by Calista Fox
She said, “I’m satisfied with the physical inspection. My only qualm, really, is in how the paintings were actually removed from the premises.”
“Perhaps we should have brunch before we get down to business,” Karina suggested. She gestured to the buffet stations set about the room.
Michael got to his feet and pulled back Scarlet’s chair. Beside her, Sam stood. Mitcham assisted his wife.
When they all returned to the table with full plates, Mitcham surprised Scarlet by asking, “What do you think happened to the collection, Miss Drake?”
“Well…” She took a drink of cappuccino and then said, “I thought the FBI’s theory of the event workers being involved was feasible. But every single employee who’d come onto the property and worked the party was interviewed and there wasn’t anything presented as a viable lead. A few arrests were made based on illegal immigration and also two counts of possession of marijuana; however, no solid clues to the crime committed were discerned.”
“Then why are you involved?” Mitcham challenged her. His gaze was darker than Michael’s. Not a grayish-blue but a much-too-close-to-black for comfort. Mitcham was a tall, muscular man with wide shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair. He was foreboding and it was a bit intense questioning the man on his territory. But Scarlet had dealt with his kind before.
She told him, “I’m just performing due diligence for the insurance company that paid the claim.”
The senior Vandenberg said, “And your personal theory is?”
“It falls along the lines of the FBI’s,” she said. “I think the culprits came in through the service entrance with the other trucks that supplied the tents and equipment for the party. Possibly in an unmarked vehicle so that no one could identify or provide a name of the company after the fact. The truck and the supposed ‘employees’ would be extremely nondescript from the corporate aspect as well as their own appearance. White coveralls, generic Dockers, and polos with ball caps pulled low on the brow. That sort of thing. Point being, anyone who happened to see them coming or going would not consider them of interest nor could they pinpoint anything about them later on.”
“So they just breezed in as though they were working the party and then breezed out with over a half-dozen paintings?” Mitcham rumbled. “We’ve heard that concept before.”
Scarlet calmly said, “Yes, as it pertains to the identified event companies. I’m talking about one that had absolutely nothing to do with the setup and teardown of the party. These guys weren’t hired, contracted, expected on-property, or able to be tracked down. They were wraiths. Didn’t exist. Someone could have seen a blank white service truck parked amongst all the other legitimate trucks and vans, but they wouldn’t have been able to provide any further information.”
“Even my perimeter security didn’t find anything conclusive,” Mitcham seemed to reluctantly admit. “I have since extended my surveillance inside the mansion. I’d never believed I’d had to do that. I thought I could trust those within these walls who tend to the estate.”
“Your wife just said something similar,” Scarlet pointed out. “She agreed they’re above reproach.”
“That doesn’t equate to trust,” Mitcham argued. “They can excel at their jobs. It doesn’t mean someone who works for me won’t steal from me.”
“Then you believe it was an inside job?” Scarlet asked.
“What I believe,” Mitcham said as he pushed aside his half-eaten plate of food, “is that someone stole something that meant a lot to my wife. And if I ever get my hands on the lousy SOB who orchestrated the robbery, I will happily wring his fucking neck.”
He shoved back his chair and stood. Tossed his napkin on the table, bent at the waist to kiss his wife on the cheek, and then stormed off.
Scarlet watched him go. That wasn’t just anger that radiated from the man. It was torment.
Because he’d assembled something significant for his wife and someone had been Machiavellian enough to swipe it from under his nose—and devastate the woman he loved.
Scarlet slid her glance to Michael. His prominent features were hard as stone. His fist was wrapped around his Bloody Mary glass.
She shifted her gaze to Sam. He was also visibly disturbed. Scarlet was certain that was because his mother was essentially reliving the nightmare.
Because of Scarlet.
Somehow this had become an even more complex scenario than any other case she’d ever tried to solve. There were too many personal connections this time. Michael and Sam, sure. But Scarlet couldn’t deny the admiration she had for Mitcham Vandenberg, a man who’d come across initially as too condescending, too arrogant, too powerful, to give her more than a few seconds of his time. Not to mention a man who found it all too easy to tell her to go to hell when she pried into his business. But he clearly still loathed the fact that something Karina had adored was now long gone.
As Scarlet considered Karina in her peripheral vision, she recognized that the very lovely blond-haired, blue-eyed woman was just as distraught.
But with Karina mostly dropping her gaze to her plate following Mitcham’s departure, Scarlet couldn’t help but wonder if there was more going on here.
The complication came from having Michael and Sam at the table. It hindered Scarlet because she honestly didn’t want to probe deeply when they were here. She wasn’t trying to upset either of them. Just wanted to get to the truth.
Unfortunately, in order to do that, she had to push a little harder.
