Lost and Found (16 page)

Mack refolded the letter and handed it back to her. “Do you recognize the key?”

“Oh, yes.” She glanced down at the gleaming object in her palm. “It used to be attached to the Nun’s Chatelaine.”

He took a step forward, clearly intrigued. “The original?
As in the one on all the cards and business letterheads used by Chatelaine’s?”

“Yes. I think I mentioned that one of the things she left to me in her will was an important piece of jewelry. It was the Nun’s Chatelaine.”

“Where’s the rest of it? You’ve only got a single key.”

“I think,” she said slowly, “that when I find the box that this key opens, I’ll find the chatelaine.”

“How old is the piece, anyway?”

“The gold medallion dates from the thirteenth century. The chains and the keys were replaced in the seventeen hundreds.”

Mack whistled softly. “An impressive key ring.”

“It was designed to secure keys right from the beginning but the term
chatelaine
didn’t come into use until much later. By the sixteenth century, the word referred to the lady of the castle. By the early nineteenth century, it had come to mean both the lady and the keys that were the symbol of her office.”

“Collectors use it pretty loosely today, don’t they?”

She nodded absently. “Today the word refers to a wide variety of waist-hung devices designed to hold keys or implements or watches and ornaments.”

“You think your aunt deliberately hid the Nun’s Chatelaine in one of these little chests?”

“Looks that way.”

“Sonofagun.” He shook his head. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she wanted to conceal it, of course.” Cady smiled wryly. “We’re talking about Aunt Vesta here. She was always a very private, very secretive woman. She became extremely obsessive toward the end of her life. Just ask anyone.”

“Strange way to leave an inheritance behind.”

“In her note she says something about wanting me to
know the whole truth.” She surveyed the hundreds of boxes. “I wonder what she meant by that?”

“No telling until you open the right box, I guess.” He contemplated the tiers of glittering objects. “It’s going to take a while to work your way through this vault.”

“I certainly don’t have the time to do it now. We’ve got other, more pressing problems. These boxes are safe enough for the moment here in this vault and so is the Nun’s Chatelaine.”

“This collection must be worth a fortune,” he said thoughtfully.

“Mmm, yes. Generally speaking, Vesta was not the sentimental type when it came to art and antiques. She was businesslike to the point of ruthlessness. If the price was right, she was willing to deal. But as far as I know, she never sold a single item from this vault. She never exhibited any of the boxes publicly. Never loaned any of them out to museums for display. I was one of the few people who was ever allowed inside this room.”

“And now they’re all yours.”

“Yes.”

“What will you do with them?”

“It occurred to me,” she said slowly, “that it would be nice to give them to a good museum, one that will display them properly and give Aunt Vesta credit as the original collector.”

“The Vesta Briggs Collection,” he said. “Sounds like a hell of a memorial.”

“I kind of like it. I think Vesta would have liked it, too.” She dropped the key back into the envelope together with Vesta’s note and stuffed both into her pocket. “Well, as I said, the boxes will have to wait.”

“If you’re finished in here, I’ve got some questions for you.”

“Sure.” She shook off the melancholy sensation that
had settled around her when she had walked into the vault a few minutes ago. Time to get down to business, she thought. She had hired Mack to conduct a discreet investigation. The sooner he got started, the better. “Why don’t we go into my aunt’s study? We can talk there.”

“All right.” He moved out of the doorway, making room for her to get past him. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why shouldn’t I be okay?”

He winced. “No need to snap. Idle curiosity, that’s all.” He paused a beat. “Just trying to do a job here, boss.”

She shot him a quelling look as she closed the heavy steel door. “Is your room all right?”

“Dandy. Great view. I can see the bay, Angel Island, and the city. I expected the basement, you know. Hired muscle doesn’t usually get such spiffy accommodations.”

“You are
not
hired muscle,” she muttered.

“No?”

