Drawing Close: The Fourth Novel in the Rosemont Series

by Barbara Hinske

  “How did you like your first meeting as a member of the council? You were certainly well prepared. You asked great questions.”

  Tim Knudsen smiled and waved Tonya Holmes over to join them. “Tonya and I got together for coffee earlier this week, and she went over things with me. Showed me the ropes.”

  “I’d expect nothing less of her.” Maggie smiled at Tonya. “She’s the hardest working public representative I’ve ever seen. Always does her homework, and votes for her constituents, every time.”

  Tonya flushed. “I try.”

  “Russ,” Maggie called, trying to catch Council Member Russell Isaac before he exited at the far end of the council chamber. He turned, gestured to his watch in an exaggerated fashion, and continued out the door.

  “He hasn’t spoken to me in months,” Tonya said. “The less I see of him, the better. I’ll bet he’s connected to Delgado in this whole thing. Haynes, too. Where is Frank today, by the way? It’s not like him to miss a council meeting.”

  “He left me a voice mail that he’d be out of town on business,” Maggie replied. “He’s been gone a lot, lately.”

  “I didn’t know he had business interests outside of Westbury,” Tim said. “Maybe he’s expanding his empire.”

  “With the town’s money, if you ask me,” Tonya said.

  “We don’t have any evidence of that,” Maggie reprimanded gently. “We don’t want to speculate. That’s how rumors get started.”

  “I know, I know,” Tonya said. “But I’m entitled to my opinion.”

  Maggie turned to Tim. “I need some information from you. I understand that the Wheeler house was sold at a foreclosure auction. Can you find out who bought it? I’m assuming that the bank ended up taking it back.”

  Tim spun around to look at her. “Didn’t you hear?” he asked, looking from Maggie to Tonya and back again. “It went to a third party—not the bank. The house was sold to the only bidder at the sale.”

  “Who was the bidder?” Maggie asked.

  “Chuck Delgado,” Tim replied.

  Maggie’s head snapped up. They needed to serve their search warrant and get into that house before the day was done. She thanked Tim, again, for agreeing to step into Chuck Delgado’s newly vacated council seat and promised Tonya she’d have lunch with her the following week.

  “I haven’t heard about your honeymoon, yet,” Tonya reminded her.

  “Next week, for sure,” Maggie called over her shoulder as she made a beeline for her office.

  “I’ve got these letters ready for your signature,” her assistant called as Maggie sailed past.

  “I’ll be right out,” Maggie said brightly. “I’ve got a call to make.”

  Maggie dove into her purse for her cell phone. She tapped her foot impatiently while Alex’s number rang and rang, finally going to voice mail. This news couldn’t wait. She buzzed her assistant. “Can you get me Forest Smith on the phone?”

  Maggie waited for what seemed like an eternity until Smith was on the line. “Is Alex with you?” she asked, dismissing the usual formalities.

  “He’s right here, ma’am,” Smith said. “Do you want to speak to him?”

  “Put me on speaker. You both need to hear this,” she replied.

  Smith complied. “We’re here,” Alex said. “What’s up?”

  “Chuck Delgado bought the Wheeler house at the sale,” she blurted out.

  “Damn it!” Alex exploded. “Are you sure?”

  “I heard it from Tim Knudsen.”

  “He would know,” Alex said. “We need to get that search warrant served this afternoon. For all we know, he’s been through the place and found what we’re after.”

  “Maybe he bought it as an investment,” Smith said. “He owns other rental properties in town. Maybe the fact that it had been Wheeler’s home held some sort of macabre fascination for him.”

  “Forest’s got a point,” Maggie said. “I hadn’t thought about that. This may not be as bad as it seems.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Alex said. “In the meantime, we need to search that house.”

  ***

  Chuck Delgado turned onto West Sycamore Street. It was obvious that something big was happening halfway down the street. He proceeded cautiously in the direction of his newly acquired property and pulled to the curb three doors down from the house. The driveway and both sides of the street in front of the house were filled with police cars.

