Dawn Stewardson

by Five Is Enough

  “All right,” he said, cuddling her to him. “The question is this. How do we end up together? I mean, you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d like that very, very much.”

  He smiled. How could he not smile when the woman he loved loved him. But even though that made all those differences fade in significance, none of them had entirely vanished. And even if some of them might not be nearly as important as he’d once believed, there was still one obstacle that seemed insurmountable.

  The likelihood of Lauren deciding she wanted to spend the rest of her life at Eagles Roost was about as low as his deciding he wanted to spend the rest of his life in the city.

  “All right,” he said once more. “The problem is, if a dolphin and a meadowlark fall in love, where do they make a home?”

  She laughed at that. “Which am I? The dolphin or the meadowlark?”

  “I don’t know. Whichever you’d like to be. Either way, how do we work things out?”

  “Why don’t we mull it over for a while,” she suggested. “In the meantime, with all the excitement, for lack of a better word, I nearly forgot why I came home.”

  He looked at her blankly for a moment, then said, “Because you know who Dirk Blackstone is. You saw him picking up the fax.”

  “Well, not exactly. I mean, I don’t think there really is a Dirk Blackstone. It was Hunter Clifton who picked up the fax. My board member. The vice president of the bank—”

  “That Leroy robbbed a branch of,” Sully said, finishing her sentence. “But if our mystery man is actually one of your board members, what does that add up to?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not certain, but I did try to make sense of it on the way home. And I think it might be significant that Hunter’s fairly new to the board. He only joined it a few months before I became director—only volunteered back around the end of last year.”

  “Volunteered? That’s how it works?”

  “Sometimes. I guess the norm is that a particular person is invited to join. Occasionally, though, someone expresses an interest in being involved and it goes from there. But the point is, you said it was last fall that Ben approached you about selling. So, after you told him you weren’t interested, Hunter could have nosed around about your program, discovered the Van Slyke Foundation funded it, and volunteered.”

  “So he both paid Leroy to rob the bank and got himself on the board. Which meant he was in a perfect position to make a big deal about the robbery he’d set up in the first place.”

  “Right. A big enough deal that it persuaded the others to go along with cutting off your funding.”

  “All the pieces fall into place so neatly that that’s got to be it, right?”

  When Lauren slowly nodded, Sully realized he’d been holding his breath, desperately hoping he’d figured things right.

  “I really think that does have to be it,” she said.

  “But we’re still missing something. Why does Hunter Clifton want Eagles Roost so badly?”

  “I don’t know. But since it’s Saturday, you’ll be glad to hear that my list of board members includes their home addresses.”

  HUNTER CLIFTON and his wife lived on Long Island not all that far from Elliot and Ursula, and some forty or fifty miles from Manhattan. Their two-story house was large and formal…built of redbrick and trimmed with white shutters. The four-or five-acre property it sat on was manicured to within an inch of its life.

  Lauren’s first thought was that the house and grounds fit perfectly with the image Hunter Clifton strove to project. She knew he had two children, but there were no bicycles in sight, no toys lying on the lawn, no hoop for kids to play basketball on the driveway. Everything looked picture-perfect—and, to her way of thinking, absolutely sterile.

  “If his taste runs to something like this,” Sully said, pulling the van to a stop on the drive, “why on earth would he be interested in a wilderness lodge?”

  Lauren shrugged. “A change of scenery?”

  “Are you kidding? It would be more like complete culture shock.”

  “Well, I guess we’re about to find out why he’s interested. Assuming he’s home,” she added, glancing at the three closed garage doors.

  “You know, maybe we should reconsider this plan,” Sully said as she reached for her door handle. “Maybe you should wait here until I see—”

  “No,” she interrupted, shooting him a determined look. “In the first place, regardless of what Hunter Clifton’s game is, I’m certain he’s not dangerous. If I thought there was even a chance of that, we’d have called the police instead of coming here. And in the second place,” she added, opening her door, “we already decided that since I know Hunter I’ll start the ball rolling this time and you’ll be the one to jump in.”

  Sully muttered something she didn’t catch, then came around the van. They started for the house, her stomach feeling a little unsettled. They were basically going to play things by ear again, but Hunter Clifton was a whole lot more intelligent than Ben Ludendorf, which meant this round probably wouldn’t be half as easy.

  She rang the bell and waited, not even glancing at Sully in case she looked as anxious as she felt. After a few moments, the door opened and a woman stood eyeing them curiously. She was a blonde in her late thirties—extremely attractive, perfectly made-up, and wearing a white cotton sweater and white pants that positively gleamed. All in all, she looked like the ideal wife for Hunter.

  “Mrs. Clifton?” Lauren said.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Clifton, I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I’m Lauren Van Slyke, director of the Van Slyke Foundation, and something urgent has come up that I have to speak to your husband about.”

  “Lauren Van Slyke?”

  Lauren nodded. “And this is Jack Sullivan.”

  The woman’s gaze flickered to Sully for a millisecond, then she looked at Lauren again and smiled warmly. “Do come in. Hunter isn’t here at the moment, but he’s only dropping the children off at friends’, so he shouldn’t be long. And I’m so pleased to have the chance to meet you,” she added, ushering them into a large, wainscotted foyer.

