Sitting on a Fortune

by Becki Willis

  Nodding slowly, she eventually stood back. “Seems sturdy enough for that hunk of a man you married,” she allowed. “How’s it sit?”

  “See for yourself,” Madison invited.

  Her grandmother settled upon its generous berth to conclude her official assessment. She braced her elbows on the padded arms and rocked against the upholstered backrest, wiggling to find the most comfortable position. After a moment, she shifted to the left. Pursing her lips, she moved to the right. Next, she scooted back. Realigned herself yet again, shifting more of her weight to the rear of the seat. She stayed that way for all of ten seconds before a frown added its worth to her already heavily lined forehead.

  “This has to be the lumpiest cushion I have ever sat on,” the old woman snorted. “I swear, someone must have put lumps of coal under the fabric. Don’t get me wrong. The bones of the chair are good. It’s sturdy, plenty wide, and has a good height, especially for a man as long legged as Brash. But this cushion has to go!”

  “I agree. Obviously, the material is in bad condition and has seen years of wear and tear. Not to mention, there’s that long gash across the back of it, almost like someone slashed it with a knife.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes sparkled with sudden interest. “Maybe someone was murdered in it!”

  “Granny! What a thing to say!” Madison shook her head in exasperation.

  With a spryness that defied her eighty-one years of age, Granny Bert sprang from the chair to re-analyze the gash. “You sit down,” she instructed the younger woman as she moved around behind the chair.

  A bit warily, Madison seated herself in the chair.

  “It definitely looks like the damage could have been done by a knife.” Granny Bert’s voice came out muffled as she bent to examine the cut with a cynical eye. “A long, thin, sharp blade. Perfect for slicing and dicing and stabbing your enemy in the back.”

  Madison was unprepared for the abrupt jar as Granny Bert rammed her fist into the back of the chair mid-sentence.

  “Ow! What did you do that for?” she grumbled.

  “Proving my point. Someone could have been murdered in this chair.” She came back around to face her granddaughter, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Maybe this can be your next case!”

  “This is a birthday gift for my new husband, not a search for a new mystery to solve,” Madison pointed out. “Besides, I’ve had more than my fill of murder, mayhem, and dead bodies in the past year and a half, thank you very much.”

  Her mind flashed back to the string of mysteries she had been involved in since returning home and opening her own temporary agency. Many of her clients seemed to have In a Pinch confused with a private detective service; that, or they knew a good deal when they saw one. Her rates for temporary employment were much lower than those charged by a private investigator, and yet the results were virtually as effective.

  For that very reason, she often thought about pursuing her own PI license. Brash, however, wasn’t keen on the idea, and being as they were newlyweds, now might not be the best time to create friction.

  “You may not be looking for a mystery to solve, but maybe the mystery is looking for you. Admit it. You’re a magnet for dead bodies and danger.”

  Madison couldn’t control the shudder that slid across her shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I was a magnet…” she murmured, the denial weak and tepid upon her tongue.

  “I beg to differ. Ronny Gleason. Caress Worthington. The skeletal remains of Clarence Ford. An organized gambling ring. A drug smuggling operation.” Bony fingers ticked off the count. “Shall I continue?”

  “No, thank you.” The words were polite, but the tone was dry.

  The older woman didn’t give up so easily. “You have to admit, the location of the slash is perfect for stabbing an unsuspecting victim.”

  “If you’re using a sword,” Madison pointed out. “This has a thick back. I’m not sure an ordinary knife would be long enough to penetrate the cushion and a person’s chest cavity. Not enough for a mortal wound.” As she spoke, she ran her fingers along the cushion beneath her.

  This murderous seat, on the other hand, might just do the trick. She didn’t recall the seat being this lumpy before. Perhaps something had shifted during transportation.

  “You could be right,” her grandmother agreed reluctantly.

  Madison continued to worm her fingers through a tiny rip along a seam in the cushion. “I just hope I can get this recovered in time for Brash’s birthday.”

  “You have three weeks. How long can it take?”

  “Seeing as this is my first solo project, probably about six.” Her mouth twisted with the rueful admission. “It looked simple enough while I was working with Ralph, but I’m not feeling quite so confident now. But I appreciate you letting me use your garage. Even with my huge house and four empty bedrooms, I could never hide this project from Brash at home.”

  “The motor home is too tall to fit in here, and it won’t hurt the Buick to get a shower now and then. You may as well use the space to do your work.”

  Madison looked down at the chair where she rested. “I can’t believe Ralph gave me such a good deal. Between the employee discount he offered me and the fact I have no idea of what else to buy the man who has absolutely everything, I couldn’t pass it up.”

  Her grandmother was still scrutinizing the bargain in question. “Why does this chair look so familiar to me?” she wondered aloud.

  “Other than the fabric, it’s almost a perfect match to the one already in my bedroom. I guess this was a popular style back in the day.” Madison continued to work the cushion’s hole with her finger, knowing she would soon inflict even more damage.

  “I thought that fancy designer had all your bedroom furniture custom made.”

