The Million Dollar Detective (4) "What's special about one a.m.?" "You don't know Sheila's one o'clock rule?" "No. What are you on about?" Bart smiled evilly. "Sheila has a rule at these parties that at one o'clock all the women must lose one article of clothing." "Goodness!" Meredith said, and put a hand to her chest. Bart suspected she was mocking offense, but envied that hand. Sounding mildly but genuinely irritated, Meredith said, "She did not inform me of that." Her frown was nearly as beautiful as her smile. "What happens at two o'clock?" she asked. "She tried a two o'clock rule, but it never worked out. By one thirty, it always degenerates into an orgy." "Yes, Bart, please do rescue me," Meredith said. They continued to chat and enjoy the pretty people, the delectable food, and the talented entertainers. The band was better than Bart expected, and always loud. The synchronized swimmers, four extraordinary women who hoped to make the next summer Olympics, astonished them. They particularly impressed Bart with how long they could hold their breath while inverted, with just their lovely legs out of the water. The fireworks were Fourth of July quality for a mid-size municipality. Sheila had outdone herself. Afterwards, Meredith insisted on dressing before they walked to Bart's house. She didn't "fancy parading down the street ninety-five percent naked." She ignored his assurance that the neighbors wouldn't mind. All she had worn was a loose button-up shirt over her bikini, and a pair of sandals. Bart changed into T-shirt, baggy shorts, and sneakers. Meredith looked in her bag, said, "Sheila still has my eyeshadow," and moved to find their host. Bart put a hand up to stop her. "Could we pick up the eyeshadow another time? I'd rather not hear her 'ooh-la-las' if I had my choice." "You want to sneak out without even saying good-bye?" Meredith asked. "Yes, I really, really do," answered Bart. Chapter Six Bart and Meredith strolled along the sidewalk. Victorian-styled streetlights cast fairyland shadows around them. The street, sidewalks, trees, bushes, and lawns were professionally maintained to Disney World standards--no cracks allowed in the pavement, no weeds allowed in the vegetation. A circus of topiary animals cavorted to Meredith's left. Walls of brick or stone, or wrought iron fences bordered every estate here, giving the impression that this was a land of tiny fortified kingdoms. To an outsider it might seem unfriendly, but Bart recounted stories about his neighbors, always pleasant, humorous stories. He knew his neighbors unusually well (Meredith wondered if he kept dossiers on them), and evidently liked them all. Seeing them through Bart's eyes, Meredith saw a community of amusing characters, of wildly varied backgrounds and talents, linked by the common factor that each possessed a lot of money, often the result of sheer luck. [Author's note: Two lottery winners lived within a few blocks of Bart's house.] In the strange light Meredith could easily imagine she had walked into a fairy tale. After all, here was Prince Charming, larger than life, right beside her. It jarred her emotionally when Bart placed his powerful hands on her shoulders to steer her smoothly around a pile of dog poop, disagreeably incompatible with this perfect landscape. It was the first time he had touched her, and she felt a sharp thrill at the contact. "Sheila's dogs could not have produced such a prodigious pile," she opined. "A Great Dane named Molly lives behind us a few houses," Bart said. "And up ahead around the corner there're two St. Bernard's, Francis and Benedict." "Do you know all the dogs in the neighborhood?" she asked. "Well," he said, "I jog sometimes, and I like to know what hazards I might run into, or that might run after me." "Bart, how far is it to your house? We've walked quite some distance. You said it was only two gates down." "Yeah. Back there a ways is the first gate I counted. That fence is the Williams', my next door neighbors. The wall across the street, that's my wall. My gate's just up ahead." Bart's wall was the biggest, tallest, thickest one she had yet seen. Most of the others appeared ornamental rather than functional. Bart's appeared capable of holding back barbarian hordes. She was about to make a witty remark about the Great Wall of Bartholomew, when she glimpsed a piece of his house over a line of trees behind the wall. It was a battlement. A real, crenelated battlement surmounting a round, stone tower. She stopped dead to stare at it. "Bart, do you have a cannon on top of that tower?" "Um, sort of," he said. "Sort of? Do you mean to say you have a fake cannon?" "No, it's real. It's a brass Napoleon nine-pounder, Civil War era. The paperwork says it was fired in the Battle of Shiloh. It's a field piece, though. It doesn't have the right kind of carriage for garrison duty. That's too much detail, isn't it?" Bart seemed a little nervous, perhaps concerned about her possible reaction to his eccentricity. "It is a trifle disconcerting, yes," she said. "I don't think I've ever known anyone who owned his own artillery before. Are your neighbors that unruly?" Bart smiled. "I think of it as a collectible, not a weapon of neighborhood intimidation. I do have cannonballs for it, but I can't fire more than a noisemaker charge from there." "Of course not. Not without a garrison carriage and the proper block and tackle arrangement." She smiled as he goggled at her. He probably didn't know many women who knew the difference between a field carriage and a garrison carriage. Why did she like to show off for him so much? She knew the answer to that. She just wasn't quite ready to admit it yet. Perhaps trying to change the subject, Bart said, "I have an attached