Thread End

by Amanda Lee

  “Hi, George,” I said. “How are you?”

  “I’m better today than I was when I saw you last.” He sat down on the sofa and began stroking Angus’s wiry fur. “Manu called me this morning and told me that the flash drive had been decoded. I went by the police station and copied the information onto another drive so the original could stay with the police.”

  “That was a good idea.”

  “I agree. It was actually nonnegotiable since the flash drive I found in the hotel room is evidence in . . . well . . . you know.” He gave me a slight smile. “Anyway, even though the information is no longer encrypted, it’s still encoded.”

  “It is?” I asked. “How can that be?”

  “Dad used his own versions of shorthand and cryptic messaging to protect his notes,” George said. “Manu thought I might be able to help his technicians decipher Dad’s code.”

  “Are there any audio or video files on the flash drive?”

  “Sadly, no. But there are photos I hope will prove to be helpful.”

  “I hope they will, too,” I said.

  “I’m absolutely convinced that there’s enough evidence on that flash drive to convict Chad Cummings of insurance fraud.”

  I said nothing. I didn’t want to discourage him, but how could a jury believe George or the police computer technicians could crack Geoffrey Vandehey’s code when none of them had a master key to go by? Chad Cummings’s lawyers would have that thrown out immediately.

  * * *

  I was putting the finishing touches on my appearance when Ted arrived to pick me up. I’d already fed Angus and let him out (and back in). I slipped on platform nude pumps and diamond stud earrings. Then I applied a swipe of berry lipstick and fluffed out my hair again. I’d taken the time to curl it, and it was a little bigger than I was accustomed to. Still, I did look more polished when I took the time to style my hair and take pains with my makeup.

  Ted gave me a wolf whistle when I came down the stairs.

  “Look at our girl, Angus,” he said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Angus woofed. He was either in agreement or simply in the mood to bark. I preferred to think he agreed.

  “Thank you both,” I said.

  “Are you ready?”

  I took a deep breath. “No . . . but I suppose I might as well be.”

  He kissed me. “Just be yourself.”

  “What if she doesn’t like myself?”

  “She’ll love yourself,” he said.

  “George Vandehey came by the shop today,” I said once we were in the car. “He said he’d made a copy of the flash drive.”

  “Yeah, I took a look at it after I got back to the office this afternoon. If all the files are properly decoded and transcribed, the prosecution might very well be able to put together a case against Chad Cummings.”

  “But aren’t George and the computer techs grasping at straws?” I asked. “If they don’t have a master key to work from, how will they possibly be able to decipher the notes?”

  “For one thing, I don’t think the cipher is as complex as George might have led you to believe,” he said. “And for another thing, if the two techs and George all come back with the same code, then they must be right.”

  “I guess.”

  “Of course, the strength of the evidence will depend on what’s contained with the files . . . but there are several files.”

  “Did you speak with Simon Benton?” I asked.

  “I did. He said he didn’t mention his call to the Federal Bureau of Investigation to local law enforcement at first because he didn’t want it to appear that he thought us incapable of handling the matter,” said Ted. “He also said that we locals had no reason to arrest Vandehey, while Special Agent Brown did.”

  “Wait. Vandehey was a fugitive,” I said. “He could have been arrested by any law enforcement officer, right?”

  “Right, but it appears Benton’s heart was in the right place initially. After the robbery, he was simply too embarrassed to tell us.”

  “Why?”

  Ted shrugged. “It was apparently because his instincts proved wrong. He should have come to us rather than taking the matter to Special Agent Brown, who he thought would be able to arrest Vandehey and get him out of the way before he could move forward with any plans to rob the museum.”

  “But if Vandehey was involved in the heist, why would he call and warn Anderson Padgett?” I asked.

  “That, Inch-High, is the million-dollar question.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Ted had mentioned that his mother lived in an upscale condo, I wasn’t expecting something so luxurious. This place was gorgeous. It looked like a resort hotel.

  Ted pulled around to the front door. I got out of the passenger seat in order to let his mom have the front seat. A doorman immediately came out and asked who we were there to see.

  “Hey, Bill,” Ted called. “We’re just here to pick up my mom. We’re taking her to dinner in Depoe Bay.”

  Bill, the doorman, beamed. “Wonderful, Mr. Nash. I hope you have a fabulous meal!”

  “I’m sure we will. By the way, Bill, this is Marcy Singer.”

  Bill gave my hand a genteel shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Singer.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said. Then I slipped into the backseat of Ted’s car.

  “I see your mother coming now,” Bill told Ted. To Veronica, he said, “You’re looking lovely this evening, Ms. Nash. Enjoy your evening out.”

  “Thank you, Bill.” She got into the car and turned to look into the backseat. “Oh, there you are. For a minute, I thought you’d bailed out on us.”

  “Not a chance,” I said. “Ted told me he chose my favorite restaurant.”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to that, then.”

  It was obvious from the way she was dressed that Veronica thought we were going somewhere tres chic. She wore a black silk suit, black pumps with red soles, a triple strand of pearls and the necklace’s matching bracelet, and pearl cabochon earrings. I was glad I’d stuck with my original plan and worn my navy blouse and geometric-print skirt.