  He hurried toward the commotion, stepping around a group of uniformed officers in his path. One of them held out his arm to block Delgado’s progress.

  “You’ll have to cross on the other side of the street, sir,” the officer said.

  “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

  The officer bristled but remained calm. “It doesn’t matter who you are, sir. This is a police action, and you can’t go through here.”

  “This is my house. I got a right to know what’s going on.”

  The officer nodded. “In that case, you need to see Chief Thomas.” He took Delgado’s arm and escorted him up the sidewalk to the front door.

  “Look who came strolling by, Chief,” the officer said.

  Chief Thomas nodded and handed Delgado the search warrant that Special Counsel Scanlon had delivered to the chief not more than thirty minutes earlier.

  “What the hell …” Delgado muttered.

  Chief Thomas pointed to the key that Delgado was clutching in his left hand.

  “May I?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm.

  Delgado shoved the key into the lock. “Help yourselves, boys,” he replied as he moved to step over the threshold.

  Chief Thomas barred his progress. “You’ll need to wait outside.” He turned to the officer. “Escort Mr. Delgado back to the curb and make sure he stays there.”

  “This is my house,” Delgado protested.

  “And we’ll let you know when we’re done.” The chief nodded to the officer who took Delgado by the elbow.

  Delgado shook him off. “I don’t need no escort.” He stormed down the steps and took up a spot along the opposite curb among the growing crowd of neighbors and curious onlookers.

  He watched as ten uniformed officers entered by the front door and maintained his vigil while the crowd around him thinned as people grew bored. The search lasted more than three hours, with officers coming and going. In the last hour, Delgado counted four large black plastic bags—containing who knew what—being taken down the front steps and placed in a waiting police van. Three final bags were carried from the garage and the back doors of the van were closed. Two officers got in and rolled slowly past Delgado.

  Delgado crossed the street as Chief Thomas locked the front door. “Find what you were lookin’ for?” Delgado sneered.

  Chief Thomas turned and held the key out to Delgado.

  “You’d better not have done any damage in there,” Delgado said. “If you have, there’ll be a lawsuit on your desk before you get back to the precinct.”

  “Everything is exactly as we found it,” the chief replied calmly. “We’ve got before and after pictures to prove it.” He stepped past Delgado.

  “You took a lot of shit out of here,” Delgado turned after him.

  The chief kept on walking.

  ***

  Chief Thomas knocked lightly and proceeded to enter the mayor’s office. Maggie searched his face as she ushered him to the conference table in the corner.

  “Alex told me he got you the warrant. Are you here to report on the results of the search?”

  The chief nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Maggie held up her hand to stop him. “Let’s get Alex on the speaker phone, first,” she said as she dialed Alex’s number.

  “I’ve got the chief here with me,” Maggie said. “He’s served the warrant.”

  “Are you done?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. I had ten officers with me and we spent a little over three hours. With Chuck Delgado watching from across t
he street. He showed up almost immediately after we arrived.”

  “How convenient,” Alex said. “Wonder how he knew.”

  “Are you insinuating that there’s a leak in my department?” the chief snapped.

  “How else—” Alex began but Maggie cut him off.

  “This is not the time,” Maggie said sternly. “What did you find?”

  “Nothing,” the chief said. “Absolutely nothing. “The baseboards were removed in every room. We took off any crown molding, too. Nothing there or behind any of the cupboards. We even removed the medicine cabinets from the bathrooms. All of the floorboards were solid. We checked the house and the garage,” he concluded. “No third report.”

  Maggie’s inhaled suddenly. “Wait a minute. The garage?’ She held her breath.

  “Yes—the garage,” the chief replied.

  “We didn’t check the garage. David and I didn’t think to check the garage.” She cradled her head in her hands. “What did it look like in there?”

  “Same as the house, except it was full of junk. The Wheelers didn’t clean it out. The baseboards were all pulled away from the wall.”

