I open my mouth to reply, but we’re interrupted by one of the officers. “Mr. Covington, I think you should come with us.”
“Officer Rome, this is Meadow Borneman. She’s the assistant manager of Glacier Executive Leasing.”
The officer sizes me up before holding out his hand. I shake it firmly without saying anything. “Mr. Wilde just got back to us with the codes,” he explains.
“Codes?” I ask, confused.
“Mr. Wilde has the entire house monitored,” Russell explains. He places a hand in the small of my back to help guide me around the trash even as Officer Rome trudges through it. “There’s a room behind the wine cellar downstairs that holds all the recording equipment.”
“And it hadn’t been breached,” Rome explains. “We think we know who the perp was. Perpetrator,” he automatically translates.
“I was married to a cop,” I explain for the second time in less than an hour. “You really don’t need to give me a lesson on jargon.”
We carefully make our way down a set of steps that are slick with puddles of glass and red stains. It doesn’t take magical powers to guess that wine bottles were shattered over them as they match the path we follow down the hallway. I speak my thoughts aloud. “This seems more than just a prank.”
Rome stops in the cool hallway to face me. “Are you sure you want to work for him?” He jerks his thumb at Russell. “We’ve got an opening in the department.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“Pity. Watch out for stray glass we’ve tracked in,” he warns.
Grateful I decided to wear my boots today, I step into an electronics haven. “Pull up the video, Dan,” Rome orders the young man sitting at the desk.
Silently we all watch a video where the housekeeper uses her code to enter. At first sight, she stumbles backward. “She must have been terrified,” I murmur.
“She may have, but still, look at the timestamp,” Rome urges.
I lean to get a closer look and swear under my breath. “Almost a month ago.”
“I missed that the first time I saw it too,” Rome assures me.
“Why didn’t Margaret just tell me?” There’s painful confusion in Russell’s voice.
“We’ll find out.” Inside I cringe. Poor woman. I wouldn’t want to be her when Officer Rome and his team get through with her. He barks out, “Dan, pull up the other video.”
Soon, we’re looking at a man who appears to have the fury of ten ripping wine bottles off the racks right outside this very room. He’s flinging them to the wall, the floor. But all we can see is his back. “Great, so we know what date he was here and his back,” Russell bites out.
“Just wait,” Rome warns.
A moment later, the man reaches up high for the few remaining bottles on the rack he was set on desecrating, and Dan hits Pause. Russell sucks in a breath through his nose. “No, it can’t be.”
“Who is it?” I ask tentatively.
“Meadow, all of the Wilde family close to Mr. Wilde have special codes to reserve the property. Under normal circumstances, we’d have gone over this in the office. They have permission to visit the property simply by letting us know at a moment’s notice. That’s one of the main reasons he wanted someone on-site—because there could be someone here at any time.”
“So, you’re saying this man is a relative of Mr. Wilde’s?” I demand.
He shakes his head, and I relax marginally. But his words make me almost choke on the saliva in my mouth. “Not just any relative—his brother, James. I’d have to go back and look at the media reports, but I’m almost certain this corresponds with him finding out his accountant swindled most of his money.”
“And here’s his brother, Kristoffer, making hand over fist in the music industry, representing acts like Brendan Blake,” Rome concludes grimly.
“Is this going to make it better or worse?” I wonder aloud.
Russell’s uncertainty doesn’t answer my question.
“So, we have a positive ID of the perp. For the case file, I’d like to validate his access code was used. Based on the fact his name wasn’t mentioned earlier, I’m presuming your codes don’t go back that far?” Rome asks, all business.
“Not in the app version of the program.” Russell holds up his tablet. “I’d have to pull an audit from the software, and at this point I’d feel more comfortable with either Mr. Wilde’s approval or a warrant.”
“Russell, why don’t you let me call him to pave the way for the officer’s request?” I’m shocked to hear my own voice. All three men turn and look at me with varying levels of disbelief. “If I’m going to have to deal with him for the renovations, he needs to know I can handle him.” Also, my boss needs to know I can handle what’s about to be thrown at me.
Russell unlocks his phone and hands it to me. “Just hit Redial. And Meadow? Good luck. He’s behaving like a wounded bear.”
I don’t bother responding to my boss. I’m too busy dealing with the roar of “What the fuck do you know, Russell?” in my ear.
Calmly, I reply, “This is Meadow Borneman, Mr. Wilde. I’m Mr. Covington’s new assistant manager for Glacier Executive Leasing. Officer Rome and his cyber forensic team are with me. We need your authorization to provide data beyond what Mr. Covington has available on-site. I need written authorization to be faxed to…” Rome quickly rattles off a fax number, which I repeat into the phone.
“Ms. Borneman, first, how the hell do I know you are who you say you are?” he demands.
“Sir, I’m calling from Mr. Covington’s phone number. And even if I wasn’t, I strongly suspect you’re having a dossier made on me by your associate, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Russell told you about Cal?” I wince as Wilde’s booming voice takes out my hearing temporarily.
“To identify the individuals I would be working with over the next few weeks, yes.”