  Did I mention that Ted looked gorgeous, by the way? He was wearing dark blue dress pants and a blue-and-white-striped button-down. I liked to think he’d been listening when I’d mentioned I was wearing my navy ensemble and that he dressed to complement my attire.

  During the half-hour-or-so drive to Depoe Bay, Veronica talked to me about her cross-stitch project, which she was doing very well on. And she talked with Ted about work.

  “Have there been any leads in recovering the textiles stolen from the museum?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, hang in there, dear. You’ll find them.”

  He rolled his eyes at me in the rearview and I nearly giggled.

  I would have loved to be able to see Veronica’s expression when we pulled up in front of Captain Moe’s.

  “Is this it?” she asked.

  “This is it,” Ted said. “Everybody sit tight. If Captain Moe is peeping out a window and sees a lady get out of my car on her own, he’ll most assuredly rake me over the coals.”

  He got out and came around to my door first. I grinned mischievously as I took his hand and stepped out of the car. He then opened his mother’s door and helped her out. He offered each of us an elbow to hold on to, and he ushered us to the door.

  I could hear the jukebox playing a loud rock song circa 1989 from halfway across the parking lot. I squeezed Ted’s arm. He looked down at me and winked.

  I was happy to be here at Captain Moe’s. Ted and I hadn’t been here in a couple weeks. And I was thrilled Ted had brought me somewhere that he knew I’d feel at ease.

  Captain Moe flung the door open just before we got to it. “I knew I recognized that strapping young man wit
h the beauty on each arm!” He held open his arms, and I stepped into an encompassing Captain Moe bear hug.

  For the world, Captain Moe reminded me of Alan Hale Jr., who played the skipper on television’s Gilligan’s Island. He was tall and barrel-chested, and he had snowy white hair. Unlike Mr. Hale, however, Captain Moe had a neat, trim beard.

  After hugging me, Captain Moe shook Ted’s hand.

  “I know wee Tinkerbell here, but who is the other lovely lady you’re dining with tonight?” Captain Moe asked Ted.

  “This is my mom, Veronica Nash,” Ted said.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Ms. Nash,” Captain Moe said, taking her hand and bowing slightly. “Welcome to my establishment.”

  Captain Moe was Riley Kendall’s uncle. He and Riley’s father had both referred to me as Tinkerbell for as long as I’d known them. I didn’t know if this was due to my hair color, my stature, or my impish nature. Or maybe they just couldn’t remember my given name. I didn’t mind. Having a nickname was cute—it made me feel as if I belonged.

  The diner had a counter down the middle of the back part of the room, and there was additional seating in the forms of booths and tables. Captain Moe showed us to one of the only empty tables in the place.

  “You’re busy tonight,” I said.

  “Never too busy for you, Tink. Your usual?”

  “Please.” I grinned.

  “Ted, your usual?” he asked.

  Ted nodded. “Please.”

  “And, Ms. Nash, would you like to see a menu?” Captain Moe asked.

  I could tell Veronica was struggling to adjust to this unexpected turn her evening had taken. She’d thought she was going to a high-class restaurant, and instead she was in a diner. It was a first-rate diner, mind you, but it wasn’t the Four Seasons.

  “Captain Moe makes the best cheeseburgers on the planet,” I told her.

  “I haven’t had a cheeseburger in ages,” said Veronica. “Give me one of those, please . . . and some fries . . . and a chocolate shake.”

  “So . . . three usuals,” said Captain Moe with a chuckle.

  He went over to the counter and got our drinks. When he brought them back, he asked about Angus. I told him Riley was in the shop Tuesday evening.

  He nodded. “She comes there to hide out, you know.”

  “She can hide out at the Stitch anytime,” I said.

  “Ted, I saw the press conference earlier,” Captain Moe said.

  “Press conference?” Ted echoed.

  “Yeah . . . Josh Ingle and that Padgett fellow were on the news offering a million dollars for any information leading to the recovery of the stolen artwork,” he said.

  Ted raised his eyebrows in my direction. “A million dollars? Whoa, Nellie!”

  * * *

  As we drove home, we discussed how well the evening went.

  “I was surprised at how well your mom adapted to Captain Moe’s,” I said. “I mean, she’d obviously been expecting a four-star restaurant instead of a tiny diner back away from everything.”

  “She loved that burger, though,” he said. “She didn’t leave a crumb!”

  I laughed. “Thanks for thinking of Captain Moe’s. I believe we were all more comfortable there than we would have been at a fancy restaurant.”

  “I totally agree. With me, you get the brawn and the brains.”

  “Speaking of your brains and your use thereof, when you said that about Nellie, I nearly fell out of my chair,” I said.

  “Hey, we could do a lot with a million dollars.”

  We turned onto my street, and Ted suddenly became serious.

  “What?” I asked. Then I realized there was a strange car in my driveway.

  Ted pulled into the drive. “You stay here.”

  “Wait,” I said. “It’s hard to be sure in the dark, but that looks like the rental car George Vandehey has been driving.”

