Gone But Knot Forgotten (18 page)

C
HAPTER
26

Arthur and I pulled into Harriet's driveway at six forty-five Monday morning. Malo was stretched out in the living room asleep underneath a blanket on Harriet's green leather sofa.

“Some watchman you are!”

He snorted awake and jerked upright. “Hunh?”

I handed him a cup of Starbucks. “I said, ‘Some watchman you are.' You were so dead asleep I could've walked off with the boots on your feet.”

“Oh, man, I'm sorry. Usually I'm a light sleeper.” He yawned and slid a very big handgun with a shiny steel barrel from under the sofa pillow and tucked it in his waistband.

I looked at my watch. “In about ten minutes, a lot of people are going to enter the front door with boxes and pack up everything in this house. I need you to walk around and keep an eye on things.”

Malo stood. “Sure. What do you want me to do if I see someone boosting something?”

I looked at his gun. “Don't shoot.”

A twenty six-foot-long moving truck pulled up in front of the house. I put the dog in the fenced-in backyard to keep him from getting in the way or running out the front door. “If you find any more dead bodies, Arthur, just keep it to yourself.” He walked over to the dirt covering Nathan's former grave, sniffed around, and squatted.

Malo followed as I opened the front door. Susan Daniels wore skinny leg jeans in what I guessed to be a size six. The black lace of her bra peeked out at her deep vee neckline. She jumped a tiny bit when she saw the vertical tattoos on Malo's cheeks. “Good morning.” She eyed him curiously, then looked at me. “Is Carl here?”

“He's coming later.” I stepped aside and gestured toward the foyer. “Susan Daniels, this is Hector Fuentes, nighttime security.”

“Call me Malo.” He grinned, flashing a gold incisor.

Susan nodded brightly. “Well, time to get to work.” She waved out the door. A dozen workers carrying bundles of cardboard boxes, rolls of tape, bubble wrap, and huge bags of packing peanuts trooped behind her into the kitchen.

Malo sidled close to me, and whispered at the back of my head, “Damn.”

I whispered back, “Carl already has first dibs. Dinner tonight.”

“Now I know why that
vato
wanted me to take the last part of his shift today.”

We strolled into the kitchen. Susan set up a coffee station for the workers, including gallon containers from Starbucks and two large flats from Western Donuts. “Please help yourselves.” She smiled at Malo and me. Without hesitation, I reached for an apple fritter.

At nine, Carl arrived to begin his shift.

Malo bumped fists and left. “Later, dawg.”

By eleven, everything in the kitchen had been divided into lots and packed. I inspected each numbered carton before the workers sealed them with tape, and initialed a pink manifest listing the contents. Then the boxes were loaded into the truck. With each departing container, my burden lifted a little.

The antique Spode china in the dining room and the silver candelabras were carefully packed in several shipping crates and set aside. Even though Estella didn't ask for them specifically, I also included a few more old silver pieces, probably family heirlooms.

Susan took several photos of the mahogany bowfront china cabinet with an elaborately carved lion pediment and claw feet. “This piece should fetch at least ten thousand at auction. Maybe double. I might have a couple of interested buyers.”

A food truck showed up at noon and everyone took a lunch break. I brought the dog into the house. He sat next to me and thumped his tail loudly on the floor while I fed him half of my carne asada taco and called Kessler. He was unavailable, but Isis assured me she'd deliver the message. I wanted to know if he'd received the blueprints for the secret room from the owner of Safe-T-Construction.

Next I called Abernathy.

“It took him awhile, but my investigator finally found Grimaldi's current address and phone number. I'm texting you the info.”

I hung up and read the text. Nico Grimaldi, the captain of the boat who swore to get even with Nathan Oliver, lived in Santa Monica.

After lunch, half the workers moved into the library to empty the bookshelves. The other half followed Susan and me into the family room to pack the baskets and antique toys.

Susan removed her iPhone from her pocket. “I'll photograph each of these pieces in situ, then pack them separately. Because they're so valuable, they, along with the watch collection and the paintings, will be transported in an armored vehicle to our warehouse. Everything else in the house can go in the big truck.”

The workers put on white cotton gloves, carefully lifted each basket from the shelf, and placed it on a nest of finely shredded excelsior in a reinforced cardboard container. Once I signed off, each box was sealed and carried to an armored truck sitting in the driveway.