  Maggie moaned. “I’ll bet that’s where the third spreadsheet was hidden. I’m telling you—there has to be a third spreadsheet.”

  The line remained silent as they allowed the implications of this discovery to sink in. “Then Delgado must have it,” Alex finally broke the silence.

  Chief Thomas shook his head slowly. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. We made a big show of taking black plastic bags out of the house and garage and loading them into a police van. Since Delgado was watching us from the opposite curb, we wanted to give him something to think about.”

  “That was smart,” Maggie said.

  “When I gave him back his key, he asked what we found. He seemed anxious about it. If he’d already been through the place and had his hands on that spreadsheet, he wouldn’t have been.”

  “He doesn’t have a reputation for having a poker face,” Alex said. “I’ll give you that.” He sighed heavily. “Who has that third spreadsheet?”

  Chapter 30

  Maggie was putting away leftovers later that week while John was washing the skillet they’d used to make dinner when Gordon Mortimer called.

  “Mayor Martin, I’ve arranged the sale, and I think you’ll be pleased,” he announced.

  Maggie remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

  “Sotheby’s will auction your items and recommends that we place all of them, except the Martin-Guillaume Biennais, in a London auction to be held October twenty-fourth.”

  Maggie released the breath she had been holding. The timing would work. She’d read on the auctioneer’s website that payments were made for sold items thirty-five days after the sale, provided that the bidder actually paid for the item. If everything sold, she’d have the money she needed in time.

  “Why won’t the Martin-Guillaume Biennais be part of the London sale?” she asked.

  “The experts at Sotheby’s—and they are truly experts, Mayor Martin; no one knows more about the value of silver and how to sell it than the team at Sotheby’s—feel that the Martin-Guillaume Biennais will bring three times as much at a Paris sale in March.”

  Maggie swallowed hard. If she were going to sell it, she wanted to get as much as possible for it. “What do they think I’ll get without selling the Martin-Guillaume Biennais?” she asked.

  “On the low end, after commissions, five hundred thousand in U.S. dollars. On the best day, you might see one million five hundred. After commissions are paid.”

  “And with the Martin-Guillaume Biennais at the London auction?”

  Gordon Mortimer paused, as if he couldn’t bear to contemplate that she might insist on liquidating the most valuable items in her collection in a less than optimal way. “They feel certain that it will bring at least eight hundred thousand in London. In Paris, after they’ve had more time to promote it, they feel confident it will bring three times that amount.”

  Maggie coughed.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer tonight. I’m assuming you want to go through with the London auction for the bulk of it?”

  “Yes. That’s certain.”

  “Good. I’ll email you the contracts tonight. Look them over carefully, and call me with any questions. I’ll be up late tonight and early tomorrow morning. We’ll need to move quickly. I’m planning a trip to Westbury early next week. I’ll oversee the packing and shipment to London. That’s part of the service I provide.”

  “I’m very grateful to you for that, Mr. Mortimer. I wouldn’t know how to insure and send things this valuable.”

  “Why don’t you think about the Martin-Guillaume Biennais overnight? Talk to your husband or your children about it. I know I’ve said this before, but I reiterate: my advice is to wait and sell it in Paris.”

  Maggie respected his opinion, but he didn’t have all the facts. “I’ll discuss this with my husband. You’ll have my answer in the morning.”

  John was drying the final pan when she placed her phone on the counter and turned to him.

  “The distinguished appraiser, I take it?”

  Maggie nodded. Bubbles jumped onto the countertop, and Maggie drew the cat to her chest, drawing comfort from the familiar rumble that followed as Maggie stroked her side.

  “By the look on your face, I’m guessing he didn’t have good news?”

  “It’s not that. He’s got the silver placed in an auction in London on October twenty-fourth.”

