Abandoned

by Allison Brennan

  The paintings were almost exactly the same size. The Degas was a bit bigger, she realized as she unrolled the old canvas, but she folded the edges under the frame and that provided for a nice, tight fit. No way was it going to slip out. She carefully put the backing back on, then wrote in her perfect handwriting: Don’t Ever Give Away the Seascape.

  She giggled at her own ingenuity. She rehung the painting just so and stood back.

  No one would know. No one. If that bastard Phillip Colter stood here and stared at the painting, he wouldn’t know, either.

  * * *

  The next morning at breakfast, Martha told Emily that she needed to leave. “I hope you can watch Genevieve for a few weeks—I have something I need to do, and I can’t bring the baby.”

  Emily looked conflicted. “Where’s Jimmy? Why isn’t he helping you?”

  Martha burst into tears. It was surprisingly easy to do, maybe because she was already emotional after giving birth. “He left. He walked out, didn’t want anything to do with me and Genevieve. We were together for six years, Emily, and now … I don’t know what to do. I need time to figure things out.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You can always stay here with me. There’s plenty of room.”

  “I need to think about my options. And, well, I’m thinking if I can just talk to Jimmy, one-on-one, he might do the right thing.”

  “However long you need,” Emily said.

  Martha hugged her and thanked her. “Genevieve’s suitcase is in the guest room. It has everything she needs—diapers, clothes, baby shampoo. I put a little money in there, too, if you need to buy anything for her. And here’s her diaper bag. Her birth certificate is in there and her immunization card, they gave it to me at the hospital, just in case you need all that.”

  “How can I reach you?”

  “I’ll call you next week when I get settled, okay? Give you a number and address and let you know when I’ll be back.”

  “All right, if that’s what you think is best.”

  “I do. Thank you so much, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Martha packed up her lone suitcase—she never traveled heavy. Why, when she could buy anything she wanted when she got to her destination?

  She was down to her last thousand dollars, and she still had three weeks in the month. But she had the car and she could probably make it all the way cross-country on a thousand dollars if she slept in the car or rented a cheap motel room.

  She shivered. She hated those places. There had been times when she and Maxie were living hand to mouth the last week of a month and no one would take them in and she had to live in one of those ratholes. Ridiculous.

  On her way out of town, she dropped the two identical postcards in the mail. One to Maxine in Atherton, the other to Genevieve in Cape Haven.

  She stared out at the ocean after she mailed the cards. Maybe she should talk to Phillip. Explain that the entire plan to steal the paintings was on Jimmy. Phillip had loved her, she was certain. He had loved her and he would believe her.

  He’s been looking for you since you left Paris. You and Jimmy. He knows the truth.

  He only thinks he knows the truth.

  She looked at her reflection. She was tired and it showed. She looked older than she ever had before, and last month she’d dyed her hair for the first time ever because she found not one, not two, but seven gray hairs.

  But Phillip was at least ten years older, he should be happy that someone like her was interested in him.

  Don’t go to him. Don’t talk to him. Run, Martha. Run away.

  Run? With what money? A thousand dollars was nothing. She could do it, but then what? Keep running? What if Jimmy went to Phillip first? Turned Phillip against her? Jimmy knew her better than anyone. Where she would go, who her friends were. She didn’t trust him, not after he walked out. Not after he took the paintings.

  The only way to ensure that she came out on top was to talk to Phillip and explain everything. Well, her version of everything.

  Jimmy made her do it.

  He threatened her.

  She told Jimmy she loved Phillip and he flipped out.

  Yes, that would do it. Phillip would listen to her because he had always listened to her in the past. And after Paris?

  She gained confidence as she drove to Phillip’s house outside Oyster Bay. She’d never been here before, but they’d talked about it in Dallas. He’d wanted to bring her here once before, and she’d declined.

  She rang the bell on the gate.

  “May I help you?” a voice asked.

  “Martha Revere for Phillip Colter.”

  “Mr. Colter is not in town.”

  “You’ll want to tell him I am here.”

  “Please wait.”

  Three minutes later, the gate opened. She smiled. Of course Phillip would want to see her.

  Emboldened, she drove down the long drive to the roundabout in front of the house. A man, who was short, old, and had beady eyes, walked out to greet her.

  “I’m the caretaker. Mr. Colter will be here tomorrow and asked that I prepare a room for you. You can leave your things here; I’ll bring them to you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said and walked into the house as if she owned it.

  * * *

  Phillip was eating breakfast in the dining room when Martha walked in the next morning. He’d come in the night before—he’d rushed here when Masters called him with the news that Martha had shown up at his vacation house. She’d already been asleep. He let her sleep because he wasn’t quite sure what he planned to do.

  There was really only one option.

  “Phillip, you’re here!” She smiled brightly, but he saw her for who she was.

  A lying, manipulative, thieving bitch.

  He smiled. “Of course I am.”

  She strode over and kissed him. He tasted nothing but betrayal on her lips.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Famished.”

