by Hillary Avis
“Simon? You think he still has his key?”
“I know he does,” Ernesto said curtly. “He asked me about it—if he could store things in there. I told him he could.”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “But he doesn’t live here anymore! Why would you give him permission?”
Ernesto’s face flushed again, and he stared stubbornly at his boots. “We go way back. He was just a boy when I got a groundskeeping job here. I didn’t think it’d hurt to let him have a little storage space. It’s not like he’s just anyone. We put some of his boxes in the stables. Maybe the mummy was his, too.”
“But he has his own place downtown,” Ryan said thoughtfully. “And plenty of money since he sold the estate. Why would he need storage space here?”
Maybe he needed to store something he didn’t want anyone to know about...like a dead person.
Ernesto shrugged. “Everyone likes to save a buck. Why pay for a couple of years of storage if you don’t have to? It’s not like he can take the stuff with him.”
“Why not?” Bethany asked. “Where’s he going?”
“Kid loves his sailboat. He’s about to leave on a trip around the world, and he said it’ll take a couple of years.”
“Huh.” Ryan seemed perplexed by the new information.
Makes perfect sense to me. Stash a body, leave town...maybe that mummy was murdered, after all.
“Is that all?” Ernesto demanded. “I need to get back to work since someone decided to have a freakin’ wedding here.” He glared at Bethany again.
“It’s not my wedding!” she yelped. He rolled his eyes and slammed the door.
Rude.
Ryan chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” she asked.
“He really doesn’t like you.” Ryan shook his head as they walked back down the driveway toward the main house. “Hard for me to fathom anyone not liking you.”
“Well, it seems like he blames me for volunteering the estate as a wedding venue. Maybe you could clear that up, since it’s your fault.” Bethany bumped him playfully with her hip.
He bumped her back. “No way! I don’t want to be on Ernesto’s bad side. I need the guy! He’s one hundred percent right that I don’t know how to manage an estate, and he has it down to an art.”
“You’re doing OK.” Bethany tilted her head and smiled at him. “And he’s not perfect, either. I mean, he let the former owner store stuff here without asking you. And that stuff included a dead guy, so...I’m thinking that reduces his performance score just a little.”
Ryan chuckled, but with a less humor than before. “Well. I guess we need to visit Simon LaFontaine.”
Chapter 6
A BUZZER SOUNDED AND Ryan hit the “P” button—“P” for penthouse—in the elevator, and Bethany leaned back for what she expected to be a long ride. But it was one of those fast elevators, and before she knew it, they had rocketed to the top floor of the Lighthouse Lofts building.
As the name implied, it had once been an old lighthouse on a rocky promontory that jutted out into the ocean and marked the north side of the bay on which Newbridge was built. When the Coast Guard had built a new lighthouse fifty or sixty years back, the old one had been converted into upscale loft apartments. Simon LaFontaine lived on the top floors, in the most expensive apartment in town.
Of course he did. Besides the Lazams, he was the richest guy in Newbridge—now that he’d liquidated the family estate and art collection. But who was counting?
The elevator doors opened directly into Simon’s apartment. Bethany’s eyes went immediately to the view, 360 degrees of gorgeous Atlantic coast. It was breathtaking. Even Ryan seemed impressed.
“Wow,” he said.
“Better than any painting, right?” Simon LaFontaine had his back to them, but he turned and flashed them a grin. He was older than Bethany expected after hearing Ernesto call him a kid. He had to be fifty at the youngest. His graying hair was combed in a dramatic swoop, clearly hiding a receding hairline. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and showed his equally graying chest hair, but he looked tan and fit.
Maybe from his sailing hobby.
Ryan walked over to the southern side of the room to get a better look out the window. “Hey, I can see my boat from here.”
Simon’s grin grew broader. “Ah, you’re a sailing man!”
