Faux Reel (Imogene Museum Mystery #5) (21 page)

I did count the pouches
— 23.

The papers were newspaper clippings about the exploits and nominal jail sentences of several
Los Angeles gangsters. Both Sam ‘Juice’ Junkerman and Charles ‘Gnocchi’ Nervetti were named as possible associates of the convicted wiseguys. Photos showed them dapper on courthouse steps beside equally well-dressed lawyers, smiles broad and cigars clamped between their lips. Cosmo sure knew how to pick his friends.

I fingered a stack of bills. Was this cache his revenge
— or his getaway fund? Barbara had mentioned that Cosmo came to her father for advice — her father who had semi-escaped the mob.

“
Selwyn?” I called. “When was this box rented?”

“
Friday, October 5, 1973,” he answered. Gotta love that memory.

The month before Cosmo donated the painting
— plenty of time to stick one of the keys into wet acrylic and paint over it until it held fast.

“
Did John Smith ever come back and access his box again?”

“
Once. Friday, April 12, 1974.”

Friday. The day before Cosmo died.

“Did he come alone?”

“
Yes, both visits.”

“
The second time, did he mention a chartered fishing trip planned for the next day?”

“
Yes. Not eagerly as most do. I got the impression he was under some obligation to show a couple business associates a good time. The deep sea version of golf, good for deal-making.”

Or unsuspected murder. How easy is it for someone to fall off a boat, especially if they get a nudge in the right direction and a billy club or gaff to the head? It could have been staged well enough that they might not even have had to pay off the charter captain, although that was a possibility too. Where was the other key? Maybe at the bottom of the Pacific.

I roused myself from the morbid mental spiral with a deep sigh. “Selwyn, you mentioned a case for carrying these items. I’m going to need it. Or maybe two to distribute the weight — whatever you have.”

CHAPTER 21

Maurice relieved Selwyn of the army surplus duffel bags at the elevator. He tucked them under my feet and knees in the LaFerrari, giving me a footrest and support for my leg.

“Worthwhile?” he asked once he was strapped in beside me.

I nodded slowly.
“Thanks for your help.”

Maurice whistled a cheerful tune and eased the car out of the parallel curb spot.

I shifted against the uneasy sensation of a pile of cash cushioning me from the hot pavement we were skimming over. Plus the gold — a better hedge against inflation than printed money, and in dust form which isn’t traceable as opposed to stamped bars. Cosmo had been planning something — saving for an uncertain future at the very least.

I dialed Rupert
’s number and left a cryptic message about needing to return my call as soon as possible. I insisted he try Frankie if he couldn’t reach me because sleep was crashing down on my body again. She’d be able to tell him about the key and the gold dust buried in the still life’s paint layers that hinted at so much more. My eyes drooped closed by the time I clicked off.

Maurice is an awfully good sport. He woke me up a few miles from the Imogene, giving me time to run my fingers through my hair and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I slid my tongue over my teeth
— gross.

“
Was I drooling?” I mumbled.

“
Nope. Not a peep out of you. What kind of drugs are you on, sweetheart?”

“
The good kind.”

He braked and piloted the car onto the access road toward the marina and county park. He coasted to a stop in front of the museum, next to a black BMW I thought looked familiar. Maurice pressed a button and my door swung upwards. I felt as though I was about to be ejected from a time capsule back into the real world.

Maurice bounded around the car and scooped an arm under my shoulders to lift me out. Once on my feet, a bit wobbly but upright, I spotted the astonished face of my stepfather through the BMW’s driver’s window.

Alex popped his door open and stepped out.
“Meredith?” His eyes darted over me, taking in my purple swollen leg, Maurice who was muscling the duffel bags out of the car, and the gull-winged, bright red LaFerrari. I was sure he was getting the wrong impression.

“
Alex.” I tried to smile.

He enclosed me in an awkward hug.
“Your mother called.”

“
About time,” I muttered.

“
She said you’d been shot — both of you.” Alex kept his arm around my waist and ventured another look down at my leg. “You should be resting.”

Alex had changed since I
’d seen him last. He’d eschewed the comb-over and was sporting a respectable short fringe above his ears. Perfectly tailored charcoal pinstripe suit and conservative maroon tie, black wingtips, as always, but he seemed softer, gentler somehow. New wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. Paler, and maybe thinner under the suit.

“
The doors are locked,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach your mother since I arrived, but she’s not answering.”

“
She’s probably still in the basement and can’t hear her phone.” I fished the museum keys from my purse. “I’ll let you in. This is Maurice Banks.”

Maurice shifted a bag so he held both duffels in his left hand and extended his right hand toward Alex.
“G’day, mate.”

I let Maurice get a head start along the sidewalk then whispered to Alex,
“Did Mom tell you about the Mercedes getting repossessed?”

He shifted his hold on me to help me step up on the curb.
“There’s more you need to know. We’ll have a family conversation later.”

I groaned inwardly. Family conversations were never pleasant episodes. Maybe I preferred living in frustratingly ignorant bliss.

Maurice dropped the bags inside the front door. “I have to hit the road — need to be back in Portland tonight.” He bussed my cheek, then hovered near my ear. “You ever need anything, you’ll let me know?”

“
I still owe you dinner.”

“
Rain check, sweetheart. I’ll be back.”

Waving, I watched Maurice depart until he was a red blur between the trees.

Alex coughed. “I thought — isn’t there a — I thought his name was Pete — um, out here? A friend of yours?”

I bit my lip and ducked my head to hide a smile.
“Maurice is a friend. Pete is much more.” I sighed and hefted a duffel bag. “If you stay a couple days, you’ll get to meet him.” Oh goody. We were having a regular family reunion.

