Hidden

by Fern Michaels

  Gaines couldn’t help but smile. “I do indeed. Are you ready to give it up?”

  “Oh no, sir. But I do have an interesting situation about which I could use some advice.”

  “Shoot.” Gaines knew that wasn’t always a good expression, but he was in a playful mood. He was elated that Luna had called. No matter the reason.

  As if reading his mind, Luna broke in with, “That’s not a very good word for a marshal to be using, is it?”

  Gaines laughed out loud. “I was thinking the same thing.” How does she do that?

  I knew that, Luna thought to herself, and smiled.

  Chi-Chi gave her a long wink. She could feel the warm energy coming off Luna from her end of the conversation.

  “OK. So. Cullen finally moved the table to get to the drawer. He had to use a crowbar. Anyway, we found an envelope with what appears to be the last will and testament of Mr. Randolph Millstone.”

  “As in Millstone-everything?” Gaines was genuinely stunned.

  “Seems that way,” Luna continued. “But we don’t want to notify the family.”

  “Why not?” Gaines asked.

  “Because if this document is legit, his family is going to have a cow. Several. A herd of cows.” Luna’s level of excitement was increasing.

  “I’m going to be in your area, not this weekend but next, for our think tank. Mind if I stop by and take a look?” Gaines’s voice was even.

  “That would be great. Which day and what time?” Luna replied, giving a thumbs-up.

  Cullen offered, “Tell him we’ll take him out to dinner.”

  “Oh, my brother offered to take you to dinner.”

  “That should work out well. The session is over at four thirty. I can come by and take a look at the document and that table,” he joked. “I have dibs on it, too, if you remember.”

  “I do remember. We’ll have to arm wrestle for it.”

  “Before or after dinner?” Gaines was getting more comfortable flirting with Luna.

  “Ha. Well, when you see the condition it’s in now, you may change your mind. Cullen had to rip the drawer off with a crowbar.”

  “Is the document dated?” Gaines asked.

  “Yes. It was dated eleven weeks ago,” Luna replied, checking the document once again.

  “When did Millstone die?” Gaines asked.

  “A little over two months ago, I think,” Luna replied.

  “I’ll check on it,” Gaines said. “Is there a witness to his signature?”

  “Yep. Someone named Colette Petrov.”

  “OK. That gives me enough to go on,” Gaines said. “See you a week from Saturday. Five-o’clockish.”

  “Deal! Thanks a bunch,” Luna said, waiting for another response.

  “Meanwhile, try to stay out of trouble,” Gaines teased.

  “I’ll do my best. Bye now.” Luna ended the call. She was swimming with delight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Boston, Massachusetts

  American Storage Center

  It had taken only ten days before the final delivery of the estate furniture Rowena had managed to track down from the dealers had arrived. The cash incentives to the dealers and the drivers had paid off handsomely. She was not eager to rip apart a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of antiques, but could not see any other way forward. However, she was not about to do it alone. Arthur was just going to have to get his hands dirty. For real.

  Rowena pulled out the files and began to check off each piece that had come back. Everything was there except the Louis XVI sideboard. She felt a sense of relief knowing that virtually all the items were back in their possession. She thought about the missing buffet but consoled herself once again with the knowledge that she had personally checked its every nook and cranny. Unless there was a secret compartment, she was certain it wasn’t hidden there.

  She looked around the space. She knew she would need Arthur to remove the furniture from the packing crates. The question was the process. Should they uncrate everything first or should they do one at a time? She’d let Arthur decide how to use his atrophied muscles. Too bad he was so out of shape, but she wasn’t about to hurt any of her own body parts yanking off the wood that protected the contents. There were over forty pieces of furniture that needed to be dismantled. Doing it all could take days. Too bad for Arthur. He wouldn’t be able to spend so much time at his club in the days and weeks ahead. Not if he wanted to secure his future—and hers, of course.