They launched into an excited conversation about small yachts and the benefits of different rig types. Bethany took the opportunity to look around the apartment. It wasn’t every day you got to tour the most expensive real estate in town.
Despite the price tag, the apartment had a simple layout. The single room encompassed a living room with a gas fireplace, a dining area, and a small but beautifully outfitted kitchen. The room was completely empty of furniture, save for a small pile of moving boxes, a painting above the fireplace, and a few items on the mantel. A spiral staircase near the elevator led to a second floor that Bethany assumed held the bedroom. She could only imagine what the view was like up there.
“How could you leave a place like this?” she asked during a lull in the conversation by the window. “I mean, you’ll never find this view anywhere else.”
Simon turned around. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. The view from the Sirena is even better.”
“Your boat?”
He nodded proudly and strode over to the mantel. He picked up one of the framed photographs and held it out. “Here’s a picture of her. Spectacular, isn’t she?”
Bethany nodded politely. “I don’t really know anything about boats, but it’s pretty.”
He winked at her. “That’s all you need to know. She’s the love of my life.”
“Who’s that in the picture?” she asked, pointing at the photo. One of the people standing on the deck of the boat was clearly a twenty-years-younger Simon. An older man stood next to him, his hand on Simon’s shoulder, his gold watch glinting in the sun. “Your dad? And who’s this?” She pointed to a shapely, tanned leg—all that remained of someone who’d been cropped out of the picture.
Perhaps a former love of his life?
“Bella.” He pressed his lips together and his nostrils flared.
Ah, the stepmother. Maybe a wicked stepmother, judging from his reaction.
“I see you’re not a fan of hers.”
Simon gave her a tight smile. “Let’s just say that Bella and I don’t work well together.”
“Well, at least you could agree when it was time to sell the estate,” Ryan said jovially. Bethany could tell it was an attempt to ease the tension.
It didn’t work. Simon looked even more irritated. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t have to chase her halfway across Spain to get her signature.”
“All’s well that ends well, I guess,” Ryan said awkwardly.
Simon placed the photo back on the mantel. “Well. You certainly didn’t come here to look at family photographs. What can I help you with?”
“We were speaking with Ernesto,” Ryan began, but Simon cut him off, waving his hand breezily.
“Is this about the boxes? If it’s a problem, I can have them removed. I just thought they’d be safer there than in some storage unit—it’s only a few things, sentimental things.”
“We found some room for your boxes in the stables,” Ryan said mildly.
Bethany raised an eyebrow. Why wouldn’t he object to having Simon’s stuff there for years? I guess some people have more closet space than others.
Simon seemed just as confused. “What’s the problem, then?”
“No problem. I was just wondering...did you store anything else in the conservatory? I mean, besides the boxes?”
“You mean like art?” Simon frowned and shook his head. “No—this is the only piece I kept.” He pointed to the painting still hanging above the mantel. It was a calm seascape, with a pink dawn sky and a boat drifting on deep turquoise water, its sails slack. Though the setting was different than the paintings Be
thany had seen in Lucien’s studio, it was clearly a Peregrine. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. I don’t want to sell it, but I can’t take it with me, either.”
“The museum would be happy to care for it while you’re away,” Ryan said, his eyes glowing.
“Consider it on loan.” Simon reached up and unhooked the painting from the wall and handed it to Ryan.
Ryan’s eyes went wide at the casual treatment of the artwork. Bethany thought he might drop the painting right there. He recovered quickly, though. “Thank you—we’ll take good care of it.”
Simon nodded. “Well then. I should get back to packing.”
“Thank you, again,” Ryan said, and turned back toward the elevator.
“But he didn’t answer the question,” Bethany blurted out.
Ryan coughed politely, embarrassed to press the issue now that he was holding Simon’s painting, Bethany guessed. She had no such qualms. “Did you hide the mummy in the conservatory?”
Simon’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
Ryan laughed nervously. “I think what she meant to ask was whether you or your father collected Egyptian artifacts. Or maybe a previous ancestor?”