“Not on this job. I did some checking around after we signed that contract. You can imagine my surprise when I found out that hired muscle comes a lot cheaper than you do.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” She touched the red button to lock the vault. “For what I’m paying you, I expect brains as well as brawn.”

“If it’s strategic thinking you want here—”

“It is.”

“Then I should point out that you’d better hope none of your friends or relatives sneaks upstairs to the second floor and notices that we’re using separate bedrooms. It would ruin the image of semi-engaged passion.”

“Don’t worry, there’s not much risk of damaging my image in that department.”

“No?”

She made a face. “Since my divorce it has generally
been assumed that I’m as frigid as everyone thinks Aunt Vesta was.”

“Is that a fact?” A laconic gleam lit his eyes. “Well, we know differently, don’t we?”

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“You started it. If you’re not worried about your image, how about having a little concern for mine?”

“You don’t have an image,” she assured him as she started down the hall. “No one here in Phantom Point knows anything about you except that you’re semi-engaged to me.”

“That’s just what I meant.” He sounded aggrieved. “I told you, as a semi-engaged man I’ve got my pride.”

“I thought we agreed that for the price I’m paying you, you would forget your pride.”

“Not sure that’s going to work. I’m starting to think that the male pride thing is hardwired into the genes.”

She gave him her most withering look. Was he teasing her? There was no telling from his blandly innocent expression. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. People will assume that in the romance department you’re probably a lot like me.”

“Ice water in our veins?”

“You got it.”

“Just one problem with that picture,” he said, following her around a corner.

“What?”

“We both know it’s false. We practically set fire to the sheets that night at the lodge.”

For an instant the breath caught in her throat. Sizzling memories of their hot, damp bodies coming together in the darkness whirled through her head, rattling her composure. Not for the first time, she reflected. Fantasy Man had been invading her dreams on a regular basis since that night in the mountains.

It occurred to her that she had better make the ground rules clear.

“Hold it right there.” She jerked to a halt and spun around to face him. “One of the conditions of this job is that neither of us makes any further reference to what happened at the lodge. Understood?”

“No, it is not understood,” he said calmly. “We’ve signed a consulting agreement stipulating my services and fees. You can’t go changing the conditions of employment at this stage. If you had any issues, you should have mentioned them before you hired me.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “You know, Mack, it’s not too late to fire you.”

“There’s a serious financial penalty clause for early termination without cause.”

“Don’t worry. I can afford it.”

“Don’t bet on it. There are also legal penalties. You want to fire me? It’ll cost you.”

He
was
teasing her. She took her hand off her hips and threw them up into the air instead. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, it is. You don’t have time to find a replacement for me and you know it. I’m all you’ve got to work with.”

“A truly sobering thought.”

“Hey, it was your idea to hire me, remember?” He took her arm and steered her forward down the hall. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

He did have a point. Resigned to the inevitable, she allowed herself to be hauled off down the broad, tiled hall.

The upscale community of Phantom Point had been designed from the ground up as a California version of an Italian hillside resort town. The developers had maintained strict architectural controls. All of the residences, with their faux-Mediterranean façades, artfully faded pink, yellow and white stucco walls, gleaming tile roofs and elaborate wrought-iron gates, had been marketed as either villas or palazzos, depending on the size.

Vesta’s villa was two stories high, with a pool terrace and garden. It was perched on a hillside overlooking the bay and the city of San Francisco. The graciously proportioned rooms were crammed with museum-quality antiques. This was one way, at least, in which she definitely differed from her aunt, Cady thought as she walked into the study. Vesta had chosen to live amid the relics of the past. Her aunt had literally immersed herself in the artifacts of eras that were now frozen in time.

The study, with its antique French carpets, nineteenth-century bookcases and heavy mahogany desk, reeked of old-world atmosphere. The interior had a shadowy feel, even when it was fully illuminated. The only outside light came through the French doors that opened onto the terrace.