As the gloved crew carefully enclosed the Early American toys in bubble wrap, I reached out for the wooden dreidel from Portugal, with the painted Hebrew letters, and put it in my pocket. Susan looked at me, her forehead wrinkled with a question.

“This stays with me.” I gave no further explanation. According to Harriet's will, I could choose one of her possessions, even the most expensive item, for myself. The lovely little top, spun by so many generations of Jewish children, would be my keepsake.

At five, the movers cleaned up the coffee station in the kitchen, swept the floors, and left the premises.

Susan approached me to initial the manifest for the last of the boxes. “I'll see you again at seven in the morning. We made very good progress today. Packing the few things upstairs should be much easier tomorrow.”

As soon as Carl and I were alone, I called Kessler again. “Did you get the information we wanted from the construction company?”

“Not yet. The owner's stuck in Dallas. All flights canceled. Ice storm. He gets back tomorrow.”

Darn! Another day's delay. I walked slowly through the bare rooms on the first floor. Of all the furniture, only the oak library table and chairs remained. I asked Susan to leave them behind so we'd have a place to rest. Nail holes punctuated the walls in the cavernous living room where framed paintings once hung. In the foyer, the likeness of Jonah, which had dominated the wall, was on its way to Children's Hospital to one day hang in the wing bearing his name.

A few wooden crates packed with Oliver family heirlooms occupied one corner of the now-empty dining room. The cupboards and drawers in the kitchen were bare. Even the package brownies were gone. The boxes from the maid's room containing the hand-embroidered linens, the Passover dishes, and the Talmud were also gone.

My footsteps echoed in the lonely spaces where a family once lived—and died. The very air felt heavy with mourning and loss.

Time to call the insurance agent. I joined Carl in the library and opened my purse. I found the business card Wish gave me at Harriet's funeral.

He picked up on the second ring. “Emmet Wish here.”

I told him about the estate sale. “I wanted to let you know Harriet's insured items have been removed to the auction house and are now covered under their policy.”

“Okay, but let's keep Harriet's policy intact until everything is sold. Just to be double sure.” He cleared his throat. “In cleaning out the house, did you ever find any trace of the missing books, the quilt, or the jewelry?”

“Not yet.”

“Very bad news, indeed. I sure hoped you'd have more luck.” He sighed. “I guess there's no use delaying the inevitable. Time to prepare a claim for the stolen items.”

“Hold off on filing that claim. Harriet built a secret room. We don't know the exact location yet. I'm just waiting to get the blueprints from the building contractor to find out how to get inside.” I listened hard for a reaction.

“No kidding! A hidden room?” He sounded surprised. “Harriet never mentioned it. I might have been able to get her rates lowered if I'd known.”

As I said good-bye to Wish, Malo walked in.

He clapped Carl on the back. “It's six, dawg. Time to go meet that fine . . .” Malo stopped when he saw me. “
Hola.
You still here?”

“Yes,
dawg.
Hope you got your beauty rest today because there are still some valuables left to guard in this house. Everyone's returning tomorrow morning at seven.”

Malo scratched the back of his head and looked at the floor. “Tonight's my last night, boss. You'd better get a replacement if you still need someone.”

I stood and grabbed Arthur's leash. “Thanks for letting me know, Malo. And thanks for all your help. If Susan and her crew clean out the rest of the house tomorrow, there'll be nothing to guard, anyway.” I winked at Carl. “Have a nice time tonight.” I loaded Arthur in my Corolla and drove to Encino.

When I got back home, I realized tomorrow fell on a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were sacred. My friends and I always quilted together, no matter what. I called Lucy. “I have to be at Harriet's house early. Can you and Birdie meet me there at ten? We can sew in the library while the workers pack the upstairs.”

“What about the blueprints? Did you find the room? I want to be there when you go in.”

“I don't have the blueprints yet.” I explained about the bad weather in Dallas. “The guy is due back tomorrow. I'm certain the entrance is under the stairway, just like we thought. Arthur kept sniffing around there the same way he sniffed out Nathan's grave.”

“See?” Lucy sounded relieved. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. Arlo dumping his dog on you turned out to be a good thing. Meet you
mañana,
and don't you dare go in that room without us.”