  Rowena was satisfied that they had completed stage two of their plan by getting the furniture back. Phase one had been locating it. Phase three would be tearing it apart. If they were lucky, they would find the will right away and be able to sell the pieces that had remained intact. She took one last look at the project that lay ahead, shook her head, pulled down the overhead door, padlocked the unit, and drove back to the mansion.

  The first thing that came to mind was that she had absolutely nothing to wear for the job at hand. She certainly wasn’t going to ruin any of her Gucci jogging outfits. Not that she ever jogged, but that was beside the point. She dreaded having to go to a big-box store to purchase sweatpants. She might be recognized. Heaven forfend. Then she thought about buying the outfit online. It might take a day or two to arrive, but she couldn’t risk the embarrassment of being seen shopping for such plebeian things. The thought made her skin crawl.

  When she got back to the house, she immediately went to Arthur’s study and opened the cabinet where he kept his computer. She logged in and started her shopping spree. She laughed, thinking she could buy an entire season’s wardrobe for the same amount of money one of her outfits had cost. But then a little voice in her head reminded her that if they didn’t rectify the predicament they were in, she might be shopping at these stores for the rest of her life. That is, if they didn’t go to prison. Clothing would no longer be an issue. God, how she hated the color orange.

  She purchased five pairs of sweatpants, T-shirts, and sweatshirts; two pairs of sneakers and a half dozen work gloves. She groaned, thinking about her hair, so she added two baseball caps to her online shopping cart. When she checked out, it said that the items would be delivered the day after next. Good enough. She felt safe now that the goods were back in her and Arthur’s possession.

  * * *

  As the website promised, Rowena’s new wardrobe arrived in two days. It was time she and Arthur got down to the next phase.

  Two days later, her pedestrian outfits having arrived, Rowena sat in Arthur’s study chain-smoking again, waiting for him to return from his office. She could never figure out exactly what he did when he was there. Except perhaps some creative accounting.

  She was fidgeting, nervously waiting for his reaction. Finally, she got up and poured herself a drink. She glanced at the antique clock, the position of whose hands indicated that it was three thirty. Who cares. She knew he would have a fit when he saw the job that lay ahead of them. Well, too bad. He was the one who had got himself into this mess in the first place. She had warned him to stay on his father’s good side. To be nicer to the staff and Colette. Arthur had taken for granted that his father would continue to look fondly upon him no matter how often he screwed up. Since he hadn’t asked his father to bail him out in a long time, Arthur assumed that his father had no idea that Arthur had found other means by which to access the family fortune. His arrogance was incomprehensible. But then again, Arthur had been spoiled and entitled his entire life, an arrogant child who had never been forced to grow up.

  Rowena settled back into one of the large, overstuffed leather chairs and waited for the eruption that would soon follow. As things turned out, she wasn’t very far off in her prediction. Arthur clomped into the room and slammed the door behind him. “You counted everything? Are they all there?” he asked in his most obnoxious voice.

  “Yes, darling. All but the Louis XVI. And I told you I practically picked that piece apart before it was sold. So let’s please not get into any squabbles. We
need to get to work.” Rowena felt the effects of the scotch and was feeling a little more relaxed. She truly didn’t want to get into it with him just then.

  “When do you propose we begin your resolution to our issue?”

  “As soon as you change your clothes.” Rowena eyed him up and down.

  “What do you mean?” Obviously, it hadn’t occurred to Arthur that he might be getting his hands dirty, much less his expensive clothes.

  “Arthur, do you have any idea how dusty and filthy those places are? And the work involved?” Rowena thought he truly had no clue.

  Arthur took in a big breath, walked to the console, and poured himself a drink. Instead of sitting behind his massive desk, he took the chair next to where Rowena was sitting. He took a few sips. “Look, I know I’ve been a bit of a jerk, but this could kill us.”

  “Do you know for sure that he changed his will?” Rowena kept hoping all of this was just an overreaction from Arthur, and that maybe Randolph had simply made a few adjustments, added a few bequests, and the like. Not the total disinheriting that Arthur feared.

  Arthur kept his temper. “Rowena, we need to know exactly what he changed. Remember, he more than hinted we were going to have to move. He wanted to sell this place.” Arthur made a grand sweep with the hand holding the tumbler.

