Labor Day in Lusty, Texas [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “In those cases, I imagine the stolen property would be hard to locate,” Abigail said. One of the clients she’d heard about at the law firm had been rumored to have an extensive art collection, including a couple of Picassos, which he kept hidden away in a vault on his vast estate. Rumor had it he spent time alone every day, just admiring his collection, and never let anyone else see it. Abigail couldn’t understand why someone would want to hoard that kind of beauty for themselves. She supposed it really did take all kinds to make a world.

  “That’s exactly right.” Caleb met her gaze. “There have always been those who believed that being wealthy set themselves above others and even above the law. That’s an ugly human trait that goes back to the beginning of time.” Caleb looked down at his notes. “I’m beginning to get a sense of the situation,” he said. “It’ll take a bit of time for our results to come in, but I’m feeling optimistic. We’ll know what’s going on here, I bet.”

  Abigail had never given much thought as to how the police went about solving crimes. It was interesting getting a glimpse into the process as the four of them ate their early supper.

  “I don’t know if wealth is the only determining factor in that attitude you mentioned,” Michael said. “I’ve met some very arrogant people of average means who believed the rules simply didn’t apply to them.”

  “That’s part of the criminal mindset,” Caleb said. “That sense of entitlement, regardless of circumstance or persons.”

  Because Caleb wanted to have a look at the “scene of the crime,” they returned to the bookstore. They all rode in Caleb’s car, and she wondered if he missed the exact location because they had to walk nearly a block to get to the place. Before heading upstairs, he took a moment to place a call to his contact in Washington, catching the man just before he left for the day.

  “He’ll get back to me,” Caleb said. He grinned. “Arthur Connors has a mind like a steel trap. He said the M.O. rang a bell with him. If I know Special Agent Connors—and I do—he’ll forget about going home and start searching.”

  Caleb had spoken to the officer from the HPD who’d responded to Michael’s call, earlier. The man had taken the report and walked through the apartment. But since no one could say if anything was missing—the larger items were all still there—there was nothing more to be done. The department promised to ensure a squad car would drive by the building a few times during the night, but because no visible crime had been committed, that was the best that could be done.

  Abigail had the sense that it was a combination of the Benedict name and the fact Caleb was a Texas Ranger that got them that much of a response from the authorities.

  They headed up the stairs. Abigail looked over her shoulder, curious when the lights downstairs flicked off. Caleb brought up the rear and met her gaze. “No sense in advertising our presence.”

  So many men in such a small living area made for a sense of crowding. Abigail stood beside Carson and looked around the room. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d stood here.

  “We didn’t touch anything,” Michael said to his oldest brother. “Once Abby noticed the desk drawer and the attic door, we went downstairs, called Carson, and then the police.”

  “If it was Farnsworth who broke in here, what was he looking for?”

  Abigail didn’t know if Caleb’s question was rhetorical or not. Carson sat on the arm of the sofa, his hands resting on his thighs as he scanned the living room. Abigail noted he looked at the opened desk drawer and then up, at the trap door leading to the attic.

  “If he and Arbuckle were partners in crime, he could have been looking for evidence of that.” Carson looked over at Caleb. “Maybe he was worried that his partner left behind evidence that implicated him.”

  “Or maybe he has some sort of a safe, or a bolt hole, where he stashed some of his purloined property,” Michael said. “Perhaps that’s what Farnsworth was looking for.”

  “Ah, alliteration,” Caleb quipped. “Just what we need to put that special touch on the mystery of the moment.”

  Abigail chuckled. She was getting used to the way these men poked at each other from time to time.

  “If Farnsworth traveled from England to America every summer, there’d be a record of that somewhere, wouldn’t there?” she asked.

  “Once we have the dates of the thefts here, we’ll check the airlines,” Caleb said. “That would be part of building our case.”

  “But what about his going home?” It occurred to Abigail that Farnsworth couldn’t very well lug a suitcase onto the plane full of stolen jewels or cash. “He wouldn’t be able to take stolen property home with him in his luggage, would he? I mean…I imagine that they’re being ‘partners in crime’ means they split the stolen goods.”

  “Good point. It wouldn’t be smart for Farnsworth to take stolen jewelry in his luggage.” Caleb slowly walked around the room. “Hell, the way some of the airlines lose luggage these days, that could be a tragedy for an enterprising thief. But Arbuckle could sell the goods here and then send Farnsworth his share.”

  “You can wire money across the ocean, no problem,” Carson said. “Both men owned viable businesses, so any financial transaction between them, if held below the value red-flagged by the Federal Reserve, could be done without any real notice at all.”

  “All right, then. We’re looking for a hidey-hole or evidence of one. We also need to see if Arbuckle had any personal files of his expenditures. There could be clues within them.”

  Abigail had never been a part of a police investigation before. She didn’t know if she could spot a “hidey-hole” or not, but there was one thing she was good at—numbers.

  “Why don’t I look through that desk?” Abigail said. “I’m thinking if he had any personal records, they’d be kept right there.”

  “I’ll stay down here with Abby,” Carson said. Both Michael and Caleb nodded. She understood that they would never leave her alone in a room—not when someone had already broken into the place.

