by Becki Willis
Staring down at their discovery, Madison once more shook her head in awe. “This is insane. I still can’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe she left it there all those years, untouched!”
“Do you think she forgot about it?”
Granny Bert snorted. “Look at that glitter, girl! Would you forget something like that?”
“No, but as an heiress to the Randolph Estate, apparently Juliet Blakely was financially set for life. Maybe this was insignificant compared to the rest of her fortune.”
“You forget. I was the benefactor of her estate. There was no grand fortune.” Her tone was dry. “Don’t misunderstand me,” Granny Bert was quick to add, lest she sound ungrateful. “I was nothing but her cook’s daughter, and yet she left most everything to me, including the mansion, the town, and about sixty thousand dollars in cash. But that was hardly enough to make her forget she had half a million dollars or so stuffed inside a chair cushion!”
Madison couldn’t let the first part of her grandmother’s statement go unchecked. “You were also her friend, and the one person she hadn’t alienated with her bitterness.” That settled, she added, “But if Juliet didn’t hide it in there, who did?”
“I have no idea. She lived alone in that big old house, rattling around with only a handful of staff. Believe me, if any one of them had a fortune like that, they wouldn’t have been working for her in the first place.”
“I guess I should call Brash. He’ll know what to do.”
“What do you mean, know what to do?” Granny Bert demanded sharply. “Are you calling him as your husband, or as the law?”
“Both, I guess. But as the law, he’ll know the proper channels for reporting the gold.”
When she reached for her phone, she found her arm snagged by her grandmother’s steady grip. “Not so fast. Why would you report the gold? And to whom?”
“I—I have no idea,” she admitted. “But I’m sure Brash will know. He’s dealt with found items before.”
“That’s because they’re most often lost or stolen. Neither one seems to apply in this case.”
“But… But… But…” She sputtered like an old-time percolator.
“Who originally owned the chair?” the older woman demanded.
“Miss Juliet.”
“Who owned the chair as late as ‘83?”
“Miss Juliet.”
“In 1983, who did she leave the house and all of its contents to?”
“You.”
“And who did I sell the house and all of its contents to?”
A groove appeared between her brows. “Me.”
“Who purchased the chair from New Again?”
“Me.”
“We’re not sure how the chair came to be at New Again, and I can’t swear to its whereabouts from 1983 until just now, but I do know that fabric is old. Older than forty years. So, given the fact the chair was original to the Big House, and not only do you now own the Big House, but you also purchased the chair from a legitimate and reputable business, who do you think is the rightful owner of said chair?”
“M—Me?”
Granny Bert poked a gnarled finger into Madison’s arm. “You. So why would you report a lost and found item, when you’re already the rightful owner?”
“Because it’s full of gold! It must be worth a fortune!”
“A fortune that is now yours, child. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“No.” Madison shook her arm free. “No, that gold is not mine.”
“Then whose is it?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I need to report it!”
They had reached an impasse, staring at the other with determination shining in their eyes.
“Do you still have Juliet’s old journals?” her grandmother suddenly asked.
“Yes, of course. I would never get rid of those. They’re a piece of this town’s history.”
“Let’s go through the journals and see if they make any mention of having or hiding something valuable, or of any strange happenings in the house.”
“I think having someone slip into her room and watch her sleep qualifies as strange.” She referred to Juliet’s friend and secret admirer slipping into her room by way of a hidden staircase and gazing at her with unrequited love.
“But we already know about that,” Granny Bert reasoned. “I’m talking about something new. If you find something in the journals, you’ll know the gold belonged to her and now reverts to you, so reporting it would be pointless.”
“We’ve already read most of the journals,” Madison reminded her, “when we were trying to find the person the skeleton belonged to.”
“But we only skimmed through them, looking for names of people who may have frequented the house. At any rate, before he died in the cellar, Clarence could have hidden his fortune in the mansion for safekeeping. Juliet may or may not have known about it. Either way, they’re long dead, so they have no claim to it. Either way, it belongs to you now.”
“I—I don’t know about this…”
“Have I ever steered you wrong?” At her granddaughter’s incredulous look, Granny Bert quickly amended the question. “Have I ever had anything but your best interests in mind?”
The concession was reluctant, if not cautious. “Well… no.”
“So, trust me on this. Let’s not mention this to anyone, not until we have a better idea of who hid the gold, and why.”
Frantic eyes flew to meet hers. “Not even Brash?” Madison cried.
“Your husband is the ultimate Boy Scout. If he thinks there’s an inkling of suspicion concerning the legality of the stash, you know he’s going straight to a higher authority, most likely the Treasury Department. And what do you think the government would do with that gold?”
“Take it?” she speculated.
“Exactly! It wouldn’t matter if you could prove it was part of Juliet’s estate or not, because by then, it would be theirs. Unless you’re prepared to hand it over to them right now, I strongly suggest we sit on this for a while longer.” Granny Bert darted a glance to the upturned chair and smirked. “No pun intended.”
