Uncovering Secrets: The Third Novel in the Rosemont Series

by Barbara Hinske

“The Martin-Guillaume Biennais is at the bank, thank goodness. A lot of it is still in the attic.”

  “I wouldn’t leave it there for long. Get yourself a cabinet safe.”

  “I was planning to do that. I’ll order one this afternoon.”

  “Yes,” he answered, and she could detect a note of disapproval in his voice that she hadn’t done so already.

  “One more thing before I let you go. How much is that chocolate pot worth?” Maggie asked.

  “Comparatively speaking, it’s not terribly valuable. It’s a lovely piece, but shows a lot of wear. They must have used it quite a bit in their daily lives. I’d say it would bring twenty-five hundred on its best day.”

  “Good. I’d like to give that to the lady who helped me sort it all out.”

  “That would make a very nice thank you,” he replied. “Have you decided what you want to do with the collection?”

  “Anything of great value—especially the Martin-Guillaume Biennais—I’ll sell. I’ll keep some of the pieces, and I’d like to let my son and daughter pick out a few items for themselves. Can you help me place the rest with an auction house?”

  “I most certainly can. You can maximize what you get for them by carefully choosing the auction. That’s one of the services I provide.”

  “Good. I’d have no idea.”

  “When will you be ready to sell them?”

  “My kids are both in California. I’m hosting an Easter carnival at Rosemont again this year, and I’m hoping that they’ll both attend. I’ll have them look at the silver then, and we can put what’s left up for auction after that.”

  “If I might suggest, madam, leave the Martin-Guillaume Biennais and the other really valuable pieces at the bank and take your children to see them there. No sense taking any chances.”

  “You’re right. Good idea.”

  “I’ll email you the appraisal. Please call me when you’re ready to proceed. And if you have any questions in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call on me.”

  Maggie hung up the receiver, her earlier gloom obliterated. She looked at her meager selection of string cheese and veggies and swept them into the trash. She picked up her purse and coat and checked the time. She’d be able to retrieve the chocolate pot from her attic before her conference call.

  ***

  Maggie reached the door of Celebrations just as Judy Young was turning the sign from Open to Closed. She saw Maggie hesitate on the other side of the glass, opened the door, and said, “This never applies to our busy mayor. I’ve got a few minutes before I need to get home. What do you need?”

  “I actually stopped by to give you something. To thank you for all the help and support you’ve given me since my first days in Westbury. Here,” she said, sliding a silver bag sprouting mounds of white tissue paper across the counter to her friend.

  “Wait a minute,” Judy said sharply. “Let me see that left hand of yours. What do we have there?” She seized Maggie’s hand and pulled it toward one of the overhead lights, and whistled softly. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Maggie nodded, and Judy swept her into a warm embrace. “I’m so happy for you,” she said.

  “Best news I’ve had all week,” she added, then turned back to Maggie suddenly. “Who knows? Can I tell people?”

  “So far, just Harriet at Burman’s …”

  “Of course,” Judy agreed.

  “My daughter and Tonya Holmes.” She watched as Judy clapped her hands in glee. Nobody relishes having the scoop on town news more than Judy Young, she thought wryly.

  “When will you get married and where? Were you stopping in to look at invitations? Because if you were, I can stay late.”

  “The where is Rosemont, of course. We haven’t decided when yet. And we may just have a small, family wedding.”

  Judy clucked her tongue. “You can’t do that. You’re the mayor, and everyone in town adores John Allen. We all consider ourselves your family, and we’ll want to be there.”

  Maggie held up her hands in protest. “John and I will discuss it. We’ve got plenty of time, whatever we decide to do. And I’ll get my invitations at Celebrations. But I didn’t come here for that. I came here to give you this,” she said, gesturing to the package that Judy had abandoned on the counter when she spied Maggie’s ring.

  “I love presents,” Judy said, spinning around. “I sell tons of them here in the shop, but it’s pretty rare when someone brings one to me.” She began carefully removing the wadded-up sheaves of tissue paper. “It’s heavy,” she observed as she carefully removed the item from the bag.

