by Dirk Greyson
“She hated them, of course, but that was the fun.”
“Remember her plant?” Gage asked and Forge howled. “That damned poinsettia that only got worse- and worse-looking as she tried to make it last through to Christmas.” They’d both gotten so sick of seeing it rot away outside the door of Gage’s room that they kept a fresh plant in secret and started supergluing green leaves on her old one each day so she thought it was returning to life. Gage shook his head. “She never did figure out who was behind that.”
“Nope,” Forge said, “but she accused you and me. I remember reminding her that you were paralyzed and there was no way you could have done it.”
“Then I swore it didn’t happen during the day when you worked because I would have seen it. She tried to work it out and eventually threw the damn thing away.” Gage smiled so broadly, his cheeks ached.
“Exactly. I’d have taken the heat if necessary, and so would you, so let go of whatever you’re thinking. We have a puzzle to solve, and we aren’t going to do it on a few hours’ sleep.” Forge tugged him up the stairs and into his room, leaving the door open. “Do you have your phone?”
“Yes.” Gage liked this side of Forge. So far, Gage had seen him take a back seat to what Gage instructed, but this was nice. A man who knew what he wanted.
“Then put it on the table beside the bed, get undressed, and let’s try to get some sleep.”
“You know, I’m a professional and I shouldn’t be sleeping with my client, even if he is someone I knew years ago and wished I never lost touch with.” Gage sighed. This was getting complicated.
“I’m not paying for you to sleep with me. That isn’t what this is. You’re here to protect me and do what you need to in order to keep me safe.” Forge turned around, his hands on his hips. “But dammit, I just found you again, and if you think I’m going to let you worry or guilt yourself into being stupid, you can think again.” He yawned, which ruined the effect. Then he turned out the light and climbed into bed. “You’ll probably sleep with one eye open, and that’s okay. But we both need the rest.”
“Fair enough.” Gage lay down and got comfortable. Forge wound his fingers into Gage’s and lay still. Soon Forge’s breathing evened out and he was truly asleep. After that, it didn’t take long for Gage’s mind to stop whirring, and he too fell to sleep.
“GOD, I slept hard,” Forge said as he walked into the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day. Gage had also, at least for enough hours that he didn’t feel like his ass was dragging on the ground.
“I slept well, and there were no issues, and I already worked the perimeter. Harv is on his way over and should be here any minute.” Gage’s phone dinged, and he saw the message from Harv. “We can go now. The house is in good hands… and eyes.” He deactivated the alarms, and they left the house through the garage and got into his car. Forge opened the garage door, and Gage backed out, waited for the door to close once again, then pulled away from the house in the opposite direction than the one they intended to go. He began taking a very circuitous route into town to throw off anyone who might be trying to follow them. Once he was convinced he wasn’t followed, Gage drove to the freeway and took a few unnecessary exits and on-ramps just to be sure.
The downtown building was massive, built at a time when banks created monoliths to demonstrate just how solid their foundation was. It was a show of might and power to hide the fact that they were really built on nothing more than air and whatever illusion of strength they could create.
Gage pulled into the underground lot and left it again immediately to park in the back of an open lot nearby. “It was too enclosed, and if we needed to get out, we could easily have found ourselves trapped.” He led Forge to the side entrance and into the massive bank lobby.
“I always love coming here, especially at Christmas.” Forge looked around at the various displays, keeping close, and Gage did his best to keep Forge behind him in case something happened, acting as a shield.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Detective Coleridge said as he approached.
“Morning,” Forge said, and Gage did the same. “The safe-deposit boxes are downstairs.” Forge indicated the set of steps, and they descended, walking back in time. The walls were paneled in dark, rich wood, and all the desks were heavy and probably from when the building was built back in the twenties. They went right over to the safe-deposit desk, and when Coleridge showed his badge, the lady behind it scurried to get a manager.
“May I help you?” asked a man in his fifties, with slightly graying hair and dressed in an impeccable gray suit. His facial expression said he clearly wasn’t impressed.
Forge handed him the keys and told the manager his name, as well as provided Granger’s.
“He’s deceased,” Coleridge added in a tone meant to intimidate.
The manager went over to a computer and typed for a moment. “Yes. I have the records, and Mr. Reynolds is listed on the box.” He presented Forge with a paper to sign, then led the way into the vault. “Only the box holder is allowed inside. You can meet him in one of the private review rooms if Mr. Reynolds agrees.” He turned, and Gage and Coleridge stayed outside while Forge retrieved the box, struggling slightly. Then the three of them were shown into a small conference room with a table and chairs. The manager left the room, and Forge lifted the lid on the box.
“Holy shit,” he said as he took out a sleeve of gold coins, then another and a third.
“Where did those come from?” Detective Coleridge asked.
“I’m not sure.” Forge placed them to the side and fixed Coleridge with a stare when he reached for them. “We’ll do this my way. You may see anything that’s in here, but you can take nothing that isn’t specifically relevant.” Forge removed three more sleeves of coins and set them aside. Then he pulled out papers and looked them over before handing them to Coleridge.