There really wasn
’t any point in taking the duffel bags to the basement because the Imogene doesn’t have a decent safe, but I wasn’t letting them out of my sight either. Mom didn’t seem surprised to see Alex. She rose from the ottoman where she and Sheriff Marge had been propping each other up, shoulder to shoulder, and walked over to him, tipping up a cheek for him to kiss — their usual greeting. Alex went through the motions without animosity, and he kept his arms around her.

Barbara and Frankie were hunched over the deep sink, water splashing around them onto the floor.

“Meredith,” Frankie squealed over her shoulder, “look at this.” She and Barbara held up glass bowls each with a couple inches of the grainy sand in the bottom under clear sloshing water.

“
It was like panning for gold,” Barbara said. “Leland just signed off a few minutes ago, once he was sure we weren’t going to wash the dust down the drain.” She giggled and wiped her forehead on a bare patch of skin above her rubber glove. “I’m exhausted, but I think we got it all. How about you? What did you find at the bank?”

“
Did Rupert call?” I asked.

Frankie snapped off her gloves, draped them over the edge of the sink and shook her head.

I frowned. “I left him an urgent message.”

“
He’s probably on a plane or in an airport and can’t use his phone.” Frankie removed her apron and adjusted her cardigan, straightening the buttons along the front. “I called him last night after—” Her eyes drifted over my leg. “You should sit down.”

Alex jumped into action and carted in a wood crate from the storage area under the stairs. I sank onto it, stretching my leg out in front of me. Sheriff Marge and I could have been twins except I was more colorful.

“Why is Rupert flying? I thought he was staying in Ireland for at least a week.”

“
He’s coming home.” Frankie pressed her lips together. “I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but he needed to know you’d been shot. I told him. He caught the first flight home and should be here soon.”

“
So, the bank?” Sheriff Marge urged. She had deep circles under her eyes, and her hair stood up as though she’d been running her hands through it.

“
The painting was just a hint. Barbara, I think the honor is yours.” I pointed to the duffel bags.

Barbara cast me a wondering look and squatted next to a bag. She unzipped the flap and pulled the sides open. She emitted one little squeak and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Mom, Frankie and Sheriff Marge glanced at me, wide-eyed, then scrambled to lean over Barbara.

Sheriff Marge scowled, jabbed a hand into the bag and pulled out a pack of bills.
“How much?”

“
I didn’t count. I’d guess in the neighborhood of a million. Can you hold the bags in your evidence room until Rupert decides what to do with them?”

Mom balanced a leather pouch in her palm.
“Is this—?”

I nodded.
“Let’s not open the pouches right now. They’re starting to disintegrate from age. But they hold gold dust.”

Frankie looked as though she was struggling to breathe.
“This beats hosting fundraisers.”

I chuckled.
“I’m pretty sure this is a one-time only deal.”

Barbara plunked down hard on the floor, pulling the newspaper clippings into her lap. She bent over them, delicately fingering the crinkled edges.
“I remember him too,” she murmured, pointing to the picture of one of the mob lawyers.

I leaned forward.
“Will you write down everything you remember? Or I’ll lend you a digital recorder if that’s easier. I’m convinced Cosmo was in some danger, maybe because of all this—” I pointed to the duffel bags. “He stopped by the vault the day before he died. I suspect he knew his end was a real possibility and coming soon, otherwise he wouldn’t have produced the painting and donated it to the museum.”

Barbara nodded slowly.
“I am not surprised. And yes — yes I will. Everything I remember. I’ll go through my father’s things again too. Maybe now that I know — maybe something will stand out.” She sniffed. “I don’t know if Cosmo was a good man or not, but he was good to me.”

I squeezed her shoulder.
“The vault manager remembers Cosmo too, and he agrees with you.”

oOo

Sheriff Marge phoned Dale for armed chauffeur service considering the value of what they’d be transporting. “Besides, I need a nap before dinner,” she said. “Something Jesamie and I have in common. I want to fit in another picture book session with her before they return to Chicago tomorrow.”

“
What are you reading?” I asked.

“
Robin Hood.” She peered at me over her glasses. “I know. We’re already discussing the spirit of the law versus the letter of the law. My granddaughter will know the importance of both.”

Dale pulled up to the curb and slung the duffel bags into the cruiser
’s backseat, behind the wire cage and auto-locking doors where they belonged. He returned to the sidewalk with an infectious grin on his face.

He lifted his Stratton hat, scratched, returned the hat, and grinned some more.

Sheriff Marge scowled. “What?”

Dale fished a few crumpled papers out of his pocket and handed them to her.

“What is this?” she grumbled, snapping them into orderliness. “What were you—” She pushed her glasses up and squinted to read through them.

“
It’s on the second page,” Dale said. He waggled his eyebrows at me over the top of Sheriff Marge’s head.

“
You — you—” Sheriff Marge poked her finger at the paper. “This is the one?” She stared up at Dale.

He nodded, rocking on his heels, hands resting on his gun belt.
“He claims he didn’t know you wrecked behind him. Said he’d have turned around to help you if he’d known.”

Sheriff Marge snorted.

“Judge Lumpkin’s suggesting his fine be the price of a brand new SUV outfitted with everything you need,” Dale added.

Sheriff Marge cleared her throat.
“And you did this — on your own?”

Dale
’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he took a step back. “Well, Meredith gave me the tip.”

Sheriff Marge whirled toward me, and my mouth dropped.

I shot Dale a thanks-a-lot glare. “I asked a friend — Maurice. You met him. Earlier. The Ferrari — remember?” I cringed under Sheriff Marge’s stern gaze.