“Maybe Beaumont stuck around?” I offered weakly, and he chuckled.
“Right. Not only is he stupid enough to not take the gold, but he sticks around to be discovered.”
“Are you saying that Beaumont wasn’t an accomplice?” Aunt Susanna asked.
“I’m suggesting that Beaumont may have had nothing to do with the robbery. I’m suggesting that this wasn’t a simple case of snatch and grab. Maybe there wasn’t even a robbery. Maybe this whole incident was a setup by a family, impoverished by war, who hoped to salvage something from this experience.”
You could have heard a cricket sneeze in the dead silence that followed that statement.
Professor Randall sat back looking very pleased with himself. I opened my mouth, shut it, and looked at Aunt Susanna. Her expression was rigid, her face white.
“Are you saying,” she said slowly, “that there was nothing stolen to begin with? That this whole – this whole treasure story… was made up?”
My aunt hasn’t a cold bone in her body, but you could have gotten freezer burn from her tone. In the space of that second before Randall replied, I could almost hear her thoughts: that it had all been a sham, Alexander Chase was a victim of slander, and Uncle Michael died in pursuit of a shadow. It was worse than when she thought the Beaumont letter was true. This undermined everything. Not only had we’d been made fools, but so had the entire Chase family.
Just when it seemed that my aunt was about to explode in frustration, Randall answered.
“No,” he said. “No, actually, despite all of this, I don’t think that at all. If I did, I would be completing this project in Charleston, not here. I think that Alexander Chase did bring something back from Charleston, something that he hid on this farm, and I believe he put a clue to its location in the final letter to his mother. I’m almost positive that it is still here. I think there is more to the McInnis scandal than previously thought. Things were accepted as fact before they were tested. Questions need to be asked.” He locked his gaze with mine. “And that’s why I’m here. To ask the questions no one wanted answered.”
His eyes bore into mine. I tore away to meet Aunt Susanna’s quizzical look. Her mouth was twisted, like it always did when something worried her. Her hands weren’t trembling, but they looked so fragile, laying on top of each other on her lap that I placed my hand over them before I turned back to Randall.
The man had me in a tailspin. I didn’t know why he persisted in covering for me in regards to the Beaumont letter when it was likely that Aunt Susanna would be more easily brought to heel if she was trying to protect me. It would only be a matter of time before she figured out what had happened on her own anyway. But his motivations didn’t matter tonight. I still didn’t think there was a treasure, but it seemed to me that he might be able to answer some of those questions, ones that I’d never thought to ask.
“So how is this going to work?” I asked. “This summer, I mean. You’ve contracted to stay here for a few weeks, but it seems to me that most of the information you need is down south.”
He shook his head. “I have a reliable contact down there who’s much more familiar with the local the archives and already working on a few leads. What I need from you is complete access to Michael Chase’s files, any evidence you have from the time period, and I need to see Alexander Chase’s last letter to his mother. That is the most important thing: the original letter.”
I could have made a crack about his not being able to tell everything he needed from the copy, but I restrained myself. No need to bring that up again.
“That won’t be a problem,” I said. “I’ll show you Uncle Michael’s files tomorrow, and when I have a moment go to the bank for the letter. But honestly, what new evidence do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know yet.” Randall grinned at me. I wondered if he thought himself charming.
I squashed the brief, horrifying idea that he might be, under different circumstances.
“But if there are the makings here for another book, I won’t object.” He looked at his watch. “It’s getting quite late, so as much as I hate to do so, I’m going to say goodnight, ladies. Work begins in earnest tomorrow. I have a deadline to meet and a treasure to find.”
He began to pack up his things, looking very satisfied.
I rolled my eyes and Aunt Susanna, seeming very concerned, broke in with another question.
“Professor, it sounds like you’re going to be really busy, both with researching this project and writing your other book. Are you still going to have time to help Maddie with her chores?”
In the crush of information tonight, even I had almost forgotten that aspect of our deal. Professor Randall looked downright surprised.
“Chores?” he asked, with a touch of repugnance mixed in the question.
“You promised to lend a hand around the farm,” Aunt Susanna said. Her expression would have been enough to melt an ogre’s resolve, but Randall just looked at her with deeper confusion. “It was part of the deal, remember?”
“I hope you like horses,” I said, suddenly jovial. “We’ve got a lot of stalls to clean out.”
“Oh, that!” He chuckled. “That, yes, I’d almost forgotten. I did tell you about my hay fever, didn’t I?”
“Hay fever?” Aunt Susanna repeated in disbelief.
I looked at the ceiling. Naturally, I thought.
“It’s not deadly, but it is debilitating,” he said. “However, rest assured, I’m a man of my word. I promised to aid in the day to day chores and I meant it. You’ll see.”
With that, he took his things, bid us good night, and left the room, leaving the pair of us sitting alone in the kitchen.
The antique clock chimed midnight, stirring Aunt Susanna out of her reverie.
“Well,” she said, and her voice sounded very small. “That was – Interesting.”
