Clive walked toward the kitchen. “I don’t plan on downloading anything tonight, but I am going to take a look at that file Rowena sent. Probably should do it now. I downloaded it before the lines went down, but in case I need to do any quick lookups, it would be hugely helpful. Thanks, Logan.” Clive patted his son on the shoulder.
“Sure thing, Pop.”
“I shall say good night to you both. Sleep well.” He turned to Colette and gave her a fatherly hug.
“Good night. Thank you again.”
Logan looked at Colette. “Are you ready for some shut-eye or can I talk you into a cup of tea?”
“Tea would be nice. After the story your father told me, I need something to soothe my mind.”
“Coming right up. Take a seat.” He pulled out one of the dining-table chairs.
Back in his den, Clive wiggled the mouse sitting next to the keyboard of his computer. The Excel file came up. MILLSTONE ESTATE SALE INVENTORY. At the bottom he saw the tab for SALVAGE. One entry. George Nelson. He jotted down the phone number. Now, if only the phone service was working, he would leave a message for the man. He wondered if there was a way for him to make a phone call from his computer. Maybe Logan would know. He got up and went back to the living-room area, where Logan and Colette were having a cup of tea.
“Oh good. You’re still up.”
“Indeed I am. What’s going on?” Logan asked.
“Do you know how to place a phone call from the Internet? Do we have WiFi?”
Logan laughed. “Sometimes. What are you trying to do?”
“I’ve got the phone number of the guy who bought the contents of the garage.”
“It’s a little late to be calling people, no?” Logan asked.
“I want to leave a message. The sooner I can get in contact with this guy, the better.” There was a sense of urgency in Clive’s voice.
“Let’s check it out. There might be a way to place a call from the mobile phone through the Internet. Let me go get it.” Logan got up, went into the large side-entry area and pulled his cell phone from a shelf, where they usually left their cell phones next to a charging station. Since they didn’t work well in the house, this way they could grab them on the way out.
“OK. Let’s give it a try. As long as we still have an Internet connection, it may be possible.”
The three of them went into Clive’s den. It also had a very modern rustic look without being heavy. A small stone fireplace stood in the corner.
Logan went through a few settings on his phone. ENABLE WIFI CALLING. Click YES. The little hourglass on his phone was indicating there was something trying to connect. “What’s the number?” Logan asked.
Clive called out the digits: 540-555-3491 as Logan pressed the buttons on the phone. Much to his surprise someone answered. “Yeah?”
“Uh, hello. Is this George Nelson?”
“You got ’im.”
Logan gave the other two a strange look and shrugged. He handed the phone to his father.
“Mr. Nelson, my name is Clive Dunbar. I’m sorry to be calling so late.”
“No problem. What can I do ya fer?” Clive wasn’t sure if it was the connection or if Nelson had a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.
“I represent the Millstone estate. I was wondering if you still had the contents of the garage in your possession.”
“That garage musta been somethin’ special. Yer the second person to call about it tonight.”
Clive was stunned for a moment. “Oh, I see.” He was almost sure the other person was either Rowena or Arthur. Who else would be looking for something from the estate? “May I ask who the first call was from?”
“Jeez, don’t know if she’d want me tellin’ anybody.”
She. Clive was sure that it had to be Rowena.
“I would make it worth your while, Mr. Nelson.”
“Funny thing. She said the same thing. Like I says before. Musta been somethin’ special in the garage.”
“Let’s just say there were some sentimental things that were discarded without notifying other members of the household.”
“Well, I reckon if you want to make it worth my while . . .”
Clive veered from anything sounding incriminating. “What I mean is that I realize your time is valuable and I would want to compensate you for it. Whatever the woman gave you, I will double.”
Nelson thought for a moment. Should he jack up the price? Nah. Somebody might find out. Shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. What he did know is that he was about to be $3,000 richer than he was when he woke up that morning. “She sent a grand through PayPal.”
“And when was this?” Clive asked casually.
“About an hour ago, I reckon.”
“OK.” Clive was well aware the connection for either the phone or Internet could go down any second. He had to get this negotiation over with as quickly as possible.
“Can you send me a payment request now, Mr. Nelson? Here is my e-mail address.” Clive rattled it off to him.
“Sure can. Love this here kinda technology. Makes getting paid and payin’ folks a lot easier.”
Clive was thinking, Enough of the chitter-chatter, but he didn’t want to push Mr. Nelson. He might sound like a bit of a hick, but he certainly wasn’t clueless when it came to financial exchanges.
“If you could do that now, I would appreciate it. We’re having a bit of wind where I am, and the power lines keep cutting in and out.”
“You got it, captain. One sec.” Nelson didn’t want to lose out on his windfall.
In less than a minute, a ding on Clive’s computer indicated an e-mail had been received. He clicked on it, then to PayPal. In a few seconds, the money had been transferred to George Nelson.
There was a long, empty silence, until Nelson declared, “OK, got the payment. Thank you. Here is the information. A guy named Cullen Bodman just outside of Asheville, North Carolina. He’s in a place called the Stillwell Art Center.” Clive was writing as fast as Nelson was talking.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Nelson. You’ve been extremely helpful.” Clive rolled his eyes. Yeah, help to the tune of $2,000, plus the thousand Rowena had sent him. Mr. George Nelson had certainly hit the jackpot that evening.
