don’t get the violin?”

  “Then you just pay the out-of-pocket expenses, so I at least come out even.” I started to add that he could also pay for our lawyer if we ended up in jail, but I refrained. I didn’t want to sound too negative.

  Again Aaron paused to think it over. Finally he brightened and said, “It’s a deal! Now let’s see the list.”

  ****

  I was relieved we had gotten past the first hurdle. I pulled out from my purse a folded page from my note pad. I looked at it and said, “First, once we have a plan, you have to stick to it, at least unless and until I say otherwise. No freelancing.”

  “I understand,” Aaron said meekly. “Stick to the plan.”

  “Second, you have to learn a few techniques that every good burglar needs to know, and learn them damn fast. Like in a day.”

  “Hey, I’m a fast learner,” Aaron assured me. “It said so on my report cards.”

  I was beginning to feel like an employer interviewing a young student for his first job. Come to think of it, when it came to crime, I was.

  “And last but most important,” I continued, “you have to promise to do exactly what I tell you during the operation itself, no matter whether you agree with it or not.”

  “Do exactly what the boss says,” Aaron repeated. “No problem, SIR!” And here he snapped off a smart salute.

  I was not amused. But I took that to be a “yes.”

  Suddenly Aaron’s features became much more sober. “Seriously, Flo, I really want you to help me with this, and I’ll do whatever you say. I don’t have any trouble taking orders—spent two years in the Israeli army doing just that—and I know when I’m in over my head. That’s why I want you there. Any other conditions?”

  I glanced at my sheet of paper and shook my head. I looked up and said, “No, that’s all I came up with, though I may think of something else along the way.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  In my mind’s eye, I could see the Rubicon rushing by in front of me. I hesitated for a moment, then stepped boldly onto the bridge and crossed the river. It was, in a way, a liberating thought. A new adventure was beginning, and with it the application of one more rule that I had not pressed upon Aaron: Make your decision, do the best you can, and never look back.

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling for the first time that day. “I’ll do it.

  “Now open the damn champagne!”

  Chapter 8

  Aaron had to leave Seattle for a short engagement down the coast, but he promised to be back in a day or two. After this gig, he said, he had nothing scheduled for at least two weeks and he had reserved his Royal Suite, no doubt at considerable expense, for the duration “as our base of operations.” Not quite an army field office.

  On the following Monday we began our quest in earnest
.

  Riding up in the hotel elevator with Aaron that morning—this time, of course, the guest rather than the service elevator—I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was still an interloper. I was no longer in my frumpy housekeeper disguise, but I still wondered whether anyone would recognize me from my previous foray to the ninth floor. But in reality there wasn’t much chance that anyone, even eager Assistant Manager Larry, would connect that menial servant with this well-dressed woman on the arm of the hotel’s foremost celebrity guest.

  Context—like timing—is everything.

  Before we stepped out of the elevator on nine, I looked to see if any of the housekeepers who had been there on my previous visit were in the hallway now. But as it was well past the time for cleaning the suites, none of the maids were on the floor. Getting on the elevator as Aaron and I got off, however, was the bitch from room 914 who had complained to me about her un-emptied wastebasket. Would she recognize the maid she had so recently abused at close range? I almost winced when we passed the woman, but I managed a curt nod, and in return I received a broad smile and a welcoming look that seemed to be evenly divided between good manners and envy. Context is indeed everything.

  After Aaron poured drinks and we had settled into chairs on either side of the coffee table, I got out the sheet on which I’d written my conditions and turned it over to the blank side. Fishing out a pencil from my handbag, I looked up at Aaron and said, “Okay, now comes the hard part. How we’re going to do this.”

  “You’re the boss,” Aaron said. “Where do we start?”

  “I guess we start at Donny Martin’s apartment,” I said. “We’ll have to find out where it is, then do a little reconnaissance.”

  “Right. So how do we find where Martin lives?”

  I thought about that. How indeed.

  “Well,” I said, “I do know a few what you might call shady characters in town.”

  “Oh yes? How shady?”

  “Let’s just say we share some mutual business interests. Nice people, just engaged in questionable activities.”

  “Like yourself,” Aaron said. But he was smiling when he said it.