Sitting on a Fortune

by Becki Willis

  Especially to her grandmother. Granny Bert didn’t take betrayal well.

  Nor had Miss Juliet. Thoughts of the town’s founder filled Madison’s mind as she worked. She understood how the woman came to be so aloof and obsessed with appearances.

  It had been painful enough for Madison, knowing Gray had cheated on her and forsaken their marriage vows. But Miss Juliet! Knowing that her own sister carried Darwin’s child. Betrayed by both her sister and her husband, even if it was before their wedding. It was no wonder she kept people at arm’s length after that, not wishing to be hurt again. With her pride in tatters, she probably controlled the things she could, including whatever air of dignity she could muster. If she became obsessed with outward appearances, it was no wonder. She had to have been devastated, not only by the betrayal, but also by Darwin’s sudden death.

  It explained the shell of a woman she became, but it didn’t explain why she might have hidden gold in her library chair. And it certainly didn’t explain why she left it there for all those years.

  But if Juliet hadn’t hidden it there, who had?

  The first time her phone rang, and the caller hung up, Madison thought nothing of it. Misdials happened. But when it happened again five minutes later, she stopped her work to look for her phone. Caller ID didn’t recognize the number. Slipping the phone into her back pocket, she returned to her work. Another tuck here, binding there, and the back should be in place.

  She stood back to survey the job as her phone rang a third time.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Silence greeted her.

  “If this is a telemarketer, I’m not interested.”

  The caller was still on the line, but not speaking.

  “I’m hanging up now. If you can’t talk to me, please don’t call back.”

  Five minutes later, her phone buzzed again. Madison hit the Ignore button.

  They repeated the cycle twice more. Every five minutes, the phone rang. Every time, Madison ignored the call.

  By the sixth call, she had reached the end of her patience.

  “What do you want?” she demanded by way of greeting.

  “I, uh, wanted to invite you to lunch. But never mind.”

  Madison pushed an unsteady hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought you were someone else.”

  “I hope so,” Brash chuckled. “I hope the honeymoon’s not over already.”

  “Never,” she assured him. “You mentioned lunch? I could definitely use a break.”

  “Good. As much as I love New Beginnings, that jambalaya the other night was so good, it has me craving seafood again. Today is Fish Taco Friday at Montelongo’s. Meet me there in thirty minutes?”

  “Best offer I’ve had all day!” she quipped.

  She had just enough time to clean up her mess, go home, freshen up, and meet her husband at their favorite Mexican food restaurant.

  As she headed out to the car, her phone rang again. Distracted, Madison answered, forgetting about the earlier hang-ups.

  A mechanical voice, surely altered by one of those computerized gadgets, finally spoke.

  “This advice is golden. Back. Off.”

  Startled, Madison instead dropped her phone. It clattered noisily to the pavement and gave a healthy bounce, coming to a stop beneath her car. By the time she crawled under the carriage, fished out the phone, and put it to her ear again, the caller was long gone.

  The mechanical echo of the threat—and a black vehicle—followed her home.

  “You seem a bit on edge. What’s wrong with my beautiful wife today?” Brash wanted to know, less than three minutes after they were seated.

  “Why—Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “For one thing, that forced little laugh you just did. For another, you avoided my question. And the reason I asked the question in the first place”—he leaned in close to whisper— “I just know.”

  “It’s nothing. Really.”

  “Is that why you’re adding salt to your water?”

  Trying not to look startled, she fibbed, “I—I heard it was good for digestion.”

  “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not without breaking her promise to Granny Bert. Vowing to have a talk with her grandmother that very afternoon and call off their ridiculous agreement, Madison went with a half-truth.

  “I had a few irritating calls earlier. Telemarketers, I’m sure. That’s why I answered so testily when you called. I was in the middle of… something,” she caught herself just in time, “and didn’t have time for such nonsense.”

  “What were you in the middle of that demanded such close attention?”

  “No questions, remember? It’s too close to your birthday. Same rules as Christmas.”

  Brash nuzzled his face against her ear. “I really liked that nightgown you didn’t wear the other night. You can just give me that again, and I’ll be a happy man.”

  “You’ll get that, but you’ll also get a present. One you can unwrap in public. Which is where we are now, so behave yourself.” She gave him a gentle shove.

  “We’re married,” he protested.

  “And we’re being watched by half the town.”

  He glanced up and saw several patrons of the restaurant looking their way, most of whom wore amused smiles. With a playful wave of his fingers, Brash reluctantly pulled away and sat straighter in his chair.

  “I’ll motion Juanita over for a fresh water while you tell me what else is bothering you. Telemarketers don’t usually rattle you.”

  “This one was persistent.”

  Brash allowed her to leave it at that as they ordered and ate their lunch.

  “Why did you only work at Marvin Gardens for about an hour this morning?” he asked, scooping a bite of shrimp queso onto a tortilla chip.

  “He had a client coming in, and they were going over designs. We couldn’t both use the drafting board.”

  “He has you working on the drafting board?” her husband asked in surprise.