I uncorked a bottle of my favorite Chianti and nuked a frozen lasagna from Trader Joe's for dinner. Something kept nagging at the edge of my mind, an important clue I kept overlooking. I thought about the quote from Carl's book,
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
What part of the truth eluded me?

I grabbed a pad of paper and pen and began listing what I knew while I waited for the lasagna to cook. First, Nathan Oliver abused his wife and caused the death of their son. Two years later he had been murdered and buried in the backyard. How was Harriet involved? What about the boat captain, Grimaldi?

Abernathy brokered a huge donation to Children's Hospital and managed Harriet's financial affairs, but in the last twenty months someone in Abernathy's office ripped off nearly $200,000 from Harriet's account. Did she know about the embezzlement?

The microwave dinged. I removed the steaming pasta and grabbed a fork. I blew on the hot food and tucked into a bite. What about Isabel? Two years ago Harriet cut her off and changed her will, naming me executor.

Around the same time, Harriet started visiting Paulina the psychic. When Paulina channeled the ghost of Nathan Oliver one year later, Harriet fired both Paulina and Delia, the housekeeper, to guard the secret of Nathan's murder. Who was Harriet protecting?

I washed down the lasagna with a healthy sip of wine. Harriet said something to Delia about Nathan wanting people to know the truth about his death. Delia described Harriet as emotionally fragile. Did she reach her breaking point? Did the same person who killed Nathan kill Harriet to protect his secret?

As I considered these facts, I moved to the freezer and spooned some chocolate caramel swirl ice cream into a cereal bowl. Someone searched Harriet's house after her death. He found the Benjamin Franklin watch. Did he also have books from the Founding Fathers and the Declaration Quilt? How did the missing jewelry fit into the picture?

The key to the puzzle lay not only with what had been taken, but what he left behind. Somewhere in the sequence of events lay the identity of Harriet's killer. And the letter from Dr. Hunter, opened after Harriet's death, held an important clue.

C
HAPTER
27

Tuesday morning at seven Susan Daniels returned with her crew and moving van. They set up their coffee station in the kitchen and trooped upstairs to remove the rest of Harriet's possessions.

From the way Susan smiled shyly, I guessed last night's dinner with Carl went well. I didn't feel comfortable asking her, but I'd get the truth out of Carl when he arrived later.

“What do you want me to do about the little boy's room?” she asked. “Do you want to set aside any items?”

“The things in his room held meaning only for his mother. We'll donate his stuff to a children's shelter. What's really important now is honoring Jonah Oliver's memory through a hospital wing named after him.”

Susan tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Shall I set aside anything in Mrs. Oliver's room for you? Pieces of jewelry?”

“All her personal photos should go to the hospital. I imagine they'll keep them in some sort of donor's archive. Everything else can be sold. Legally, I'm not allowed to keep anything. My job is to liquidate Mrs. Oliver's estate according to her wishes.”

“I'm sorry.” She shrugged. “I guess I assumed when you took the toy yesterday. . .”

“One thing. Harriet said I could have one thing.”

Carl arrived at nine with a spring in his step and a big smile plastered on his face. I didn't need to ask after all. Things evidently went
really
well last night.

Malo shook my hand. “Take care of yourself, boss.” He slugged Carl's shoulder as he left.
“Esay!”

“So, how did the dinner go last night?” I ambled over to Carl.

“Where is she?” he grinned.

I tried hard to keep from smiling. “You're here to watch the house, remember?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Where is she?”

I pointed toward the ceiling. Carl took the stairs two at a time.

Lucy and Birdie arrived at ten, carrying their tote bags full of quilting. Lucy wore jeans with sharp creases down the legs, a red sweater with matching lipstick, and ruby studs in her ears.

Birdie stood in the foyer and looked around at the vacant rooms. “There's something so sad about an empty house and yet so promising, don't you think?”

“I know what you mean.” Lucy followed her gaze. “Sad because something is ending, but promising because something new will take its place.”

Susan came downstairs with three workers following behind carrying cardboard boxes. She handed me a clipboard holding the pink manifest. “I need you to sign off on these, please.”

I inspected cartons 120 through 122 and initialed the paper. Harriet's clothes were neatly folded inside. The workers sealed the boxes and carried them to the truck.

