Read Online Secret Combinations by Gordon Cope - Free Book Online

cigar tobacco out of her mouth. “He’s running around trying to make a case from the other end.”
    â€œYou mean, with Simon’s killer?”
    â€œYeah. He’s got the boys over at State Department trolling their files.”
    â€œFind anything?”
    â€œIf he did, he ain’t sharing it with me.”
    Kenyon didn’t like the sound of that. Deaver off on his own could cause a lot more trouble than he was worth. “Give my best to the gang, and tell them I’ll be home soon.”
    â€œWill do. And Jack? If you get the time, there’s a little something I wouldn’t mind you picking up.”
    â€œA box of Cubana Havanas?”
    â€œI luv ya, kiddo.”
    â€œTalk to you later.”
    Someone knocked on the door. “Mr. Kenyon, are you in there?”
    â€œYeah, come on in.”
    DeWolfe stepped into the room and flipped open his notepad. “I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that Lydia had an extensive and, I might say, desirable collection of art and antiques.”
    â€œAnd the bad news?” asked Kenyon.
    â€œHer taste was very eclectic. In order to properly liquidate her estate, it will require time and effort to identify all the best bidders.”
    â€œThat’s a problem,” said Kenyon. “I don’t have much time to fuss with all that stuff. I have to get back to San Francisco real quick.”
    â€œWith your permission, then, shall I begin to make some inquiries?”
    â€œGood idea,” said Kenyon. “Let’s grease this pig.”
    DeWolfe’s left eyebrow arched up in a bemused expression. “An excellent idea. Perhaps we could meet for dinner in a day or so?”
    â€œGreat,” said Kenyon. He stood up and escorted deWolfe down the staircase to the front door. “I’d love to hear more about Lydia, as well.”
    â€œI would be delighted,” said deWolfe. “There are many amusing tales to tell. Auf Wiedersehen .”
    Kenyon walked back into the living room. Through the bay window, he could hear the distant sound of traffic, but he felt no urge to go out and explore. He felt tired and jet-lagged, at loose ends.
    He picked his jacket up off the couch and absently noted that it felt heavy. He suddenly remembered the DVD Tanya O’Neill had given him. He pulled the disc out of the jacket pocket and read the label; Sisters of Mercy Charity Auction.
    Kenyon went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine, then went upstairs and plugged the disc into the player. Settling onto the bed, he pressed play on the remote.
    A stately country mansion appeared on the screen. It was daylight, and expensive cars were pulling up to the front entrance. Several people dressed in formal evening gowns and tuxedos got out of a stretch limo, and the camera followed them up a set of wide marble steps into the house.
    â€œWelcome to the ninth annual Sisters of Mercy Charity Auction,” announced the voice-over in a plummy BBC accent. “On behalf of our host, we are happy to invite you all to Ingoldsby Manor.”
    The picture cut to a tall, striking woman. The title beneath her picture told the viewer that this was Mrs. Ilsa Ingoldsby-Legrand. The host was beautifully attired in a black velvet evening gown that clung to her slim hips. Her hair flowed down her back like a waterfall of gold. Kenyon guessed she was in her mid-fifties, but her skin was so white and smooth, it was almost alabaster. “We’re so delighted with the turn-out tonight,” she said, in a low, husky voice. “We have a lovely selection of people from a wide variety of society, as well as from the performing arts.”
    The camera cut to an enormous grand piano. A large, well-known tenor was singing an aria from The Marriage of Figaro . Curiously, no one was accompanying him on the piano.
    As the announcer blathered on, the camera panned around the room, lingering on several of the items up for