  “You didn’t,” she squealed as the final piece of tissue fell to the floor. “It’s that chocolate pot from your attic. I love it!” She looked at Maggie with gleaming eyes. “But I can’t take this. It’s got to be far too valuable, and it belongs to Rosemont, not to me.”

  “It doesn’t belong to Rosemont any longer. It’s yours. I’m thrilled to be able to give you something that you really like.” She cast her eyes around the shop. “And something that you can’t buy for yourself.”

  Judy paused, one hand on the object she admired so much. “It’s too much,” she began, and Maggie put up a hand to silence her. “The appraiser said that it’s too worn to carry any premium at auction. I’m probably giving you the least valuable item in the lot.” She looked directly into Judy’s eyes. “It would mean the world to me if you would accept it.”

  Judy pulled the item toward her and hugged it to her chest. “If you really mean it, I’d be thrilled to accept it.”

  “I do,” Maggie said, beaming.

  “About that wedding,” Judy began.

  Maggie turned to the door. “That’s a discussion for another day. Come lock up after me.”

  ***

  Maggie settled into a wing chair by the fire after supper that evening and checked the time on the mantel clock. Mike should be on his way home from work, which was always a good time to talk to him. She had her son’s undivided attention in the car.

  “Hey, Mama Mia,” he said brightly. “Or should I refer to you as Your Honor?”

  “Mom fits the bill,” Maggie replied. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Amy’s getting over her morning sickness. Everything is so much better when she’s up and at ’em.”

  “Glad to hear it. She was so dreadfully sick with the twins. And how are my adorable granddaughters?”

  “Fine. Slogging through the daily grind of school, piano lessons, and sports. Life is good. We’ll all be glad for a break in the routine over spring vacation, though.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. If you do come out here, I’ll schedule the Easter carnival during your visit. The girls will love it, and I think you’ll have a lot of fun, too. Plus, I have something I want you to see.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Did Susan tell you about the silver we found in the attic?”

  “Maybe. Yeah, I guess so. You know how she rambles. I really wasn’t paying attention.”

  Maggie laughed. “You should have listened to this story.” She proceeded to summarize her earlier conversation with the appraiser.

  “I’m speechless, Mom. It’s like something out of a novel. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

  “It’s happened to me. And I’m going to sell most of it. It’s far too valuable for me to use, and I see no point in storing it and insuring it. That alone will cost a pretty penny. I want you and Susan to come home during the week of the Easter carnival and select a few items for yourselves and your kids so I can put the rest up for auction.”

  “Let me talk with Amy tonight. Have you spoken to Susan?”

  “Not yet. She’s been hard to reach lately.”

  “I know. She’s in trial. I’m seeing her tomorrow for breakfast. Why don’t I talk to her about it then?”

  “Perfect. Get me the dates you’ll be here, as soon as possible. I need to get started on the carnival.”

  Chapter 41
/>   Irritated by the interruption, Special Counsel Alex Scanlon shifted his eyes from his computer screen to the paralegal standing in his doorway. “Yes?” he snapped.

  “Sorry to bother you, but you’ve got to see this.”

  “What?”

  “Just come. To the reception desk,” she said over her shoulder as she turned away.

  Alex sighed and pushed his glasses onto his forehead. He needed to stretch his legs, anyway. He followed her to the lobby and was greeted with the sight of two tall stacks of cardboard boxes. The deliveryman was wheeling in another load.

  Alex rubbed his hands together as he gleefully inspected the shipping label on top of the nearest box. It was from a bank in the Caribbean. The courts had granted their motions to compel document production weeks ago and now, finally, the banks were complying.

  “You know what this means?” he asked the paralegal.

  She nodded. “I’ll spearhead the effort to unpack, catalog, and organize all of this. It may take us a week or more, especially since we can’t work overtime.”