  “No, no. I just use it to spread the files out,” she was quick to explain. “His former receptionist left a huge mess. Get this. Apparently, she was one of those small minds who still subscribes to the old Juliet vs. Naomi mentality. She segregated her files according to which town their clients lived in.”

  Brash shook his dark auburn head in disgust. “There are all kinds of prejudices in the world. Unfortunately, there’s no cure for small minds.”

  “And small minds don’t just live in small towns.”

  “Very true.”

  Madison looked around the restaurant, noting how crowded it was. “I didn’t realize how popular Fish Taco Fridays were.”

  “Could be because it’s also Fried Catfish Friday.”

  “Come to think of it, that is what’s on most people’s plates,” Madison noted. “Oh, look. There’s Hank and Virgie Adams getting up from that table. Now don’t forget and say something about the party. It’s a surprise.”

  “You’re not going to try to pull that same trick on me, are you?” Brash grumbled.

  “Why? You don’t like surprises?”

  “Not the kind that involve people jumping out at me, making loud noises. Makes my trigger finger itch.”

  A smile twisted his wife’s lips. “I will definitely keep that in mind.”

  The Adamses stopped to exchange greetings, but no mention was made of the upcoming birthdays for either the older woman or the lawman. As the couple bid them goodbye and turned to leave, they stopped to speak to Tom Pruett, who Madison hadn’t noticed until that moment. He sat at the next booth, but with his back to her.

  If nothing else, the khaki shirt should have been a clue to his identity, but her attention was fragmented today, torn between the disturbing phone calls and her handsome but observant husband.

  Their tacos came, and Madison turned her attention to the meal, until something Virgie said caught her ear. Hearing
the word ‘chair,’ she tuned in to the conversation taking place at the adjacent booth.

  “Are you still enjoying it?” the woman inquired.

  “I’m afraid I no longer have the chair,” Tom Pruett replied. “For reasons I can’t go into, I had to dispose of the item.” As usual, the man made it sound like something of grave importance. Another of his top-secret missions that would ‘rock this community when the truth was discovered,’ no doubt.

  “Oh, dear!” Virgie Adams seemed genuinely distraught. “You… destroyed it?”

  Did Madison imagine it, or did Miss Virgie dart her eyes toward her?

  Madison blinked and sat up straighter. Why would Miss Virgie look her way? Could it be they were discussing her chair? The one originally part of Juliet and Darwin’s gifted set? But… why? How?

  “No,” Mr. Pruett answered. “To my knowledge, the chair is still intact. I… can’t recall the specifics—or rather, can’t reveal the specifics—but there was a reason I had to relocate the item. Something quite urgent. A matter of national concern.”

  “Over that chair?” By now, Virgie Adams’ distress had turned to absolute confusion. “The red velvet? But how on earth…”

  Understanding dawned in her husband’s eyes, and he shifted on his feet, subtly stepping away from the man at the booth. “I don’t mean to rush you, Mother, but we really need to go,” he said, taking his wife’s elbow. “Good to see you again, Tom.”

  “But… But… I don’t…”

  Virgie was still sputtering her confusion when her husband hustled her away. Tom Pruett continued to speak, even though he had lost his audience.

  “Yes, it was quite urgent. As much as I liked that chair, I could no longer keep it. But it worked well in my negotiations, so things worked out for the best.” Madison saw him bend his head, presumably to take a bite of his meal, but she could hear him still muttering. His voice was much lower now, but occasional words floated back to her. Government. Secure. Narrowly avoided a major conspiracy.

  “Madison?” Brash asked. He watched her face in concern. “Are you okay? You have a very strange look on your face.”

  “I—uh—I… Would you excuse me for one minute? I just remembered a message I’m supposed to give Miss Virgie.” She jumped up from her seat, knowing how lame she must sound. “It’s to throw her off track about the party,” she fibbed. “I’ll just be a moment.”

  She hurried to catch up with the older couple, reaching them as they walked to their car.

  “Excuse me. Mrs. Adams?”

  “Oh, hello again, dear.”

  “I know this must sound a little out of left field,” Madison began.

  “After the conversation I just had, nothing will strike me as strange,” the woman assured her.

  “That’s just it. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Mr. Pruett.”

  “The old goat has gone soft in the head!” Hank Adams harrumphed. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard him say something off the wall. He likes to think he was once in the Secret Service, but I say it was more like a secret asylum for the insane.”

  “Hank!” his wife cautioned.

  “It’s true. When he’s not going on about one of his conspiracy theories, he’s taking about his wealth. According to him, he’s some big-time collector. One of these days, someone’s going to take him seriously and knock him in the head, hoping to steal from him. If it doesn’t kill him, maybe it will knock some sense into his head.”

  Hank Adams sounded just like Granny Bert. No wonder they had been friends for so many years.

  “Again,” she said, “I know this will sound like a strange question, but were you by any chance talking about a chair that came from the Big House?” Madison ventured to ask. “A red velvet with curvy, graceful lines?”

  The older couple exchanged an uncomfortable look before Virgie admitted on a sigh, “Yes. Yes, that’s the one.”

  “But… how did it get from the Big House?”

