Legacy of Silence
Page 21
Miranda lifted her chin. “I’ll have you know I’m in awesome shape. I did my own stunts for the past three months. Jumped out of windows and landed three stories down on giant mattresses. Caught a helicopter as it was taking off over Central Park. Mixed it up with bad guys doing major martial arts.” She grinned. “Of course, when it comes to tennis, I stink. And no amount of physical fitness would equip me for dealing with Dad.”
“Well, Tim adores you, even though Wimbledon is not in your future.”
Miranda grinned and signed, I am rather adorable!
Russ planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “I agree—but that’s another discussion. Back to your dad. Tim kindly gave me your itinerary when I told him I couldn’t take not being with you any longer.”
“I’m glad.” Miranda smiled.
“Me, too. And with that being said and too much time already wasted and—I know this isn’t the most romantic location...” Russ put down the Dragon, stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He opened it and revealed a deep blue sapphire ring, set in silver. “Miranda Nolan, I’m tired of skirting and dodging. I love you. Will you marry me?”
Miranda had never believed that real people cried during moments of happiness, but her tears started to flow so hard she was unable to speak.
She quickly signed Yes! and Russ gently placed the ring on her third finger. He leaned down and kissed her, then put his arms around her and held her in a secure embrace. The three other dog owners at the run quit drinking coffee and applauded. Even Phoebe appeared to know something important was happening and ended her chase.
After they finally broke apart, Miranda held the ring up and signed, It’s beautiful but also unusual. Where did you find it?
“Kam made it back when he was in college. He was experimenting with jewelry and I personally thought this was the best of the lot.”
Miranda scooped up the Dragon as she vowed to take every class Dr. Vinny taught. She hated that Russ was forced to read her words on a device, no matter how much of a boon that device was. Signing was far more intimate. She realized she’d soon be learning from Russ on a daily basis, a thought that made her smile through soft tears of joy. At least she was able to sign, The fact that Kam made this makes it even more precious to me. Is it meant as both engagement and wedding ring?
“It is. If you’re okay with silver and not gold?”
I’d be okay with a cigar band or an ink drawing around my finger! I love you. I’m so glad you finally asked me to marry you. She smiled. Took you long enough. She had to use the Dragon then. “I seem to recall you telling me once you didn’t procrastinate.”
“I didn’t. Once I slapped myself silly for being stubborn and foolish, I was on that plane. I love you, too. I did say that before but I intend to repeat it as often as the next seventy years or so allow.”
He leaned down and kissed her again. An excited Phoebe began running in circles around the two of them.
So, when did you get the ring?
Yesterday.
What? How did that come about?
“Blame our friends. I called Abra and told her I was flying to Manhattan to propose. She told me to bring Spero over so they could pet sit.” He grinned. “Although for ‘they’ read Yasmin. Anyway, I’d barely brought in his toys and food when Yusuf handed me the ring and told me not to bother coming back for my dog if I didn’t bring you.” He paused. “And Abra called me a donkey-headed goat for not proposing the day I met you.”
“Well, for the record, I behaved like a pigheaded chimp and I didn’t make it clear I planned to come back right after the movie.” She chuckled. “I’d say we have the start of a great menagerie. Hopefully in the future we can change the donkey, goat, pig and chimp into harmonious love doves.”
Russ placed the Dragon into his messenger bag. He took her hand in his and began to swing it like a small boy walking his girlfriend home after school. “I like this,” he said softly. “Hand in hand. Finally.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE YOUNG MAN at the paint store had assured Miranda that Sunrise Serenade was taupe with a hint of mauve, which should work perfectly for the master bedroom. Miranda had almost asked him why the paint company had to come up with a nonsensical name instead of simply calling the color beige mixed with light purple, but as she stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder and moved far enough back to catch the full effect, she decided this particular company could be forgiven its whimsical names. Not only was the color exactly what she wanted, the finish was the right sheen and smoothness for the walls of the bedroom. If the other colors she’d bought—Desert Beach Party, a soft yellow with a hint of beige for the kitchen; Island Cascade, blue with a hint of peach for Jesse’s bedroom; and Thanksgiving Delight Salad, cranberry with no hint of anything else for the living room and den—all turned out as well as Sunrise Serenade, she’d be a happy woman.
Miranda headed toward the room she and Russ were using as their temporary office. She needed to get away from the odor of drying paint—this particular October in Birmingham was still too hot for open windows. Her cell phone began ringing just as she was settling into Virginia’s ancient office chair. Russ. He’d sent a text saying he’d be there within the next hour to take over painting duties. She smiled and texted back a parody of the seventies song “Feelings,” changing the words to Ceilings. Nothing more than ceilings.
Bad! Very bad! Ouch! Russ replied. C U in a bit. Love U.
