Carla Neggers - Cut and Run

“You two are being watched, I see,” he said. He’d compelled Juliana to describe the man who’d followed them and had spotted him outside the Museum of Natural History. He’d stopped himself just short of going over and pounding the bastard into the pavement.

“Yes, but he’s not an expert. We have our ways of dealing with him.”

J.J. Pepper, for one. Juliana hadn’t mentioned her on the plane, but Matthew had no doubt her services were called into use to handle her Burberry man.

The kitchen was a large, airy room, its faded elegance in need of remodeling, and Stark wondered how Juliana fit in with the rest of the crowd in the prestigious Beresford. Knowing her, she probably didn’t care one way or the other-or even notice such things. She had any number of small, upscale appliances, but they looked relatively unused. Wilhelmina had already started cleaning the place. There was a mop standing in a bucket of sudsy water, and the counters were sparkling.

“I thought apartments were small in New York,” Wilhelmina said as she squatted down and worked at a spot on the floor with a fingernail, “but this place! Did you see that giant green something in the entry? I can’t decide what it is. I’ve watered it, but who knows. Maybe it doesn’t need water. How is your investigation coming?”

Stark debated grabbing a sponge but leaned against a counter instead. Yes, a woman of action was Wilhelmina Peperkamp. “Facts seem to be coming my way instead of me going theirs.”

“Ahh, yes. I know what you mean.”

He had a sneaking suspicion she did. “I’m glad to see you’re just washing floors, but I have a feeling that isn’t all that you’re up to. Look, this thing’s getting serious-”

She glanced up at him, annoyed. “My brother’s body is being cremated, Mr. Stark. He died of a heart attack, but who’s to say what brought it on? You don’t need to tell me about danger, I assure you. I was in the Dutch Underground Resistance during the war. I know danger.”

Properly chastened, Stark watched her get up and swish the mop around, then wring it out. She attacked the floor under the table, complaining because Juliana had such a big kitchen for one person and so many gadgets and who knew how to work such things and there was no food in the place. No cheese. She’d already cleaned out the refrigerator, apparently, and thrown out everything that didn’t look right to her. What it might look like to Juliana didn’t seem to matter a whole hell of a lot. She finished up with the floor, dumped out the water, and proceeded to scour the sink, working fast and furiously.

Matthew found her opinionated and critical, but she also seemed to practice her own brand of tolerance: you could do as you goddamn well pleased, just so long as you didn’t expect her to approve. Hell, maybe he didn’t need to worry; the old battleax could probably handle Phil Bloch.

“Tell me, Mr. Stark,” she said, drying her hands with a linen dishtowel, “are you planning to write another book on these past few days?”

“Did Juliana tell you about LZ? ”

Again annoyance flashed in her plain, square face. “No, I read it when it came out-in English, of course. I avoid translations whenever possible. It was an excellent work, but naturally with a book like that, there’s always the danger it’s the only one you have to write. Either you wrote that book over and over-under different titles, of course, and perhaps the readers don’t mind, but still it’s the same-or you just stop. If a new idea comes, it comes. If not, at least you won’t starve.” She nodded at his feet, adding, “You have good boots, Mr. Stark. I’d say you’re doing all right.”

“I’ll tell my editor: judge me by my boots, not my lack of production.”

“You’re lazy?”

A sin in Wilhelmina Peperkamp’s world, to be sure. She scowled at some expensive European hand cream Juliana had on the sink but squirted some out and rubbed it into her tough old hands.

“Unmotivated might be a better word,” Stark said. “But never mind. You and Juliana are being watched-”

“Catharina, too,” Wilhelmina added perfunctorily.

“I suspected as much. I think it’s because someone thinks one or all of you can lead him to the Minstrel’s Rough.”

Wilhelmina put the cap back on the hand cream and looked at him, her stony expression matching his. “You know, Mr. Stark, if one looks closely, one can see how your eyes tell what is in your heart. It’s not easy to see, perhaps, but it’s there. You’re not so tough.” She smiled at his look of surprise. “Why don’t you just tell me what you know?”

“I haven’t made all the connections yet,” he said, determined not to let the old Dutchwoman get to him. “I’m trying. But you put me at a disadvantage by not leveling with me. What do you know about the Minstrel?”

She shrugged, but he didn’t for a second believe her look of nonchalance and ignorance. “It’s a legendary diamond. I’ve never seen it and have no proof it exists, but I grew up in the diamond business. I’ve heard stories. If it could be located and successfully cut, it would be worth millions.”

And what would Phillip Bloch do with that much money? He was a retired army sergeant. “Why do people think you have it?”

“I don’t know that people do think that. Do you?”

“It’s a damn good guess.” He saw that his dark looks weren’t inspiring her to talk. Another Peperkamp trait. “What about your sister?”

“Achh, she bakes cookies. She always could cook. In the war, she would come up with so many ways to stretch what food we had. Here, I’ve some coffee made. I don’t know why Juliana doesn’t have a regular coffeepot, but-” she shrugged “-one adapts.”

“Your sister doesn’t like to talk about the war, does she?”

“No.”

Stark nodded. “I can understand that.”

“Yes,” Wilhelmina said, “I believe you can. For me, it’s more difficult to understand, because I think we cannot afford not to talk. But Juliana’s never pushed.”

“Good for her.”

The coffee maker, Stark noted, was top-of-the-line. He took a seat with her at a high-gloss rectangular oak table and watched without expression as she added two tablespoons of canned evaporated milk to her coffee. Aunt Willie’s coffee was strong enough to kill a horse, but he drank it anyway.

“Do you want to tell me about Hendrik de Geer?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You knew him during the war?”

“Yes, but that’s of no consequence.”

“At this point, probably not,” Matthew agreed. “What’s important right now is getting you three out of the reach of the man I think de Geer’s been working for. I’ll help you get somewhere safe, then I’ll figure out a way to stop these guys.”

“Is this man someone you know?” Wilhelmina asked, interested.

Stark grinned. “Tit for tat, Ms. Peperkamp. You tell me about de Geer and the Minstrel, and I’ll tell you what I’ve got on my end.”

“Maybe you have nothing,” she said with a grunt, drinking some of the coffee, “and then where would I be?”

“Whichever way you want it. I have a call to make. Mind if I use the phone?”

“And if I do mind?”

Stark laughed at her combativeness. “Hell, Juliana can afford it.”

“Who are you calling?”

“The Gazette. ” Wilhelmina Peperkamp followed him into the living room, making no attempt to give him any privacy, but Matthew didn’t care. Ziegler picked up on the first ring. “Working hard, Aaron? Good. Got anything for me?”

“Zip,” Aaron said, sighing. “I got in touch with most of the men whose names you gave me, but none had heard from or about Phillip Bloch in a number of years-or were too keen to hear his name. They also hadn’t heard from Otis Raymond. I checked the wires, too, and the morgue, but no luck.”