  “She did. Kiki designed the settee in the turret and all the tables from wrought iron to match the custom headboard Nick designed, but the upholstered chair beside the bed was original to the house. She initially planned to have two chairs, but for whatever reason, I just ended up with one. Which was fine, until Brash and I married. I thought having his own chair might make him feel more comfortable in the space designed for a single woman.”

  To an outsider, Madison’s talk of custom-made furniture and renowned interior designer Kiki Paretta might sound as if she had money to spare. Nothing could be further from the truth. Desperation and a sad lack of funds were the very things that had driven her to accept last year’s outrageous proposal made by HOME TV and her conniving grandmother. Granny Bert had hornswoggled celebrity carpenter Nick Vilardi into remodeling the stately old Victorian mansion Madison now lived in, and it hadn’t cost the destitute young widow a dime.

  Not that it meant Madison and her twins hadn’t paid, because they had. Dearly. Appearing on a nationally televised reality show had cost them their privacy and quite often their pride, but it had given them a forever home.

  “What fabric are you using?” Granny Bert asked.

  “That charcoal-gray tweed over there. I thought it would be a nice balance to all the creams and whites Kiki used in the room. She accented with mossy green and hints of charcoal, but I don’t think a green chair would look right. The charcoal gray will be more masculine and offer the right balance.”

  Her grandmother nodded, but she still eyed the chair with a glimmer of suspicion. “If you can pull this off, I think you’ll have yourself a winner.”

  “Those are the magic words,” Madison acknowledged. “If I can pull it off.”

  “You know what I’ve always told you. There’s only one way you’ll ever know if you can do something, and that’s to try.”

  “I’m certainly going to give it my best shot.”

  “Say it with more conviction, child,” her grandmother chided.

  Madison pulled her fingers from worrying the cushion. Folding both hands in her lap, she squared her shoulders back and spoke with determination, just as her grandmother had taught her. “I’m giving this my best shot. And w
hen I’m done, it’s going to knock Brash’s socks off.”

  The new show of confidence pleased her grandmother, but she couldn’t resist a chuckle before returning to the house. “Being a newlywed, you might want to knock off more than his socks, but that’s the spirit.”

  Granny Bert returned an hour later, waving something in her hand with a triumphant smile.

  “Found it!” she beamed.

  Madison straightened and arched her back. Her muscles cramped from bending so long at a time.

  Ripping the covering away was faster, but Ralph taught her to remove the old material as meticulously as possible. When kept intact, the discarded fabric could be used as a pattern for new coverings. With that in mind, she ripped seams and gently tugged fabric free from the threads, careful to do the job as Ralph had shown her.

  “What’d you find?” Madison turned to retrieve her water bottle and take a long draw of refreshment.

  “The proof I was looking for. That chair came from the Big House!” She pointed an accusing finger at the chair now minus its back fabric.

  “From my house?” Madison questioned. “How?”

  “Beats me, but I knew it looked familiar. That’s because I remembered it as part of a set. They used to be in the formal library. Just look.”

  Madison peered down at the photo in her grandmother’s fingers. “Could be,” she acknowledged. “I see two chairs. But it’s hard to know if this is one of them, especially since the photo is in black and white.”

  “Of course it’s in black and white.”

  Madison held up a hand before the older woman could get started. “I know, I know. Times were hard back then. Barefoot in the snow. Only running water was what you tossed out the back door to run downhill. Walked five miles to school, uphill each way. Yada, yada, yada.”

  “Hard times had nothing to do with it, Miss Sassybritches. Colored film hadn’t been invented when this photograph was taken.”

  “Then I can hardly see how it’s proof that this red velvet chair and the monochromatic one in the picture are one and the same. I can’t even be certain that one of them is the chair from my bedroom.”

  “If you would give me a minute to explain, you would realize I’m right. As usual.”

  Madison rolled her eyes. Granny was in a mood.

  “Roll those eyeballs to the back of the picture, Missy, and just read Juliet’s documentation.”

  Holding in a huff just begging for release, Madison took the snapshot from her grandmother and did as instructed. The pencil writing was faint, but she could read it easily enough. ‘Pair of handcrafted chairs given as wedding present from Herman and Amelia Yank.’

  “Nice wedding present,” she allowed. She still didn’t understand how this explained anything.

  “Now let’s look at the bottom of that chair.”

  “Do you know how heavy that thing is? It was all Derron and I could do to get it unloaded and in here.”

  “You and Derron are wimps.”

  Despite her bold claim, even with Madison’s help, Granny Bert had trouble turning the chair upright. Careful not to put pressure on the antique legs and snap them off, together they managed to tip the chair over so that the underside was exposed.

  “What are we looking for?” Madison asked.

  “The masters always signed their work,” the elder woman informed her. “It was a sign of quality workmanship and pride, something that’s sadly missing in today’s culture.”

  Madison spotted a deep scrape along the bottom of the seat frame. “Is this it?”

  “Nah. Too jagged. That looks more like something gouged into it, maybe by accident. No, more like… this! See this?”

  She saw what her grandmother pointed to, but she couldn’t make out the details. Fishing her cell phone from her pocket, she used the flashlight feature to illuminate the spot.

  Carved neatly into the wood were the words ‘Yank & Son, Brenham, TX. 1918.’

