Lost and Found (33 page)

“What can he do about it?” Sylvia asked.

“I don’t know.” Cady got to her feet. “But it’s his family’s company. He has every right to know what’s going on.”

“
I
’m finished.” Randall slammed a fist into the pile of printouts.
“Finished.”
He raised anguished eyes to the small group gathered around the desk. “The sonofabitch has destroyed me. The galleries will be ruined when news of the forgeries gets out. I could kill him. Hell, I should have done it long ago.”

Cady exchanged an uneasy glance with Sylvia. Maybe taking the information straight to Randall had not been such a great idea after all.

“Randall, listen to me,” Sylvia said gently. “We know you had nothing to do with this—”

But Randall was not listening. He erupted from his chair, seized the Art Nouveau bronze paperweight and
hurled it across the room. The small missile slammed into the paneled wall and dropped to the floor with a thud.

“Damn him,”
Randall roared. “After all my planning, the bastard is going to win.”

Gardner made a small move toward him. Cady saw Mack shake his head very slightly. Gardner stopped.

“Take it easy, Randall,” he said. “We need to talk about this.”

Randall paid no attention. He started around the desk with long, seething strides. “I’m going to kill him. If I hadn’t been such a damned coward after my mother died, I would have done it then. But I told myself that I would someday get the company out of his hands, instead. I promised myself that I would see him lose everything he had gained by manipulating her. And now—”

“Randall, stop it.” Cady leaped to her feet and stepped into his path. “Listen to me. You mustn’t do anything stupid. You could end up in jail.”

“She’s right,” Sylvia said. “Randall, calm down and think for a moment.”

“Get out of my way.” He reached out to push Cady aside.

Mack was suddenly in the way. “Don’t touch her, Post.”

The order was issued in a savagely neutral tone that got everyone’s attention, even Randall’s.

“Huh?” Randall seemed confused by the way Mack had materialized in his path. His hand fell to his side. “What?”

“I said, don’t touch her.”

“I don’t want to hurt Cady.” Impatient now, Randall tried to move around Mack. “I want to get Felgrove.”

“Sit down,” Mack said.

“Leave me alone.” Enraged anew at the interference, Randall made a fist with his right hand and swung wildly.

Cady could not believe the degree of fury that was etched in his face.

“Randall.”

Sylvia gave a small, shocked cry of dismay. “Oh, my God.”

Mack sidestepped the clumsy blow. Randall charged him, intent on getting to the door. Mack grabbed his arm and spun him around.

Off balance, Randall lost his footing and stumbled. He fetched up against the wall.

“Jesus,” Gardner muttered.

“Pull yourself together,” Mack said to Randall. “Do it now.”

Randall stared at him. “What?”

“Sit down.” Mack grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and slammed him into the nearest chair. “Killing Stanford isn’t going to solve your problems. We need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” The anger in his voice melted into despair. He slumped in the chair. “He’s ruined everything.”

“Maybe not,” Mack said.

Cady and the others looked at him.

“What do you mean?” Randall asked, without any sign of hope. “The scandal will destroy the company.”

“Austrey-Post isn’t the first reputable art and antiques firm to be hit with the problem of frauds and forgeries,” Mack said. “You know how it works. You explain that mistakes were made inside the old furniture department. Happens all the time.”

“
Mistakes
happen all the time,” Randall corrected grimly. “Deliberate fraud perpetrated by the CEO of the company is something else. We’re finished.”

“Not necessarily,” Mack said quietly.

They were all holding their breaths now, Cady thought, waiting for Mack to let the other shoe drop.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked.

“That Austrey-Post follow the usual procedure.” He watched Randall. “You apologize to any clients who purchased fakes that were mistakenly authenticated by company experts. You refund money and—”

“And what?” Randall asked.

“And you fire someone,” Mack concluded.

Randall snorted in disgust. “You want me to blame some poor expert in the furniture department? I’m sure Stanford will go along with that plan. It won’t bother him at all to let someone else take the fall.”

