The Florentine Deception Read online

  What’s wrong with me? he wondered through increasing brain fog. Something is not right.

  Lister eased his master bedroom door open and plodded over to his bedside table. Placing one hand on the nightstand and the other on the bed, he lowered unsteadily to his knees. The shotgun was just inches from his knee, under the bed.

  “Nothing funny,” said the man from the doorway.

  It was now or never. Lister tried to thrust his hand toward the gun, but his arm refused to obey as a seizing pain gripped his chest. And with a sudden, final certitude he knew his life was over.

  Richard Lister slumped backward to the floor, dead.

  Chapter 12

  Latigo Canyon House—Malibu, CA

  Present Day

  Regina was lost in a copy of Modern Bride and drinking a soy latte in her Jag when I arrived. Steven was nowhere to be seen. It was 8:05 a.m. So much for the punctual engineer.

  “Getting married?”

  “Oh,” she said, startled. “Hi Alex. No, my daughter’s getting married next spring. I’m playing wedding coordinator.”

  Ms. Bubblegum! “Was that nice girl watching the house the other day your daughter?”

  “That’s her.”

  “That’s one lucky guy.” I nearly choked on my own sarcasm.

  “Yes, he is lucky. So when are you expecting the inspector?” she raised her hand and eyed her long nails with just a hint, ever so slight, of annoyance.

  “It won’t be long,” I prognosticated, and just a few seconds later I heard a truck pushing up the driveway. Upon Steven’s arrival, Regina threw the Modern Bride on the passenger seat, emerged from the Jag, and proceeded to unlock the front door.

  Steven burst from the pickup with the overzealousness of a second-rate actor who’d just landed his first role at a Renaissance fair. Clad in his brown UPS ensemble, a handyman utility belt, and a hideous fake moustache, it took my entire self-control to prevent a fit of hysterical laughter. Steven bounced up to Regina, issued a cheery “Good morning ma’am,” and extended a business card. “I’m Steven Crouch of Crouch Home Inspections.”

  “Good morning,” Regina replied and carelessly shoved the business card into her purse.

  She pushed the front door open, and turning her back on the two of us, walked into the house. “Mr. Crouch, please feel free to start as soon as possible. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been asked by the seller to oversee the inspection.” She didn’t sound too enthusiastic.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem ma’am.” I gave Steven a finger-slashing-the-throat gesture and shook my head. Steven responded with a dismissive wave of the hand, and followed Regina in.

  “Ma’am, I have a few questions. Does this house have a basement or an attic?”

  “Both.”

  Steven scratched a few marks on his form. “Thanks. Can you please show me where I can access the attic?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “No problem ma’am. How about the basement.”

  “That’s over here.” She walked over to the recessed door and pointed. “But you won’t be able to go down there. There’s some temporary damage to the stairs and it’s too dangerous.”

  “Thanks ma’am, it shouldn’t be a problem. I’m insured.”

  She seemed unconvinced.

  “Does the house have any hidden features that I should know about?”

  “Hidden features?” she asked, baffled.

  “A panic room, wall safes, secret passages—these all need to be inspected.”

  “No. I’m not aware of any secret passages,” she rolled her eyes, “or panic rooms in the house.”

  “Or wall safes?”

  I gave Steven a dirty look.

  “Or wall safes. No wall safes. The seller would have disclosed it.”

  Steven then proceeded to the bathroom off the entry hall with the two of us in tow. Upon arriving, Regina leaned against the wall and pulled out an emery board.

  Steven advanced to the toilet. “These models are sometimes problematic,” he offered authoritatively to no one in particular, and removed the top of the tank.

  With his face just inches above the open tank, Steven began a series of flushes. After each flush, Steven placed a tick on his inspection form, for what purpose, I had no idea.

  “Ma’am, does the house have a septic system or a sewer line?”

  “It’s a septic system. The tank was replaced two years ago.”

  Steven placed his ear against the tank and listened, motionless, for what seemed like two minutes, before Regina interrupted: “I’m sorry, what exactly are you doing?”

  “Trying to detect septic gas leaks, ma’am. This shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen more minutes.”

  Regina issued an audible sigh and finally, exhausted of her patience, abandoned the room after seven farcical minutes of intimacy between Steven and the toilet tank. “I’ll be out in my car. I have some calls to make.”

  “Happy?” asked Steven, a huge grin radiating from beneath his bristly brown moustache.

  “Very. Let’s get down to business.”

  Steven stepped out of the bathroom and after surreptitiously checking for Regina, gave me a nod.

  Less than a minute later, we’d slipped through the basement door and flicked on the overhead light. The narrow stairwell led down about twenty feet, surrounded on either side by cinderblocks covered in chipped, graying paint. Two-thirds of the way down, the stairs’ oak planks became noticeably brittle and discolored, undoubtedly the consequence of a prior basement flood. Here, two stairs had caved in, exposing a crisscross of spider webs anchored between the stairway’s structural beams.

  “Give me your hand,” requested Steven. I obliged, and he gingerly placed a foot onto the plank below the cavity. “It feels sturdy enough.”