Mack surveyed the book-crowded room with a thoughtful expression. Then he went to stand behind the large desk. Very deliberately he removed his glasses from his pocket. He put them on and examined the few items positioned on the polished wooden surface as if they were pieces of a puzzle.

Cady followed his gaze to the antique copper-and-crystal inkwell, plump Art Deco fountain pen, green-glass reading lamp, worn leather blotter and a pad of notepaper. The notepad bore the familiar Nun’s Chatelaine logo.

“Looks like your aunt was the organized type,” Mack said.

“Vesta was obsessive about order and neatness, just as she was about everything else. I think clutter made her feel out of control.”

He nodded, just a small inclination of his head to acknowledge the comment. He went back to studying the desk as if information of vital importance had been etched into the wood.

“You said you had some questions,” she prompted.

“Yes.”

He was starting to make her more than a little uneasy. Annoyed, she folded her arms. “Well?”

“Let’s take a look at the pool,” he said.

She froze. “Why?”

“Just curious.” His smile was enigmatic.

He crossed the beautifully faded carpet, opened the French doors and walked out onto the tiled terrace.

Cady followed slowly. The late winter day was cool and crisp. A snapping breeze created whitecaps on the bay. In the distance the city sparkled in the sunlight.

She trailed after Mack and finally came to a halt beside him at the edge of the pool. She looked down into the turquoise depths, trying hard not to imagine the scene the morning the housekeeper had found Vesta’s body.

“Okay,” Mack said. “We’ve played enough games. Why don’t you level with me?”

She looked up swiftly. “I don’t understand.”

“Sure you do. You didn’t hire me just to find out whether or not your aunt had some last-minute doubts about the financial wisdom of the merger. You brought me here because you believe that Vesta Briggs was murdered.”

“Mack, I—”

“You want me to help you find her killer, don’t you?”

She took a deep breath. This was the first time she had heard her own private fears voiced aloud. They sounded wild and fanciful, just as she had known they would.

“How did you guess?”

“I’m not as slow as I look. It’s been obvious from the start of this thing that you were holding out on me.”

“I read somewhere that drowning deaths are among the easiest murders to pass off as accidental,” she said cautiously.

“Sure. Just ask any insurance fraud investigator. No marks on the body and the water washes away evidence. But I checked before I left to meet you here. There was a
report filed by the local authorities. It said that there was no evidence of foul play. No sign of forced entry. Nothing was stolen, even though just one or two of those French vases in the hall would probably fetch a few hundred thousand from a collector.”

She flexed her fingers, trying to ease the tension that made her feel suddenly brittle. “I know that her death was ruled accidental. Everyone believes that she had a panic attack and drowned.”

“But you aren’t buying that scenario, are you?”

She folded her arms and stared down into the pool. “I don’t know what to think. But I do know that a lot of things feel very wrong.”

“Let’s take this from the top,” he said a little too patiently. “What’s the motive?”

“The merger.”

He looked dubious. “Are you serious?”

“Doesn’t it strike you that her death is just a little too convenient?”

“For whom?” Skepticism laced his question.

“I don’t know yet. Someone who had a lot to gain by the merger, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he repeated dryly.

“Think about it.” She turned, aware that she had to convince him with her logic, weak as it was in several places. “Everyone wanted it to go through. But it’s clear, given the fact that Vesta left those shares to me, that she had developed some last-minute doubts.”

“I still think it’s very probable that she left those shares to you because she wanted to force you back into the business.”

“I disagree. She wouldn’t have done that to me. She knew I wanted no part of Chatelaine’s. But she also knew that I would suspect something was wrong if I inherited those shares. She knew I’d ask questions.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I knew her. I knew how her mind worked.” She hesitated, listening to her own words, and winced. “At least, I understood her thinking processes better than anyone else in the family. You never even met her.”

“I can’t argue that point. But have you considered the possibility that you may be thinking a little too much like your great-aunt in this instance?”

She ground her teeth together in silent frustration. “What are you saying? That I’m getting a little obsessive here?”