“Mmm…” I stared into my mug of cold coffee. I was tired, so exhausted that I’d gotten that false second wind that you get when you’ve gone too long without sleep. I was thinking, Maybe he’ll stay out of the barnyard then. If so, it’ll almost make up for Aunt Susanna giving him the office to work in.
As I had before, I wished for a laptop to do my office work on. This time, however, the wish was a little more fervent.
“I hope we haven’t made a mistake, letting him stay here.” She sighed. “When I first met him, he seemed… Well, less pushy.”
I was unwilling to suggest that he’d only seemed that way because she had been blindsided by Lindsay’s accident.
“I don’t think we had much choice,” I said and got up. “Come on – I’m going to bed. Morning will be here too soon for me.”
I took her cup and my own and put them in the sink while she coordinated herself with her cane. Then I walked with her slowly back to her room, more for the company than because she needed help.
She opened the door, hesitated, then turned to me.
“What do you think he meant?” she asked, looking at me with large, soulful eyes. “That he was going to honor his promise to help but that he couldn’t do it because of his hay fever? What do you think he has in mind?”
I read further into the question. She’d done a good thing by arranging for me to have help. Now it looked like she’d been sold a bill of goods. She was asking me if I thought so too. I did, but I answered, “I’m sure the good professor has something up his sleeve. I wouldn’t worry about it, Auntie.”
We both knew that she was going to anyway, but she went inside her room. I went back to the kitchen to tidy things, then took the back stairs to the second floor without thinking. When I went past Randall’s door, I couldn’t help but take a look.
His light was still on. It seemed the professor was working into the night.
I went into my room, and tossed and turned for a half an hour before dropping into a dream-filled sleep.
Chapter 13:
We didn't have long to wait before the meaning behind Randall’s enigm
atic explanation became apparent. The next morning, after I did my normal early morning chores and run, I came back to a quiet house. I assumed the professor’s late-night research had him sleeping in late, which suited me just fine. If I could get out of the house before running into him, I would count that as a good morning’s work.
I was nursing my second cup of coffee in the kitchen when there was a knock at the back door. It startled me. As a rule, only students and friends came to the back door, while strangers and new comers used the front door. It was too early for students, and our friends weren’t in the habit of showing up without calling first.
After a hasty check to make sure my outfit was decent enough for company, I opened the door.
A young man I didn’t know stood there, dressed in a band t-shirt and worn jeans. His thick, curly blond hair was well groomed. The phone he was concentrating on was large and expensive, as were his designer sneakers. If I was to make a stab at his age, I’d put him a year or two in college. That meant he wasn’t my usual sort of customer, which was almost exclusively female, and fell either into the teenaged or fifty-plus age bracket. The sneakers meant he wasn’t here delivering hay or other supplies - men in that business are savvy enough to wear boots at all times - so I was at a complete loss to explain his presence.
When he looked up from his phone to give me an uncertain once-over, I caught a glimpse of his face and was immediately glad that Lindsay wasn’t around. Blue eyes like his were a menace to the teenaged female.
“Hey,” he said hesitantly. I got the impression that he hadn’t expected to see me, either.
“Hey yourself,” I replied and crossed my arms. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yeah… I’m looking for Professor Randall? Is he here yet?”
It struck me like a slap across the face. Randall’s presence here was supposed to be a secret, yet on his very first full day, this kid was asking to see him.
Professor Randall, you have a lot of explaining to do.
“I’m sorry, kid,” I apologized. “I think you have the wrong house.”
His forehead puckered in confusion. “Like, really? Because he texted me this address yesterday. He said to get here early.”
“He… What?”
With a sigh that clearly showed his waning patience, College Boy scrolled through his messages, then held up the phone to show me. Sure enough, under the heading “Prof. Glasses” was a picture of Randall with the message, Early start tomorrow followed by our street address. It was dated the previous afternoon, when the man was supposed to be arranging his new room. Underneath that message was a later one: Owner is a pill. Handle with care.
No doubt about it – this was the professor’s message, all right. It had been sent right after our late night conversation, and it was fairly polite under the circumstances. I mean, I would have described him in slightly stronger language.
I looked College Boy up and down. “What is this?” I demanded.
He shrugged and shoved the phone into his pocket. “If he’s still asleep, I can wait.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be out here. It’s really nice out today.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Behind him, the farm was slowly wakening to the day. The sun just reached the tree line, bathing the paddocks in its soft, young glow, making the dew-drenched grass glitter like strands of emeralds. Greybeard and Missy nickered companionably from the nearest paddock, and the barn gleamed despite its peeling paint. Beyond that, the fields gave way to the warm, dark woods, threaded with the trails, at least some of which I knew didn’t have holes marking them today.
It was a gorgeous day and this was a lovely spot in which to spend it, but while College Boy had time to waste, I did not. I plucked at his shoulder, tugging him into the kitchen.
“Come on in here,” I ordered. “I’ll wake him.”
He followed, protesting, “I can wait.”
“You can. I can’t. Sit.”
He sat at the counter, shrugged, and pulled out his phone as I slipped up the backstairs and went to pound on the professor’s door. He appeared after a minute, sleepy-eyed, hair mussed, and tying his bathrobe. He fumbled with his glasses, then blinked at me.
