“That’s right—he drugged the wine. We were sitting here chatting, drinking the wine, and then I started to feel very strange…I think I realized what he’d done just before I lost consciousness.” She stood, gripping the edge of the table when her knees wobbled. “But why? What would he—Oh. Iknow.”
“Leslie,” Declan said, grabbing her arm when she took two unsteady steps toward the hall. “Where are you going? What if he has a gun or some other weapon? The police are on theirway—”
“They are? But surely he doesn’t have a gun. If he did, wouldn’t he have used it instead of drugging me?” Her head was still muzzy, but she grabbed on to coherent thoughts and forced out the words. She thought they madesense.
“Probably.” Declan’s expression changed from intense to pleased, and he hefted the iron bar in hishand.
Leslie took his arm. “He’s down in the speakeasy, I think. He’s looking for the gems. He wanted to come over because he thinks he knowswhere—”
“So he can’t hear us, can he? Down there? Good.” Declan suddenly looked very determined. His jaw set, shifting slightly. “Let’s go have a chat with Mr. John Fischer, who, by the way,isn’tthe author Jeremy Fischer atall.”
“I think I figured that out by now,” Leslie said wryly. Her head was pounding as if she’d had too many margaritas the night before, but she went over to her purse and pulled out her pepperspray.
Declan gave her a brief grin when she showed it to him, then sobered. “Maybe you should stay here. You don’t look too steady on yourfeet—”
“Hell no,” she said, and started off without waiting for him. But, fortunately, Declan was right behind her, and his comforting hand steadied her as they made their way quietly to the speakeasyentrance.
They found John Fischer—or whoever he was—kneeling on the floor in the speakeasy with tools and measuring equipment all around him. He barely had time to scramble to his feet before Declan swung himself down the center of the spiral staircase, ignoring the actual steps. He landed in front of Fischer and brandished the ironbar.
“I’m not going to be shy about using this,” Declan said. “And I suspect Leslie won’t hesitate to blast you with pepper spray. So I suggest you take a seat right there on that sofa until the police gethere.”
“The police?” Fischer’s face fell behind its beard as he moved to follow Declan’s orders. “What do we need the police for? I’ll leave, I swear. I just wanted… I wassureI knew where the gems were. I just needed more time. I didn’t hurt anyone. I wouldn’t hurtanyone.”
“You call drugging me not hurting anyone?” Leslie had managed to make her way down the stairs on her still-unsteady knees, and now she stood in front of the sofa, aiming her pepper pray atFischer.
“It was just a little sleep aid mixed in with your drink,” he whined. “Just to knock you out for a bit so I could— Aw,damn.”
He looked up at the ceiling, for the sounds of footsteps above, and shouts of “Police! Show yourselves!” echoed through thehouse.
“Did you really have to call thepolice?”
“Considering the fact that someone’s head was bashed in less than a mile away from here earlier tonight,yes,” Declan said as Leslie spun toward him inshock.
“What?” Now her head was pounding evenharder.
“I’ll tell you about it in a while—as soon asthisis taken care of,” he said, gesturing at Fischer with the iron bar. “What’s your real name, anyway? And how do you get off on pretending to be JeremyFischer?”
“My name really is John Fischer. And I neversaidI was Jeremy Fischer,” the man sneered. “You all just thought I was. Especially once I dropped a few hints to that old bat with the damned cane. What aloon.”
“So you admit you led everyone to believe you were Jeremy Fischer?” said a newvoice.
Leslie turned to see Joe Longbow easing his way down the spiral stairs. Behind him followed two very skinny legs in baggy uniform pants that turned out to belong to a slight man who looked like he’d seen better days—four decadesago.
“Hey, there’s no crime in people misunderstanding things I said,” replied Fischer. “I never claimed to be anyone Iwasn’t.”
“Which is…who? Or what? Wait a minute…John Fischer? I know that name.” Longbow’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Fischer more closely. “You’re that treasure hunter, aren’t you? I remember—was it two years ago?—you were sniffing around trying to get inside the house here under the guise of wanting to buy it. You didn’t have a beardthen.”
“No crime in growing a beard,” Fischerretorted.
“Well, I can’t argue with that. So let’s go down to the station and talk about what crimes thereareat stake here. I’m going to take Ms. Nakano’s statement, and then we’ll see what sort of excuses you can dredge up to try and wiggle out of a jailcell.”
* * *
“I’m feeling much better,”Leslie said from her position on the sectional. Rufus was in her lap, and she was petting him as ifhe’dbeen the one who’d been drugged. “There’s no need for me to go to the hospital. I’mfine.”
She looked from Declan’s stubborn expression to Cherry’s exasperated one, to Orbra’s steely blueeyes.
“Damned lucky I wasn’t here,” said Orbra. “I’d have taken a frying pan to that man! Why, you could have died if he’d given you too much of that sleeping pill! And mixed withalcohol?”