  “You get started and work as much as you need. I’ll get the overtime approved. The good citizens of Westbury are clamoring for answers, and we finally have what we need to get them. Forest and I will start our detailed review this weekend.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she replied.

  “You always do. Sorry I was so testy when you knocked on my door.”

  She smiled. “No worries. I knew you’d want to see this.”

  Alex nodded and turned back to his office. It was time to launch this investigation into high gear. He’d tell Forest Smith to clear his schedule for the next month.

  ***

  Forest Smith hung up on the call from Alex Scanlon. He understood what he needed to do next, and it made his gut churn. How in the hell had he allowed himself to get into this predicament? He knew painkillers could be habit forming, knew he was falling down the slippery slope of addiction with each pill he took. And now Delgado—someone with mob connections—was blackmailing him.

  Smith pulled the crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket and stared at the 800 number of the twelve-step program. It was time. He picked up his cell phone and walked out into the parking garage to place the call in private. With any luck, they’d have a meeting in town that evening.

  ***

  Forest Smith tucked his car into an opening between the trash dumpsters behind the Episcopal church and turned off the ignition. He leaned back against the headrest. He’d graduated at the top of his law school class and landed a prestigious job. He was an excellent lawyer who always exceeded his quota of billable hours and was on track to make partner at Stetson & Graham. And then he’d had his accident and become an addict. He’d been lying to himself for months, telling himself he could quit at any time. But he hadn’t quit. And now he was being blackmailed by the mob. He’d heard that people needed to hit bottom before they were willing to admit to an addiction. He’d hit rock bottom.

  He rubbed his hand across his eyes. There had to be a way out of this. Facing his problem was the first step. Forest got out of the car and entered the church by the rear door. He followed the hallway, heading toward a room at the end where light from an open door spilled into the corridor.

  He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he tentatively stepped into the room. Forest was acquainted with everyone in the room, including the leader of the meeting, Special Counsel Alex Scanlon.

  Forest froze. Alex came over to him and held out his hand. “You’re welcome here, Forest, and everything is confidential. Have a seat, and we’ll talk after the meeting. It’s time to start.”

  An hour and a half later, when the room had cleared, Alex and Forest sat facing each other. “I had no idea so many of us are in the same boat,” Forest said.

  Alex nodded. “I remember my first meeting. I came away feeling less alone and much more hopeful about my situation.”

  “You’ve been clean for a while. How hard has it been?” Forest asked.

  “It’s been a whole lot easier since I’ve been part of this group. And my sponsor has been extremely helpful.” Alex looked directly into Forest’s eyes and held his gaze. “Would you like me to be your sponsor?”

  “Will it be awkward, since we work together?”

  “I think it’ll be helpful. I understand the pressures of your life.”

  Forest nodded. “If you’d be willing to do it, I’d be grateful.”

  Alex took out a business card and wrote a phone number on the back. “The only people who have this number are my brother and Marc. And now you. Feel free to call me any time, day or night. And there will be many times when you’ll need to call. Do you understand?”

  Forest nodded. He added the number to the contacts in his cell phone and tucked the card into his wallet.

  He exited the church through the rear door. He’d known he could rely on the confidentiality of the other attendees in the meeting, but he didn’t want his car to be seen by anyone driving by, particularly Delgado.

  He felt more hope than he had in months and approached his car with a spring in his step. He was reaching for his seat belt when a hand reached over the seatback and clamped onto his right shoulder.

  “Gettin’ ourself straight, are we, Smithy?” came the familiar voice.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Smith retorted, locking Delgado’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Scared ya, didn’t I?” Delgado laughed. “I’ll bet you pissed your pants.”

  Smith remained silent.

  Delgado released his grasp on Smith’s shoulder and leaned forward, the whiskey strong on his hot breath. “I came lookin’ for ya tonight ’cause we heard that fag Scanlon got a bunch of those documents you’ve been tryin’ so hard to get.”

  “So?”