Miranda offered Phoebe a doggie treat from the big tin that mysteriously always seemed to be in the same room as Phoebe, then turned on the computer to return emails. Since coming back to Birmingham two weeks ago and taking up residence at Virginia’s house (after receiving permission from Judge Rayborn) she’d discovered that dealing with wedding details was much easier by email, whether she was discussing menu options with her stepmother, ordering flowers or picking out invitations. Miranda was determined to keep the wedding small but had to fight all the folks who wanted it to be Birmingham’s biggest event since the post-game party of 2012 when the Alabama Crimson Tide won the National Championship against Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish.
At the top of Miranda’s in-box were five emails from Farrah regarding the wedding cake. Miranda was staying with Farrah and Tim until the wedding, but Farrah continued to email rather than talking to Miranda in person. “I forget unless I see things in print,” she’d said.
All five emails were invitations to tastings at bakeries. Apparently Farrah’s incredible prowess in the kitchen did not extend to tiered Italian crème, decadent double chocolate delights or even traditional wedding whites. As Farrah explained, “I can guarantee great taste but not exotic decorations, which is why I use these guys for catering jobs when I need luscious desserts that also look good.”
Miranda didn’t really care whether the cake was a work of art, but in the spirit of keeping the peace she agreed to accompany Farrah on the wedding-cake tour next week. She was leaning toward Italian crème as the bride’s cake with a raspberry-chocolate groom’s cake on the side. Or maybe she should go with the white chocolate-pistachio-flavored for the bride’s cake and the hazelnut chocolate for the groom’s cake? She emailed Farrah, All of the above? And can we include some cupcakes for Jesse and the kids I’ve invited from the children’s theater?
Darci had emailed to ask if Miranda needed an accompanist for her performance at the Durani exhibition. She sent Darci all the pertinent information.
She quickly deleted the emails from various home improvement, bridal and interior design stores. All the fashion and furniture details had been handled by Miranda or Russ within days of their arrival back in Birmingham.
She dealt with the rest of her unread messages before she was hit with the urge to snack on one of the gingerbread men she and Russ had bought in Williamsburg on the way down to Birmingham two weeks earlier.
Miranda grinned. “I figure I need to learn to make cookies. It’s a mom thing. The other tin is for Farrah.”
“She’s going to love it. I gather you two are getting along better?” Russ asked.
“Surprisingly, yes. I decided to put aside my Cinderella stepmother complex and try to see Farrah as a real person and not some character in a bad play. I think she accepted she’d never turn me into a combination of Julia Child and TV master chef. It’ll be interesting to see if we can hang on to this new understanding. Of course, we both dearly love my dad so that’s already kept any minor personality issues from becoming major battles.”
The Williamsburg detour was followed by Asheville, North Carolina, for a stop at the Biltmore House and Antler Hill Village and winery. The final and best leg of their journey had been sharing the experience of walking on Kiawah Beach in South Carolina in their bare feet. Russ had looked out at the Atlantic Ocean and scooped up some sand.
“We’re coming back here after we’re married. We can bring Jesse,” Russ had said.
“Agreed. Maybe for Spring Break?”
“That could work. We just have to coordinate our schedules since I’ll be teaching full time at Miles College, you’ll be with the children’s theater and Jesse will be at his school. Could get crazy.”
“We’ll work it all out. You are going to make such an amazing dad.”
“I’m terrified.” He grinned. “But very happy you’ll be at my side while we navigate the waters of parenthood!” Russ had leaned down and kissed her while Phoebe danced around them in approval.
Miranda smiled, remembering how funny Phoebe had been during that trip, trying to herd seagulls while avoiding the ocean itself. She glanced down at the dog, who’d fallen asleep under the desk—on Miranda’s feet. Phoebe awoke and wagged her tail, then headed toward the back to be let out. Spero, who’d also been asleep by Phoebe’s side, immediately jumped up and followed. Miranda watched the two chase invisible squirrels around the yard and was about to join them for a little stick throwing when the doorbell rang.
Miranda hurried to the front door.
“Hey, Brett. How are you?”
He appeared startled. “Oh. Hi. I actually didn’t think anyone was here. I didn’t see your car but I figured I’d ring the bell just in case.”
“Russ has it. So far mine’s the only one equipped with a car seat for Jesse. So, what’s up? I guess you need more documents signed? Is Cort with you?” She turned around without waiting for a response. “Come on in. We can go to the kitchen, since it’s the least bad smelling of the rooms right now. I’m sure there’s a pen in one of the drawers.”
She led Brett toward to kitchen, chattering about how great Miss Virginia’s house was going to look once all the painting was finished. He remained silent until she turned around. “I don’t need a pen. I don’t want a pen. What I want are the Auttenberg paintings.”
Miranda blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. I never found them. So, I assume you and Russ did. It’s simple. I want them.”
Miranda’s mouth dropped open. A crazy person was standing in her kitchen. Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe Brett needed them for appraisal for the estate?
“Brett, I don’t have any paintings. Russ and I have looked. We’ve read most of her diaries and we can’t find a single clue. Assuming they even exist, are they needed for probate?”
“They exist. Virginia told me about them when I was drawing up her will. If nothing else, give me the diaries.”
His tone was even but there was an edge that made the back of Miranda’s neck prickle.