  “You see? I told you!” Granny Bert gloated. “This chair originally belonged to Juliet Randolph Blakely and once sat in the house you now own.”

  Madison was duly impressed. “You were right, Granny. This chair was part of a set.” She pulled back in wonder, letting the irony sink in. “How weird is that? I go to an antique store in another town and buy a chair that not just looks like the one I own, but is, in fact, part of an original set!” She shook her head in amazement.

  “It is ironic, I’ll give you that.”

  “I wonder how they got separated in the first place. Wonder if Miss Juliet got rid of the second chair when her husband died in that tragic accident? Maybe it was too difficult, seeing his empty chair there beside hers.”

  “No,” Granny Bert said thoughtfully. “I remember these chairs. That’s why I went looking for the picture to begin with. Both chairs used to sit in the formal library. Your Uncle Jubal and I used to slip in there by way of the secret passage, and we would hide under the chairs when we heard someone coming. I remember banging my head on one of them hard enough to see stars.” She rubbed the offended spot, as if she could still feel the pain after seventy-five-plus years. “If you look real close, you may see some of my hair stuck in the joints.”

  “Maybe that’s what caused the gouge,” Madison teased. “Your head is certainly hard enough.”

  “It had to be, to raise first your father, and then you,” the older woman retorted.

  “Do you remember if both chairs were in the house when you inherited it?”

  Granny Bert searched her memory banks. “You know, I think they were. I know they were there shortly before Juliet died, because I remember sitting in them when I came to visit. But I didn’t sell the chair, so how in tarnation did it wind up at a resale shop in Navasota?”

  “I have no idea. Help me turn it back upright.”

  Her grandmother grumbled as they manhandled the bulky load. “I declare! Forget coal. This thing must be filled with rocks!”

  “It certainly felt like it to my back side,” Madison said with a grin. “You’re right. This seat cushion has to be replaced.”

  Something fell as they returned the chair to its proper position, clanking against the concrete floor like a lead brick.

  “I think we were right!” Madison giggled. “It sounded like a rock just fell out.” She swooped down to retrieve the fallen object, snatching it up in her hand.

  When she opened her fist to inspect the rock, a gasp escaped her lips.

  “Granny!” Her voice came out in a shocked whisper. “Is—Is this what I think it is?”

  “If you think it’s a gold nugget, then, yes. I’d say that’s exactly what it is.”

  Five

  With enormous eyes, they stared at the golden chunk in Madison’s palm.

  “This—This is incredible,” she murmured.

  Her grandmother’s hand wasn’t quite steady as she reached for the golf-ball-sized nugget.

  When she lifted it to her mouth and tested it with her teeth, Madison cried out, “What are you doing?”

  “Beats me, but they always do that in the old westerns.”

  Ignoring her grandmother’s antics, Madison was still in shock. Her mouth hinged slightly ajar. She finally stated the obvious. “This is actually gold.”

  “It appears that way.”

  It took a full moment to process, but the thought came to them at the same time. “Let’s see if there’s more!”

  “Wait!” When her grandmother would have clawed her way through, Madison cautioned, “Don’t tear the fabric!”

  “How do you propose we get inside, without ripping it open?”

  “There’s a little hole right here.” Madison slipped her finger into the rip she had found earlier. “Let me see if I can feel anythi… yes! I feel something!” Holding her mouth just right, she worked her finger back and forth to enlarge the ripped seam. When her crooked finger snagged something cold, she carefully extricated a long, golden chain. A crudely formed heart-shaped nugget swung at its end, i
ts surface naturally rugged and irregular in its raw state. Embedded into the crevices, several small diamonds and rubies twinkled in the light. It was the oddest piece of jewelry either had ever seen.

  “I—I don’t believe this,” she breathed.

  “Believe it!” Granny Bert said. “And work faster, or I’m taking a pair of cutting shears to this chair.”

  “I need the fabric in one piece for a pattern. Let’s turn it back over and go at it from underneath.”

  The previous weight seemed to disappear. With new energy, they easily had the chair upside down again in no time.

  “Gently pull the fabric away from the wood frame.”

  “When it comes to gold, I don’t do gentle,” her grandmother snorted impatiently. “You’d better do it.”

  “Give me a minute. I just need to loosen this part here… and this side…”

  While Madison proceeded with care, Granny Bert mused, “Just think. All the times I’ve sat on this very chair, I never dreamed I was sitting on a fortune!”

  Continuing to work the fabric free, Madison said, “Which begs the question, ‘why were you sitting on a fortune?’ Why would someone—presumably Miss Juliet—hide gold inside a chair cushion?”

  “Times were different back then. People didn’t trust banks like they do nowadays. It wasn’t unusual to bury money in your yard or hide valuables inside your house. The more common the hiding spot, the more sense it made.”

  “But a chair?”

  “Why not? Obviously, it worked!”

  Freeing the fabric from around the wooden bracing, Madison dug her fingers into the cushion’s dense cotton batting. As her nails scraped against something hard, her eyes lit up and she smiled. “There’s something more inside.”

  In all, there were three more golden nuggets of varying sizes. One was almost large enough to cover the palm of Madison’s hand.