“Oh, that. No. As I told you on the phone, it isn’t ours—and I’ve never seen anything like that in the house, not in all my years living there. Believe me, I explored every inch as a boy. My favorite way to drive my parents crazy was to hide in some remote corner so they’d have to spend half a day looking for me.” He chuckled, his eyes distant as he enjoyed the memory.
A convenient change of subject, if you ask me.
“Maybe your father collected it and then stored it at someone else’s house,” Bethany said pointedly.
Simon smiled ruefully. “Possible, but unlikely. But Lucien would know—he managed all of Dad’s collections, not just the Peregrines.”
“We already asked him. He had no record of it.” She crossed her arms.
“Then as I said, it wasn’t ours.” Simon’s tone was less friendly now, and Ryan gave a subtle jerk of his head to indicate they should get on the elevator sooner rather than later.
She ignored him. “Could your father have had a secret collection? Something Lucien didn’t know about?”
Simon shook his head. “I doubt it. Lucien was the driving force behind Dad’s collection. It wasn’t really an employer-employee relationship—they were true collaborators. Anyway, Lucien was the one with the good eye. Especially after Dad got sick with cancer, Lucien did all of the traveling and collecting. He’s the real expert. He loves those paintings more than Dad loved me, I think. Only half kidding.”
Ryan nodded. “We’re lucky to have him on staff.”
“Not as lucky as he is! I mean, who else in the world needs a Peregrine expert?” Simon chuckled and smoothed his hair. “I could have sold off the paintings individually and made twice as much, and then he would have been out of a job. But I kept them together.”
“And we’re glad you did.” Ryan smiled politely. “Well, he’ll be happy to see this painting again, I’m sure.” He moved toward the exit again, carefully holding the Peregrine in front of him. Bethany hit the button since Ryan’s hands were full and the elevator doors opened with a whoosh. She took one last look at the most expensive view in Newbridge and stepped inside.
Simon gave them a half wave and turned his attention back to his packing. He grabbed the yacht photograph off the mantel and began wrapping it in packing paper.
So strange that he cropped Bella out. Of course, everything I’ve heard about Bella is strange. Didn’t Ryan say she’d become a nun or something?
Just as the elevator doors started to close, she stuck her arm out to stop them.
“One more thing.”
Simon looked up from where he was bent over his task. “Yes?” he asked impatiently.
“Why did Bella join a convent, anyway?”
Simon stood up straight and laughed with genuine amusement. “Oh, that. She joined because of my father’s will. She couldn’t inherit unless she—”
“Became a nun?!”
He laughed again. “Oh, no. Bella just likes to be overdramatic. My father suspected that she’d been unfaithful to him, so he stipulated in his will that she had to remain celibate for a year after his death. Hence...off to the nunnery.”
The elevator dinged impatiently, but Bethany kept her arm firmly in place. She was not going to miss the rest of this story.
Even Ryan leaned forward, interested. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Well, Dad said she wasn’t going to get a penny unless she really loved him, and this was the only way she could prove it...by staying faithful even after he was gone.”
“Harsh,” Bethany said.
“It’s only a year—small price to pay for half the LaFontaine fortune.” Simon’s voice sounded slightly acidic. “It’s coming up on the anniversary, so she’ll be crawling back any day now to collect her prize. And believe me, as soon as I get her off my back, I’ll sail out.” He stared out the window at the ocean, his eyes distant.
“But what if she comes back and she didn’t—wasn’t—couldn’t stay celibate?” Bethany asked. “What then?”
Simon shrugged. “Then I’ll get everything.”
Chapter 7
IN THE CAR, RYAN SEEMED pensive. Bethany could tell the conversation with Simon was weighing heavily on him.
“Is something bothering you?” she asked.
“How could you tell?” He chuckled. “I was just thinking—Bella left the estate a year ago, right? So she couldn’t have moved the mummy into the conservatory. And only three other people have keys.”