greenhouse, and a poolhouse, too. It's not all imitation castle. More of a hotel." Meredith stopped again, a bizarre idea occurring to her. Eccentricity, detective, and greenhouse came together in her brain. "Wait half a moment," she said. "The three associates you work with, the ones on the phone, were they Saul, Fred, and Orrie?" "Paul, Fred, and Morrie," Bart corrected. "Do you perchance grow orchids in your greenhouse?" "No. I don't really grow anything. My housekeeper, Mrs. H., grows fresh citrus, lemons and oranges, on dwarf trees. A few roses, but no orchids." With a smile, he added, "And I don't weigh one seventh of a ton, either." They shared a laugh and crossed over to his gate. Again, it was far more functional than any of the neighbors' were. Decorative but tough wrought iron overlaid a framework of steel pipes three inches in diameter. Meredith refused to consider the possibility they might be solid steel bars. The weight would be too enormous. "Bart, you may have overbuilt your gate. Most of your neighbor's gates look like you could open them with a good shove, but yours looks like it would stop a cement truck." "We had in mind a tractor/trailer rig when we installed it. I take security very seriously," he explained. "The detective thing, you know." "Hmm, yes," she said. "Though the word paranoia springs to mind, also." "Like they say," Bart said, "it's not paranoia if they're really after you." "Do you have many enemies?" "Not very many, no," he said, sounding disappointed. "You'd think I'd have more considering how many bad guys I've caught. Still, I can afford to go overboard with security. I'm too rich to be crazy. I'm just eccentric." "I had noticed that, yes." Whether another symptom of paranoia, or just habit, Bart used his body to block her view of the security keypad as he began punching in the gate opening code. Before he had time to enter more than a couple of numbers, though, a loud click followed by the low whirring sound of very powerful motors signaled the opening of the gates. One of the many metal wheels supporting the gate squeaked annoyingly. "Henderson, you there?" Bart demanded of the empty air. "Yes, sir," said a voice issuing from a hidden speaker. "That's Henderson, my butler," Bart said to Meredith. To the air, he said, "Henderson, this is Meredith Adler, a friend of Sheila's." "Indeed, sir? Charmed to meet you, Miss Adler." "I'm not sure we have met, technically," Meredith said. "Are you from England, miss?" The professional boredom in his voice gave way to a tone of curiosity. "I grew up and attended university there," she said. "Oh, do come up to the house, miss. We must have a chat," Henderson's voice said, now positively excited. "Yeah, is it okay if I come, too?" asked Bart. "If you must," said the voice. "I pay good money for a genuine English butler, and I get attitude and disrespect," Bart complained. But his eyes smiled as he said it. He seemed to positively relish being teased. Was it a mild form of masochism? Meredith found it endearing. Once they passed through, the gates stopped opening and reversed, having never fully opened. Henderson must have them under observation. She spotted two security cameras. "By the way," she said to Bart as they walked, "the melting point of tungsten is 3410 degrees centigrade, whereas the melting point of titanium is only 1660." "Probably why they use tungsten as light filaments," he said. "You just happen to know that?" "I work for a car company, and I do have some interest in science. You never know when these bits of trivia might prove useful. For instance, if one wanted to impress a friend by describing how 'hot' a member of the opposite sex was." "O-oh." Now Bart understood her point. "I'll make a note of that," he promised. The long drive curved through a band of evergreen trees set back more than jumping distance from the wall. They came out of the trees onto an expanse of cobbled parking area in front of a house that dwarfed Sheila's mansion. The central section was three stories tall, as big as a small apartment building. Wings on either side, each a large house in its own right, ended in the towers crowned with battlements. Only the eastern one had a cannon. The other was undefended. The façade consisted of gray stonework, with concrete railings and balusters around a large balcony. "My lord, Bart," Meredith said, "you didn't tell me you lived in the palace of Versailles." "Okay, now that's an exaggeration," Bart said. "It is big, but not that big. I live in the east wing. The rest is mostly guest rooms and support services for events. By which I mean parties. I don't have any guests right now. My Uncle Howard and his family stayed here for a week, but left Monday morning. My sister may swing by in a few weeks, with her husband and kids. For now, it's just myself and the live-in staff." "Staff?" "Well, Henderson and Mrs. H. They live in the apartment over the garage." A long porch/carport stretched out from the front door. It struck her somehow as not part of the original architecture. Bart confirmed that his father had added it to protect his mother from the weather when her cancer, or treatment for it, made her sensitive to the cold. Bart had taken to calling it the "mom porch" ever after. The pair walked around one side of an Italian sculptured fountain, with cherubs, fish and many streams of splashing water, proceeded under the mom porch and approached the twelve-foot high front door. Glass block window walls, glowing from lights inside, flanked the door to either side. The door, wide, thick, and massive, opened soundlessly as they approached. Meredith suspected motion activated machinery until she caught sight of a man in formal morning coat, with white tie. The man, balding