Clive turned to Logan and Colette. “We have a name. Now we need to contact him.” Just then, the small wheel in the search bar started to spin, and after a few seconds it spit out a notice:
NO INTERNET SERVICE. CHECK YOUR CONNECTION.
Clive let out a big huff. “If I know Rowena, she is on her way to Asheville by now.”
“At this hour?” Logan seemed surprised.
“That woman will leave no stone unturned.” Clive thought for a moment. “I’m going to have to get to a phone and call that Cullen fellow.”
“Dad, it’s past midnight. No one is open within thirty miles of here.”
“Well, then, I’m just going to have to drive until I get cell service.” Clive put the piece of paper in his pocket.
“Dad, are you sure this is a good idea? Can’t it wait until morning?” Logan was almost pleading with his father.
“Son, you’ve met Rowena. She will stop at nothing. I need to warn those people.” Clive started out of his den.
“You want me to go with you?” Logan was following him.
“No. You stay here with Colette and Max. I’ll be fine. The wind’s died down. The phone and Internet lines should be up and running soon, but I don’t want to wait.”
Colette was almost in tears. “Do you really have to do this now?”
“My dear young woman, someone went to a lot of trouble to find you. Where you worked and where you lived. And then he lied about who he was. Don’t think for one minute that was the beginning or the end of this. The Millstones are desperate people. And if Arthur is in as much trouble as I suspect, they are beyond desperate, if there is such a thing.”
Colette was shaking. Logan put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be OK. Dad ca
n handle this.” Logan looked at his father, hoping for a sign of encouragement. Clive gave a nod.
“None of us are in any danger here. It’s the people in Asheville who need to be warned.” Clive recalled the words of Winston Churchill when he was referring to Russia. “It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” But he was determined to sort it out, and as quickly as possible.
“Can’t you call the police?” Colette asked innocently.
“Yes, but there isn’t much I could tell them. ‘I think a desperate woman is going to Asheville to harass some people’? I seriously doubt that would get their attention. No, warning these Bodman people is the best course of action right now. You sit tight. I should be back within the hour. I know I can get cell service once I get past the dead-zone hill.”
“So what are you going to do? Call the Bodmans and tell them what?”
“I’m going to explain who I am and tell them to be on the lookout for Arthur or Rowena Millstone. I will advise him not to engage in any conversation or transactions until he and I have the opportunity for a person-to-person discussion.”
“That sounds reasonable enough.” Logan still had his arm around Colette’s shoulder, and he had to admit that it felt good, even though he could feel her trembling. He walked her over to the sectional and wrapped a fleece throw around her. He looked over his shoulder. “Good luck, Pop.”
As soon as Clive left, Colette began to sob. It had all been too much. She couldn’t hold it together any longer. Logan poured her another port, grabbed a box of tissues, sat down, put his arm around her, and let her get it all out.
She started to hiccup. And then she started to laugh. “Oh my. This is so embarrassing.” She blew her nose with gusto. “I am so sorry.” Another snort and blow. She wiped her face with several tissues.
“No need to apologize. It’s been a roller-coaster couple of months for you. Between losing Randolph, your job, having to move, and trying to find Dad, you’ve been on a rocky ride.” He took another tissue and wiped her tears.
“You and your father have been so kind to us.” She sniffled again.
Logan took the balled-up tissues from her hand and gave her a few fresh ones. The waterworks seemed to be subsiding. “I’ll go check on Max. You relax.” He took the glass of port that had been sitting on the coffee table and handed it to her.
Colette watched Logan leave the room and ascend the open staircase. Now that was the type of man she had been dreaming about. Kind, considerate, and competent. And good-looking, too.
Logan peeked in on Max, making sure he didn’t wake the lad. He was sound asleep, clutching the stuffed bear that lived in the guest room. It had been Logan’s as a child. Max must have spotted it and decided to make friends. Logan smiled. He remembered how much comfort he had gotten from that bear when he was Max’s age. No matter how safe you feel, there’s always that threat of the bogeyman. Logan knew it would be years before Max realized that the real bogeymen are grown-ups behaving badly. Not some spooky creature hiding under the bed.
He went back to where Colette was sitting, unsure how close he should get. He wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how much comforting she required. He had to admit, it felt warm and peaceful having his arm around her. Then Colette made it easy for him. “Please. Come sit next to me.” She was wrapped up in the blanket with only her hand poking out, holding the port. Logan smiled. He tucked in the loose parts of the blanket, making a cocoon for Colette.
“How’s that?”
She sighed, tilted her head, and leaned back on the sofa. “Wonderful.”
Logan took the glass from her hand and sat next to her. She moved her head from the back of the sectional and placed it on his shoulder. She was asleep in a matter of minutes.