  “We’ll take the attic. That job will likely need at least two of us,” Caleb said. “I don’t think what we’re looking for is going to be all that obvious.”

  Abigail didn’t, either. In fact, there was no way of knowing if Farnsworth—if he was indeed the man who’d broken in—had found what he was looking for or not.

  They were going to need luck if they hoped to solve this mystery.

  * * * *

  Carson brought one of the chairs from the kitchen over to the antique secretary desk. It reminded him of the desk his mother had in a corner of the master suite at the Big House. When they’d lived at the farm, that desk used to sit in her office. He could recall seeing her sitting at it, her head bent over the farm’s books, much as Abby’s head was bent over the paperwork she had spread before her.

  He set his chair beside her and sat down. She looked up at him and perhaps she saw something of what he was feeling in his eyes.

  “What?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he loved her, but he wanted to wait, wanted to talk to Michael about the when and the where and the how of it. He wasn’t going to worry anymore about whether or not they’d be holding her back. If she wanted to see the world, she could see the world, but she could damn well do so with them. So, instead, he just placed a kiss on her cheek. “Nothing, baby. I just enjoy looking at you.”

  Her blush and sweet smile told him she really wasn’t all that used to compliments. He was going to make sure she drowned in them.

  “Thank you. I like looking at you, too.”

  Carson smiled. Just that look from her made him feel invincible. He wasn’t one to listen to music other than country, but he’d heard Frankie Valli’s song, “My Eyes Adored You,” and he thought the man could have been singing about that first moment he’d seen Abigail Parker.

  I’d better put my mind on the moment before I give in to my primal urges and ravish her. He nodded to the files she had spread out on the desk. “
So, what’s the plan?”

  “I thought there are two areas we should focus on—his ledger for the business and his bank statements.”

  “What’s your reasoning?”

  “Well, if he was committing thefts in June, then I’d expect to see that perhaps July through September were his ‘best months’ for book sales, that he could cover the sale of stolen items in his ledger as sales of books. A used bookstore, it seems to me, would be a good cover business. The owner purchases the contents of an entire library from an estate sale, say, for what I imagine could be a nominal fee, and then over time he sells the books as individual items. There’d be no real log of goods in, goods out, like there would be for, say, an appliance store.”

  “Receipts and expenses would tend to be lump sums, untraceable to individual items.” Carson nodded. “Very clever. And the bank statements?”

  “They might show lump payments via wire or check, and those could be to our Mr. Farnsworth. Or…” She grinned at him, and for just a moment, Carson was lost in her smile.

  “Or what, baby?”

  “Or perhaps he had a safe deposit box at his bank. And perhaps, what we’re looking for could be there. Mother said Grandmother had one, just for her will, our birth certificates, and the deed to the house. She’d considered it a safeguard against a fire. Perhaps Mr. Arbuckle had a safe deposit box where he kept his more interesting possessions, too.”

  Before Carson could compliment her on her adroit thinking, someone else did.

  “That’s very clever of you, miss. Please don’t move, either of you. I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Holy hell. Just look at all this stuff!” Michael stood in the center of the attic space and looked around. There were boxes and bags and trunks. There were stacks of magazines and newspapers, a coat rack, a couple of chairs, a coffee table, a hassock, and what appeared to be a small pool table, the kind a child might receive as a Christmas gift.

  There was one sad little Adirondack chair with a funny tilt—obviously broken—but serving the purpose of holding even more stuff.

  “According to the property records, which I looked into the other day, Arbuckle purchased the place and opened the store about ten years ago,” Caleb said. “I would guess that some of this junk was here when he bought it. That was also an estate sale, by the way. A widow by the name of Margaret Smith had died, and her son put the place up for sale.” As Caleb spoke, Michael continued scanning the space.

  “He probably took what he wanted and just left the rest. So I guess it’s up to us to clear this out, then. But before we do that, tell me, brother, what are we looking for?”

  Caleb stood, arms akimbo, and surveyed the same space Michael had just taken in. It occurred to Michael in that moment, as he watched his brother take on what he’d describe as a considering expression, that his brother was a real, bona fide Texas Ranger. That was a pretty big deal here in Texas.

  Not for the first time in his life, Michael understood that Caleb was very different from him, and those differences likely played a part in his becoming a cop. Caleb Benedict looked at things differently than Michael did. Another time he would ruminate if that difference came after his career choice or if that difference fueled it, instead.

  “First, we’ll see if there’s any sign of recent activity up here,” Caleb said. “Everything I can see right now appears covered in dust, as if it’s been here, undisturbed, for a long while. If Farnsworth was smart, he’d have done the same thing…and I think he, or whoever broke in last night, did.” Caleb nodded toward an area where it was clear that someone had moved around.

  There were a few places where the dust had clearly been disturbed. They really had no way of knowing if Farnsworth had found what he was looking for or not. However, not searching on the hunch he had been successful wasn’t, Michael knew, an option.

