Thompson thought it was odd that the Millstones never asked her for forwarding information. What Thompson did not know is that the Millstones had simply given her a big pile of cash in an envelope and delivered a short exit speech. “Colette, we thank you for your service, but since Randolph is no longer with us, we need to reevaluate our needs. Here is a year’s severance in cash. We will not be informing the government about the payment. What you do is strictly up to you. We wish you the best.”
He shrugged and squirmed. He hoped she didn’t live too far away. He desperately needed to find a bathroom.
For the next twenty minutes, they dodged in and out of rush-hour traffic. Finally, Colette pulled into the driveway of a split-level house. As she was getting out of the car, a young boy flung the front door open and hurried down the front steps. He ran up to Colette and wrapped his arms around her knees.
Thompson watched from a few yards away. Careful not to look like a stalker, he pretended to look in his glove compartment. Once the two went inside, Thompson noted the address. His plan was to have a messenger deliver an official-looking letter and business card requesting she get in touch with Jacob Taylor. The card would indicate he was from Dunbar, Wilson and Chase, Attorneys-at-Law, Boston. He knew that if Colette had one ounce of intelligence, she would recognize that it was Randolph Millstone’s law firm. She had been constantly at his side.
He dialed the hotel and inquired about when the business center closed. They told him that it was open until nine. He had plenty of time.
On his way back to the hotel, Thompson stopped at Target, used their bathroom facilities, and purchased a small package of linen paper with matching envelopes and card stock. He hustled to his room, pulled out his laptop, and opened the Publisher program. He began to create a heading that looked official:
DUNBAR, WILSON AND CHASE, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW.
He included their address but used his burner phone number.
He typed out a letter introducing himself as Jacob Taylor.
Ms. Petrov:
This is to inform you that Mr. Jacob Taylor, representing Dunbar, Wilson and Chase, Attorneys-at-Law, needs to speak with you in order to ascertain Mr. Randolph Millstone’s state of mind prior to his heart attack. We are asking in order to have the final reading of the will, blah . . . blah . . . blah. Mr. Taylor will be in town for two days; please contact him as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation. . . yada . . . yada . . . yada.
Thompson saved the letter to his flash drive. Then he created business cards using the same font and information and put that on the flash drive as well.
He grabbed the bag with the paper, envelopes, and cardstock, and left his room. The hotel was a flurry of dog groomers coming and going to meetings, dinners, cocktail parties. He inched his way to the business center, which was also crowded with people. All he could do was wait his turn. He recognized the pimply-faced kid from the kitchen busing tables strewn with discarded glasses and plates. This would be a test of how well Thompson had disguised himself. The kid walked right past him. Not a blink. Not a second look. Thompson was happy he hadn’t lost his touch. It had been a long time since he had gone on a job that required a wig and glasses. Mostly, he had to meet people face-to-face, ask a few questions, and was done. But this Millstone thing was a little dicey. Thompson thought about how wound up Millstone had been the last few times on the phone. What did he have to be so freaked-out about? Heck, the old dude had beaucoup bucks and a hot young wife.
Then it hit him. Maybe Millstone was being blackmailed. But for what? In spite of his predilection for mystery, Thompson decided this was one he’d better stay clear of. He would do his job. Period. The real reason behind Millstone’s wanting to locate Colette Petrov and have her interrogated was none of his business.
By the time he had finished his project and gotten back to his room, it was after ten. He called the concierge and asked for a messenger service first thing in the morning. The letter needed to be delivered between seven and seven thirty. If the messenger missed her, it would have to wait another day unless someone from Colette’s house would phone Colette at work and tell her that a messenger had delivered something. It was a chance he had to take. It had to look legit. Not desperate. Let Millstone steam if he had to. This assignment was getting a bit shady. Shadier than usual.