“What I’m thinking,” Mack said slowly, “was that you fire the CEO.”

Cady could almost hear jaws drop around the room.

“I don’t understand.” Sylvia frowned. “How can you fire Felgrove? He controls the firm. He owns it, for all intents and purposes. You can’t get rid of him unless—”

Randall caught on first. A glimmer of anticipation flared in his eyes. “Unless I use the evidence in those printouts to force him to resign. Is that your plan, Easton? Hell, with what I have on him, I might even be able to make him turn over his shares in the company. A major scandal would cost Stanford the only thing he really cares about, his social position. It would kill him to be kicked out of his yacht and golf clubs.”

Gardner looked intrigued. “Interesting possibilities there.”

Cady nodded. “I’ll say.”

“I like it,” Sylvia said.”

Mack looked at Randall. “I do believe that you have the makings of a highly effective CEO.”

“
Y
ou’re a fool.” Stanford finished signing his name at the bottom of the agreement and very slowly set down the expensive fountain pen. “You know that, don’t
you? You think you’ve won but you’ll screw this up just like you’ve screwed up everything you’ve ever touched.”

In spite of the harsh words, Felgrove looked even more shell-shocked than Randall had appeared earlier, Mack thought.

The coup had gone without a hitch. Stanford had been taken off guard when Randall and Mack had walked into his house and dropped the bombshell.

Randall’s guess about his stepfather’s reaction had been dead on target. Faced with the threat of losing everything he valued, Felgrove had signed the papers that transferred his shares to Randall. In exchange, Randall had given him his word that he would not be implicated in the so-called mistakes that had been made with the fake antiques.

“I’ll take my chances,” Randall said, sliding the agreement back into an envelope.

Post was sounding more confident by the moment, Mack thought. Randall was riding high on the first wave of triumphant euphoria. It would be a while before the reality of what lay ahead hit him full force.

“This is nothing short of blackmail,” Stanford whispered hoarsely.

Randall got to his feet. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve accusing me of blackmail after what you’ve done to my company. I’m going to have my hands full dealing with this mess and keeping your name out of it. Be grateful you’re getting off this lightly.”

Stanford’s face congealed. “You’ll regret this, you stupid bastard. You haven’t got what it takes to run the business.”

“You’re wrong.” Randall smiled faintly. “I’ve got just what I need to run Austrey-Post. Complete control.”

T
he crash came about an hour later. Knowing it was inevitable, Mack took Randall to the bar of a nearby restaurant, settled him at a table and ordered two beers.

Randall drained half the contents of the frosted mug and set it down. He looked at Mack.

“Shit,” he said. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s done. But now you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Randall closed his eyes. “The first thing on the agenda is to contact all the clients who got ripped off.”

“Tell them that you became suspicious that something was not right in the furniture department,” Mack suggested. “Say you conducted an in-house investigation that exposed the problem and that you now want to refund money to all clients who purchased the reproductions.”

Randall raised his brows. “Reproductions?”

“Never use the words ‘fake’ and ‘forgery’ if you can avoid it,” Mack said.

“Who the hell are you, Easton? How come you know so much about this kind of thing?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve got time to listen.” Randall wrapped both hands around the mug. “But the part I want to hear first is the part that involves you and Cady.”

“Why don’t you ask her to tell you about that part?”

“That’s not exactly what you call a direct answer.”

“I’m not here to talk about my relationship with Cady,” Mack said.

Understanding lit Randall’s expression. “Hell, she brought you in to investigate, didn’t she? What are you? Some kind of security expert?”

“I’m in the information business.”

“Bullshit. She brought you in undercover, didn’t she? She must have been suspicious right from the start. Did Vesta tip her off?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you said Vesta had figured out that Arden was operating
some kind of scam. Did she realize Stanford was also involved?”

“She probably had her suspicions. We’ll never know for sure.”

“What happens to that phony psychic?”