“Well, okay then.” I’m startled by his quick capitulation but don’t remark on my good fortune. He continues. “What information did they find?”
“That’s something you’ll need to discuss with Officer Rome,” I reply pertly.
“Ms. Borneman, forgive me for asking, but are you related to a lawyer named Caris? She was a pain in my ass at the worst of times too.”
“Just for that, I’m redecorating your great room in hot pink with streaks of orange and lime,” I inform him, not entirely joking.
There’s silence for a heartbeat before Kristoffer Wilde bursts into laughter. “I needed that, Meadow—can I call you Meadow?”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“Thank you for stepping up during a difficult time. Please let Officer Rome know the fax is en route right now.” His voice turns grim. “I hope the cottage wasn’t found in the same condition.”
“Not at all, sir,” I assure him.
“Small blessings.”
“We take them where we can.” The next thing I know, the phone is being plucked out of my hands by Officer Rome. He steps outside of the room to the vestibule of broken glass and wine to talk to Mr. Wilde.
Russell gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You were terrific, Meadow. You’re going to be amazing at this job.”
God, I hope so. But as I scan the destruction on the cameras in the public areas of the home the Wilde family built, a knot forms in my stomach.
I just hope there’s a contractor out there with enough skills to bring it back to its glory in a short amount of time.
Meadow
Three physically and emotionally exhausting days later, I’m impatiently waiting for the insurance adjuster to finish his appraisal so I can do more than conduct a courtesy outreach to one of the contractors from the list Russell provided to me. All of the men I’ve spoken with want to get their hands on Nature’s Song, the home Kristoffer Wilde built for his family, but they have no idea of the dumpster fire they’re about to walk into.
Meanwhile, every time I’ve tried to connect with my family to speak with Elise and MJ, Elise has refused to come over to Fa
ceTime with me. MJ, on the other hand, seems anxious—something I immediately brought up to Rainey.
“I noticed it too, Meadow. Have you spoken with Mitch?”
“No, why?” I asked as I paced the living room of our new home.
“Because he came by and took the kids out last night. They came home upset.”
“What the hell was he doing there?”
“He claims the dates he was flying down to Idaho were mixed up.” Her words send my senses tingling.
After wrapping up my call with my sister where I learned that Maris was taking some major steps to change the landscape of her future—finally—I immediately called my ex.
Mitch answered before the end of the first ring. “Meadow. It’s good to hear from you. How are you settling in?”
“What happened with the kids?” I didn’t bother with any niceties. If this man wanted them, he should have divorced me before shoving his cock inside another woman. As it is, I’m bearing the brunt of his crimes with our offspring who don’t know Daddy couldn’t keep it zipped up while he was under a vow to love, honor, and cherish me.
“What do you mean?” he hedges.
“I don’t have time for this crap, Mitch. I’m working and trying to prepare our new home for when Elise and MJ get here. Just tell me what you said to them last night so I can fix whatever the hell you did this time.”
“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal,” he huffed out.
“Everything to them is a big deal these days. It could be the wrong kind of chicken patties and it causes an avalanche of emotions. You’re just not around to see it.”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t race for the divorce lawyer, I would be,” he fired back.
I stop pacing and rub my free hand across my forehead. “So, what? I could be your home life while you had your side piece too? I don’t think so. Why don’t you just tell me what happened now so I can figure out how to clean up your latest mess.”
That’s when Mitch told me he was going to be away training for his new role for the next twelve weeks. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. And you told them over a damn Happy Meal?” I screeched.
“No, I took them to Subway. They love Subway,” he defended himself.
“Your kids love pizza. They love Donna’s. They adore getting crab downtown and the Italian place that was on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. The only time they like getting Subway was when we’d be going bowling,” I howled.
“Oh.” There was a lengthy pause. “I can’t get out of this, Meadow. It’s a requirement of my job.”
“I’m not saying you should, Mitch. What I am saying is, this is the kind of crap that as co-parent to your children I’d appreciate a heads-up on so I could help—gee, I don’t know—navigate our children through with some assistance.” Especially since I’m the one who has to figure out what to do that’s best for them in light of what’ s happening down here in Montana, I added to myself silently.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” But the damage was already done. And once again, Mitchell Borneman narrowly escapes dealing with the full measure of his consequences.
“I’m not the ones I hope you said that to,” I bit out, before I pressed End to the call. “God, I hope one of these days, all of this penetrates both his big and little brains!”
Now, as I wait for the adjuster, I debate what to do about the kids. While the cottage is in perfect condition, having dedicated time to devote to getting Nature’s Song back to the showpiece it used to be is awfully tempting. But I can’t ask Rainey for more than I already have.
Can I?
As I have an internal war with myself, the adjuster comes out. He whips the mask off his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I need an hour to process some information for the policy. Do you want to meet at your office to go over the estimate?”
“Let me make certain Mr. Covington can join us, but I don’t see that as a problem.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you both there.” He holds out his hand. I hesitate, not out of rudeness, but because he’s still wearing a work glove covered in God only knows what. With a quiet chuckle, he whips it off before offering his hand again. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
“Much better,” I agree.
