Wiley Johns

by Ciana Stone

  Richard broke the silence. “We’ve invited Nikki to spend the summer here while your mother and I are in Europe.”

  Something in Maxwell’s eyes told Nikki he was surprised at the news. She felt the need to let him know that she didn’t want to be intrusive.

  “If that’s okay with you, that is,” she added quickly.

  Maxwell’s eyes seemed to change expressions, but nothing registered on his face. Helen leaned forward, speaking to him as if he were either hard of hearing or stupid.

  “Nikki is going to be staying here to keep an eye on you, Maxwell. I want you to be on your best behavior and not test her patience. Do you understand?”

  Maxwell did not react in any way to his mother’s words, but Nikki thought his eyes seemed to convey resentment at the condescending tone. Then again, she could be wrong. Maybe she was projecting her feelings onto him. She wouldn’t want to be spoken to or treated in such a way, and maybe she just imagined she saw a look in his eyes that indicated he felt the same way. But surely, he had to be embarrassed? Then again, maybe not. If he needed a baby-sitter at his age, he couldn’t be normal.

  Richard stood and gestured to Maxwell. “You may go now.”

  “Yes, wait for me in the conservatory. I have some things to say to you, young man,” Helen added.

  Without looking at his parents, Maxwell got up and left the room. He stopped outside the door and looked back. No one paid attention except Nikki.

  Her heart went out to him. He looked so desperately unhappy and dispirited, like a dog that’s been kicked around all its life. Resentment welled up inside her. No one should be made to feel that way. She smiled at him and called out, “See you in a couple of days.”

  He didn't respond and moved out of sight. Nikki looked back at his parents who were standing. Apparently, the meeting was over.

  “Well, I better go.”

  “Yes.” Helen moved toward the door. “Richard, if you’ll please show Ms. Morgan out?”

  As Helen sailed out of the door, Richard moved over beside Nikki, placing his hand in the small of her back as he ushered her through the house to the front door.

  She moved away from him and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Weston.”

  “Please, no more thanks.” He smiled and took her hand in both of his. “I only hope the relationship will prove mutually beneficial and rewarding.”

  She disengaged her hand with an uncomfortable smile and walked outside. Once at her car, she looked back at the house. What the hell am I getting myself into?

  As she got in the car, she decided it really did not matter. For all the money they were paying, she could put up with just about anything. Or could she? What about Maxwell Weston, the man who until ten minutes ago had been her dream guy come to life?

  She groaned as an image of his face popped in her mind. She looked back at the house but did not see the face that watched her from a darkened window on the third floor.

  Nikki started on Gaspar as soon as he took a seat across from her in the booth. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about Maxwell Weston? I went there expecting to find a kid and instead I find a…” Her face reddened as she remembered her initial reaction to Maxwell, and the feeling that came over her when their eyes met.

  “You were saying?” Gaspar folded his hands in his lap and regarded her.

  “You set me up!”

  “Then you refused the job?”

  She looked down at the tabletop, furious at him for lying to her and ashamed to admit that she had jumped at the offer.

  “No, I took it.”

  “Ah.” Gaspar nodded.

  “But not for the reason you think!” She leaned forward and glared at him. “I think you’re full of shit about the Westons but they’re offering too much for me to turn it down.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gaspar agreed.

  Nikki glared more fiercely at him. He endured it for several seconds before he smiled. “I take it the real problem is Maxwell.”

  Immediately, she averted her eyes. She had not been able to get over the tempting sensation that claimed her when she looked into Maxwell Weston’s eyes. She flopped back in the booth. “You should have been honest with me.”

  “As you are being with me now?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  There was no way she was about to admit to Gaspar that her dreams had suddenly sprang to life and now she wanted to change them, forget them or deny the feelings they inspired. It was not at all what she’d wished for or imagined. If this was fate, then it was indeed cruel.

  She jumped up and went to the counter to get two cups of coffee. She returned to the booth and sat down. “Look, I already told you. I need the money. In case Christian didn’t tell you, I’m not exactly what you’d call affluent. I can’t afford to pass up a thousand a week and fifteen grand at the end of the summer.”

  “If you make it the entire summer,” Gaspar said.

  “That’s an odd statement.”

  “It’s an odd position. But back to our original conversation. I sense something happened during your interview aside from surprise at Maxwell’s age.”

  Nikki sampled the coffee and added more sugar before replying. “Something’s really strange about those people. Here they are with more money than most small countries, and they can’t find anyone to take care of their son? And it’s not like he’s a kid or even a young adult. He’s got to be—what, thirty-five or so? Come on, it doesn’t add up.”

  Gaspar shrugged. “Perhaps, but that is not my concern.”

  “Yeah, right, you only care about the Stones. I forgot. Which brings me to another point. What makes you think that even if there is one there I’d ever find it? Have you ever seen that place? It’d take months to search it and that won’t be easy since they have god knows how many maids and servants milling around. Not to mention I wouldn’t know this damn thing if I found it.”