“These look like notes of some sort, but I can’t read them.” He showed them to Forge and Gage. “Can either of you?”
“No,” Forge answered, and Gage shook his head.
“Why would he write notes in some sort of code?” Detective Coleridge leaned closer.
“They aren’t. It’s German,” Forge said. “Granger loved languages and spoke German and Italian fluently. His parents are Italian, and it was spoken in their home. He learned German in school. It should be possible to get these translated. We can make you copies, as long as you promise to share with me what they say. Regardless of the content.”
Gage smiled at Forge’s take-charge attitude. He liked that Forge was keeping control of what was now his.
Under the papers were stock certificates that Forge let Coleridge see. He made notes and then handed them back. “And you didn’t know about any of this?”
“Not that I can think of. Granger might have talked about some investments he was making, but he and I haven’t been on deep-discussion terms in months. He could have been squirreling things away so they didn’t become part of the divorce.” Forge cleared his throat. “What a jackass.” He gripped the edge of the table, arms shaking. “He and I did everything together for years. I helped him out when he started the firm and needed money to get it off the ground. I supported him in so many ways, and this is how he acts?” He sighed deeply. “Maybe I should have known. Granger always liked to win. No matter what, he was a lawyer and winning was everything.”
Forge shook himself as though trying to physically cast off what must have been deep betrayal and hurt. Frankly, the more Gage learned about Granger, the more he was coming to dislike him. He seemed selfish. It was obvious that Granger had plenty and that Forge had been part of the reason for his wealth. Hiding things seemed too damned petty and childish.
“Is there anything else?” Coleridge asked, and Forge slowly reached inside once more to the back of the large metal container. He removed another of those damned boxes, like the ones he had at home, only this one was smaller.
“Wow,” Forge said as he carefully set it on th
e table. “It’s jade, and from the look of it, Chinese.” He inspected it and smiled a little. “It’s another puzzle box, only this one is much older than the others.” He lifted and jiggled it gently. “There’s something inside.”
“Can you open it?” Detective Coleridge asked.
Forge shook his head. “Not right now. I need to look it over and see if I can figure it out. And don’t even think of breaking or forcing it. The quality of work is exquisite, and this is probably four hundred years old and worth as much as a house.” He set the box down once again, checked the safe-deposit box, waited for Coleridge to make his copies, and then placed everything back inside with the exception of the puzzle box, which Forge handed to Gage to hold. It was cold to the touch, solid, heavy, and incredibly beautiful. Forge closed the box, and as they left the room, the bank manager met them to escort Forge back into the vault to put it back into its slot.
Gage wished he had something to put the jade box into to protect it. He ended up ducking into the bathroom, where he unbuttoned his shirt and removed his T-shirt to wrap the box in it, then put his shirt back on before emerging. He cradled the wrapped box in his arms to protect it as he waited for Forge, then followed him up the stairs, watching everyone around them, with Coleridge behind him. All three of them left the building together.
“You will call me if and when you open the box and let me know what’s inside?”
“Of course,” Forge said. “And just so you’re aware, I went through the contents of the home safe again and all I found was a drive with the electronic copies of the will and other papers. I thought you’d like to know.”
Detective Coleridge nodded and made some notes.
“He also opened each of the puzzle boxes in the house and found nothing,” Gage offered, figuring it was best for them to be as honest and forthright as possible.
“I would like to know when I can clean up the office and put everything back together. It bothers me that there’s a room in my own home that I can’t enter,” Forge said.
Coleridge looked up from his notes, appearing thoughtful. “I’d like to come over tomorrow, and we can go through the office again. Then you can have the room back.”
That seemed to make Forge happy. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow and we can talk about the box as well. I hope I can get it open. Figuring them out was Granger’s expertise, but he taught me a lot.” He bit his lower lip.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, and I’ll see about having the German document translated.”
Gage was pleased to see that Coleridge seemed to be keeping up his half of the deal. Granted, Coleridge was best equipped to figure out what Granger was up to and why, as well as who had killed him. But Gage was becoming convinced that they were all going to need to work together in order to unravel this mystery.
“Thank you.” Forge turned away toward the street, but stopped and went back to where Coleridge stood. “Granger loved puzzles—I told you that. But what I’m starting to think is that whatever these files are, Granger might have protected them using a puzzle of his own device.”
Coleridge furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Granger not only worked puzzles, but he used to love making them. When he read fiction, it was adventure novels, and he used to see if he could work out what the author was putting together for the hero to follow. He always said the good ones were those he couldn’t work out.”
“What makes you think he made his own puzzle?” Coleridge asked, his expression urgent, hungry.
“Gut instinct from what I know of Granger. The hard part is that we don’t know what the pieces look like or if there’s really a puzzle at all. But think about it—he put this puzzle box with something inside it in the safe-deposit box at the bank. He could have just as easily put it in the safe at home.”
“What if he was trying to hide it from you?” Gage asked.
“That’s possible. But what if he was trying to keep it and what’s inside from the people who killed him?” Forge raised his eyebrows. Coleridge nodded, and Gage admitted to himself that Forge might have a point. “As soon as I get it open, I promise to call you, but it could take a while.”