“I still don’t like keeping something from Brash…”
“You told him about the chair?”
“Of course not! But that’s different. That was a birthday present.”
“Think of what a birthday present a few pounds of solid gold would be!”
Madison pursed her lips, contemplating the situation. She still found it mind boggling.
Sensing she was weakening, Granny Bert suggested, “What about this? You were planning to keep the chair a secret for another three weeks. Let’s give ourselves three weeks to find out who hid the gold. If we don’t know by then, we’ll tell Brash about it and let him help decide what to do. Fair enough?”
“I—I guess.”
“Then we have a deal? Three weeks to find the truth, or we go to Brash.”
Madison took the hand extended to her and shook. “Deal.”
After a moment, a new worry occurred to her. “In the meantime, what do we do with the gold?”
“Let’s split it up. Not because we don’t trust one another, but because of its value. And because,” Granny Bert added in a cautious tone, “like it or not, it could come with a potential for danger.”
“I suppose you’re right. If anyone should find out we have this… Oh, Granny, you’re right! This could put us in danger! We should just tell Brash and be done with it.”
A crooked finger waved in Madison’s face. “Three weeks. You promised me three weeks.”
“But…”
“A deal is a deal. We shook on it, Madison Josephine Cessna. You can’t back out on me now.”
With a defeated sigh, Madison nodded her head.
Granny Bert was right. A Cessna never reneged on a deal.
Six
Madison stuffed the necklace and two of the nuggets into her purse. She wasn’t sure what was heaviest—the gold or
her guilty conscience.
She sneaked into her own house and hurried to hide the items in a safe location. But where? Even in a house sprawled across three stories, she couldn’t seem to find a secure hiding place. She eventually stashed the contraband in the hidden panel where she had discovered Juliet Blakely’s personal journals. If the overhead cache in her private library was good enough for the original owner of the house, it was good enough for Madison.
Before leaving her bedroom to start dinner, Madison tested the weight of her bedside chair. Heavy because of its solid frame and size, it nonetheless seemed lighter than the chair she recently purchased, giving her no reason to suspect it harbored its own gold. Even if it had, she reasoned, the secret would most likely have been exposed when Kiki recovered it to match the stylish new suite of rooms.
The thought gave her pause. How trustworthy was the designer? Being famous didn’t automatically make her honorable. In fact, so often the exact opposite was true. What if Kiki had, indeed, found a hidden trove of gold and kept the discovery to herself? For that matter, had Kiki even done the work? She could have easily handed it off to one of her staff. Their integrity was just as questionable.
Madison bit her bottom lip, imagining how that conversation would go.
Excuse me. You did some work at my house almost a year ago now. Did you by chance discover some hidden gold while recovering an old chair? By the way, that’s a stunning diamond tiara you’re wearing with your cashmere work shirt. And I love your new yacht.
“Earth to Mom. Come in, Mom.”
The unexpected voice startled her, causing her to jump.
“Blake!” Nerves made her voice sharp. “What do you mean, sneaking up on me like that?”
“I called your name like five times. Hardly sneaking.” The sixteen-year-old frowned as he pulled a jug of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured himself a generous portion. “What’s for supper?”
“Something with ground turkey.”
“Spaghetti squash?” he suggested in a hopeful voice. “With some of that garlic bread you make?”
“See if we have enough squash. You can eat one all by yourself. Do you know if Megan will be here for supper?” Brash’s daughter split her time between parents. The vivacious teen also happened to be best friends with Bethani, Blake’s twin, and had been a permanent fixture in the Big House long before her father was.
“I think she and Beth are up in their rooms doing ‘homework.’ So, you know, talking on the phone.”
“Then we’ll count her in for supper. How was baseball practice?”
“Good. Coach says I should make All-District without a problem.”
“That’s nice,” Madison murmured, her mind distracted by a certain stockpile of gold.
“Mom? Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, honey. What is it?”
“Why did you just put the turkey, package and all, in the oven? I thought you browned it in a skillet. Without the plastic and Styrofoam.”
“Oh, my word! Look what I did!” She jerked open the oven, thankful she hadn’t turned it on.
“Mom, are you okay? You seem… stressed.”
“What? You think I’m hiding something?” she all but shrieked.
“Nooo,” Blake said, drawing the word out. “That never occurred to me.” He flashed a wide smile. “Until now. But you are, aren’t you? You’re hiding something.” His blue eyes lit with intrigue. “Is it for me?”
“No, it is not for you!”
“But you are hiding something.”
“Go upstairs and do your homework.”
“I don’t have any homework.”
“Then go upstairs and help your sisters do theirs.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t need my help doing the kind of work they’re doing.” His blue eyes sparkled again. “They’re trying to waggle invitations to Prom.”
“In that case, they do need your help. Be a good brother and scare the boys away. Remind them that Brash is the chief of police and not someone to be crossed.”
“Mo-om,” he started, stretching the protest into a two-syllable word.
“If you don’t want me wrecking the entire meal, you need to give me a few minutes. It’s… been a long day.”