His normal routine was tracking down disgruntled ex-employees who had sticky fingers when they had left the employ of Millstone Enterprises. One numbskull didn’t think anyone would notice a missing tractor from one of their home-improvement supply centers. He simply drove it off into the sunset. He was pretty crafty, though. Two days before, he rented a U-Haul and parked it on a side street. He pulled the tractor up the planks, into the truck, closed the back, jumped in the cab, and drove from Arlington, Texas, to Boise, Idaho, where he met up with a man who fenced stolen goods. He had heard of jewelry fences before, but tractors? That was a new one on Thompson. When he caught up with the tractor bandit, he discovered that the FBI had been looking into a black-market farm-machine ring operating in the Midwest. Who knew?
Thompson folded the phony letter, placed the card inside the official-looking envelope, and brought it down to the concierge.
Identified subject. Check. Informed employer. Check. Found residence. Check. Initiated contact. Check. It had been a long but productive day. He was about to call Millstone, but he knew that Arthur would probably be in a foul mood. Nope. The yelling could wait until morning.
Chapter Twelve
Buffalo, New York
Colette Petrov had been born in New York City, specifically in the Howard Beach section of Queens, thirty years earlier. Her parents were originally from Moldova. Her father worked in fiberglass manufacturing and her mother was a nurse. When Colette was in high school, the family moved to a small town outside Boston. They wanted to be closer to other family members, but the main reason for moving was to escape from the crime that was spreading throughout all the boroughs of New York City. With his experience in working in fiberglass, Colette’s father found work at a boatyard, and nurses were in high demand everywhere.
When Colette graduated from high school, she went to a state college and studied business management. She hoped to work her way up as an executive at a big company in one of the big, beautiful, shiny new buildings in Boston. She dreamed of meeting a nice guy, not the kind who hung around in Howard Beach. Many of them were thugs or wannabe wiseguys.
After she graduated, she took a job at a small printing company, though she realized from the start that it was not where she wanted to spend her career. While working there, she met a sweet-talking handsome salesman who swept her off her feet. Two years later, they were married and she became pregnant. She took the year off after Max was born, but they needed money, and she had to go back to work. And soon. Colette didn’t want her college studies to go to waste and continued her search for a good job with a good company in which she had the opportunity for career advancement.
Every week, she scanned the newspapers and social-media sites, paying special attention to a few companies in which she was interested. All the companies were huge and had their fingers in a lot of things. Big box stores, and a heavy-machine-manufacturing plant with government contracts. Like a giant squid, they had their tentacles everywhere. Millstone Enterprises was one of them.
She continued to check their websites for job postings and spotted one for manor concierge. It was at Millstone Manor. Her education and experience matched the job description. It entailed maintaining the household schedule, coordinating the staff, ordering groceries and supplies, and helping to organize dinner parties and other social/business events.
When she interviewed for the job, there appeared to be a big difference as to what was expected. When Randolph saw her qualifications, he thought Colette could serve as his personal assistant at home. She could be his girl Friday. His heart condition had slowed him down, and he no longer wanted to make daily trips to the office. There was no rea
son why he had to, either. With all the technology available, it would be relatively easy to set up a working office in the house.
Until his health began to deteriorate, he had been vehemently opposed to bringing work home, let alone having to work in the home. Things were stressful enough, and his doctors cautioned him to take life a little bit easier. He finally acquiesced and turned the library into his personal office. With an assistant at home, he could easily handle the day-to-day management of Millstone Enterprises.
On the other hand, Rowena had a different opinion of what this person’s job should be. Rowena’s take on the position was that its occupant should report to her, since she was married to Randolph’s son and Randolph was a widower. To her way of thinking, that made Rowena the lady of the house, charged with its running. But Randolph reminded her, in no uncertain terms, that he, not she, was still the head of the house, the family, and the business. It was his way or the highway.