  Rowena sighed. “OK. Let’s get this show on the road. You’re going to have to pick out something else besides that Brioni suit you’re wearing. Maybe there is something in the gardening shed.” Rowena got up. “I’ll go check. Meet you upstairs.”

  Rowena left Arthur to finish his drink and ponder what was ahead. She went through the rear kitchen door that led to the outside facility area where the garden shed stood. It contained all of the equipment necessary to maintain the twenty acres of land on which the manor sat. She stepped around a small tractor and a few different lawn and leaf machines and reached the built-in cabinets on the far wall. She opened the doors one by one. Fertilizer. Gravel. Weed killer. Mulch. Finally, overalls. She plucked a pair from the hook. They looked a little the worse for wear. She held them up and took a sniff. At least they were clean. Not that it mattered. They looked large enough for Arthur’s growing girth.

  She folded them up and put them in a plastic bag. She didn’t want any of the remaining staff to see what she was carrying.

  As she returned to the kitchen, one of the maids stopped her. “Hello, Mrs. Millstone. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Rowena resisted the temptation to scream at her. Instead, she smiled, and said, “No, thank you,” and kept on walking, hoping she didn’t pique anyone’s curiosity. It was a rare occasion for Rowena to enter the kitchen, let alone use the rear door. “Just checking to see what herbs were left over.”

  “Is there something in particular you were in need of?” The maid kept pushing, but not with any agenda. She simply wanted to be sure Rowena’s needs were being handled. Heaven forfend if they weren’t.

  Rowena decided to expand on the ruse. “I saw a wonderful cocktail with fresh mint. I was hoping there was some left.” Such bull.

  “Oh, I could have taken care of that for you, Mrs. Millstone.”

  “It’s fine. I needed a breath of fresh air anyway.” Rowena lied her way out of the kitchen.

  She hurried up to Arthur’s bedroom suite. He was standing in the dressing room in his boxers. Rowena almost gagged. Not a pretty sight. What the heck has happened to him in the past three years? He turned sixty and went to pot. She thought about all the men his age and older who looked terrific. Denzel Washington, Kevin Costner, Richard Gere. And then there was Bruce Springsteen. He was older than Arthur and could play a three-hour concert. How did I go so wrong? Duh. The money, of course.

  “Here. Try this on.” She handed him the overalls. He took them cautiously, as if they were contaminated.

  “What am I supposed to wear underneath?” He sounded like a child.

  “For heaven’s sake, Arthur. A shirt. I’m sure you have one that you won’t mind tossing into the trash later.”

  “How cold or warm is it in that place?” Arthur was referring to the storage unit.

  “I’m sure we’ll both be working up a sweat, so find something lightweight.” She started opening drawers, hoping to find something appropriate. The only thing she came up with were his golf shirts. “Pick one of these.”

  Arthur grabbed the first one he put his hands on. Rowena knew he wasn’t happy about any of this. “I told the kitchen we wouldn’t be having dinner here tonight.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to eat then?” Arthur struggled with the brass buttons on the side of the overalls.

  Rowena wanted to say, “Doesn’t look like you need to eat anything for a long time.” But she suggested picking up sandwiches at the Gourmet Kitchen instead.

  “Call them so we don’t have to wait. I’ll have pastrami with Swiss cheese and mustard on rye.” Arthur tried to suck in his stomach. “And don’t forget the pickles.”

  Rowena dialed the local shop and placed their order. A big fat sandwich for the blowhard, “. . . and a spinach salad for me.”

  Arthur looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like the guy in that show from the 1960s, Green Acres. He didn’t know what to think except that this was going to be a long night.

  Rowena excused herself to change into her polyester blend of who knows what that was labeled MADE IN CHINA. She was surprised it didn’t have a warning sign saying to keep away from an open flame. With the number of cigarettes she was smoking lately, that could be a problem. She remembered there was a fire extinguisher at the storage unit. She pulled on a pair of baggy pants and a T-shirt and tied a sweatshirt around her waist. She pulled a brush through her hair, lamenting the $150 she had spent on a blow-out a few days before. She pulled it back behind her ears and slapped on one of the baseball caps. She wanted to cry. It was odd. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually cried.