  He motioned for her to sit. He asked Masters to bring her a mimosa and a full plate. She reached over for a pastry and started eating.

  “I’ve been looking for you for some time,” Phillip said.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave Paris.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s long and complicated, but finally I left Jimmy. I had to sneak out on him because he hurt me, Phillip.”

  “He hurt you.” For years, Phillip had believed her lies, but he could see right through her now.

  “I told him I loved you, that he and I were over for good, and he lost it.”

  Masters brought out two mimosas. Martha’s had a strawberry on the side. She sipped. “Thank you,” she said with a smile and took another sip.

  “That’s all for now,” Phillip told Masters. After he left, he said, “Tell me about the paintings, Martha. You know what happened to them.”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take them from you—it was Jimmy’s idea and I don’t know why I went along with it. My feelings for you scared me—I was so used to being on my own, and, well, Jimmy threatened me. I didn’t know what to do! But when I saw you in Paris, I knew Jimmy and I were through. I told him and … and he said you would never believe the truth. I thought he was right, at first.”

  “What’s the truth, Martha?”

  She was looking nervous, as she should be.

  “Tell me, darling,” he said, his voice calm and reasonable.

  “Last month, I retrieved the paintings from the storage locker and I was going to bring them all back to you. Jimmy caught me and he took them.”

  “Took all my paintings.”

  “Yes! He took them from me and left. I didn’t know what to do, I was at a loss. But I told myself, Phillip will understand and forgive me. I’ll get them back.”

  “From Jimmy.”

  “Yes. He wanted to sell them and I refused because I knew, in my heart, they belonged to you. To us.”

  �
��Where is Jimmy now?”

  She swallowed uneasily. Drank more of the mimosa. Coughed. “I don’t know. He left me in Miami and I came right here.”

  “You know you stole from me.”

  “I didn’t want to—”

  “You stole from me three years ago. And only now are you coming to make amends.”

  “I’m sorry, Phillip. Believe me, I’m sorry.”

  “I do.”

  She smiled, then coughed again, and drank more of the mimosa. It was nearly gone.

  Good.

  “I’ll call Jimmy. Find out where he is.”

  “Let me tell you what I know, Martha.” Phillip stood from the table, walked slowly around the room. Felt Martha’s eyes on him. Her fear growing.

  She should be scared.

  “I’ve done a lot of research over the last few months once I figured out that you and Jimmy Truman had stolen my art from me. Mine. I learned that you and Jimmy have been very, very naughty. You’re freeloaders. You’re con artists. You use and manipulate people for fun and profit and you thought you could use and manipulate me!” His voice rose as he continued.

  “At first, but then I fell in love with you.”

  “You say this now because you know I was close to finding you. I talked to your brother in California. Did you think I didn’t remember that you were a Revere from the banking family? He had some interesting things to say. Seems you and Jimmy had blackmailed a friend of his a few years back in Hawaii. Do you recall?”

  He could see in her face that she did.

  “He told me all about your trust fund. About your games. That you’re an art expert. How you abandoned your daughter with your parents six years ago and ran off with Jimmy Truman. He had many stories, and he was more than happy to share, especially after I agreed to fund one of his pet projects.”

  “Brooks?”

  “Your brother hates you, Martha. You are a pathological liar who will say anything to get out of trouble.”

  “But, I came here on my own to talk to you.”

  “Where are my paintings?”

  “I told you! Jimmy took them. We’ll get them back—I promise!”

  “I will get them back. And now that I know you don’t have them I have no use for you.”

  Martha jumped up, then collapsed.

  “Phillip, please.”

  “Don’t beg. It’s pathetic.”

  Martha tried to pull herself up, but the poison in the mimosa affected her muscles and coordination first.

  “You’ll never find them without me.”

  “I will, Martha.”

  “You won’t. Because you’re not smart enough.” She coughed. “You didn’t even know I’d switched the originals!”

  Phillip walked over to the mantel, opened the lid on the metal box, and pulled out his gun.

  He aimed the gun at her head. “Where is Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know! I told you I don’t know, he left, and you—”

  He pulled the trigger twice. Each bullet hit Martha’s body center mass. She collapsed. He didn’t need to check her pulse to know that she was dead.

  Vance DuBois ran in, gun drawn. “Mr. Colter, are you okay?”

  “Double your efforts to find Jimmy Truman. He has my paintings. I want them, I want them now, and then I want Truman to suffer.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  PRESENT DAY

  Phillip came and sat with the man he had watching Maxine Revere’s cottage.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “The FBI agent left early this morning. At oh-seven-hundred hours.”

  “And?”

  “A teenager came by an hour later. She’s still inside.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. A girl, blond.”

  Phillip considered. It was already after nine in the morning. Maybe he should call Ms. Revere and arrange a lunch. Send her far away, then go to her cottage.

  Or simply go in and force Ms. Revere to talk.

  As he was contemplating his options, the door opened and a man—shorter, stockier than the federal agent—left with the teenager. They drove away in a rental SUV. Almost immediately after that, Maxine Revere left in her rental car.