Lucy gave me a not-so-subtle nudge and I introduced Susan to my friends. “We always get together on Tuesdays to quilt. Lucy and Birdie will be keeping me company in the library today.”

Susan clasped her hands. “Oh, my
farmor
used to sew quilts. I come from Minnesota where you need lots of them during the cold winters. I always wanted to learn how to make one.”

Birdie patted the young woman's arm. “
Farmor
is Swedish for grandmother, isn't it, dear?”

“Yes. And if I may say so, you remind me a lot of her. She had long white hair like yours, except she twisted her braid like a crown around her head.”

Carl's boots clumped heavily down the stairs. “One more thing we have in common.” He strode over to Birdie and gave her a one-arm hug. “Birdie's my
farmor
now.”

Birdie beamed at him. Carl showed her far more affection than her husband, Russell, did.

Susan's eyes softened at the tender exchange. She smiled and gestured toward the kitchen. “Please help yourselves to donuts and coffee.” She turned to go upstairs and Carl followed, with his fingertips touching the small of her back.

Birdie's mouth fell open. “When did that happen?” She twisted the end of her braid as I told them what little I knew about Susan. “They went out on a first date last night and I guess they really like each other.”

“She does seem awfully sweet.” Birdie sighed wistfully.

“Susan says she wants to learn how to quilt,” said Lucy. “Not many young women are interested these days. Maybe you could teach her.” Birdie's eyes sparkled. We cleared off the library table to help Lucy assemble a baby quilt. She unfurled a large fabric backing, a soft blue print with little white lambs. She attached it to the table with masking tape, wrong side up. On top of the bottom layer, she flattened a middle layer of cotton batting, smoothing out the lumps. The quilt top consisted of six-inch basket blocks pieced with triangles of blue and white for her infant grandson.

We stretched and smoothed and pinned everything in place to prevent puckers. Next we threaded long needles and spent half an hour sewing all three layers of the quilt sandwich together with big, temporary stitches. When we finished, Lucy removed the pins and tape, and held up the little blanket. The quilt hung in a perfect rectangle. “I should be able to finish quilting this in a couple of weeks.”

The food truck showed up, and we took a taco break. After lunch Susan reappeared in the doorway. “Martha, you have to sign off on Mrs. Oliver's jewelry drawer. I've photographed everything in place, but I need a separate signature for each item.”

“Be right back.” I followed Susan upstairs to Harriet's closet. Two workers folded the last of her clothes and placed them into cardboard cartons.

I removed the pieces of everyday jewelry and handed them to Susan one at a time. She placed each one in a plastic baggie and marked the label. I lifted the charm bracelet Harriet wore as a girl and fingered the tiny gold trinkets marking distinct milestones in her life. Among them was a pair of ballet slippers from the dancing lessons we took when we were seven, a Torah scroll for her bat mitzvah, and a little car she received after earning her driver's license.

A miniature gold book her parents gave her when she left home to attend Brown University also hung from the chain. Resentment briefly pushed at my chest. If Harriet had never attended Brown, she never would have met Nathan Oliver. And if she had never met him, maybe she'd be alive today.

I handed Susan the last item, a heavy necklace with round turquoise beads. The black velvet drawer lining slipped under my fingertips. While Susan filled out the label on the plastic baggie, I surreptitiously pushed the lining back from the front edge of the drawer. Two holes the size of a quarter were drilled into the front of the wooden bottom. I felt with my left hand underneath the drawer. No holes. About three inches of space separated my hands. The jewelry drawer carried a false bottom, and those were finger holes.

I replaced the velvet lining and put my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking. I didn't want any outsiders watching me lift the false bottom. I knew what would be hiding there.

I stayed until the workers removed the last of Harriet's wardrobe from the closet. I turned off the light and waited for everyone to leave the area. As Carl headed for the door, I called after him. “Stop. I need you to stay here and keep everyone away from the closet.”

His eyebrows scrunched together.

“It's important. Nobody comes in here.”

“Why?”

“I found something. I'll tell you after everyone leaves.”

I left him standing in the bedroom while I joined Lucy and Birdie downstairs.

“What took you so long, dear?” Birdie sipped a cup of coffee and picked at a plain cake donut.