  “So,” Delgado thundered. “We should have heard it from you, first. That’s exactly the kind of thing we need to know. Since you didn’t call, the boys thought you needed a reminder. They was gonna do it themselves, but I said, ‘No. Smith’s a good kid. Let me do it this time.’ Lucky for you, Smithy, they agreed.” Delgado leaned in, and Smith could smell the whiskey on his breath. “This’ll be the only time. You understand? Next time the boys’ll come, and you won’t like that.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  Delgado sat back. “We always know. Don’t forget that.”

  “We received documents. That’s all there is to tell.”

  “And do you remember what you’re gonna do with those documents? You’re gonna get your hands on every scrap of paper that came in and tell us everything that’s on all of them. We decide what’s important and what’s not.”

  Smith’s shoulders sagged and he nodded.

  “You report only to me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For now. We’ll have more for you to do, you can be sure of it.” Delgado reached into his pocket and tossed a bag of painkillers onto the front passenger seat. “I brought you a little present. Just to show how much we care,” he said. “Pity you’re trying to give ’em up. I guess you can always throw them away.” He reached for the door handle and heaved himself out of the car.

  Chapter 42

  Maggie was answering email when her phone chirped to alert her to a text message from Susan:

  All coming to carnival except Aaron. Need to plan wedding. Talk tonight at 7?

  Maggie quickly typed back

  YES!!

  and returned to her inbox with renewed vigor. If she knew her daughter, she already had a boatload of ideas to discuss.

  ***

  Maggie popped a low-calorie frozen entree into the microwave and fed Eve and the kittens as soon as she stepped through her kitchen door. She raced upstairs to shed her business suit and heels, and was back downstairs in her favorite sweats by the time the bell on the microwave pinged to signal her dinner was ready. She ate standing at the counter while sorting through the day’s mail, ignoring
her grandmother’s voice in the back of her head saying a lady always sat down to eat. Not today’s ladies, she thought.

  Maggie ensconced herself in her favorite overstuffed chair in the library by the French doors, with Buttercup curled up on her lap and Eve snoozing on the hearthrug. Blossom and Bubbles chased each other in and out of the room. Maggie relaxed in the silence and was just starting to nod off when her phone rang.

  “Okay, Mom,” Susan said. “Do you have something to write with?”

  “How about ‘Hello. How are you?’ first?” Maggie replied.

  Susan laughed. “Sorry, Mom. I guess I get a bit hyper-focused at times, don’t I?”

  “You most certainly do. And it’s generally a good trait. But sometimes you need to stop and smell the roses.”

  “We’re on such a tight deadline for the wedding.”

  “We are on no such thing. We’ve got plenty of time. John and I aren’t kids anymore. We’ll just do something small and simple.”

  “That’s ridiculous. The whole town will want to attend. Since you’ve decided to marry at Rosemont, you have a venue with plenty of room. And you said you want to have it outside—on the back lawn? So the weather needs to be good. No winter wedding, although those are so pretty. Fur wraps over our dresses and snow-dusted trees …” she trailed off wistfully.

  “We’re still aiming for June. Right after school is out. What’s on your schedule?”

  “It’s open the entire month. Aaron has boards at the end of May, so that should work for him, too. We were talking about coming out to visit Alex and Marc this summer. Aaron hasn’t spent much time with Marc, and since he’s Alex’s partner, he’d like to get to know him.”

  “Then you can kill two birds with one stone. I’m thinking a late morning wedding, followed by a buffet luncheon. That should cut down on the cost,” Maggie said. “I’ll get the invitations from Judy Young; Pete can cater the luncheon; Laura will do the cake; Marc can play his keyboard; and we’ll make bouquets and boutonnieres and centerpieces out of the roses that bloom all over the back garden. So that takes care of it all.”

  “That most certainly does not ‘take care of it all.’ You’ve got to decide on your dress, your hair, and your makeup. Who’s going to stand up with you? Will you have a wedding party? I assume you’ll have Sophie and Sarah as junior bridesmaids?”