Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 34

fifty-seven.

"Can I write you?" Frannie asked the young soldier sitting on the swing beside her. "You better write me-often as you can. You will, won't you?"

He shrugged and squeezed her shoulders. "We can try writing, Frannie. But, as I tried to explain, I can't tell you what I'm doing or where I'm going. It's just the way this new outfit is. You understand, right?"

I stood at the end of a grand veranda watching the two on the porch swing. Neither knew my presence-and I was unsure if I were really there or sharing the old photograph's karma.

"No, I don't. This war is horrible. It's bad enough you can't tell me anything, but I can't write to you?"

"You can try. It'll be hit or miss if we'd get anything. But I'll write you whenever I can. The outfit has a way of getting the letters out."

Frannie sat up and pulled away, pushing his arm from around her shoulders. "I just don't understand. Soldiers are soldiers. They can't keep our letters away at a time like this-"

"It's not the same with us," he said. He stood up and moved to the porch railing. "You have to understand. I'm not even supposed to tell you this much. But I figure a girl like you would find out anyway."

She kicked him playfully behind the leg. "You mean a gangster's daughter."

"Yeah, a gangster's daughter." He laughed. "So, if you don't want me telling anyone about your dad, you can't tell anyone about me. Deal?"

What? No, this couldn't be. I was at home here-as though I'd been here many times and knew every room, every hallway. I walked up onto the porch and peeked in the window. I knew inside was a large foyer with a grand staircase rising up to the upper floors. The great hallway led to the rear of the house and the servant's kitchen. Just off the foyer was the ballroom. The lounge was on the left and then the sitting room and other visiting rooms.

The Vincent House.

When I turned and looked at the soldier, there was something unmistakable about him-something ... familiar. He was my height and perhaps twenty pounds lighter-thin, but hard and st.u.r.dy. His hair was short-a fresh-trimmed haircut. He was clean-shaven and his eyes were dark blue-friendly, inquisitive eyes-and they were soft when they looked at Frannie. His uniform had Captain's bars on the shoulders and a patch on the left arm of a gold spearhead on a black field.

I recognized the patch.

This soldier wasn't like the millions of young GIs heading off to fight the Axis. He was something special-something new. He was one of General Donovan's men. He was OSS-the Office of Strategic Services-the forerunner of the present-day CIA.

Could he be? I didn't dare think it.

Frannie stood up and fell into the soldier's arms. "How long do you have before you leave?"

"Tomorrow, Frannie. I have to go tomorrow morning."

Tears welled in her eyes. "And home? When-"

"Not 'till it's over I guess. Maybe back to DC now and then, but I'm not sure I'll be able to see you, let alone tell you I'm around." He kissed her and crushed her to him. "I'm sorry, Frannie. I can't even tell Doc."

Doc? My Doc? Our Doc?

She leaned back and swiped at the tears in her eyes. "How is he, Ollie? I haven't seen him since-"

"No-not since you came for the book. I know."

"How is he?"

My grandfather slipped out of her embrace and leaned back against the porch railing. "Okay, I guess. He didn't like me joining up but I had to. He demanded I go back to school to be a lawyer or doctor. I'm so tired of him trying to make me be, well, him."

"I know, I do. We're both trying to escape our fathers, aren't we?" She looked down and half-smiled. "What about us? Have you told him about me-about us?"

Ollie Tucker threw his head back and laughed. "Are you kidding me, Frannie? He would have kittens. I wouldn't have to worry about Adolph, honey. He'd kill me himself."

"Why, Ollie? He can't blame me." Frannie's eyes rained and she didn't try to stop them. "Can he?"

"No." Ollie tried to smile. "It's the other way around. He blames himself for your dad's murder. He says he should have been able to save him. And the book terrifies him."

"It shouldn't. The book is the only thing keeping my family safe. Maybe Doc, too. And it's not his fault, Ollie. Those people-they murdered him. They wanted the book."

Ollie looked away. "I don't understand any of it, Frannie. Vincent's gone and the book is still so dangerous. It's been five years. What could be so important this long?"

Frannie gazed over the front yard. "Because it proves who killed him. And it proves why. There are things in the book that could destroy some very powerful families in Washington, Ollie. And they know it."

Ollie wrapped his arm around her and kissed her forehead again. "Then keep it safe, honey. And when I get back, I'll use it to get every last one of them Commies. And I'll start with Vasily Kishkin."

The name sent a harpoon of fire into me and I felt myself leaving the veranda. The light danced around me as Frannie and my grandfather embraced. With all my strength, I tried to stay just a moment longer. I willed it but it wasn't to be-the light danced and faded, pulling me away.

"Vasily Kishkin? Granddad, who is he?" I tried to reach out for them but I was already being swept away. "Frannie, tell me more. I don't understand."

Frannie kissed Ollie on the cheek. She took his hand and guided it down between them, resting it on her belly where she moved his hand in gentle, loving circles. "You have to come home safe, Ollie. For all of us."

fifty-eight.

When the tornado of light dissipated, I was back in Frannie's bedroom staring at the photograph of Frannie Ma.s.seria and OSS Captain Ollie Tucker. My head spun with a million memories of my childhood; a life growing up without family or heritage-wondering about who and where I came from. The answers poured over me like a cold shower-shocking but invigorating. My family roots began with a brilliant old curmudgeon surgeon and a rough and tumble gangster. And then there was Frannie and Ollie. Two young people trying to escape their roots and make their own way during the madness of 1944. A gangster's daughter and an OSS agent-Grandma and Grandpa.