  Good. He had the place to himself.

  He told his man to keep watch and alert him if anyone approached, then he used the master key and let himself in.

  There was nothing of interest downstairs. The man was staying in the bedroom here, his things neatly put away. He had a suitcase in the closet—the luggage tag read DAVID KANE with a post office box in New York City.

  Phillip went upstairs. The cottage was roomy and well designed. The deck faced the ocean and a balcony went all around. The den doors were open and on two walls were charts, sticky notes, and documents.

  Phillip walked slowly around the room, at first stunned by the quantity of paper and notes, and then started to feel his blood boil as he came to the corner of the room.

  Martha disappears

  Car found registered to D. Jane Sterling, Miami

  An enlarged copy of a map of Northampton County was dotted with labels.

  Martha’s car found

  Henderson property

  Boreal property

  Truman house

  Resort

  Museum

  Library

  Sheriff’s station

  Why did she have the museum on her list? Was there something there of importance?

  Not caring if anyone knew he’d been there, he started going through her papers. He found notes—some things he couldn’t make out as she’d written them in her own odd shorthand.

  Postmark?

  Seascape?

  When was Eve born?

  Eve? Did she mean Eve Truman, Gabriel’s daughter? Why would Maxine Revere care about Gabriel’s kid?

  Frantic for more information, Phillip tore through notes, files, photos … copies of postcards fell from one folder.

  His art. The art that had been stolen from him!

  He picked up the papers and rifled through. Some of the postcards meant nothing—generic beach shots. But his Boudin! His Degas! One side had a black-and-white copy of the postcard, the other Martha’s handwriting.

  Dear Maxie, Happy Birthday—sorry I’m late. Off having fun! I wish you knew how to have fun. I miss you, I’ll try to find time to call …

  Nothing substantive. Nothing! Except the pictures themselves.…

  “That bitch!”

  There was a prospectus from the Haven Point Junior Sailing Club. In the back was a picture of Eve Truman and her co-captain. And for the first time, Phillip saw the resemblance to Martha.

  Eve Truman was Martha’s daughter. Martha and Gabriel Truman? That made no sense, but the woman was a slut. Maybe both brothers were in on the scam to steal his art, Gabriel’s reputation as a saint notwithstanding.

  He scanned Revere’s notes for anything else of interest … then he saw it.

  Eve’s birthdate: January 12.

  He counted back. She was conceived when Martha was in Paris. In Paris with him.

  Eve wasn’t Gabriel’s daughter. She wasn’t Jimmy’s daughter.

  She was his daughter.

  That bitch. She stole his art then stole his daughter!

  His phone rang. “What?” he snapped.

  “The second man just returned. You’re not going to have time to get out—”

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  He pulled his gun out.

  The door downstairs opened.

  The man didn’t come up the stairs.

  Phillip didn’t move. He would come up. He heard him moving around in his bedroom. Then the creak of the stairs.

  As soon as the man came into view, Phillip shot him. Hit the man in the shoulder. He stumbled, reached for his own gun, but Phillip shot at him again. He was moving, and he wasn’t sure the second bullet hit, but he didn’t care. He ran down the stairs. He heard a gun discharge once, twice—

  “
Shit!” he screamed. The bastard shot him in the arm.

  He would have gone back to finish him off, but his bodyguard was at the door. “We gotta go. There are people on the beach. They heard the gunshots.”

  Phillip left with his bodyguard. He called Vance DuBois. “I need Brian Cooper at my house now. I don’t care how you do it, if you drag him kicking and screaming, but I want to see him in my office immediately!”

  Vance would patch him up, then Phillip would talk to Brian Cooper. Let Cooper explain why he had lied to him for the last ten years.

  Then he would kill him for his betrayal and take what was rightfully his.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Ryan had only been in the office for an hour when Max called. She told him everything Gabriel said, and her concern about Brian Cooper.

  “I’ll go at him hard—I don’t have anything on him, though. I don’t know how to get a warrant on this. But I’ll run it by my boss, see what he thinks.”

  “You’re charming,” Max said, “I’m sure you can get Cooper to turn state’s evidence.”

  Ryan laughed. “You have an inflated sense of my talents.”

  “I don’t think so,” she teased. “Seriously though, I’m following Gabriel to his house. Martha sent Eve the exact same postcard she sent me—the seascape taken near Boreal’s property.”

  “I’m already running the company—Colter’s name isn’t popping yet—but I do have a warrant for his tax returns and I’m going through them now. If Boreal shows up, it helps—but getting financial records is a whole lot easier than getting a physical search warrant based on what I have. And we know that Colter hasn’t sold the paintings, so we’re going to have to dig really deep to find something. Storage lockers with high-end climate control. Insurance payments, looking for any fraud. Unusual expenses. But it’s slow going. I’ve been on this for a while and the guy has no red flags. But now I can look into Boreal and see if I can get him through there.”