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” There was a touch of offense in Hank’s tone.

  “No, of course not. I’m just trying to make sense of something. You see, I just bought that chair from an upholstery shop in Navasota. It’s a surprise birthday gift for Brash. I plan to recover it, but Granny recognized it as part of a set that once sat in Miss Juliet’s formal library. I’m just trying to put the pieces together.” She didn’t dare mention the biggest mystery of all, of how a fortune in gold came to be hidden inside.

  “Navasota?” While Virgie made noises of surprise, her husband spoke over her words.

  “It’s true. The chair was part of a set. But one of the legs had loosened, and I was afraid it wasn’t safe to sit in. Years ago, I took it home with me to repair, but before I got around to it, Miss Juliet took ill and died. Somehow, I just never took it back. It sat in my workshop for the longest time, until just a few years ago. Virgie made me clean out the shop, and we decided to sell the chair in a yard sale.”

  “I know it wasn’t rightfully ours to sell,” his wife added in a worried voice. “But no one was living in the Big House anymore, and we had had it for so long, it seemed strange to take it back after all that time. We didn’t make a lot of money on it. We only charged twenty-five dollars. But—But I’ll be happy to give it to you, seeing as you’re the rightful owner. Hank, get out your wallet.”

  “No, no. I’m not asking you to pay me. I just couldn’t imagine how the chair wound up in Navasota.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. After what Tom just said, I wouldn’t even try.”

  Madison took a few more moments to assure the couple she wasn’t upset with them over the chair. On the contrary, she told them, she was thrilled to have solved at least one piece of the puzzle.

  Tom Pruett, of course, was another matter.

  By the time she hurried back to the table, the man was already gone, but her husband was waiting for her with patient but inquisitive eyes.

  “I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” she said, offering what she hoped was an appeasing smile. “But you know how birthdays are. Full of secrets.”

  Brash merely raised a skeptical brow. Later, as he walked her to the car, he commented again on her strange behavior during lunch and her earlier preoccupation.

  “You keep glancing around. Afraid that telemarketer is going to jump out at you?” Despite the tease in his voice, his eyes reflected his concern.

  “Something like that.” She attempted a smile.

  A frown moved across Brash’s face. “Lamont Andrews hasn’t said anything to you, has he?”

  “Why—Why would Lamont Andrews say something to me?” She willed the guilt out of her voice.

  “You said he practically threw you out of the store last week. I thought maybe he had said something more.”

  “I told you. I don’t plan to ever set foot in his business again.”

  Which was true, but not the whole truth. She hadn’t told Brash about the confrontation in the parking lot.

  Her evasive answer seemed to satisfy him. “You let me know if he gives you any more trouble.”

  “I’m sure he won’t.” She saw the argument building on his lips. “But if he does, you’ll be the first to know.” She stretched upward to press a kiss on his lips, worrying that Brash would, indeed, be the first to know. He’d know the very moment that Lamont insisted he file charges against her.

  Brash held the door open while she slid behind the wheel. “What’s your plan for the afternoon, my love?” he inquired.

  “I need to run back over to Granny Bert’s and help her finish something.”

  “Ah, so you moved my present over there. Didn’t trust me not to search the cubbyhole, huh?” He teased her with waggled brows.

  “I told you. No questions.”

  But as she drove back to her grandmother’s, constantly scanning her mirrors for signs of the dark sedan, Madison knew that excuse would only hold for so long.

  Ei
ghteen

  “Granny? It’s me. Are you home?” Madison let herself in, thinking it odd that the door was locked. No matter how many times she cautioned her grandmother, Granny Bert usually left the locks free. The older woman claimed she didn’t know what the world was coming to, if she had to lock her doors here in The Sisters. She said she wasn’t sure what was worse: locking herself inside a home she had lived in for sixty years or locking her friends out.

  Granny Bert’s voice came from somewhere in the dark interior. “If I wasn’t home, I wouldn’t be answering you, now would I?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Over here by the window. Trying to decide what that woman and that car are doing out there.”

  “What woman? What car?” Madison hurried to the window to peek out alongside her grandmother.

  “I never could get a good look at the woman’s face,” Granny Bert complained. “She had some sort of scarf tied around her head.”

  “What was she doing? Where is she now? Who was she?” She shot out the questions in rapid repetition.

  “Walking down the sidewalk.”

  Madison craned her neck to see. “Where? I don’t see her.”

  “She’s already gone. This was a good five minutes ago.”

  “Then why are you still at the window?” Madison asked, stepping back. “What’s so strange about a woman walking down the sidewalk?”

  “Nothing. If she had stayed on the sidewalk. But she nosied herself up to the door. Didn’t ring the bell, but she was sniffing around. Before I could ask her what she wanted, she sidled over to the windows and peered inside.”

  “Granny, you shouldn’t open the door to strangers,” Madison cautioned.

  “Am I five?” her grandmother demanded. “I’ve been around the block a time or two, young lady. Do I need to remind you that I’m the one who taught you about safety?”

  “If I remember correctly, Uncle Homer wasn’t too thrilled with some of the lessons I learned.” Madison grimaced in memory.