  “Hunter has often mentioned your name. And your father’s, as well. He’s so excited about that project in SoHo they’ve been putting together. In fact, just the other day I was suggesting we invite your parents to dinner. And you, too, of course. I’m sure we all have a great deal in common. Hunter comes from an old New York family, you know. Not as prominent as yours, by any means, but an old established family.”

  “Ah,” Lauren said. Hunter’s wife was obviously very impressed by the Van Slyke name, which certainly couldn’t do any harm. “I wonder, Mrs. Clifton, if—”

  “Oh, please,” she said with another warm smile. “It’s Christina.”

  “Christina, then.” Lauren matched her smile. “Christina, Hunter has an office in the house, doesn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s an absolute workaholic.”

  Lauren hesistated, then decided it had to be worth trying a shot in the dark. After all, there was nothing to lose. “Well, Christina, Hunter set up a special file on one of the programs the foundation funds, a program called Eagles Roost. And there are a couple of things in it that I need to check. So if I could look at it while we’re waiting, it would save time.”

  “You think he’d have it here? At the house?”

  “Well, it’s not bank business, so he might.”

  “Yes, that’s true. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have a look for it, so let’s go and do that. This way,” she added, starting up the stairs.

  As they headed after her, Sully gave Lauren a grin and a thumbs-up. She hoped he wasn’t actually counting on anything coming of this, though. Just because Hunter struck her as obsessive enough to keep files on all his personal dealings, that certainly didn’t guarantee he did. Especially personal dealings that had wandered way over onto the wrong side of the law.

  “This is Hunter’s office,” Christin
a said as they reached a door at the back end of the upstairs hall. She felt along the top of the door-frame and located a key.

  “Hunter keeps the room locked so the children don’t go in,” she explained, unlocking the door. “Now,” she added, leading the way in, “let me just look through these files on his desk.

  “No, nothing there,” she murmured after a minute. “Let’s try the filing cabinet.”

  Lauren held her breath while Christina rummaged through that, then exhaled slowly when the woman turned back to them, shaking her head.

  “There’s one more place,” she said, heading across the room. Pulling a book from a shelf, she flipped it open and took a small key from between two of its pages.

  “For some silly reason,” she said, walking back over to the desk, “Hunter keeps the drawers in his desk locked. But I happened to discover this spare key one day while I was…cleaning.”

  Lauren couldn’t resist glancing at Sully. She’d bet dollars to doughnuts that Christina Clifton hadn’t done a minute’s house work in her entire married life.

  “If we find what we want in here,” she was saying as she unlocked the drawers, “I’ll just tell Hunter his desk wasn’t locked—that he must have been in a hurry and forgotten or something. Now, Eagles Roost, Eagles Roost. Yes, here we are.”

  Christina pulled out the file folder and handed it to Lauren—who did her utmost to seem only mildly pleased rather than utterly overjoyed.

  “Could we just sit in here and look through it for what I need?” she asked.

  “Well, Hunter’s a little funny about his office, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your being in here. So, sure. You look through the file while I go down to the kitchen and put on some coffee, all right?”

  “Sounds great,” Sully told her.

  “I didn’t get to jump in,” he whispered as soon as Christina left. “In fact, I felt like the invisible man.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We got what we wanted. Now, let’s hope there’s something in here that makes sense.” She flipped the file open and started leafing through the papers inside.

  “What’s in it?” Sully demanded, peering over her shoulder.

  “Rough notes that would take me forever to read. Hunter’s handwriting is atrocious. And a whole lot of faxes from Ben Ludendorf. And…oh, this might be something. Look,” she said, taking out a long white envelope.

  It was embossed with the name and address of a Manhattan law firm. And the writing on the front read, To be given to my grandson, Hunter Clifton, after my death. The signature beneath the instruction read Earl Clifton.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The mystery is solved

  HER FINGERS TREMBLING, Lauren slid the letter out of the envelope. “It’s dated five years ago,” she said. “But that doesn’t tell us how long Hunter’s had it. Doesn’t tell us when his grandfather died, I mean.”

  “Let’s not worry about that,” Sully said. “Just read it. Aloud, I can’t see much over your shoulder.”

  She nodded and quietly began.

  Dear Hunter,

  Even as a child, you had larceny in your soul.

  “And he certainly didn’t outgrow it,” Sully muttered.

  She smiled, then continued.

  I do not mean that as a criticism—although it is certainly why I disapproved of your going into banking. I always considered that far too conservative a career choice, given your predilection for straying from the straight and narrow.

  The reason you’ve received this letter, however, has nothing to do with your career choice. You are the only one of my grandchildren whom I am certain will try to act on what I am about to tell you. That is why it is you I chose to tell.

  You see, Hunter, I always hated being unable to take advantage of a golden opportunity. And that is precisely what happened when my old friend, Warren Russell, died in his plane crash so many years ago.

  “Warren Russell?” Sully said.