  “That’s good.” John knew the timeline Maggie had constructed as well as she did. Her lawyer had responded to Simon Wilkens’ demand letter and begun the process of authenticating the facts and documents presented by Wilkens. He’d reported last week that his investigation had verified everything. He could only forestall a lawsuit until the end of the year. He advised Maggie to have her money together by early December if she wanted to avoid being sued. “Why the long face, then?”

  “Mortimer recommended selling all but the Martin-Guillaume Biennais at the London auction. He thinks we should wait to sell it in Paris in March. It’ll bring three times the price in Paris. He said that we should expect to receive between five hundred thousand dollars and a million and a half for the stuff he recommends we sell in London.”

  Maggie faced John and tears rimmed her eyes. “So even on its best day, it won’t be enough. We’ll need at least two million three to buy out Frank.”

  “Surely the Martin-Guillaume Biennais would bring enough in London to give us the two million three?”

  Maggie nodded. “Yes, but isn’t that just being foolish? How can we afford to throw away that much money—possibly millions—just to hang onto Rosemont? Come on, John. You have to think that’s crazy.”

  John took her in his arms. “I think it would be crazy not to do everything we can to hang onto this place. You love it, and you know it. The house is happy with us living here, too.”

  Maggie nodded against his shoulder.

  “Don’t pretend that you don’t think this house has feelings. I know you too well, Mrs. Allen. I’ve heard you come in from one of your thrift store excursions, whispering to Rosemont that you’ve bought it a present.”

  Maggie laughed. “And you don’t think I’m kooky?”

  “I think you’re kooky, all right, but it’s part of your charm. Can you imagine how horrified Rosemont would be if Frank Haynes were living here? There’d be no more Easter carnivals or Christmas high teas; impromptu pizza parties or Thanksgiving dinners with friends. You can’t possibly think of letting that happen to Rosemont.”

  “I knew you’d help me see reason,” she said.

  “We’re not counting on the Martin-Guillaume Biennais for our retirement. We didn’t even know we had it or what it was until recently. May as well use it for something we really want, and that’s Rosemont.”

  Maggie stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

  “Now go call that man and set
him straight. We’re selling the Martin-Guillaume Biennais in London on October twenty-fourth.”

  Chapter 31

  Loretta Nash flipped through a magazine while Nicole dozed in her hospital bed after her latest dialysis treatment. She tossed the magazine onto a stack on the table in the recovery area and stood to stretch her legs. If she sat watching her child’s discomfort for one more minute she would scream. She headed toward the water fountain when she saw a familiar couple at the end of the hallway. David Wheeler and Dodger turned in her direction as she was raising her hand to wave to them.

  “David,” Loretta called. She motioned him toward her. “I’m Loretta Nash. I met you when you came to Haynes Enterprises. I’m Mr. Haynes’ assistant.”

  David nodded in recognition.

  “You and Dodger have met my daughter Nicole in this hospital before. She loves Dodger.” Loretta bent to pet the dog standing obediently at his master’s side. “And she’s here now. Right over there, in that room,” she said, pointing. “She’s not feeling too well. I think a visit from Dodger might be just what she needs. Would you have time to go see her?”

  David was about to tell her that they were done for the day and on their way home, but the anxiety in her eyes made him pause. “Sure,” he said. “We’d love to—wouldn’t we, boy?”

  Loretta’s smile was all the confirmation he needed. David and Dodger followed Loretta as she retraced her steps to Nicole’s bedside.

  “Look who’s here,” Loretta said, slipping her arm under Nicole’s shoulders and propping her into a sitting position.

  Nicole’s eyelids fluttered, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists.

  David positioned Dodger next to Nicole’s bed. “Do you remember Dodger?” he asked the little girl. “He had a good time with you before.”

  She turned her head in David’s direction and looked at the dog.

  “Would you like to pet him?” David asked.

  Nicole stared at Dodger, then slowly shook her head no.

  “Sure you would,” Loretta said. She took Nicole’s hand in hers and reached for Dodger.

  David shifted from one foot to the other. “We can come back another time,” he said as a nurse approached.