  Michael pointed to one area where it almost seemed there was no dust at all. “It looks as if that stuff came out of that trunk, there,” Michael pointed to a pile of haphazardly stacked items—some books, some clothing, and other things that, at one time, had been someone’s personal property. Now they stood a silent testimony to a life lived.

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Caleb walked over to where Michael was pointing. Michael joined him and got a closer look. On one side of the trunk were the items that seemed as if they had just been pulled out of the storage unit and dropped. When Caleb lifted the lid, the interior itself was only about a third full, and the contents appeared to have been rifled through. The side of the interior closest to the large pile was empty.

  “Let’s start here, and eventually, we’ll work our way through the room, moving clockwise. We’ll look through what’s left inside the trunk, and then I’ll go through this stack while you go through that pile of magazines. Rifle through the pages, Michael. An old trick was to hide papers or money between the pages of magazines or books.”

  “I thought that only happened in the movies.”

  “Sometimes Hollywood manages to get things right.”

  Michael grabbed the hassock that had been kicked over to one corner and sat down, making himself comfortable. They worked in silence, enough so that he could hear Carson and Abby talking downstairs.

  “What?” Abby’s almost-aggrieved tone caught Michael’s attention.

  “Nothing, baby. I just enjoy looking at you.”

  Michael could almost see the sweet blush she’d be wearing in response to his brother’s words.

  “Thank you. I like looking at you, too.”

  Michael caught Caleb’s smile out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and grinned at his brother.

  “She’s a keeper,” Caleb said.

  “We know it.” Michael put his attention back on going through the magazines. About a third of the way through the stack, a single piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and simply looked at it. The scrap held a series of numbers written in black ink. The writing meant nothing to Michael. He handed it to Caleb.

  From downstairs, it sounded as if progress was being made.

  “Receipts and expenses would tend to be lump sums, untraceable. Very clever. And the bank statements?” Carson sounded impressed with Abby’s reasoning.

  “They might show lump payments via wire or check and those could be to our Mr. Farnsworth. Or…”

  “Or what, baby?”

  “Or perhaps he had a safe deposit box at his bank. And perhaps, what we’re looking for could be there. Mother said Grandmother had one, just for her will, our birth certificates, and the deed to the house. She’d considered it a safeguard against a fire. Perhaps Mr. Arbuckle had a safe deposit box where he kept his more interesting possessions.”

  “Clever girl,” Caleb said to Michael. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one to think so. Another voice chimed in, a voice Michael immediately recognized.

  “That’s very clever of you, miss. Please don’t move, either of you. I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Michael jerked to his feet, but Caleb’s hand stopped him from moving. His oldest brother lifted a finger to his lips and then pointed to a corner of the attic. The message was clear. Caleb expected him to hide in the fucking corner like a coward!

  Michael firmly shook his head “no.” Caleb didn’t argue. He simply pulled out his gun and made his way toward the opening to the downstairs, moving so stealthily he made no sound at all.

  Michael’s instinct was to rush downstairs, and it was hard to just wait, as Caleb was indicating for him to do. He had to figure big brother knew what he was doing, but damn it, that was his woman down there, and she was in danger!

  Carson is with her. He’ll protect her. Yes, he would. He took a deep, quiet breath and tried to settle himself. When he thought he had himself under control, he crept softly, quietly, to the opposite side of the opening from where Caleb had taken up position.

  Carson would somehow maneuver Farnsworth in
to position so Caleb could get the drop on the bastard. He just had to have faith in his brothers and wait. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

  * * * *

  Oh my God. Abigail’s heart raced as the words spoken behind her seemed to echo in her head. Farnsworth had ordered them to not move, and he’d said he had a gun! Her left arm was extended on the desk while her right one was on her lap. At the edge of her left hand, the smooth small glass orb of an owl-head paperweight called to her. In the next breath she defied Farnsworth, carefully opening her hand. It only took a moment. Her fingers closed around the hard, glass sphere, and she held it tight within her grasp.

  “What the hell?” Carson did move, despite the warning, turning slowly, his hands raised as he got to his feet, as he placed himself between her and their intruder.

  “I told you not to move.”

  “What the hell do you want, Farnsworth?”

  Farnsworth nodded toward Abigail. “Those bank statements.” He raised his gun. “Did you find out if Cleve had a safety deposit box?”

  “I…I haven’t actually started to look yet. I was just explaining to Carson what I was going to do.”

  Farnsworth frowned. “I heard you when I entered the room. How did you find out about me? About what Cleve and I were doing? And where the hell is the other Benedict?”

  “Michael’s out getting us a pizza.” Carson scowled at the man. “And we found out about you being a criminal because you were stupid and broke in here last night,” Carson said. “Sloppy job you made of it, too, if you ask me.”

  A look of shock crossed Farnsworth’s face. “You called the police?”

  “Well, of course we called the police. For all the good that did,” Abby replied, and when Carson shot her an alarmed look, she ignored him. The man holding the gun was shaking and clueless. That couldn’t be a good combination. “They said if there was nothing stolen, then there’d really been no crime. So, we tried to figure out if anything was missing.” When Farnsworth flicked a glance toward the open attic, she thought he was going to start shooting at them for sure.