“That He is the Key to our lives, Mama, and without Him we cannot hope to comprehend what is happening to us and why...”
And then Jenny remembered what she had said to Jerusha.
“Perhaps the journey is not over after all, Mama. In fact, we may be coming to a new beginning. That is a hopeful thought.”
Jenny’s heart leaped. The Key, she had forgotten the Key. And then Jenny knew that God was not finished with their family, and that in a moment of great love, He had once again touched their family with his great wisdom and power. And for the first time, she understood why Gott had put the Key into their lives. She slipped to her knees beside the couch.
“Lead us in prayer, husband.”
Bobby started to get up. Jenny put her hand on Bobby’s arm. “Please stay, Bobby. We need you to agree with us. You love Rachel as much as we do.”
Bobby nodded and sank back down in the chair.
And so Jonathan began to pour forth their needs before a loving God, praying for his wife, praying for Rachel, praying for Daniel. And as their hearts softened and melted before Him, the gentle presence of the Holy Spirit filled the room and their hearts drifted out to that place where tears and laughter become one in the presence of the Master and giver of life. And hope began to rise within Jenny’s heart; and a faith that somehow, someday, everything would be restored.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pressure
“Michel, where is the money?”
The question was not posed in conciliatory tones, and the silence from the other end of the line was reflective of that. Finally, Duvigney spoke, the sibilance in his voice very pronounced, like the serpent in the garden offering fruit. “I am growing weary of your incessant badgering, Augusta.”
“And I am growing weary of your incessant dodging and evasions, Michel. My granddaughter-in-law is the heir to the St. Clair fortune. As such, she should be receiving an immense income every month. So far we have received a pittance. Now, let me ask it once more, and I’ll speak slowly so you can hear me. Where...is...the...money?”
“You should have received one million dollars on Monday.”
Augusta laughed. “One million? That’s a drop in the bucket. Rachel should have received ninety million just from the interest that has accrued since her grandfather died over forty years ago. And the ongoing income should be well over two million a month. Gerald and Rachel have been married since July. It’s now the middle of November. That’s ten million. So the way I see it, we should have received around one hundred million dollars. Where is it?”
“You must give me some more time. As I have said before, it is not so easy to move such a large amount of money—”
Augusta interrupted. “Michel, you’re lying. There is something fishy going on here, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
There was another pause. Then Duvigney began to protest. “Now, Augusta, I assure you...”
Augusta slammed her hand down on her desk. She wanted to reach through the phone line and grab Duvigney by his scrawny neck. But instead, she took a breath and then throttled her tone down from furious to threatening. The thought that had been scurrying around in the back of her mind like a rat in the attic came easily to her lips. “Do you know what I think, Michel? I think you’ve been spending the money. I think you and your friends thought that Robert St. Clair was the last of his line, that there would never be an heir with the Key and that his portion of the inheritance was sitting in a dead account. So you helped yourselves. Oh maybe not all of it, just a little here and a little there—enough to live a life of luxury. For all intents and purposes, Robert had died childless and no one was claiming the money, and what you took out would certainly build back up in the fifty years you had to play with before another heir was assigned. But you got greedy and spent too much—so much that an audit would be very embarrassing. But you didn’t worry. After all, you’re an old man. Six more years and then twenty-one years before anyone can claim the money. Why, you’d be long gone. And then out of nowhere, a little country bumpkin shows up with the proper DNA and, to make matters worse, she has the Key. And now you have to come up with money you don’t have. That’s what I think, Michel.”
Augusta thought she heard a choking sound, and then Duvigney retorted. “Those are preposterous allegations. As I was about to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, I am making the final arrangements right now to resolve this whole matter.”
“Michel, do you know Parker Salisbury?”
“The United States Attorney for New York? Why, yes, I know him.”
“I’m glad you know him. You will get to know him even better because you will be hearing from him a lot in the near future.”
“I have no reason to see Mr. Salisbury—”
“Oh, but you will, Michel, you will. You see, Parker is an old friend of mine. He would be happy to do me a favor.”
Duvigney laughed but there was no humor in it. “You must have something on him.”
“Nothing very important. Just some rather explicit photos of Parker with a much younger woman, that would be very embarrassing, to say the least. They would most likely put an end to his presidential aspirations. But the point is that if I ask him, which I will if we don’t have ten million in Rachel’s bank account tomorrow, he will be more than happy to launch an investigation into reported corruption and fund mismanagement by highly placed financiers. Do you get my point?”
“I understand, Augusta. You will have the money to-morrow.”
“That’s better. And the same investigation will begin if I don’t have the bulk of the accrued interest from Robert’s trust within thirty days.”
Duvigney gasped. “I can’t come up with ninety million dollars in thirty days.”