  Once safely on the lower stairs, Steven stabilized me and I duplicated his descent. A quick scan of the void beneath the stairs revealed little reason for excitement in our diamond hunt, so we descended the last few steps to the limestone cellar floor. A humid mustiness greeted us.

  Upon the right wall at the base, we found another light switch, which Steven toggled several times to no effect. It was difficult, therefore, to gauge the extent of the cellar, for the single bulb of our narrow corridor illuminated only a small circlet of limestone at the top of the stairs. Steven pulled a flashlight from his utility belt and, turning the corner, panned the light around the room. He handed me a second, smaller flashlight.

  “Not much to get excited about,” I commented. With the exception of a row of built-in, riveted-steel shelves along the wall farthest from the stairwell, the room was entirely empty and surrounded by the same dingy cinderblocks—not much opportunity to hide a safe or a secret room. I walked the circumference of the room and, playing Sherlock Holmes, tapped each of the walls with my fist, hoping to find a secret door or perhaps a façade covering a safe. I avoided looking back at Steven, fearing the look he was probably giving me right now, and not for the first time, I was beginning to doubt the perspicacity of my treasure hunt. But, being a kid at heart, I quickly banished the idea and continued my sonar.

  “Do me a favor and check the floor stones too,” I suggested.

  The remainder of my inquiry yielded no fruit, so I walked over to Steven who was hunched over, minutely investigating a pair of grubby stones next to the shelves.

  “Got something?” I asked hopefully.

  “There’s a fossil clamshell embedded in the limestone over in the corner.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “And this stone is definitely loose. And there’s no grouting around it.”

  “Can you move it?” I asked.

  “I’ll need a screwdriver. I don’t think I can lift it with my …” Steven dug his fingernails between the two stones and grunted, “fingers.”

  “Don’t you have a screwdriver in your Batman belt?” I asked.

  “Dammit Jim, I’m a home inspector, not a handyman.”

  �
�All right, McCoy—”

  “Excuse me.”

  I turned in horror.

  “Excuse me,” repeated the stern voice above us.

  Steven walked to the base of the stairs. Regina was standing at the top of the stairway, bathed in the harsh glare of the hanging bulb.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “Is Mr. Fife down there with you?”

  I turned the corner. “Hi, Regina. I was just watching Mr. Crouch inspect the basement.”

  “I’m very sorry, but I told you—you can’t be down here. The seller doesn’t want any injuries and the last thing he needs is a lawsuit.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right up.”

  “Turn on your walkie-talkie. I’ll call you if I find anything,” said Steven in a low voice.

  With Steven’s aid, I bypassed the chasm and joined Regina at the top of the stairs.

  “I’ll be up in just a minute, ma’am. I need to finish documenting the damage down here.”

  Regina frowned. “Like I said, Alex, the seller will be patching up the staircase before the sale. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just wanted to see the space once more before I make my decision.”

  “I understand. Sorry for the trouble.”

  “It’s okay. I think I’ll take another look at the backyard.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Without another word, I proceeded out the back door and flipped on the walkie-talkie.

  Chapter 13

  Following the gravel path to the rear-left side of the property, I found a small, hand-built wooden shed set amongst a thicket of bamboo. An imposing padlock prevented entry. Gardening supplies, probably. But it could be an unassuming place to hide a small safe too. I lowered onto my haunches to peer through a knot about a foot from the gravel.

  “Breaker breaker,” squawked the speaker. Startled, I jerked, nearly toppling backward. I steadied myself then pulled the walkie-talkie from my pocket.

  “You find something?”

  “Maybe. I need a little help. I plotted the dimensions of all the second-story rooms on my graph paper.” Chirp. “Now I’m in the attic, and I’m having difficulty figuring out what’s where. These rooms are so oddly shaped, it’s not easy.”

  “So what do you need me to do?” I asked, my stomach tensing in anticipation.

  “Walk through the rooms and tell me which ones have recessed lighting. I can see the backsides of the fixtures popping up through the insulation, so once you tell me how many lights are in each room, I should be able to reconcile.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Regina, lost in her magazine, ignored me as I passed through the kitchen.

  “I think I’ll take a look at the upstairs rooms again. I really like the master,” I said nonchalantly. Regina looked up, delivered a wide, toothy smile, nodded, and then returned to her matrimonial planning.

  Steven had placed a ladder in the middle of the second floor hallway, just beneath the hatch to the attic.

  “Where’d you get the ladder?” I voiced into the walkie-talkie.

  “Just what kind of business do you think Crouch Home Inspections is? A full service operation. I brought it in the truck.”

  “Impressive.” I lowered the volume and continued. “Okay. I’m here. What next?”

  “I’m standing right next to the light fixture about twenty feet west of the hatch. Do me a favor and figure out what room it’s in.”

  “One sec.” I walked down the hall and looked into each of the two smaller bedrooms.

  “The hexagonal bedroom has a ceiling fan with lights. There’s nothing in the other room.”

  “Turn it on for a sec.”

  I yanked the fan’s chain and it began to whir.

  “Yeah, that’s it. One second,” squawked the walkie-talkie. “Okay. From here, about thirty feet north of the fixture is a group of, let’s see, nine, ten, eleven—eleven recessed lights. See if you can find which room they’re in.”