Coleridge rubbed at a spot above his left eye. “I’m not happy about this, but I don’t think I have any other choice. I don’t know anyone with any expertise in these.”
Gage knew Coleridge would much rather have control of everything. “We understand,” he said, tilting his head toward where he’d parked the car. “We’ll definitely be in touch tomorrow, if not sooner.” He handed Forge the wrapped box, guiding him to the car, got him inside, and started the engine as quickly as possible. He didn’t wait for seat belts and jumped out into traffic as soon as he had an opening.
Forge held the wrapped box tightly on his lap. “I hate to ask and it isn’t convenient, but I need to stop at my office to check in, and I should do the same at Granger’s.”
“That isn’t a good idea.”
“But do you want to have to come back?” Forge sounded agitated, so Gage passed by the freeway on-ramp as Forge told him the building his office was in. They made it with no incidents, and Gage was grateful for underground parking with multiple exits to different streets. Forge got out of the car, still carrying the box. “I can get a bag when we’re inside and give you your T-shirt back.” He grinned, leading Gage to the elevators and up to his floor.
“Forge!” the receptionist called at damn near the top of her lungs.
Forge handed the box to Gage just as every cubicle and office emptied out and surrounded him, twelve to fourteen people all talking at once, offering their support and any help he would need.
“Who’s this?” a women in her early thirties asked with a sly grin. “And where have you been hiding him?”
“This is Gage. He’s an old friend who’s helping to keep me safe. With everything that’s happened, my lawyer and I thought some extra protection might be in order.”
Forge was hugged by each man and woman as they filtered back to their desks. He was cared for a great deal, and that warmed Gage’s heart, knowing Forge was truly as amazing as he was coming to rediscover.
“Do you have time to go over a few things?” a young lady of about twenty-five with long, flowing mahogany hair asked. “I know this has all been really hard for you and I’m so sorry about it, but….”
“I know, Pam. The world doesn’t stop just because something bad happens.” Forge motioned them to an office with his name on the plaque, and they all stepped inside. Forge patiently answered a myriad of questions that went completely over Gage’s head, but Forge either knew the answer, had what sounded like a solid opinion, or was able to direct her to the person she could contact. It was a thing of logistical beauty to behold. “You can call me on my cell phone if you need anything. At the moment I’m sitting tight at home for my protection.”
“What about the funeral?” She closed the notebook she’d used to record Forge’s answers to her questions.
“Granger’s family is going to arrange it, but the police haven’t released his body yet. Hopefully fairly soon, and then who knows. His parents know things were rough between the two of us and don’t feel comfortable with me planning it. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved. I’ll send a message to you to post in the office with all the details once I have them.” Forge stepped behind his desk and pulled out a canvas tote bag in lavender. He passed it over, along with a piece of soft fabric. Probably a sample.
Gage waited for Pam to leave before rewrapping the box and placing it gently in the bag. Then he removed his shirt, put his T-shirt back on, and sat in one of Forge’s chairs as he worked at his desktop computer. “What about your boss?”
“He’s in Asia on a scouting trip for a client who wants to decorate her home in authentic antiques,” Forge answered as he typed rapidly. “I’m sending him an email update… now… and as soon as I go through all these…. Okay. I can handle the rest from home.” He stood and shut down the system.
F
orge said goodbye as they left, and Gage scanned everyone, trying to appear nonthreatening even as he watched for any signs of unusual behavior.
“I don’t think going to Granger’s office is a good idea,” Gage said once they were in the elevator.
“I understand, but he has the same kind of desk at the office as he did at home. As far as I know, he didn’t use the compartment for his computer. So what else is in it? The firm is not going to allow the police anywhere near them without court orders up the wazoo, but I can get in without anyone thinking twice about it. I’ll simply say I need to collect some of his personal things.” He smiled, and Gage had to admit Forge had him. His curiosity was piqued.
“What do you suggest we do with the box?”
Forge made sure it was wrapped carefully in the bag and slid it under his seat. “No one will see a thing, and you can stay in the car with it if you want. I know it sounds reckless, but we need to see what’s there, and no one should know that we have this.”
“No. I’ll carry it. Hopefully no one will think twice about it.” How could a lavender bag not be conspicuous? This had to be the craziest idea, and yet he was going along with it because he wanted to make Forge happy. “Just follow my instructions and be prepared to get down or run like hell if anything happens. The bank and your office are one thing, but I wasn’t expecting to spend the day running around downtown.”
“I won’t be very long.” Forge sat back, seeming to know he’d won. Gage drove the six blocks to the high-rise that housed Granger’s law firm, parked in an open lot, and they checked in with the front desk. Forge was obviously known to them because they waved him right on through, and he took the elevator to the twelfth floor. It opened into a spacious lobby that screamed “success” and “money,” with an undercurrent of “we like to win.”
“Good morning, Deann,” Forge said as he approached the desk.
The professionally dressed lady greeted him with a half smile. “I’m sorry about your loss.” She didn’t sound sorry at all, but Gage kept that to himself.