“Did I miss the second coming?” he asked.
“I had thought that we agreed to keep your presence here a secret.” I glowered at him.
He took a deep breath, looked to one side, then back at me.
“I’ve only just woken up,” he pointed out. “There is no way I could have done something to tick you off already this morning - unless, of course, I was walking in my sleep. If so, in all fairness, you really can’t expect a man to be responsible for what he does when he’s…”
“I’m talking about Joe College downstairs,” I hissed. “You promised to keep your mission here a secret, and yet one of your students showed up this morning for a meeting with you. What did you do, tell your whole class?”
“Joe – oh, good grief, you must mean Jacob. Is he here already? What time is it? Never mind, come downstairs and I’ll explain. I hope you were polite to the poor boy. He’s going to be your assistant for the summer.”
He led the way downstairs as he spoke and my, “He’s what?” echoed in the kitchen. College Boy was talking to Aunt Susanna, who was brewing him a cup of coffee. They both turned as we entered.
“Good man, Jacob,” Randall said, and Jacob hopped out of his seat to shake his hand, an old fashioned gesture that seemed out of place for both of them. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“Uh, no,” Jacob said, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “It was easy. I used to skate on Wason Pond, you know. Like, back when I was kid, so I kinda know the area.”
His phone was on the counter, blinking. Aunt Susanna was making gestures and mouthing messages to me, but I wasn’t in the mood to interpret.
“Excellent, excellent.” Randall ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even further and I saw Jacob bite back a grin. Okay, so he wasn’t so intolerable. “You’ve already met Miss Warwick, I see.”
“Oh, yeah.” He ducked his head, grinned, and bobbed it at Aunt Susanna.
“Actually,” I stepped forward, “I’m Maddie Warwick and this is Susanna Chase. And you are?”
“This is Jacob Adamski,” Randall announced, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He was my student last semester, and what he lacks in the science of history, he more than makes up for in eagerness to learn.”
“A pleasure,” I said dryly, and Aunt Susanna gave Jacob a warm smile as she limped over with his mug of coffee.
“Are you helping the professor with his research?” she asked.
“Oh, like, no,” he said, accepting the coffee eagerly. “That is, partially. I’m here for the stable hand job.”
When Aunt Susanna looked at Randall, he beamed proudly. “I promised to give assistance and here he is, ready and raring to go, right Jacob?”
“Oh, yeah. Like, I totally love working with animals, you know?”
“Now wait a minute,” I protested. “The deal was that you were supposed to help, Professor, and that you weren’t to let anyone else know that you were here working on the Chase-McInnis treasure.”
Jacob choked on his coffee. Aunt Susanna snatched a napkin and handed it to him, while Professor Randall sighed heavily and leaned against the counter.
When he could breathe again, Jacob demanded, “Treasure? What treasure?”
I groaned. The professor gave me a sidelong look.
“Yeah,” he said. “He didn’t know about that. Until just now.”
“All I knew was that he was researching some book!” Jacob’s somewhat sluggish look was gone – in its place was a lean, hard expression that I knew all too well. “What kind of treasure? Gold?”
“Oh, boy,” I said.
The full story came out. Randall, knowing that his time would be too pressed to be of much use around the farm, had offered Jacob a trade: he would assist on the farm for a few days a week a
nd help the professor with the research in return for a passing grade in Randall’s American History course. Both swore that Jacob neither accepted money from Randall nor needed any from me, but I didn’t believe them. I would have thrown the boy out, but for that he claimed to have worked summers in a horse farm in Epping for a number of years and knew all there was to know about the business.
“I’m not, like, a great horseman,” he said. “But I know how to clean stalls and stuff. It’s weird, but I like the work. It’s all real labor, you know? Good way to get a work-out and almost no stress. It’ll be great. And there’s, like, the treasure thing.”
Aunt Susanna, having fallen sway to his large blue eyes, thought it was a great idea, but I had my doubts and expressed them to Randall when he followed me into the office to get the work-release forms.
“I can’t afford to hire a boy I don’t know,” I groused. “I can barely afford one I do know.”
“I know him,” he said. “And it’s volunteer work.”
“Sure it is. Come on, Randall, I wasn’t born yesterday. How much are you paying him?”
He mentioned a number that made me balk.
“I can’t match that!” I gasped.
“Why would you?”
“I won’t accept charity,” I snapped. “We don’t need your help or anyone else’s.”
“That’s a debatable statement,” he said dryly. “And it’s not charity. I agreed to provide assistance in return for room, board, and access to your archives. My schedule makes it impossible for me to fulfill that part of my bargain personally, so I hired Jacob. He isn’t the most talented conversationalist, but he’s familiar with horses and he’s surprisingly strong for his size. More important, he needs academic help in the worst way. He will benefit from my expertise, while you will benefit from his youthful eagerness to pitch hay and clean out stalls.” He shuddered at the thought. “Most important of all, he’ll keep me from having to shovel manure and for that, madam, I would gladly part with half my salary.”
Necessary Evil Page 12