Unbelievable.

The loud banging on the front villa door shook me out of my daydream. I ran to the door. Angel and an orderly were outside. The orderly pummeled the door, calling out for Frannie to answer. Angel prodded him to hurry and get inside.

Frannie wasn't entertaining this morning.

I slipped outside just as the orderly keyed their way in.

"Angel, it's too late. Frannie's been murdered. We have to go."

Angel stood in the doorway as the orderly rushed in and knelt down beside Frannie's body lying on the couch. She said, "She's dead."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," the orderly answered, standing. "Looks like she died in her sleep. Maybe a heart attack."

I grabbed Angel's arm and the intensity of the moment gave me the energy to connect with her. "Angel, someone smothered her-murdered her. We have to get back to Winchester. Andre found the book. He was-"

"Andre?"

The orderly turned around. "No, Charlie, ma'am. You better go. I have to get the facility doctor to check Mrs. Ma.s.seria. I'm sorry for your loss."

Angel nodded and followed me out as I tugged her through the door. "The book, Angel. Andre has the book. I don't know what's going on, but we have to find him."

Outside, Angel shook off the shock and walked to the Explorer. Hercule was behind the steering wheel howling out the half-open window-either nature or Frannie's death woke him from his snooze. As we walked him around the parking lot, I explained everything I'd witnessed inside Frannie's villa suite.

Fifteen minutes later, we were headed home. On the way, she called Bear and filled him in too-less my visit with my dead grandparents, of course. As she hung up with Bear, I had an idea and next had her call Poor Nic. She put it on speaker.

"Yes, I'm fine, Nicholas," she said after explaining what had just happened. "But that's not why I'm calling. Have you ever heard the name Vasily Kishkin?"

A pause. "Yes, my dear, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Vasily killed Vincent Calaprese back in-"

"1939, yes. I am well aware of the family lore, Angela. What of it?"

Angel looked over at me and I gave her my thoughts. She said, "Nicholas, Vasily Kishkin was a Russian spy-and he had a network in Washington, right?"

"Yes, he did. He was a very dangerous man."

"Is it possible his family continued his business all these years? Perhaps the book proves as much?"

"Yes, my dear, it will-and more. Angela, what you know is very dangerous. Please, come to my home before you do anything rash."

"Nicholas, I think you should keep Bonnie with you-"

"I'm afraid that is not possible." Poor Nic sighed. "She left here this morning without explanation. I don't know where she went. But I fear the worst."

Angel frowned. "Nicholas, you're not telling me everything."

"There is no time." He paused and spoke to someone in the background but we couldn't hear. To Angel, he said, "I will explain when you arrive. It's far more complicated than you can imagine. Know this, Angela. No one is who they pretend to be. No one. "

Boy, the last time I heard that line, Ernie Stuart had just killed me.

fifty-nine.

The trip home was torturous as Angel shaved time off our drive. Along the way, I tried to dial into Andre and ghost-express to him. It didn't work. I couldn't connect to him and learn where he was and what he was doing. Whatever connection we had in the past was gone.

Angel's cell phone rang and she looked at the display. "Tuck, it's Andre." She put it on speaker. "Andre, what the-"

"Angela, listen to me, please." His voice was rushed and strained. "Something terrible has happened. Where are you? I must see you at once-without Braddock."

"What's happened?" Angel glanced over at me and said, "I went to see Frannie Ma.s.seria."

Silence. "Then you know. There's no time to explain. We're heading for the Vincent House. Meet me there. Hurry."

The line went dead.

Angel slammed her foot on the accelerator and the needle closed on ninety. "I cannot believe it, Tuck. Not Andre. What has he gotten into? What has he done? And who is 'we'?"

Something tickled me. "He's with Bonnie Grecco."

The Explorer groaned under her foot. Hercule laid down in the backseat and moaned.

She said, "Then he's in bigger trouble than he knows."

_____.

Fifteen minutes later, Angel wheeled into the Vincent House drive and skidded to a stop. Hercule howled his relief as Angel got out and opened his door.

In front of us were two vehicles-Andre's convertible and another luxury sedan neither of us recognized.

"Angel, you better let me go in first. I'll find Sa.s.sy and-"

A gunshot cracked inside the house.

"Angel, get down!"

The Vincent House's front door flew open and a man stumbled out. He ran toward us, looking back at the house at the same time. He tripped down the veranda stairs and stumbled forward.

W. Simon Hahn.

"Simon?" Angel called.

At a fast clip, he careened against Andre's Mercedes and crashed into Angel's Explorer before he landed on the ground out of breath. He lay stunned and confused.

"Simon, stop. What's wrong?" Angel took his arm and helped him to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

His golf shirt was covered in blood. So were his hands-and in one of them was a stainless steel revolver.

"I didn't see this coming. Angel, call Bear. Simon just shot somebody."

Angel's eyes swept from the gun to his b.l.o.o.d.y clothes. "Simon? What have you done?"

"I, I ... nothing. No." He lifted the .38 and his face paled when he saw it in his hand-he tossed it onto the ground like it burnt his fingers. "No, Angela. It's not ... I didn't ... I, I shot ... there's a man inside. He's dead."

I said, "I'll check it out, Angel. Just in case, get your gun."