“Michel, I would suggest you call in some favors. Otherwise, you will find that you are the focus of an anti-corruption campaign led by a very earnest United States Attorney who is dying to make a national name for himself and will leave no stone unturned to get to the bottom of things. Can’t you just see the St. Clair name plastered all over the grocery store news racks as the crime-busting State Attorney digs up the mud? Parker would love that, but I know you and your friends would not. Therefore, if you don’t want to trade your thousand-dollar suits for prison orange, I would start making some phone calls. Do you understand?”
A brief silence and then the click of the connection being broken was Augusta’s answer.
*****
“Randall, if you are going to help me out of this situation, you must do something now. The St. Clair woman is pressuring me, and I can’t come up with the money she’s demanding.”
Gordon Randall reached for the pack of expensive French cigarettes lying on his desk. It was a habit left over from his tour of duty in Indochina and he indulged himself occasionally when he was working. Michel Duvigney’s whining voice was music to his ears. He listened but his mind was already churning.
This is all working out as if it had been scripted...
He interrupted Duvigney. “Michel, I want you to relax. Things are moving along much more smoothly than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I am going to be staying at the St. Clair mansion, and I will deal with all of the matters at the same time. The girl, Gerald, and Augusta will all be taken care of within the week.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“I have certain professional methods that I will keep to myself, Michel. However, you can be assured that within seven days, your problems will be over...that is, if you meet my fee requirements.”
“And just how much is this going to cost me?”
“One million dollars.”
Randall heard Duvigney suck his breath through his teeth and then cough.
“That’s absolute piracy, Randall. I’ll need some time...”
Randall took off the gloves. “Michel, don’t play games with me. Augusta St. Clair is putting the pressure on you for millions of dolla
rs that you don’t have. I can make that pressure go away, this week. Which way do you want to go? Try to find the millions, or write me a check for the pittance I’m asking. Or do you want me to bow out and let you find someone else, shall we say, less skilled than I am? Of course, that would take some time, and by then. the investigation would be under way.”
“Investigation?”
“Why is it that people like you always think that people like me are stupid? Let me lay it out for you, so you understand that I’m already way ahead of you. You called me. You are agitated and want the St. Clair problem to go away today. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure this out. What this telephone call means is that Augusta has come at least as far along the trail of the missing money as I have. She knows you’re stalling and she’s guessed that you have misappropriated the funds. So she threatened you, probably with a criminal investigation since she has many friends in high places. Am I right so far?”
“Go on, Randall.”
“You know what would happen if someone started poking around in Robert St. Clair’s financial affairs. They would turn over a few rocks and there you would be, blinking in the light like an evil little salamander, with the evidence of your crimes sticking to your tiny webbed toes. Oh, no, Michel, you don’t want Augusta to take one more step down that path. So just write the check, give it to one of your minions, and have him bring it to my favorite restaurant. You know where it is. I’ll be having lunch there at...”—Randall glanced at his watch—“one o’clock p.m. That’s in one hour. If your guy doesn’t show up, I will assume you have decided to go elsewhere for help, and I will disappear from your life.”
The sibilant voice was noticeably shaken. “Now, Randall, don’t be hasty. My man will be there with the money.”
“Very sensible, Michel. Once I have the check, you can be certain that your worries are over.”
“Thank you, Randall. I won’t forget this.”
The line went dead. Randall chuckled and reached over to turn off the recorder. “I won’t forget it either, Michel, not one word.”
*****
Daniel sat on the bed in his cubicle in the hired hands’ quarters behind the barn. His heart was pounding. He had heard Gerald and Augusta whispering together in the barn, but he had not been able to hear everything that was said. He did know two things. Rachel was pregnant and the St. Clairs were planning something that did not bode well for Rachel. Augusta had mentioned the name Randall, but Daniel did not know who he was. He slipped to his knees beside the bed.
“Lieber Vater im Himmel, I come to you for help today. Rachel is in trouble and I’m not sure what to do. Please show me what I must do to help her.”
Daniel knelt there for a long time, and then, like fresh drops of rain on a green field, the words came into his heart.
Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
And then again...
...the people that know their God shall be strong, and do exploits.
And one more...
Get up! Go out to the round pen!
The command was so resounding that Daniel literally jerked to his feet. He grabbed his coat and cap and went out the door. The sun had just set and the last few beams of light barely penetrated the gray overcast sky. Snow was piled up around the fences and along the houses. More snow had fallen during the day and the path to the barn was covered with a fresh layer. A chill wind blew steadily from the east, and there was a tang of sea air. Daniel started to walk faster.
Slowly, be cautious...
The command pulled Daniel up short. He looked around to find who was speaking, but there was no one. Carefully he made his way to the barn and then around it to the training pen. The enclosure was empty. All the horses were in their stalls and the ring was a foot deep in snow. The trees and shrubs pressed in close around the fence, and Daniel made his way carefully along the far side.
“What do You want me to do, Lord?”
Wait! Watch!