Colette had no way to know that Randolph did not approve of the way Rowena treated the household employees. In point of fact, Randolph didn’t like Rowena at all. To be perfectly honest about it, Randolph considered Rowena, who had only been married to Arthur for a few months, a stuck-up, first-class bitch. And that relatively benign assessment was only because of her wardrobe. Without that, he thought, she would have been no different than most of the women you could pick up on certain downtown Boston street corners.
It wasn’t until Colette had been working at Millstone Manor for three months that Randolph began dropping hints about his feelings about Rowena. Over the next two years, Colette had gotten an earful. The staff secretly referred to her as “Rowena de Vil” after Cruella de Vil from A Hundred and One Dalmatians. She felt bad for Mr. Millstone. He was a kind man, yet his family was insufferable. She was deeply saddened when he passed away. Another good man gone.
After he died, Colette thought it odd that she was dismissed so abruptly, but one thing she had learned after working at the manor for almost three years was that one does not question Rowena. She could try to ignore her, but with Mr. Randolph, as she called him, gone, no one had her back. When Arthur handed her the envelope of cash, it included a glowing letter of recommendation. It was a curious scene, but she knew not to ask any questions. She also didn’t know what to do with the small notebook Randolph had handed to her when she found him on the floor of the garage. He was trying to say something. Something about the notebook. And Clive.
As Randolph was gasping for air, Colette saw terror in his eyes. Not fear of dying, but fear of the person behind her who had entered the garage. It was Arthur, who pushed past her, practically knocking her over. At first, she thought that Arthur was going to give Randolph CPR. But instead, he did no more than lean over his father and watch him struggle to breathe and clench his chest. She held her cell phone in one hand speaking to 911, while her other hand slipped the spiral notebook behind her. Whatever was in it, she was certain that it was something Randolph didn’t want Arthur to know about.
Arthur made a contrived effort to check Randolph’s pulse. An excruciating ten minutes went by before the paramedics arrived. They placed an oxygen mask on Randolph’s face and gently lifted him onto the gurney. As they wheeled him out, he looked at Colette with a pleading look in his eyes and made a waving motion with his hand as if to say, “Hide it.”
When Arthur bumped into Colette, an envelope fell out of the notebook. She didn’t notice it until they shut the ambulance doors. She bent down to pick it up as Arthur came back into the garage, yelling all sorts of expletives at her, finishing with, “Get out! Meet me in the drawing room tomorrow morning.” She backed away from him and banged into an old, dilapidated table. She knew she couldn’t put the envelope in the notebook without Arthur’s seeing her. She felt around her back. There was a drawer slightly ajar. Just wide enough for her to stuff the envelope in it and close it shut with her hips. She sidled her way out and moved swiftly to her car. Then she remembered that she didn’t have her purse. She had to go back into the main house. She shoved the notebook under the passenger seat and thought she might be able to return to the garage and retrieve the envelope. But when she got inside the house, the staff was a hot mess. Crying, questions, more crying.
“Everyone. Listen. Please. Mr. Randolph is on his way to the hospital. I don’t have any more information than that. We’ve been dismissed for the day except for Chef and Kate. I do not know where Mr. and Mrs. Millstone will be having dinner, so I suggest you stand by. Please. Everyone else, go home, be with your families, and say a prayer for Mr. Randolph.” Colette always referred to the senior member of the family as Mr. Randolph. He wanted her to call him by his first name, but she didn’t think it respectful enough, so they both settled on a combination of the two, something they do in the South. Arthur and Rowena were Mr. and Mrs. Millstone to everyone. There was nothing casual when it came to the two of them. Though they earned no respect from the staff, they insisted on the outward trappings of it.
When Colette got to her car, she noticed the garage door had been closed and latched. It wouldn’t be feasible for her to get in there now, and she had promised her son, Max, that she would be home in time for an early dinner.
Later that evening, she brought the notebook into her house and began flipping through the pages. There were lists with dates and amounts. Nothing else. She wondered what it meant, but she wasn’t about to investigate either. She decided to keep it safe until someone came asking for it. Maybe that would happen when Mr. Randolph awakened. She hoped it would be soon.