  Lauren glanced up from the letter. “You know the name?”

  “You bet I do. Warren Russell was the Wall Street tycoon who built Eagles Roost. It was when his widow put it on the market that Frank Watson bought it.”

  Lauren nodded. Frank Watson’s name, she knew. He was the man who’d left the lodge to Sully.

  “Go on,” he said, “keep reading.”

  I’m sure you remember the stories I used to tell you about Warren’s lodge in the Adirondacks. Those were great times he and I had up at Eagles Roost, and I know something about the place that nobody else ever did—not even his wife. That is what makes me certain the treasure in the cellar must still be there, that no one has removed it since Warren’s death.

  “Treasure in the cellar?” Sully said. “Lauren, you’re reading too slowly! Let me.” He grabbed the letter and picked up where she’d left off.

  I know I told you, Hunter, that Warren was a truly eccentric fellow. I also told you how unbelievably wealthy he was. What I perhaps never mentioned is that after Wall Street crashed in 1929, Warren developed a fear that he would somehow lose all his money.

  This fear drove him to begin buying valuable objects and squirreling them away in various places. He used to refer to the things as his “special insurance policies,” but the only one I ever knew about specifically was the one hidden at Eagles Roost. It is a van Gogh painting and is sealed in the cellar wall behind the sixth stair from the top.

  “A van Gogh?” Lauren murmured. “A real van Gogh?”

  “That couldn’t be, could it?” Sully said. “I mean, he’s so famous, wouldn’t all his paintings be accounted for?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s true at all. I remember Marisa once telling me he was incredibly prolific, but only sold one painting during his entire lifetime. Most of the rest ended up stored in his brother’s attic. But there could easily be others that were never accounted for.”

  “But…all right, we shouldn’t be getting ahead of ourselves here. Maybe there’s nothing sealed in that wall at all, let alone a van Gogh. Maybe eccentric old Warren just told Hunter’s grandfather there was.” Sully turned to the next page of the letter and continued.

  Warren bought the painting in Paris one year, and when he brought it back to New York he had it safely crated and encased by some art expert. Then I helped him seal it in the wall at Eagles Roost.

  “Sully? If Hunter’s grandfather helped, this must really have happened. I mean, they must have sealed some painting away.”

  “I guess.” He went back to reading.

  I was the only one who ever knew it was there, aside from Warren himself, and I’m sure Warren would have said something if he’d ever moved it to a different hiding place. So, after his death, I tried to buy Eagles Roost—numerous times. First from Warren’s widow, but Hettie and I had never had any use for each other, so just to spite me she sold it to someone else—a man named Frank Watson. And no matter how many times I tried to convince Watson to sell, he refused. Finally, I got too old and gave up.

  But, Hunter, I can only assume that painting is still there. Nobody knows about it except you now, and there’s no need to involve anyone else if you find a way of getting to it. It’s so well protected that you could practically dynamite the wall without damaging the painting.

  At any rate, I expect you’ll do what you can to take advantage of the opportunity. Look on it as my special legacy to you.

  Your loving grandfather,

  Earl Clifton

  Sully looked at Lauren as he finished reading. “Unbelievable,” he said. “If this is true, it’s absolutely unbelievable.”

  Before either of them could say another word, they heard footsteps thundering up the stairs.

  A MAN WHO was practically breathing fire burst into the room—stopping dead when he saw Sully holding the letter.

  “Oh, there you are, Hunter,” Lauren said, smiling so sweetly Sully could barely keep from laughing. “I’d like you to meet Jack Sullivan. You probably recognize his name. He owns Eagles Roost.” />
  “What do you two think you’re doing?” Hunter hissed. “You can’t come sneaking into my house and paw through my private papers! I’m calling the cops!”

  “Calm down, buddy,” Sully snapped. “We were invited into your house. And we didn’t paw through a thing. All we did was read what was in this file your wife gave us.”

  “Sully?” Lauren said. “I don’t think calling the cops is such a bad idea. I’m sure they’d love to hear how Hunter hired a fifteen-year-old kid to pull a bank job for him.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “Okay,” Sully said, “you hired some guy named Gus to hire a fifteen-year-old kid to pull a bank job for you. I think they’ll see that in pretty much the same light.”

  Hunter shoved the door closed, rubbed his palms against his thighs, then cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you what,” he said to Sully. “Christina only gave you that file because Lauren lied to her about it. And if Lauren’s father knew what she’d done, he’d be extremely angry. Especially if any bad press about the foundation resulted from its director’s…poor judgment, shall we call it?”

  “Are you trying to intimidate us?” Sully said, taking a menacing step toward Hunter.

  “No! No, not at all. I’m merely trying to say there’s no point in taking a chance that Roger will find out and be upset with Lauren.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to be concerned about that,” Lauren said, giving Hunter another sweet smile. “I’m used to my father being upset with me.”

  Hunter stared at her for a few seconds, then apparently decided to ignore her remark. “What I’m getting at,” he persisted, “is that the three of us should just keep quiet about this. Why don’t you hand over that letter, Jack, and we’ll forget all about it.”