Daniel stood there in the growing dark, wondering just what he was doing. Then he heard the sound of a car coming down the private gravel road that ran around the back of the estate. He ducked down behind the fence and watched through the boards. An SUV drove out from behind the barn. It was headed out toward the back of the property, going slowly through the snow. The windows were smoked and Daniel could not see inside. It passed him and continued down the road. He rose and made his way through the bushes that lined the road. Ahead, he could see the lights of the vehicle as it drove through the snow. Then he saw it turning off the gravel road into the trees.
They’re going to the old caretaker’s cottage...
Quietly, he followed the tracks until he reached a point opposite the cottage that was concealed by trees and brush. He made his way through until he could see the cottage. The SUV was parked in front and four men were climbing out. One of the men gave the others some quiet directions, and they went to the back of the SUV, took out two large trunks, and carried them inside. As soon as the van was empty, one of the men drove it out of sight in back of the cottage and covered it with a camouflage tarp. Then he returned and went inside. As he passed the place where Daniel was hiding, his jacket flapped open in the wind and Daniel saw that the stranger was wearing a pistol in a shoulder holster.
Something terrible is happening, and Rachel is in the middle of it. I’ve got to get her out of here!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Discoveries
The St. Clair mansion stood silent, a great dark hulk looming out of the surrounding blackness. The white drifts had piled up under the first floor windows, and the fitful wind blew an occasional gust of snow off the roof to fall in whispered whiteness down the walls like softly floating waterfalls. A slim crescent moon made a futile attempt to cast its light on the pale landscape below, but failed dismally as more ragged clouds began to blot out the night sky. A few light, icy flakes drifted down out of the indigo sky. The piled snow creaked softly under the feet of the man dressed in black clothing who was approaching the back door to the mansion. Gordon Randall was on a mission.
When Randall reached the entryway, he pulled out the key Augusta had given him and silently opened the door. He slipped off a pair of rubber shoe covers and left them outside on the step. Then he crept quietly down to Augusta’s office. At the door he pulled a small black kit from his pocket, took out a stiff piece of wire, and worked it into the door lock. In another few seconds, he was inside the room. He went quietly to the window and pulled the curtains closed. Then he clicked on a small flashlight and looked around. The room was totally organized and neat; the desk, a model of efficiency with every pen in place, and the furniture was modern and spotless. Randall shook his head.
This will be easy. Augusta thinks she’s on top of everything, but she’s so easy to read. A person this neat is obsessive. They do everything the same way every time and never do the unexpected. So the safe...
Randall walked to the bookshelf that filled the wall behind the desk and began to run his fingers under the shelves until he felt the button, there was a click and the bookshelf slid sideways.
...is right here. And it’s an old style walk-in Yale! Really, Augusta...
Randall reached into the kit of tools and pulled out a small stethoscope. Slipping it over his head, he placed the diaphragm on the front of the safe and began to turn the dial, first to the right, until he heard the tumbler fall, and then to the left and then back to the right. The safe lock clicked and Randall felt the door move slightly under his hand. Cautiously, he twirled the wheel, pulled the door open, and then stepped inside.
He tugged the safe almost closed and then looked for a light switch. He found it on the wall and switched it on. Randall’s quick glance took in the small vault. There were drawers on the back wall and shelves with documents in folders to the sides. Randall pulled a few drawers out of the wall. They were filled w
ith jewelry and gold coins. He pushed them back in and continued searching.
After a few minutes he found a large drawer that was locked.
A safe inside a safe. There must be something important in this one.
Randall looked through his toolkit until he found a strangely curved pick. He inserted it into the lock and manipulated it until he heard the click. He put the tool back in the kit and opened the drawer. Slowly, he leafed through the contents. There were several notebooks, what looked like a diary with a lock on it, a stack of pictures and several letters still in their envelopes. He took the pile out of the drawer and set it on a desk in the corner. He picked up the stack of pictures. There were about twenty. They were old Kodak prints that had been hand colorized.
The first one had three people at the beach, two men and a woman. He looked at the woman for a minute. She was young and beautiful, a real knockout in a one-piece bathing suit. Suddenly, he realized that the beautiful young woman was Augusta. She was standing between the two men. One was well over six feet and had flaming red hair. The other was shorter and had dark brown hair. That physical disparity in size and coloring aside, the two men had remarkably similar features—strong prominent chins, broad foreheads, both very handsome. They were obviously related. The three of them were grouped together with Augusta in the middle and the men’s arms around her. Augusta was staring up at the red-haired man. Her gaze betrayed the fact that she cared for him, but he was looking straight at the camera. The name, Robert, was written under his picture. The other man, who looked like a college boy, was staring at Augusta. Randall turned the picture over.
Robert and Jerod St. Clair, and me – August 1944 – Martha’s Vineyard.
Randall looked at the other pictures. All of them were of Augusta, and most had Jerod and Robert with her. There were many in nightclubs or at theaters or in a cozy-looking apartment. Randall scratched his head.
This girl knew how to play the game. She meets a rich kid, gets him hooked, and the next thing you know, she’s making the high society rounds and renting a place in uptown Manhattan. I wonder where she got the money. I can just imagine how she played this poor sucker.
The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1) Page 20