  Rowena appeared in Arthur’s doorway. “Well, aren’t we the pair? You look like you’re about to milk a cow, and I look like a soccer mom who just rolled out of bed. Nice.” Rowena frowned. “I hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Oh, heck. The Gourmet Kitchen. I’ll have to wear a raincoat over this. Ugh. My hair. No one has ever seen me in a baseball cap.”

  “Rowena, will you please stop chattering. I’ll call them and ask them to deliver it to the car. I’ll give the guy a big enough tip, he won’t notice you’re a Red Sox fan. At least you didn’t buy a Yankees cap.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rowena had no idea the Yankees and Red Sox were sworn rivals.

  “Nothing.” Arthur didn’t want to talk anymore. What he really wanted was a stiff drink and a cigar, but he was driving. It would be horrible if he got pulled over, especially looking the way the two of them did. “Ready?” He looked at Rowena.

  “No, but I’ll do it anyway.” The cheap sneaker squeaked when she turned around. She was sorry she hadn’t sprung for the $1,200 pair of Dior high-tops.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cranberry Lake—Cobblestone Hill

  Colette and Max got up early and went to a local diner for breakfast. Max was in his glory. Two restaurant meals in a row! He couldn’t decide between waffles and French toast. Colette could barely think of food. Max decided on the French toast, so Colette opted for the waffles. Maybe she could choke them down. The day before, she had had so much resolve. That day, she was a nervous wreck.

  “Mom? Are you OK?” Max looked at her impishly.

  “Yes, honey. I’m OK. Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep all that well.”

  “Aren’t you having fun on our adventure?”

  “As long as we’re together, for sure.” Colette reached across the table and stroked his small hand. The waitress brought their breakfast, and Max dug in. Colette was pleased that her son was taking this organized chaos so well. She kept reminding herself that he would take his cues from her, so it was important that she keep a smile on her face.
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br />   “Where are we going today?” Max swirled his food in the maple syrup.

  “We’re going to try to find Mr. Dunbar and give him his surprise.”

  Max kept chomping on his breakfast and nodded. “Oh yeah. I remember. You’re going to give him a book, right?”

  “That’s right.” Colette was impressed with her son’s recall.

  When they were finished, she paid the check and made Max go to the bathroom. “Don’t forget . . .”

  “I know. Wash my hands!” Max marched into the small bathroom while Colette waited outside the door.

  A few minutes later, Max appeared, holding his hands up, palms out. “All clean.”

  Colette tousled his hair. “OK. Let’s get this show on the road!”

  They had another hour of driving ahead. Colette typed a few destinations into her GPS, hoping that someone at one of them would be able to direct her to Dunbar’s cabin. She racked her brain to remember the name of the cabin. It seemed like every one of them had a name rather than an address. Then it hit her—Cobblestone Hill. She breathed a sigh of relief. Surely someone would know where the cabin was. From the photos she had seen, it wasn’t exactly what a regular person would consider a cabin, unless a five-bedroom, four-thousand-square-foot home on lakefront property counted as a cabin.

  Max was pointing out the various trees and plants from the child’s car seat in the back. “Mom, look at that big tree. And that one.” He even commented on how good the air smelled and asked if all the windows could roll down. “For just a little while.” Colette was pleased he was in a happy mood. They played the I-Spy game for the duration. They also passed several campsites along the way and included them in their game. It was Max’s job to count them.

  Colette smiled, hoping the rest of the day would be productive. Her nerves had settled as soon as she remembered the name of the cabin. It was as if Randolph had whispered it in her ear. Within the hour, they pulled in front of a small general store.

  “I’ll be right back.” She turned off the engine and locked the car. The place was much more rural than she was used to. It almost spooked her. She had to admit, she was pretty much a city girl. A revelation.