  “I think that’s near the back of the house.”

  I proceeded downstairs and into the tri-level den. Scanning the room, I saw eight large bulbs sunk into the ceiling. Fearing that Regina would hear our exchange, I stepped into the hallway bathroom and eased the door shut.

  “There’re eight big recessed lights in the den, and the ones closest to the backyard are about six feet from the back wall.”

  “Hmmm. That’s strange,” said Steven.

  “What?”

  “You’re sure there are only eight bulbs?”

  “I’m sure. Just the eight.”

  “So where are the other three? I’m looking at one parallel group of three and two groups of four sticking out of the insulation.”

  “Maybe the other three lights are in an adjoining room? Isn’t the master bedroom on the other side of the living room wall?”

  “I’m a little confused about this part of the floor plan,” he admitted.

  “I’ll go check the master. Give me a second.” I slipped out of the powder room and back upstairs to the master bedroom.

  “No recessed lighting here either,” I squawked into the mic. “Wait a second.”

  I noticed that the master had a sliding closet door against the library wall. I slid the dark-stained maple door open. Hanging from the ceiling was a lone, 50-watt bulb.

  “Nope. There’s a single bulb hanging in the closet, but no recessed ones.”

  “That doesn’t do me any good. I can’t tell where the hanging bulbs are. The wiring is covered by insulation. Give me a minute and I’ll come down and take a look.”

  Steven descended the ladder, tool-belt jangling, and gave both the living room and the master bedroom a thorough examination.

  “Well, those are definitely the right lights. Same layout and everything. You see the bulb closest to the bookshelves?” He pointed to the leftmost of the eight recessed lights.

  “Yeah.”

  “That bulb is about five feet away from our three mystery bulbs. So if I had to guess, the other three are in between the master and the bookshelf.”

  The thought electrified me. “You think there’s a passage between the two rooms?”

  “Either that, or when they added the bookcases, they cut some corners and left the old lighting intact to save money.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Crouch.”

  I nearly jumped at Regina’s voice.

  “When do you think you’ll be finished? It’s already been an hour and a half.”

  “Just being thorough ma’am. I shouldn’t be more than another twenty minutes. So far, so good.”

  “Oh … oh, good.” Regina gave her best Roberts smile and returned to the kitchen.

  Looking over my shoulder, I whispered, “Why don’t you go back up and see if you can’t poke a hole through the ceiling and see what’s under those mystery lights.”

  Steven grinned widely and, turning his back to the kitchen, pulled out a tiny monogrammed Swiss Army knife. “I’ll be right back.”

  Five minutes later, he took a seat on the bottom stair and finished filling out his forms; if he’d found something, he wasn’t showing it.

  “Well?” I questioned, looking over my shoulder.

  “Well what?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Excuse me sir, I can’t divulge the results of my inspection until I finish writing my report.”

  I peered again over my shoulder. Regina was walking over.

  “All done Mr. Crouch?”

  “Yes ma’am. The home looks just fine with the exception of the water damage in the basement.”

  “That’ll be fixed by the seller.”

  “The entire stairwell or just the two broken steps?” I asked. “The entire base of the stairwell needs to be fixed. It’s rotten to the foundation. I’d like that in writing.”

  “I’ll talk to the seller and get back to you, Alex.”

  Steven signed and handed a copy of his forms to me. “Here you are sir. The only problem
I found was with the staircase, as you pointed out. Everything else is in good condition.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Crouch,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “No problem, sir. That’ll be $550.00 even. You can make that out to Crouch Home Inspections.” He started upstairs. “Excuse me, I need to retrieve my ladder.”

  Chapter 14

  My six calls to Steven’s cell phone during the drive into Santa Monica went directly to voicemail. I wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten to turn on his mobile or was just torturing me. Thirty minutes later, we were sitting at Norm’s ordering lunch from an eighty-year-old waitress in a muumuu and hairnet.

  “Out with it,” I said.

  Steven took a faux-furtive look around and leaned in. “There’s a secret hallway between the bookshelves and the closet.”

  “I knew it! What could you see?”

  “Not much. The hall runs parallel to the bookshelves and stops at what I’m guessing are a set of stairs. I couldn’t really see down that far. At the other end of the hall—behind the leftmost bookshelf—there was some type of door. Maybe one of the bookshelves slides out of the way. Even if we can’t open it, we can always drop through the ceiling.”

  I could feel my heart palpitating.

  “Oh, and I couldn’t remove the floor stone from the basement.”

  “I totally forgot about that,” I admitted. “We can dig it up later. I think we’ve got ourselves a treasure hunt.”

  “So you’re going to buy it?” he asked as our waitress arrived with the first three of his six plates.

  “Are you kidding? There’s no question.”

  “Fifty-fifty on any find, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well in that case, how quickly can we get the keys?”

  “Good question. I’ll have to call Regina.”

  While Steven’s final plates arrived, I punched in Regina’s number on my cell and stepped outside next to a couple of newspaper vending machines on Colorado Boulevard. Regina picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi Regina. Well, everything looks good.”

  “Of course. It’s a great house!”