“I thought I’d drive into the city to see Arden this afternoon,” Mack said. “Let him know that his little scam is finished.”

Randall’s mouth thinned. “I’d give a lot to file charges against him and Stanford both. Bastards.”

“Austrey-Post doesn’t need the bad press. You’ve got what you wanted out of this. It’s time to cut your losses.”

Randall groaned. “Don’t remind me of losses. The big question now is how much money will Austrey-Post have to refund?”

A
n hour and a half later Mack stood in the living room of Jonathan Arden’s recently vacated apartment. So much for delivering a warning, he thought. Displaying the preternatural survival instincts of the consummate professional, the con artist had already skipped town.

He walked downstairs into the garage and took another look at the trash bin just in case Arden had tossed anything of interest into it on his way out the door. He rummaged around for a while among the discarded newspapers, beer bottles and empty take-out containers. He saw nothing that could tell him where Arden might have gone.

He dropped the key off at the manager’s apartment and walked down the sidewalk to where he had parked his car. He paused in the act of opening the door and tried to pin down the whisper of unpleasant awareness that was stirring the hair on the back of his neck.

It didn’t take long to identify the sensation. It was the
feeling you got when you knew that someone was watching you from the shadows.

C
ady settled deeper into the corner of the sofa. Beside her, Mack stretched out in a thickly upholstered chair and propped his ankles on a hassock. He rested his elbows on the heavily upholstered arms and steepled his fingers in the familiar pose. He had been very quiet since he had walked through the door a short time ago. His mood was making her uneasy.

On the far side of the French doors, night descended on Phantom Point. The process was swift and merciless. Sort of like a vampire greeting a lover, Cady thought.

“The news is out that Stanford has resigned as CEO of Austrey-Post and transferred his shares to Randall,” she said in an effort to break through the envelope of silence that enclosed Mack. “Leandra said the people who work in the shop next door were talking about it this afternoon.”

“Not surprising. It’s a small community.”

Well, at least he was talking.

“Stanford is telling everyone he had always intended to turn over the operation of Austrey-Post to Randall when he felt he was ready.”

“Anybody buying that story?” Mack asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it matters.” She paused. “What matters is that Randall has finally got his hands on the family firm.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks to you,” she added deliberately.

He said nothing.

“You’re a hero. Again.”

“It was just a job.”

Was that really all it had meant to him?
Just a job
. She wasn’t feeling depressed, she decided. The sensation flowing
through her now could be more accurately described as melancholia.

Which was the old-fashioned word for depression.

“Thought you said you quit.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mack said. “I did, didn’t I? By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention.”

“What?”

“Our cover is getting a little frayed around the edges.”

“Cover?” She pulled herself together with an effort and tried to focus on the conversation. “You mean the engagement thing?”

“Yes. The engagement thing.”

Silence.

“Well, it served its purpose,” Cady said, searching for a neutral tone. “It worked. I suppose it doesn’t matter if it’s getting thin in terms of believability. We don’t need it any longer.”

“Guess not,” he agreed, in a voice that was even more carefully balanced than her own. “Unless—”

She seized on that. “Unless?”

He looked at her. “Are you satisfied that exposing Felgrove’s fraud is the end of the matter? Or do you still believe that your aunt was murdered?”

She tilted her head back against the chair and contemplated the question. “I think it’s possible that Stanford or Jonathan Arden had something to do with the way Aunt Vesta died. They had every reason to want her dead. They must have realized that she was onto the scam when she postponed the vote on the merger.”

“You may be right, but it will probably be impossible to prove.”

The mists of melancholia grew thicker. “I know.”

More silence.

“You want me to keep looking?” Mack asked after a while.

The question took her by surprise. She thought about it for a moment.

“I’d like to know the truth,” she said eventually. “Even if we can’t prove anything in a court of law, I would very much like to know for sure what happened that night.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You will?”

“If that’s what you want,” he said.

She glanced at him, trying to read the unreadable expression on his face. “Thank you.”