The next day, she obediently arrived in the drawing room. She was anxious to hear how Randolph was doing. Arthur entered the room, Rowena on his heels, and without showing an ounce of grief, blankly announced that his father had died in the hospital during the night. Not a tear. Not a quiver. They say people grieve in their own way. Colette doubted that Arthur was capable of grieving. Nor was he capable of feeling. Before Colette could express her condolences, Arthur and Rowena dismissed her. Permanently. He handed her an envelope, giving her more or less explicit instructions to take the money and run. They practically carried her out the door. She knew then that getting back into the garage would be impossible. She fretted about not being able to recover the envelope she had stashed in the drawer of the table in the garage. But she certainly wasn’t about to announce that she had a notebook that Mr. Randolph had given her, much less that she had stuck an envelope with some sort of document in it in a piece of furniture. She knew for sure she had to keep it safe. But for how long? She had no idea, maybe forever.
As she pulled into the driveway of the house she rented, Colette wondered how she was going to break the news to Max. They had to move away. Though $50,000 was a lot of money, it wouldn’t last long.
Colette needed to find another job somewhere and soon. She phoned her sister in Buffalo and explained that her boss had died and she had been fired. Her sister, Irina, gladly extended an invitation for Colette and Max to come live with her. Irina had a large split-level. Plenty of room. Much more than they had experienced when they were small children and shared their bed with their grandmother. Or was it the other way around? When they moved to Massachusetts, the family was able to afford a house with more space and a bath and a half. They thought they were living in the lap of luxury. Now, her sister had really gone up in the world. Colette’s brother-in-law was employed by a large electronics company, and Irina worked at a day-care center a few blocks from her home.
Colette was determined to make this work for her and Max. Colette had divorced his father soon after he had gone to jail for armed robbery. Her worst fear, of marrying a thug, had been realized right after their first anniversary. Apparently, certain parts of Boston have their fair share of hoodlums. Handsome, charming hoodlums. Colette credited her mistake to being young and foolish, and much too anxious to have a family. She loved Max, and thought having him was well worth the cost of her misguided marriage.
She knew that Max’s father was
n’t getting out of prison anytime soon, and the more remote she and Max were from him, the better. She had avoided bringing her five-year-old to visit his father in the penitentiary. She argued that he was too young. Now she had the perfect excuse. Thankfully, Max never asked about his father. Max had still been a toddler when his father was hauled away. Moving to Buffalo would be a fresh start for both him and Colette.
Within a few weeks of her abrupt departure from the Millstone household, she and Max were unpacking boxes in the lower level of Irina’s house in Williamsville, around fifteen miles outside Buffalo. Colette quickly found a job as head of housekeeping at the Curtiss, a five-star hotel. The letter of recommendation worked like a charm. It was a glowing reference from the Millstone family, and the hotel knew exactly what sort of company Millstone Enterprises was. They were renowned throughout New York State as well as New England. Colette thought that perhaps Randolph was watching over her from the other side.
The hours were from eight thirty to four thirty. She mostly sat at her desk, arranging schedules and making sure the guests were well accommodated. Extra towels? No problem. A robe? Absolutely. She kept track of all the supplies and orders. It was a well-oiled operation, and everyone seemed nice. Nice enough that she enjoyed going to work each and every morning. Not having to cope with Rowena was like drawing a breath of fresh air after escaping a smoke-filled room.
About six weeks after they had settled in, Colette was helping Max get ready for school when the doorbell rang. It was a messenger with an envelope for Colette Petrov. She signed for it and eyed it suspiciously. “Open it up, Mama,” Max exclaimed.
“OK. OK.” Colette walked back into the kitchen, where she found a letter opener in the designated junk drawer. She stared at the piece of paper. Her hands began to tremble.
Hidden Page 13