  “You’re absolutely right.”

  The last thing she expected was for Gaspar to agree with her. “What?”

  “I said you’re absolutely right. You would not know where to look, or what to look for. But there is someone there who can help you.”

  “Who?”

  “Simon.”

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “Simon Richard Weston. My patron and Richard Weston’s father.”

  “He lives there?”

  “Yes, on the third floor of the west wing.”

  “Well then why doesn’t he just look for the thing himself?”

  “He has been confined to a wheelchair for the last eight years. Richard manages the business affairs for the most part. Simon is what you might call a figurehead.”

  “This is starting to sound even crazier than it did before. If Richard Weston has a Stone or the housing device, and his father knows it, then why doesn’t he know where Richard has it? Aren’t they sort of like on the same team?”

  “Hardly. Simon had hoped that Richard would share his vision, but unfortunately Richard proved himself to be of a different philosophical bent than his father and so was never made privy to the society.”

  “Let me get this straight. The father, Simon, is part of this society you belong to and his son doesn’t know it?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then how did Richard get his hands on the Stone?”

  “An unfortunate accident.”

  Nikki exhaled loudly. “This is starting to sound like some cheap thriller.”

  Gaspar slid his untouched coffee cup aside to reach over and touch her hand as she clenched it around her own cup. She quickly moved her hand out of reach.

  “Nikki, believe me, I know how insane this seems, but it is all true. Simon is the only one who can identify the Stone or the housing device, but he cannot search for it himself, nor can he let Richard become aware of his actions.”

  “Well whose house is it anyway? Simon’s or Richard’s?”

  “Neith
er.”

  “What?”

  “The estate and controlling interest in all Weston holdings belong to Maxwell Weston.”

  “Maxwell? But he’s… Why would Richard put everything in Maxwell’s name?”

  “Richard didn’t. Simon did. When Maxwell was twenty-four years old.”

  “Why?”

  Gaspar shook his head. “That is something I cannot discuss.”

  Nikki plunked her elbows on the table and lowered her forehead into her hands. “Okay, so the gist of it is, Richard’s a power-hungry shit, Simon wants to save the world, and Maxwell…”

  She looked up at Gaspar. “And what about Maxwell?”

  “What about him?”

  “Why is he…? Damn, I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. Is he autistic or what?”

  “Far from it,” Gaspar said. “Maxwell Weston graduated from The Citadel, a prep school in Charleston, South Carolina. With honors, I might add. The night of his graduation, he went out with some of his fellow graduates. His parents were staying at the home of friends and when Maxwell showed up there, late the next day, it was to announce that he had enlisted in the Army.”

  “The Westons were not happy. Richard would not have opposed a military career for Maxwell, but certainly not as an enlisted man. He’d planned on Maxwell attending West Point, to which he had already been accepted, and then perhaps enlisting as an officer.”

  “Maxwell, however, had other plans. Despite protestations from both his parents, he left for basic training a week later. He cut off communications with his parents after that and for years communicated only with his grandfather. It was Simon who informed Maxwell’s parents that he was being sent to war.”

  “In the middle east?” Nikki asked.

  “Indeed. As an Army ranger. After the end of the war, Maxwell opted to stay for extended duty and spent nearly five years in Iraq. While on leave in Baghdad, there was an incident. Two other Marines were killed along with a handful of civilians. Maxwell was wounded. He was found cradling the body of an elderly Iraqi man. He was treated in Germany and then returned home.

  “From all appearances he was on the mend, and then there was an incident at the Weston estate. A break-in. The intruder was killed. That was the only fatality, but Maxwell was found unconscious. From the moment he gained consciousness to the present, he has not uttered a word.”

  “So he’s not mental, he’s just…what? Brain damaged? Lack of oxygen to the brain?”

  “That is unknown. Despite years of tests, no one has yet to determine the cause of his loss of communication or his odd behavior.”

  Nikki was certain she’d never heard anything any sadder. “That’s terrible. But surely there’s some clue as to what’s wrong with him? His mother treats him like a total imbecile and he kind of acts like one too—at least around her. So there has to be an explanation, right?”

  “Perhaps,” Gaspar shrugged. “But that, my dear, is a puzzle yet to be solved.”

  At the sound of the tap on the door of his private study, Richard looked up from the report he was reading. “Yes?”

  His long-time associate and friend Mark Robinson opened the door. “I have that information you wanted.”

  “Come in.” Richard rose to go to the bar and pour them both a drink.

  After they were settled comfortably and had sampled the scotch, Mark pulled several folded pages from his inner jacket pocket and handed them to Richard. “In a nutshell,” he opened the conversation. “Nikki Morgan, age twenty-eight. Mother Sharon Blackhawk, Native American; father Nathan Morgan of Cotton Creek, Texas. Mother died of drug overdose when Nikki was nine. The father, a truck driver and alcoholic, died in an auto accident when she was sixteen. The state placed her in foster care but after some incident with the male of the house, she ran away. She's been on her own since then.

