“Research,” smiled Pebbles.
After five minutes of tapping the cellphone’s screen, Pebbles asked, “Do we think we need four numbers or three?”
“Um, I’d say most safes use at least four numbers to increase the number of possible combinations,” Jennifer answered.
“Okay, let’s first find out the maximum number of numbers we can try. Keep pressing the number one until the screen won’t let you enter anymore.”
Jennifer pressed the one key four times and the screen ceased showing additional digits. She said, “Clever for a novice.”
“Can’t take credit. Found that suggestion after doing a search on safe cracking. Okay, now try 1257,” Pebbles stated.
“Nothing. That’s the street address, right?”
“Yep,” Pebbles answered. “What year was Dobson born?”
“Let me think…he was 74 when he died, so that means he was born in 1942.”
“Okay, try that.”
“Nothing again.”
“Alright, reverse it, 2491.”
The electronic keyboard pinged with each keystroke until at last the red LED light beside the keypad switched to green and they heard a click.
Jennifer stared at Pebbles in awe, “How did you do that?”
“Again, no credit. Safe cracking site said its common to use birthdays as codes. Also said to try it backwards,” Pebbles answered, holding her hands up as if caught in the act of committing a crime.
Jennifer extended her hand and pulled the safe handle up. She opened the door and shouted, “Holy crap! Would you look at that!”
Pebbles knelt on the floor next to Jennifer and craned her neck to gape at the safe’s contents…hundreds and hundreds of gold coins. She lifted one out and flipped it over and back atop her glove-covered palm.
Shivers ran down her spine as she randomly selected three others. She gasped, “Jennifer! Each of these coins have the imprint of one of the six objects on the Master Stone!”
XIV
ANABEL SIMPSON
The drive north to Bennington, Vermont, was cleansing for Anlon. He enjoyed passing through quaint New England towns, sweeping by fields filled with black and white Holstein cattle, spying the occasional forgotten syrup bucket plugged into maple trees by the road and the quintessential covered bridges along the way.
During the trip, Anlon spent most of the time developing an action plan. He firmly believed Devlin and Dobson’s deaths were linked and that the common connection must be the stones. He reasoned that the killer must already possess knowledge about the stones, otherwise killing both Devlin and Dobson was a supremely idiotic move.
Pondering further, Anlon tried to construct reasons for the thefts of the will, Port Stone and Devlin’s laptop. The Port Stone was easiest to understand. It was needed to access the Story Stones and Master Stones. Since the laptop appeared to be stolen at the same time as the Port Stone, Anlon conjectured that the laptop must contain relevant information about the stones, which on the face of it, seemed a logical conclusion.
The piece that didn’t quite seem to fit in Anlon’s mind was the theft of the will, especially given the fact that the case containing the Master Stone was untouched. What could be in the will that was so important? How did it fit in with the other events? What did it reveal? And why did Devlin leave such a large sum to Anabel Simpson? For that matter, who was Anabel Simpson and what was her connection with Devlin? All these questions circulated in Anlon’s mind as he neared Bennington. At least, he thought, by the time he was on his way back to Stockbridge, he’d have some of those answers.
Anlon’s train of thought was disrupted by the chime of his cell phone. As promised, Antonio Wallace called in less than an hour to report he’d found Cesar Perez. When Anlon asked his location, Antonio responded, “Not to worry, Anlon. He’s on his way to you right now.”
“What?” a stunned Anlon queried.
“You said it was urgent, I made it happen. It wasn’t that hard. When I mentioned your uncle’s name like you suggested, Dr. Perez became suddenly eager to see you,” snickered Antonio.
“That’s beyond believable, I don’t know what to say Skip,” Anlon humbly remarked.
“Anlon, I’ve known you a long time. The last time you had the same kind of urgency in your voice as you had on the phone with me this morning, you made me a billionaire! I’ve always trusted my instincts. This meeting is important and time is of the essence. You said both yourself. He should be in Pittsfield by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. You can pick him up at the airport or I can have a car bring him to you,” Antonio said casually.