She took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “Look, I’ll tell you right now, there’s nothing in the journals to indicate where an Auttenberg might be hidden. I really don’t understand what the problem is.”
“The problem is that I’ve been trying to find those paintings since the day Virginia entered the hospital. They’re mine. I deserve them as payment for her will!” Brett pulled a gun out of his waistband.
Crazy was right. Virginia would never have offered priceless works of art to someone she’d met once, who spent perhaps two hours with her as she dictated that second will. Someone who was now waving a gun around. Miranda’s throat closed.
“Fine,” she croaked. “Take the diaries. I’ll give you a dolly to haul them out. I don’t care.”
Will Brett really leave once he has the journals? Nothing about this nightmare encounter was logical but Miranda felt certain that sending the man away lugging a load of boxes wasn’t going to solve anything. Brett appeared to be willing to resort to extreme measures, including violence.
“I’m not taking the boxes, Ms. Nolan. They’re staying here. So am I. So are you. If I find what I need...well, let’s just say that would be the ideal solution.”
Having Brett stay and go on a hunting expedition through Virginia’s journals didn’t sound pleasant, but Miranda figured it was better than having Brett shoot her. She nodded but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“You’re an associate with a good firm. One assumes you’ll make partner at some point. Why jeopardize your career, heck, your whole life, trying to get your hands on something that may not really exist and quite frankly that you have no right to?” Miranda’s voice shook but she wanted to keep him talking.
Brett exhaled and pursed his lips. “I lost a lot of money at the racetrack. I’m in debt to some very impatient characters. Enter Virginia Radinski Auttenberg, who throws out all these hints about how valuable her journals are and I figured, why not me? Who’s to know? I’d originally thought I’d wait until Russ got the house and I could make any artwork found part of the fee for my services. I had no idea he was Mr. All-Knowing about Benjamin Auttenberg. Then things went haywire with the other will and the shared inventory. Next thing I know you and Gerik start searching and everyone in town hears about paintings. I realized I don’t have time to wait and there’s no way either of you would let me have Auttenberg’s works now that you’re aware of the value. I’m sorry it has to be this way.”
Not really, you psychotic creep! Miranda thought. She shook her head and tried to slow her racing pulse or at least hide her fear. “Well, then, get to it. We have all the boxes in the living room, except for the one I guess you stole. Remember? With the recipes?”
“Fine.” He waved the gun at her. “It’s time for some fast reading, Ms. Nolan. I’m not leaving until I can walk out that door with a couple of paintings under my arm.”
There was no point in repeating that she and Russ had already read and searched and come up with nothing.
The kitchen door opened and Russ walked in, arms loaded with packages. Brett whirled around and pointed the gun at him. Russ’s eyes narrowed in anger. Then his face took on an expression of horror. Miranda didn’t know why until she glanced behind Russ. Jesse was happily marching through the doorway, carefully holding a bag with the store logo reading Trains, Boats and Planes.
Brett seemed to panic at the sight of a third person, even though that person was an undersize seven-year old. He wildly pointed the weapon at Russ and then at Jesse, who promptly began to cry and hug his package to his chest.
That was when Miranda experienced what parents throughout history have felt upon seeing their child in danger.
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Rage.
Sheer, intense, burning rage.
Not an ounce of fear was left in her system. This man was threatening her boy and there was no way she was going to allow that. She glanced at Russ and saw her emotions mirrored in his eyes. The only problem was how to get the gun without anyone getting shot.
The opportunity came within seconds when Brett motioned for Russ and Jesse to join Miranda at the opposite side of the kitchen. As Jesse ran toward Miranda, Russ neatly and quickly swung his packages at Brett’s arm, which knocked the gun out of his hand. Russ dove to the floor to retrieve it. Miranda shoved Jesse behind her. In a move worthy of Miami Montreville, she grabbed the heavy gingerbread cookie tin she’d left on the counter and executed a blow to Brett’s stomach before he had a chance to react. As he collapsed onto the floor, Russ sprang up, holding the gun.
“Enough,” he snarled. “You stay down there. It’s time to call Officer Hernandez and tell him we have a new occupant for the Homewood neighborhood jail.” He signed to Jesse, telling him to go into the next room and close the door.
Once Jesse was safely in the living room, Russ asked Miranda to hold the gun. “I’m not taking any chances,” he said, expertly tying Brett’s hands and ankles. When the wannabe thief twitched as though trying to get free, Russ smiled sweetly and said, “I wouldn’t. That woman is more than ready to smash a cookie tin across your skull and I’m not about to stop her. And after she finishes, you’d get to deal with me.”
Russ took the gun from Miranda’s trembling hands. Miranda swallowed, grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen table and called Officer Hernandez. The instant she hung up she asked, “Since we have a moment or two before the police arrive, what exactly did Virginia say to make you believe those paintings were here?”
A defiant Mr. King grunted. “She told me that the house was the least valuable item named in her will. She also said her diaries were the threads of her life. Whatever clues she left are in those journals.”