with the remaining steel-gray hair cropped short, and with a precisely trimmed gray mustache, stood perfectly straight, like an old soldier. He was either a butler, or a retired cavalry colonel pretending to be a butler. "Good evening, sir. Miss Adler," said the butler. "Good evening, Henderson," said Meredith. "Hey, Henderson," said Bart. As Henderson eased the gigantic door closed, Meredith gaped at the foyer. Beige marble floors, rich wood paneling everywhere, carved moldings, a wide grand staircase that swept upward in a graceful curve, paintings and sculptures, and a twenty-foot tall tree, all conspired to humble visitors. Most impressive was the enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, ten meters over their heads. That chandelier must have contained a hundred separate light bulbs. It sparkled in dazzling beauty. "Oh, my word," Meredith could not help saying. She could not help thinking, What in the world have I gotten myself into? Chapter Seven "Henderson, did you hear that squeaky wheel?" Bart asked. "Yes, sir. I will have it lubricated at the earliest," Henderson said. "Anything else, sir?" "No, you can get back to bed." Bart knew that was wrong as soon as he said it. Henderson was clearly not dressed for bed. "I told you not to wait up for me. You intentionally disobeyed me again, didn't you?" And why would he do that? "Did Sheila call you?" "Yes, sir. Miss Granger warned me to expect company." Meredith quietly laughed at this exchange. Bart felt peeved that everyone was talking behind his back, making plans for him without consulting him. He rolled his eyes and said, "If I weren't such a needy, dependent person, I'd fire you." "Yes, sir. Quite rightly, too," Henderson said. "Henderson," Meredith said, "what part of England are you from?" "Yorkshire, miss." "Yorkshire?" she said, with surprise. "You don't sound a bit like Yorkshire. More like Cambridge, I should think." "Ah, yes, miss. In the gentleman's gentleman trade, we have found that our gentlemen prefer their gentlemen's gentlemen to sound like gentlemen themselves." Bart looked around for paper and pencil so he could chart that last statement and decode it. Meredith laughed a short melodious laugh, and said, "And I am actually American, with an acquired accent." "Oxford, I should think?" Henderson guessed. "Yes, that most recently," she confirmed. "We're just a couple of dreadful fakers, aren't we?" "Well, let's not to let on to Mr. Manning, shall we, miss?" "I'm standing right here," Bart pointed out. "Agreed," Meredith laughed. "May I ask you a question?" "Certainly, miss." "How do you change the light bulbs in this marvelous chandelier?" "It lowers on a powered winch, miss. No climbing involved, thank Heavens." Bart said, "It always makes me nervous standing under the thing. I can't help imagining a big 'X' drawn underneath, and Wile E. Coyote waiting at the controls." The other two smiled politely but didn't give him the satisfaction of a laugh. "Anyway, Meredith, I'd be happy to show you around. I'm sure Henderson is anxious to retire for the night." Though he said the last phrase as pointedly as he could, Henderson said, "Not at all, sir. I find Miss Adler quite charming. I would enjoy staying up to converse with her." Bart blew a breath out through his lips, spread his hands in frustration and complained, "Is it 'Tease Bart Day?' Everyone's been picking on me today. It could make a man paranoid." The other two did laugh at that. Bart sighed yet again. "Henderson, you shouldn't flirt with my girlfriend. You're a married man." Henderson glanced at his wedding ring and said, "Bloody hell, so I am." Meredith said to Bart, "Now I'm your girlfriend?" Bart said, "Well, potential girlfriend, anyway." To Henderson, he said, "Please, I'm begging you, please, let us have some privacy, in which I can pitch a little woo." Henderson came out of character for a moment, smiled warmly, squeezed Bart's arm and said, "Of course, dear boy." Resuming his butler persona, he said, "Good night, Miss Adler. A pleasure meeting you. Good night, sir." "Good night, Henderson," Meredith said. After Henderson backed away a few steps, executed a crisp about-face and marched off, Meredith said to Bart, "He loves you like a son, doesn't he?" "He's more like a crazy uncle than a father figure," Bart groused. "And you love him, too," she said. Alarmed at this heinous accusation, Bart said, "I'd have him committed in a second, if I could find out where he hides everything." Meredith smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling more than the chandelier above them, took his arm in hers, and said, "Please, do show me your house." Her touch was warm and gentle. She pressed part of his arm against her body, her soft, luscious body. Bart had to concentrate to breathe properly, and he felt stirrings in his heart and other body parts. Oh, my, he thought. What in the world have I gotten myself into? They briefly toured the highlights of the house, starting with the restaurant quality kitchen. It left Meredith with an impression of gleaming stainless steel, more pots and pans than she had ever seen outside a department store, and Brobdingnagian appliances. The two refrigerators, stove, oven, grill, and even the mixer were large enough for a commercial kitchen, far larger than a private home should need. Walk-in pantries and walk-in freezers contained many months worth of food. Apparently, Bart anticipated a lengthy siege. "This is Mrs. Crocker's kingdom," Bart said. "My cook. Well, she cooks for me Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and for special events. I think I pay her extra for that." "What is Mrs. Crocker's first name?" Meredith inquired.
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