“I’ll pick him up, Antonio. You are a true friend. Thank you,” Anlon said in reply.
“No worries, Anlon, my man. Remember your promise though. I want to know what this is all about after you talk to him.”
“You have my word,” Anlon answered.
Antonio replied, “Good as gold to me.”
Prior to hopping in the rental SUV for his drive to Bennington, Anlon did a little web browsing for background information on Anabel Simpson. He did not find much. When he spoke with her to arrange the meeting he could tell she was older than him, and Anlon was surprised to learn she knew some of Anlon’s background from snippets Devlin shared with her over the years, or so she said. Anlon looked up her address online and was able to pinpoint its location and a street level view of the property. She lived relatively close to Bennington College, which made sense, as she appeared to have been a professor at the school for many years. Other than those pieces of information, Anlon was flying blind.
Anlon drove along the rutted, long driveway to the small, unassuming rambler surrounded by large, sloping lawn with an array of mid-sized trees enclosed by a white wooden fence.
Standing on the front porch, Anabel waved to Anlon. She was older as Anlon suspected, on the underside of 60 he surmised. Though her long, braided hair was mostly white, her skin was clear and barely marked by wrinkles. She had a lively smile and was dressed more like a college student than a grandmother in jeans, slip-on sneakers and an oversized bright red Bennington College hoodie sweatshirt.
“Welcome,” she called cheerily as Anlon exited the SUV.
“Thank you, thank you, it’s good to meet you. I’m Anlon Cully,” he replied.
She motioned him to join her on the front steps. She greeted him with a polite hug and said, “You are much taller than Devlin! I’m surprised he never mentioned that.”
“Well, he may not have remembered. We didn’t see each other much the last 10 years or so,” Anlon replied, “but I’m very pleased to meet you Mrs. Simpson, even though I’m sorry it’s a result of Devlin’s passing.”
“It was bitter news to hear,” she acknowledged, bowing her head with a slight quiver in her voice. “Do come in and make yourself comfortable. We have a lot to discuss, and I’m no Mrs. Please, I’m Anabel.”
Seated in her small living room, Anlon noticed at once the sampling of framed pictures on table tops and wall shelves showing Anabel and Devlin together over many years. Anlon was taken aback. He never really knew much of Devlin’s personal life and even though he did occasionally discuss women in his life, he never mentioned the name Anabel to the best of his recollection.
“These are touching photographs,” Anlon remarked, looking from one picture to the next of them smiling, hugging, holding hands, dancing and other happy shared moments. “I must confess, I had no idea Devlin shared a relationship with you but it’s clear from your photo collection that you shared a warm and happy relationship for a very long time.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, Anlon. I cared deeply for Devlin and we shared many precious memories over the 35 years I knew him,” Anabel said.
“Thirty-five years? Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t know. I’m sure he must have talked about you many times with me, but I must have tuned out,” commented Anlon.
“No Anlon, he probably didn’t speak about me with you. Our relationship was very private. The wo
rld was very different when we first met. A 50-year-old professor in a public relationship with a 23-year-old student at the university where he taught would have been lethal for his career, and for the start of mine,” Anabel explained.
Anlon understood her point, especially in light of the age gap between he and Pebbles. He supposed it was a reason but not the only reason why his relationship with Pebbles still was platonic, although it seemed to be accelerating towards a relationship of a more intimate nature the last few days.
“Looking at your photos, the age difference doesn’t come across in my eyes. Like this one right here with the two of you, arm in arm, on one of his excavations,” Anlon commented.
Anabel rose and retrieved the photo. She traced her fingers along the outlines of their smiling faces, and absently said, “What a magical time. This one was taken in Egypt in the mid 80s. I was a teacher and most of our time together was spent during school breaks in the early days. I never had so much fun and adventure as when I went off with Devlin to some exotic land.”