If there was one thing her son took seriously, it was his food. Without another word, he turned and vacated the kitchen.
Five minutes later, the conversation reincarnated itself. This time, with Brash.
“Hello, my gorgeous wife.”
Madison jumped, banging her head against his nose as he nuzzled her neck.
“You scared me to death!” she accused. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I called your name twice. And you may have broken my nose.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Does it need ice?”
“I’ll survive.”
“What are you doing home so early?”
“It’s thirty minutes past my usual time. Is supper ready, or do I have time for a quick shower?”
“You have time.”
He peered over her shoulder, to the uncooked meat in the skillet. “It helps if you turn the burner on,” he suggested.
“Very funny.” Madison discreetly turned off the empty back burner, instead engaging the one beneath the skillet.
“Honey? Why is the spaghetti squash in the microwave still whole? Don’t you usually cut them in half and scoop out the seeds before you cook them?”
“Uhm, well, you weren’t here to cut them in half for me,” she offered lamely. Darn it! She had done it again.
Brash casually stopped the dual microwaves and pulled the squash from their plates. “I’ll let these cool before I cut them. In fact, I’ll go take my shower and come back to help you cook. Maybe then you’ll tell me what’s bothering you.”
She attempted a look of innocence. “Who says something is bothering me?”
Brash dropped a kiss onto the end of her nose. “I know you too well, sweetheart. Something is definitely bothering you.” He walked to the refrigerator, took out an opened bottle of wine, and splashed some into a glass. “Here,” he said, pushing the goblet into her hands. “Drink this and try to relax. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Madison accepted the offer with a sigh.
It would be a very long three weeks.
With Brash’s help, Madison managed to get dinner on the table. She considered it a bonus when she neither served the meal raw nor caught the kitchen on fire. While the teenagers washed the dishes, Brash led her out to the back-porch swing. It was a sad commentary on her state of mind that she followed him like a calf to slaughter, lured there by another glass of wine.
“Talk to me.”
She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she hedged, “We talked all through dinner.”
“We listened to the kids talk,” her husband corrected. “I now know more than I want to know about who’s taking who to prom, who broke up and who’s hoping to get back together, and why Stephanie Havlicek can’t wear a white dress. Which, by the way, I thought only applied to wedding gowns, but obviously, high school has changed from when we were there. And in a big way, if that’s now considered appropriate conversation at the dinner table.” With a heaved sigh, Brash shook his head in sad reflection.
“Amen to that. Remember when we only wore long evening gowns to Prom? Now they wear these short little dresses and stiletto heels. I remember when—”
“You can continue this trip down memory lane if you like, but don’t think I’ll forget that you have artfully changed the subject and owe me a full explanation of what’s eating at you tonight.”
“You keep saying something is bothering me, but it’s not.”
“Maddy, we both know that’s not true. Just tell me. Maybe I can help.”
If only she could tell him! But she had made Granny Bert a promise, and she intended to honor it.
“Is it something at work? Something with the kids? Something I’ve done?” He leaned in close to ask the latte
r, nudging her with his arm.
She nudged him back, a smile hovering on her lips. He was too irresistible for her own good. “None of the above.”
“But there is something.”
She knew he would continue to needle her. She finally blurted out, “It’s your birthday! I don’t know what to get you for your birthday.”
“Is that all?” Brash stretched his arm out along the back of the swing and pulled her in close. “Sweetheart, I have everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I’ll ever need. I have you. I have Megan, and Bethani, and Blake. That’s more than enough for any man.”
After accepting his kiss, Madison leaned her head against the steady thump of his heart and soaked in the goodness that was Brash deCordova. How she loved this man!
“I understand that, and I know how you feel,” she told him. “I also know you won’t let me get by with that same answer when my birthday rolls around. This is the first birthday we’re celebrating together, and I want it to be special.”
“It will be. I’m spending it with you.”
“And I’ll be buying you a gift, so you may as well as give me some ideas.”
“I honestly can’t think of a thing I need.”
“Then tell me something you want.”
“You.”
“You have me. You gotta do better than that.”
“There is nothing better than that,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
“See? This is exactly why I’m in a frenzy, trying to decide what to get you and what to do for your party!”
“I’m having a party?” A look of concern crossed his face.
“We always celebrate birthdays with a party. Don’t you?”
“Sure. For Megan. Or when someone turns a memorable age, like fifty, or seventy-five. I’m turning forty-three. Just an ordinary old birthday.”
“There’s nothing ordinary about celebrating the day you were born. I, for one, think it should be a national holiday.” She ran her fingers through the dark, auburn fringes of his hair, tugging his face down for a kiss.
“A national holiday, huh?” His mouth hovered over hers.
“Absolutely.”
A holiday called for fireworks. When Brash rained kisses down upon her, a shower of sparkling lights danced through Madison’s head. His lips trailed over her cheek, along her jaw, and into the curve of her long, graceful neck. Maddy obliged by moving her head and giving him better access.