“Until then.” He offers a smile before heading to his truck.
After we’re all gathered around the conference room table at Glacier Executive Leasing, some of the tension that’s been building inside of me starts to ease. The number the insurance adjuster pronounces staggers me. I’ve never heard of such a figure being paid out by an insurance company, but much to my shock, it causes a completely different reaction in Russell.
“Half a million dollars isn’t going to scratch the surface of what was lost in that house.” His voice is cold.
“True,” the portly man allows. “But the problem, Mr. Covington, is that certain items are not covered under the policy under sections…” He begins to drone on while I take quick notes.
I almost go cross-eyed, and my hand cramps by the time he’s finished.
“So, what you’re saying is that because Mr. Wilde didn’t have his wine collection covered, nor his furnishings—though they were handcrafted by the same individual who hand carved most of the woodwork in his home—they can’t be claimed against the policy.”
“I’m sorry.” And he seems to be. “I’ve never seen such personal tragedy outside of a natural disaster. And for it to have sat for so long made the damage worse.”
Russell pushes to his feet. “Meadow, can I speak with you outside for a moment?”
“Certainly. Excuse us.” I follow Russell out of the room.
When we’re safely ensconced in his office, he bites out, “This just keeps getting worse by the minute.”
“I don’t understand.” And I really don’t. The insurance adjuster appears to be giving a generous settlement to cover the ruined structure and items that have been covered.
Flipping his monitor around, Russell gives me an education. “Some of the rugs in the living room were antiques, Meadow. They’re not covered by policy. If we—and by we, I mean you—can’t find someone to restore them back to their original condition, then they’re a loss. And I’m fairly certain the adjuster knows that.”
It finally dawns on me why he’s so concerned about the number. “You don’t think Mr. Wilde declared any of those items.”
“The man has the Midas touch. Why would he? It would simply drive up his premiums. But at a time like this, that policy is everything.” He pins me with his hawklike gaze that intimidated me during our interview sessions. “The other problem is the fact that while I believe in the quality of the work of the contractors you’re going to interview, undoubtedly they’re going to increase their bid once they get a look at Nature’s Song.”
I sputter, “But that’s just wrong!”
“That happens all the time. It’s like the difference between a party and a wedding. Amazing if you price the same two for the exact same weekend, one is ridiculously higher than the other. So, that five hundred thousand is going to go just like that.” Russell snaps his fingers to accent his point.
I stand. “I have an interview with the first contractor in an hour. Let’s see what we get back. Then we can make some decisions.”
He nods sharply. “If I haven’t mentioned it yet, I appreciate the cool head you’re maintaining, Meadow. I know Mr. Wilde does as well.”
I’m just grateful neither of them is telepathic because my mind is reminiscent of the infamous Edvard Munch painting. And not just because of the catastrophe we’re facing at the house.
At the end of the day, I’m debating whether or not to call this day a win or a loss while I talk with Rainey.
“The police have released the home as a crime scene since they’ve collected all the necessary evidence. And while the adjuster’s estimate is much lower than anticipated, I’ve hit upon a few major wins such as the specialized antique carpet cleaning company in Billi
ngs.”
“Why would someone even do that?” Rainey’s shock is evident.
“The brother had apparently just lost all of his money. And I guess deep-seated resentment against his big brother came pouring out. From what I understand from Russell—”
“Who’s Russell?” Rainey interrupts.
“Mr. Covington. Trust me, after you’ve sloshed your way through a 250-bottle wine cellar in what used to be your best boots with someone, you get past formality with your new boss.”
“Ouch. I don’t know what I feel worse about, your boots or the wine.”
Lifting my glass in salute, I silently agree before going on. “As part of making restitution, the cleaning service Russell contracts with will partner with a restoration service to waive their normal fees for the next two years to clean the house once we’ve restored it. But they’re not hazardous cleaning experts which is what’s listed on every single bid. I don’t know why though. I mean, most of it is broken glass and rotten food. I need to clean as much of the mess out of the house as I can so I don’t get another bid for the work that’s closer to seven figures than mid-six figures.”
“To repair what? What the hell did this guy do?”
After taking a slug of wine, I rattle off, “Left out rotting food on all of the custom woodwork, including milk which smells like ass after a month. He took a sledgehammer to tile and granite—and I’m only certain of that because he left it right next to the kitchen where he did the most damage. I don’t even want to know what’s smeared on the walls in the upstairs rooms.” I shudder as I recall the unidentifiable brownish substance. “That’s not to mention the fact he smashed out all of the lake-view windows and doors. So, we have to rip up carpets, potentially replace windows and doors if the panes themselves can’t be replaced. Every backsplash in all the wet areas were destroyed. Oh! And I didn’t mention the shower tile.” I close my eyes in agony. After the classes I took at the local hardware store to learn how to tile, I think that might have caused me the most distress.
“This guy sounds like a lunatic. Are you sure you’re safe there?”
Return by Land (Glacier Adventure Series Book 2) Page 6