* * *
It was past midnight when Clive finally made it around the big bend of the lake. His phone lit up with several bars indicating he was within reach of a cell tower. He pulled to the side of the road and dialed Bodman-Antiques-Retro-Restoration & Namaste Café. He checked the name quizzically. Namaste Café? That was a new one on him. It rang three times and got an outbound message. It was a man’s voice. “You have reached the BARRN-Bodman-Antiques-Retro-Restoration & Namaste Café. Please leave us a message and someone will get in touch with you as soon as possible.” Then a woman’s voice finished with a lilting “Namaste.”
Clive was brief. “This is Clive Dunbar, attorney for the Millstone estate. Could you kindly return my call at your earliest convenience? The matter is urgent. Thank you.” He left both phone numbers, his cell and landline. Just to be on the safe side, he forwarded his cell phone to his landline. If Bodman tried the cell, he might not get the call, but he wanted Bodman to have both numbers regardless.
When Clive returned, he found Logan and Colette on the sectional. Colette was propped up against Logan as he was reading a book.
Clive whispered, “Everything OK?”
Logan gave him a thumbs-up.
“Max?”
Another thumbs-up. Clive retreated to his den to work on the Millstone estate. He knew there was a lot to be done, including deciphering the spiral-bound notebook, although he was relatively sure what the numbers represented. His task was to match it up with the other Millstone ledgers. That could take some serious forensic accounting.
Chapter Twenty-one
Boston, Massachusetts
Millstone Manor
Rowena returned to Arthur’s den wrapped in a Neiman Marcus cashmere robe. Her hair was wrapped in a matching turban. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Did he call back?”
“Yes, as soon as you went upstairs. Here’s the information.” Arthur slid the paper across the cocktail table. He still looked disheveled.
“I thought you were going to clean up.” Rowena looked at the lump called Arthur Millstone.
“I didn’t want to bring the phone into the shower, dear.”
“Right.” She looked at the address and phone number. “North Carolina?”
“That’s what it says. I’m going upstairs.” Arthur laboriously pushed himself up, using the arms of the chair. He looked like hell warmed over.
Rowena took to the computer and searched for Stillwell Art Center. Then she went to Google Maps. It was too far to drive. Then she checked the airlines. Only one flight per week from Boston. She would have to use the company jet. Randolph was against anyone’s using it for personal transportation. It was a waste of jet fuel. But now he wasn’t around to protest or deny her. Without waiting for Arthur to return from his shower, she phoned the hangar where they kept the Embraer Phenom 100. It could get her to Asheville on one tank and in less than two hours. She got the night dispatcher on the phone.
“Good evening. This is Rowena Millstone calling. I am going to need our jet for tomorrow morning.”
“Hello, Mrs. Millstone. What time will you be departing?”
“Around nine.”
“And what is your destination?”
“Asheville, North Carolina.”
“One moment, please.”
Rowena listened to the insipid music from being placed on hold. It felt like an eternity until the female voice returned.
“OK, Mrs. Millstone. We can get clearance for nine thirty. Your pilot will be Roger Murdock.”
“That’s fine.”
“Please arrive here by nine.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Rowena clicked off the call.
Arthur came back, wearing a similar cashmere robe. His was navy blue. His hair was wet and uncombed. He was a cleaner version of his earlier hot mess.
“Who were you talking to?” He poured himself another scotch.
“The dispatcher at the airport.”
“Why?”
“We’re taking a little day trip to Asheville, North Carolina, tomorrow morning.”
“On no, we’re not. You are. I am exhausted. I’m sure you can handle the negotiation.”
“We have to find it first, remember?”
“Right. So what’s your brilliant plan?”
“I’m going to a place called Stillwell Art Center. A man by the name of Cullen Bodman bought the contents of the garage. He’s in the restoration business. If we’re lucky, he may not have started working on any of that junk yet.”
“And if we’re not lucky, he found the will, and he’s going to make the connection if you tell him who you really are.”
“Good point. I’ll use some other name. I’ll use Amber’s. He’s never met her, and I can use the same excuse we used on good old George Nelson, except Amber is working on behalf of the Millstones.”
“But, as I said, he’ll make the connection. Why don’t you save yourself the trip and the jet fuel and just call the man?”
“What am I going to say to him? ‘Gotta will I can burn?’ No, this requires some serious investigating.”
“Have it your way, Rowena. But I think you need to be anonymous at first and see if the junk is still there. Take a walk around. Feel it out.”
“Since when are you the patient one?”
“Since we’re close to recovering and destroying that will. I don’t want anything to go wrong. Again.”
“OK. OK. I’ll be browsing, using an alias.”
“Now you’re using your head.” Arthur gulped his scotch. “I’m done. Good luck tomorrow. Keep me posted.” He turned and shuffled out the door. He felt the foreboding threat to his well-being hanging over him like a cloud. Not a heart attack. But a severe beating from the people to whom he owed money.
* * *
George Nelson could not believe his luck. Not only had he made a few grand selling the load of rubbish to that Bodman fella, he had just cleared another two grand from some guy, and a grand from some lady. Three grand in less than an hour. Heck, he was makin’ doctor’s wages. He wondered what was so special about that pile of junk. Maybe he should find out for himself. If he left immediately, he could be outside Asheville by sunup.
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