  “Either way, I want you to stay in here with the doors locked until I assess the situation.” He reached into the glove compartment and got his gun. “If anything happens, call nine-one-one.”

  Before I could respond, he’d locked the doors and was moving around to the side of the car. Sometimes it scared me when Ted went into supercop mode. I had to admit it was sexy, though.

  Ted eased up to the rear driver’s side of the four-door sedan and yelled for the driver to get out of the car with his hands up. This set Angus to barking so loudly I could hear him from inside the car . . . and he was inside the house.

  George Vandehey got out of the car. His arms were trembling, and his face was ashen. Ted lowered the gun and motioned for me to come on. I got out of the car and hurried toward them.

  “We should get inside before Angus goes ballistic,” I said.

  The three of us went inside, George explaining as we went that he’d gone to the Seven-Year Stitch looking for Ted and me and then looked up my address in the phone book and come here when he’d found no one at the shop.

  “I wouldn’t have come by without calling . . . and I probably should have waited until tomorrow . . . but I was so excited. This can’t wait,” he said. “It’s about what I found on the flash drive my father had hidden in his hotel room.”

  Angus was still agitated, so I asked Ted to let him out into the backyard.

  “I’ll run up to the office and get my laptop,” I said, taking off my shoes and carrying them with me.

  “I’ll put on a pot of coffee after I let Angus out,” Ted said. “George, decaf or caffeinated?”

  “Either,” said George. “Actually, make it regular. I’m so excited, there’s no way I’ll get any sleep tonight regardless.”

  When I returned with the laptop, I could smell the coffee brewing. I headed for the living room but realized that Ted and George were in the kitchen. I went in there, set the laptop on the table in front of George, and booted it up.

  He took the flash drive from his pocket and plugged it in. “Okay. Let me show you the first photo and the corresponding note.” He pulled up a photo of the Cézanne painting in which the photographer had zoomed in on the apples. “The note for this photo was a single ten-letter word.” He looked at Ted and me expectantly, as if one of us was going to call out the word like contestants on a game show.

  I shook my head.

  “Temptation,” said George. “I’ll admit I studied on it, but I couldn’t come up with a ten-letter word to describe apples. So then I opened a search engine and typed in a query asking what apples symbolize. Apples represent forbidden fruit. The ten-letter word is temptation.”

  “And finding that word helped you break the code?” Ted asked.

  “Precisely! See? Temptation has several of the major letters: t, e, a, i, and n. From there, it was easy to fill in the blanks on most of the other words. If you have a three-letter combination beginning with in, the other letter is more than likely a g.”

  “So temptation provided you with the beginning of a key,” I said.

  “Right.” George pulled a folded-up sheet of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I wrote out all twenty-six letters of the alphabet with a grid below each letter. In the grid, I placed the symbol that Dad had created to correspond with the letter.”

  I unfolded the paper and looked at it before giving it to Ted.

  “As you can see, I didn’t fill in all the blanks,” George said. “Most . . . but not all. For example, there were no J’s in Dad’s notes.” He pulled up another photo. “This one is the entire image of the Cézanne. The corresponding note says Tried to buy from Cummings for the amount he paid for it. Cummings laughed. Said the Cézanne is worth what he paid many times over.”

  Ted and I exchanged glances. It was apparent that neither of us saw what George was getting so excited about. So far, the photos and notes he’d shown us proved nothing.

 
; “Now take a look at this one,” said George.

  A photo depicting a close-up of the knife filled the screen.

  “I took the knife as a sign of treachery,” he continued. “And the note that goes with this image indicates that Cummings wanted Dad to exaggerate the painting’s worth.”

  “But Chad Cummings had already told your father that it was worth what he paid for it many times over,” I said. “His wanting its worth exaggerated doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does when you consider the paltry amount Cummings paid for it,” George said. “Keep in mind that when he first bought the painting, no one realized it was an early Cézanne.”

  The next photo was a close-up of the glass of wine. “The note that corresponds to this photo says So says a German proverb—wine and women make fools of everybody. I’m guessing Dad’s referring to his love of Libby here. It’s a veiled reference telling why he was willing to go along with Cummings’s scheme.”

  George’s voice broke, and I patted his shoulder.

  “Who’s ready for coffee?” I asked.

  “Not yet for me, please,” George said. “I’m afraid I’d spill it in your laptop.”

  “None for me, either, thanks,” Ted said.

  “I feel that these next two photos—and the notes that go with them—are the most damning.” He pulled up a photo of the Cummingses’ home security alarm keypad. “The note says Code 093072—I am to go in on Tuesday evening when the family will be attending a play at the son’s school. The nanny will also be in attendance, and the rest of the staff will be given the night off. I’ve been told to take only the painting and my compensation of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If I take anything else, or if the painting is recovered prior to the insurance payout, my daughter will suffer the consequences.”

  I gasped. “Oh, my gosh! Cummings threatened your sister?”

  Ted merely stared at the computer screen. I could tell the gears were grinding in his head, but I had no idea what he was thinking.

  “Let’s see the next one,” Ted said.

  George brought up an image of the confession letter. I’d seen a copy of it at one of the online news sites.