I looked over my shoulder to make certain no one observed me. Then I shook my wrists and did an excited little dance on my toes, not easy with size-sixteen hips. “Oh my God, oh my God.” I tried to keep my voice down. “I think I just found the missing diamonds.”

Birdie's hand flew to her mouth.

“Get out!” Lucy said. “Where?”

“The jewelry drawer in Harriet's closet has a false bottom.”

Birdie whispered, “You
think
you found? Didn't you open it?”

“Not yet. I want to wait until we're alone. Carl's standing guard right now.”

“What's the matter? Don't you trust Susan?” It was so like Birdie to jump to her defense.

“Of course. I've entrusted quite a few valuables to her care already. I just didn't want to open the drawer in front of so many strangers. First, I'll compare whatever we find against the list on the insurance rider and the photos. Then I'll hand them over to Susan to sell.”

Lucy gathered the used pieces of masking tape into a sticky ball. “What about the blueprints? Weren't you going to get the blueprints for the secret room today?”

“You're right. I haven't heard from Julian yet.” I grabbed my cell phone. “I'll call him now.”

Kessler sounded busy. “Abernathy showed up this morning. He brought a check for the missing money. Plus interest.”

“How much interest?

“Seven percent. More than remedial restitution. Prime has been a lot lower since the crash.”

“Just as long as he doesn't think he's buying his way out with a few measly percentage points.”

Kessler chuckled. “You're tough. I like that. Anyway, Abernathy tracked down the thief. WC Household Maintenance is a dummy corp set up by his accountant, Wendy Curtis. Turns out she siphoned off a couple million from various clients. Disappeared a month ago. Feds are after her.”

“What about the blueprints? I thought you'd have called me by now.”

“I finally heard from the owner of Safe-T-Construction. Records from 2005 are in a storage facility in Vernon. He'll send someone to retrieve them tomorrow. They should be in my hands by noon.”

Maybe waiting yet another day for the blueprints wouldn't be such a bad thing. Susan and her crew would be gone for good in an hour or so. Like the false bottom in Harriet's jewelry drawer, I didn't want to open up the secret room with strangers around.

“Good work, Julian. Call me the minute you know anything more.”

Susan asked me to do a final walk-through and sign off on the job. We started in the far end of the upstairs hall. The shelves and cupboards in the linen closet were bare. The bathrooms were completely stripped, except for the toilet paper in the holders. The only things left in the little boy's room were the blue walls. The guest room had been emptied of furniture, and the closets were stripped. We ended up in the master bedroom where Carl stood.

“You did a great job. Very soon I may have some more high-end items for you to auction off.”

Carl raised his eyebrows in two question marks but said nothing.

“Fine. Just give me a call when you're ready.” The young beauty put her hand over her mouth and yawned.

Must not have gotten much sleep last night
.

She handed me several pages of carbons from the manifest. “This is a list of every item we removed from the house. I'll start pricing everything tomorrow.” She looked at Carl. “Walk me to my car?”

I nodded. “Go ahead. I'll meet you back in the library.”

Birdie stood at the front window, watching Carl and Susan in the driveway. “I do believe he's quite smitten. Look at the way he's mooning at her.”

Lucy nodded. “And she's feeling it too. See how she's stroking his arm? I remember when Ray and I were young. We did the same thing. Couldn't keep our hands off each other. Couldn't wait to be alone.” She turned to Birdie. “What about you and Russell?”

Bitterness sharpened the edge of Birdie's voice. “Russell was too uptight. He could never let go and just be happy. I thought I could change him, but I was naive. He was the same old poop back then as he is now. What about you, Martha dear? Do you feel the same way about your new beau?”

Good question. I had been so in love with my ex-husband, Aaron Rose. I thought our marriage would last forever. When he suddenly left me for another woman, something switched off inside. Then when I met Detective Arlo Beavers this year, I thought I'd found love again. Until he also left me for another woman. Crusher was my current boyfriend. He was smart, sexy, and funny—and he wasn't afraid of commitment. I was the one with the problem. I'd lost the ability to trust. “No,” I sighed. “I don't believe I could ever feel the same way again.”

Susan drove off and Carl came back inside. I locked the front door behind him, grabbed the photos, and headed for the stairs. “Finally. Let's go.”

Carl said, “What's the big mystery in the closet?”

Birdie and Lucy spoke at the same time. “Diamonds!”