Anlon felt her sense of loss through her sentimental memories. He said, “The Devlin I knew was such a charismatic man, I can see how being around him in his element was enchanting.”
“Enchanting? What a lovely description,” she beamed.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose to keep the relationship private, even later in life?” Anlon uncomfortably ventured.
“I don’t mind you asking. You know, it’s very hard to explain. Since we spent so much time apart, we truly developed separate lives. He had other relationships with women, I had other relationships with men, but we always found some time to escape together for many years. I liked the escape, and he did too. When we spent too much time with one another, our relationship was different…less exciting…more mundane. We just found a happy medium and left it that way. We eventually drifted apart and only recently reconnected. I have no complaints; it was as fulfilling a relationship as I could have imagined. I will miss him in my life,” Anabel waxed, staring off in the distance, reliving precious memories.
Anlon admired the prism through which Anabel viewed her relationship with Devlin. She was at peace and had been so throughout her time with Devlin. He said, “Thank you for sharing Anabel. It is heartwarming to know Devlin had a life full of love beyond his passion for archaeology.”
“I’m pleased you noticed and asked Anlon. It’s nice to talk about Devlin with someone. Now, enough about me. You’ve come all the way up here to discuss other matters, I’m sure,” she said, placing the photo frame back on a table and retraining her focus on Anlon.
“Not at all Anabel. I appreciate you being so open. Learning more about your relationship with Devlin has already answered some of the questions I came to ask. But you are right, there are other matters I came to discuss. I guess we should first talk about Devlin’s will. I presume by now that you’ve received a copy of his will from George Grant, Devlin’s attorney?”
“Yes, I did. He had one delivered by courier yesterday. I told him I felt uncomfortable attending the funeral. I didn’t tell him why, but between you and me, I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself. I will visit his grave to mourn when a little time has passed,” Anabel clarified.
“Makes perfect sense now that I know more about your relationship with Devlin. When I first saw the will myself, I was puzzled about who you were. I was also told by Mr. Grant that Devlin requested I discuss the will with you in person, which seemed an odd request. Now I understand the reason for his request and why he provided for you in his will,” Anlon said.
Given the nature of their relationship, Anlon was now surprised Devlin hadn’t left her a more sizeable portion of the estate. Anabel must have read his mind because she interjected, “It was very thoughtful of Devlin to provide for me in his will, but he was so generous over the years it really wasn’t necessary. He bought me this home, you know. He supplemented my income in the early years. And each year on our private ‘anniversary’, he gave or sent me a piece of his treasured collection, even after we drifted apart. He said they were gifts of his love, but also insurance policies. He told me if I ever found myself in need of funds, I should sell one or more of the pieces. I never have, mind you, they are too dear to me, but I had the pieces valued a few years back and was numb when the auction house appraiser told me combined they were worth over five million dollars! He said some pieces were rare enough that they might be worth much more if they were publicly auctioned versus sold privately.”
Anlon perked up at the mention of Devlin’s collection. He wondered if she possessed any of the Life Stones but it felt too awkward to pry. Instead, Anlon said, “Devlin was a good man. I’m happy he treated you so well.”
“He did indeed,” Anabel agreed.
“So, as executor of his estate, it’s my responsibility to make sure his assets are distributed per the will. I’m not an expert at any of this, so I asked Mr. Grant to handle most of the formalities in terms of documentation and what not. He should be in touch very soon with some papers for you to sign and then I don’t believe it will be very long after that before Devlin’s bequest is transferred to you. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to contact me or Mr. Grant. I will do my best to limit the hassle factor for everyone concerned and expedite the distributions,” said Anlon.
“Thank you Anlon. I don’t have any questions now and you’ve already provided me your number, and I have Mr. Grant’s in the packet delivered yesterday. There are, however, two other matters I wanted to discuss with you. One on behalf of Devlin, and the other I thought you should know,” Anabel said.
“Okay, which would you like to discuss first?”