  “She supports herself and put herself through undergrad at the university, and now grad school. Worked at various jobs—waitress, child care, store clerk, dishwasher, short stint as a stripper that lasted about three months until some guy got a little too familiar for her taste whereupon she presented him with a severe headache and thirteen stitches from introducing him to a beer bottle.

  “She shared an apartment with another girl, Catherine Miller, until two years ago, when Miss Miller married and wanted the place for herself and her new husband. Ms. Morgan then rented an apartment in the home of Milton Sprull, where she’s lived for the last two years. At present, she’s behind a month in the rent and late on the present month. Sprull’s given her a week to come up with the money or she’s on the street.

  “No husbands, no trouble with the law, good grades, quiet, no serious relationships, hangs out with kids from the college, and works. Her latest job was with Bob McDonald at Pearling. Apparently, she walked out when Mr. McDonald decided her job description included servicing his needs. She’s been trying to collect back wages, unsuccessfully, since that time. She’s applied for a number of jobs, but nothing has worked out thus far.”

  Richard looked up from the pages he was reading while Mark summarized. “What about bank accounts, credit cards, loans?”

  “No credit cards, has twenty-three dollars in the bank, and a student loan. But she did recently have a meeting with someone from financial aid. She requested applications for additional aid and student loans, but so far hasn’t turned in the applications.”

  “So, she’s broke and in danger of being evicted.” Richard put the papers aside. “Interesting.”

  “And strong motivation for applying for a job for which you have no qualifications. Which brings me to a question I dislike asking. Do you think she can handle it?”

  “Yes, I do.” Richard got up to freshen his drink. “She’s got spirit, Mark, and something I haven’t seen in a while—honesty. She told us she wanted the job for the money. She wants to finish school and she doesn’t want to end up on the street.”

  “Well honesty is certainly an admirable quality, but that still doesn’t answer the question. Can she handle Maxwell? God knows no one else seems to be able to.”

  Richard shook his head and blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know, Mark. I hope so. God knows, I hope so. Helen will never let me hear the end of it if something happens to ruin her plans for the summer. And I can’t risk having Maxwell institutionalized.”

  A dark frown formed on Mark’s face. “Simon’s trap. Damn the old bastard.”

  Richard drained his glass then refilled it. “I’ve had a team of people trying to find a loophole for years but according to his latest report, the only way to rescind it is for both my father and Maxwell to die, at which time I take control.”

  “An interesting thought.”

  “Interesting and most likely deadly. If either of their deaths are in the least suspicious, it’d be disastrous for all of us. In that, my father was most specific.”

  “Then it seems our hands are tied—at least as long as Simon lives. But when he’s gone…”

  “Then we have years of untangling the legal knots he leaves us.”

  “Well, we’re not exactly hindered by the current situation, so there’s little point in belaboring the point. And before I forget…” Mark put down his barely touched drink. “An interesting side-note to Ms. Nikki Morgan. A year or so ago she had an affair with none other than Christian Bernard.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. And interestingly, she paid Bernard a visit recently.”

  “The purpose of the visit?”

  “That we have not been able to determine. However, after she left, he received a call from Castor LeGrand.”

  “Le Grand? And the nature of the call?”

  “It would be my guess he’s trying to piece together information on Hamid’s death.”

  “I thought you said there was no trail to follow in that particular matter?”

  “To my knowledge, that’s correct.”

  “Do you think Bernard’s involved with LeGrand and The Society?�
��

  “Possibly.”

  “Well, make damn sure he doesn’t remain involved. Find out his price then send someone to recruit him. Make it impossible for him to say no. If he refuses, eliminate him.”

  Mark nodded. “I’ll see to it immediately. The last thing I wanted to mention is that I received a call from Gerard, in France. The meeting has been arranged and unless something completely unexpected happens, the French government will formally award the contract to your French division.”

  Richard smiled. It was the first good news he’d had all day. “Here’s to military spending.” He raised his glass.

  “Indeed. And to sweeten the pot, clearance has been given for the excavation at Rennes-le-Château to begin immediately. Our people are in place and waiting orders.”

  “Get them started as soon as possible. In fact, you may be able to use the project as incentive for Bernard.”

  “Good idea,” Mark agreed. “Bernard has been trying to get permission and funding for years.”

  “Any word from Ireland?”

  “So far the engineers haven’t solved the problem but they assure me that within the month they’ll have the problems solved and resume exploration of Tara. Hamid did report that there was someone snooping around, asking questions.”

  “The Society?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Any word on De Troyes?”

  “None.” A frown appeared on Mark’s face. “My operatives are on it, but there’s been no sign of him for the last month.”

  “Which means he’s up to something.”

  “Isn’t he always? I wouldn’t be too concerned. Everything’s under control. Thanks to our arrangements with the French and Irish, there’s no way the Society can stop the excavations. But considering your impending trip, I feel compelled to ask. Shall I have Weston Security make any special provisions while you and Mrs. Weston are away?”