“Four,” Bethany reminded him. “You have one.”
He grinned. “OK, fine. Four. Me, Lucien, Ernesto, and Simon. One of us knows how that mummy got into the conservatory.”
“My bet’s on the estate manager.”
“Ernesto? Why?”
“The salt.”
“Hm.” Ryan seemed skeptical. “But the salt just came in a few weeks ago. That mummy took months to make. Anyway, what would Ernesto want with a mummy?”
“What does anyone want with a mummy?” Bethany giggled despite the macabre subject. “I can only think of two reasons. Either they’re an ancient Egyptian and want to preserve the person for the afterlife, or they’re an evil creep straight out of a horror movie. Since we don’t live in ancient Egypt, I’m thinking the latter.”
“There’s another possible reason.” Ryan braked at a red light. “You want me to drop you at the restaurant or at home?”
“Restaurant,” she said automatically. “Wait. No. If I show up there, Kimmy will want to go see the conservatory. Drop me at Happily Ever After...I can do the fitting for my bridesmaid dress and cross that off the list of wedding chores.”
He nodded and turned right, away from the restaurant.
“So what’s the other reason?”
“You probably haven’t thought of it because you’re a good person.” He flashed her a grin.
She laughed “A good person? I just said someone might want the mummy for less-than-innocent purposes! I’m a little worried what you’re going to say now.”
“Oh, nothing crazy! Just...someone might make a mummy to sell,” Ryan explained. “A museum or collector might pay a lot for a mummy if they thought it was authentic. You saw how fast the Egyptian museum sent someone out. That’s because they knew it was valuable and they didn’t want to miss out on acquiring it. A significant Egyptian mummy could fetch thousands.”
“Even without a foot?!” Bethany asked.
He nodded. “My guess is that whoever made that mummy intended to claim it was an important person—they just didn’t finish the project. Something about the foot might have given away the body’s modern origins, so it made more sense to damage the mummy than to leave it intact.”
“Like what, a tattoo?”
“Sure, or maybe metal screws from a surgery
or something.”
“Huh. That sounds plausible. But the museum experts knew right away that it wasn’t an authentic mummy, so whoever made it didn’t do a great job.”
“Savvy enough to remove the foot, but not savvy enough to use the right materials. The maker was probably targeting a private collector, then. Someone without expertise but with a lot of enthusiasm.”
“And a lot of money,” Bethany added wryly. “Why are rich people into collecting weird stuff, anyway?”
“Everyone collects weird stuff. I mean, bottle caps? Stamps?” Ryan grinned and pulled the car into the Happily Ever After parking lot.
The ornate pink building had three square stories, each one smaller than the last. The millwork and trim were white and designed so the building looked like a giant wedding cake. On top of the building, two figures leaned toward each other, their lips nearly touching, one in a giant poufy skirt and the other in a tailcoat and top hat.
“Aw, look, it’s Kimmy and Charley.” Bethany pointed up at the sign.
“And Milo Armstrong,” Ryan added, nodding toward the building. Sure enough, Milo was locking his bike to the rack at the other end of the parking lot.
I guess I’m not the only one who decided to get their fitting done today.
Milo spotted them and jogged toward the car, waving.
“I guess that’s my cue,” Bethany said to Ryan, and pushed open the door.
Before she could get out, Ryan clicked his tongue regretfully. “Shoot. I was hoping I could talk you into lunch after the fitting.”
Milo stooped to see into the car. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she eats. I know a great burger place.” He winked at Bethany.
“Great.” Ryan didn’t sound like he really thought it was great. He stared forward out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel.
Bethany put a hand on his arm. “I’ll see you soon. Thanks for the ride.”
“Of course.” He gave her a tight smile. “You’ll tell Charley about what we learned today?”
“Sure.”
“Did you dig up anything good?” Milo asked, leaning further into the car.