“Do you know a man called Thatcher Reynolds?” she inquired casually.
Anlon’s face flushed briefly in anger, “Yes, I met him yesterday at the funeral. It wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Why do you ask?”
“He called me the day before the funeral to stir a hornet’s nest. Said I was treated unfairly in Devlin’s will. He offered to help contest the will and secure a larger portion of the estate. He said Devlin’s nephew Richard had already agreed to accept his help. If I accepted his help too, he said, it would give them a stronger case,” she recalled.
Anlon buried his head between his hands and shook his head. “He’s a troublemaker for sure. I can’t tell you what to do Anabel. If you feel you’ve been unfairly treated, it is within your power to challenge the will, but from what Mr. Grant shared, it would be a tough road.”
“I told him to go to Hell!” Anabel shouted, pounding the armrest of the couch.
A relieved Anlon laughed aloud, “Did you? He tried to get me to sell him Devlin’s artifact collection, and when I said it wasn’t for sale, he threatened me. He’s after something in Devlin’s collection, he doesn’t care about the money. I’m so glad you shut him down. What did he say when you told him?”
“The scoundrel hung up on me!” she laughed.
“If he contacts you again, would you please let me know? I’m going to have Mr. Grant get involved and stop this nonsense. I’m sorry he bothered you,” Anlon responded.
“I’m fine, I just wanted you to be aware of his call,” she explained. “Now, the other matter is a bit more delicate. Devlin gave me something to hold for you and only you. He told me it was by far the most valuable item in his collection and that he didn’t trust anyone else with it.”
Anlon’s heartbeat galloped. She has the Port Stone! He nodded understanding, but remained silent. It was evident Anabel had more to say.
“You should know, Anlon, that Devlin came to see me the day before he died. In fact, he stayed overnight here on his way to Mt. Whiteface. He was very upset. I’d say he was scared. It stood out to me because he never before had been fearful around me. He rambled on a long time that night, telling me things he’d never shared before. Anlon, he told me he feared for his life!” Anabel exclaimed.
She trembled as she finished speaking.
A tear appeared at the corner of her eye. Anabel continued, “The things he told me, he asked that I share with you along with the piece he left with me for safekeeping if something should happen to him. Some of what he told me I think you will find hard to believe.”
Anlon chuckled and replied, “I’ve heard and seen a number of things the last few days that are hard to believe. I’m getting used to it.”
She chuckled in return and nodded her understanding. Anabel continued, “I didn’t write any of it down so I hope I don’t forget something important. I wanted to give Devlin my full attention.
“First off, Devlin suspected Matthew was stealing from his collection and selling what he took for his own benefit. There had been some rumors about black market transactions involving pieces Devlin knew to be in his collection. Devlin knew Matthew had also taken items from the office archive for unexplained and unauthorized reasons and then returned them later. One of the items he pilfered and then returned is the document he brought here for you.”
Uh, oh, Anlon thought. She doesn’t have the Port Stone. He uttered, “Document? Hmmm…I thought it might be a stone shaped like a hockey puck.”
“No, I’m afraid he didn’t give me anything like that, not even among the gifts he gave me from his collection. But I’ll get to the document later. There are other pieces of our conversation you need to hear first.
“Devlin and Matthew had a terrible confrontation the day before he drove here. Devlin accused Matthew of purposely stealing to line his own pockets. Matthew denied it, but Devlin didn’t need a confession. Several days beforehand, Pacal told Devlin he saw Matthew sneak in and return the document very early one morning. Pacal had slept in the office loft the preceding night and when Matthew entered, he wasn’t aware Pacal was up in the loft. This added to Devlin’s suspicions, and with Pacal’s help they set a trap for Matthew a few days before the confrontation.”
“Wow!” Anlon cried. “Did he tell you why he went to Mt. Whiteface? When I spoke with Dobson, he seemed perplexed as to why Devlin decided to hike there.”
Shadows of the Stone Benders (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 1) Page 17