She asked Sam’s mother, “Who was the one to discover the paintings were gone?”
“A housekeeper. She was in charge of maintaining the gallery and she performed that duty in the evening so she didn’t disturb anyone in the room during the day. I used to take my afternoon tea in there.”
“I see. And may I speak with this housekeeper?”
“She’s no longer with us.”
Scarlet’s interest piqued. Skyrocketed, actually, when both Michael and Sam visibly tensed. Her pulse hitched a notch.
“When did she leave your employ?”
“Shortly after the theft.”
Scarlet eyed Michael once more. Why hadn’t he mentioned this? Talk about suspicious behavior on the housekeeper’s part!
To Karina, she said, “Do you have forwarding contact information so that I can get in touch with her?”
“I most certainly do not,” Karina huffed, suddenly indignant.
Scarlet’s gaze narrowed. They were definitely on to something here.
“If you could please provide her name, that would be helpful,” Scarlet encouraged. “I’d like to ask her—”
“Scarlet,” Sam interjected.
Beside her, Michael quietly said, “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Her spirits sank. Her pulse returned to normal. Well, relatively speaking. It was as normal as possible while she was in Michael and Sam’s presence.
Karina neatly folded her linen napkin and placed it gently next to her plate. She’d only eaten half a grapefruit with a wedge of dry toast. She crossed her long, slender legs and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Anything else, Miss Drake?”
Scarlet peered at Michael and Sam again. A sense of dread slithered through her. Because Scarlet was about to go for the jugular. She tried to do it as politely as possible.
Squaring her shoulders, Scarlet asked Mrs. Vandenberg, “What happened to the insurance money?”
“Scarlet!” Sam shot her a sharp look.
She knew she was creating more strife. But she had the fiduciary responsibility to tie up all the loose ends. Even if it strained her relationship with Michael and Sam.
She had to persevere. She said, “There were deposits made into Michael’s and Sam’s accounts around the time the check was cut. But they’ve explained about their inheritances. You, however, didn’t prosper. That eighteen million dollars went into your personal account and then promptly vanished. As mysteriously as the artwork.”
Karina wrung
her hands in her lap. Ever so slightly. She took a few deep breaths and said, “The FBI cleared this family of all suspicion. Why are you still digging? What do you hope to gain?”
“I’m just looking for the truth, Mrs. Vandenberg. On my client’s behalf.”
Karina raised her hands in exasperation. “It’s no one’s business what I did with the insurance money. The claim was settled. I cashed the check. End of story.”
“My experience has been that there’s usually an epilogue when dealing with this sort of claim.”
“Well, in this case, you’re wrong.”
Scarlet was undeterred. She calmly said, “I understand you consider this a closed book. I’d like to as well. When I’ve exhausted all avenues that were open for pursuit. That’s why I’m asking where the funds went.”
“The money was allocated to another project,” Karina said between clenched teeth.
“Fascinating.” Scarlet smiled, trying to appear as nonassuming as possible.
Michael glanced at Scarlet and then Karina. He looked a bit perplexed. It was, after all, $18 million they were talking about.
Sam paced behind his chair, hands on his waist. Clearly agitated, but it was difficult to tell if it was because Scarlet had grilled his mother or because Karina was becoming just defensive and irritable enough to make her innocence doubtful. Still, Sam looked as though he’d jump in at any moment, if necessary.
Scarlet didn’t want to give him a reason to. Deep in her heart, she didn’t want to shatter his belief in his mother. Scarlet absolutely did not want Karina to be the villain. But she still needed to get to the root cause of Karina’s unease and pinpoint how both the paintings and the money had simply evaporated into thin air.
She dared to ask, “What other project was that money allocated to?”
Karina’s gaze narrowed. “It was a personal cause, Miss Drake.”
“Please understand, Mrs. Vandenberg, that vagueness doesn’t help.”
Karina hitched her chin and said, “And if I told you it was none of your business, Miss Drake?”
“That would imply you have something to hide, Mrs. Vandenberg.” Scarlet stared the woman down.
Sam drew up short. “This has gone far enough.”
Michael stood as well. He reached for the back of Scarlet’s chair once again.
She said, “I’m asking a simple question.”
“Scarlet, come on,” Sam coaxed, trying to reason with her. “The insurance company paid the claim. The FBI closed the case. There’s no authoritative governance for—”
“No, there isn’t,” Scarlet concurred. “Not since the statute of limitations ran out on the time to prosecute. Even though lying about the disappearance of your personal property and collecting from your insurance carrier is considered a felony. Punishable by incarceration. This isn’t a criminal investigation. However, there’s still a small window for the insurance company to file a civil suit and win compensatory damages. Fabrications on your part will only cause you more trouble down the line. Therefore, I highly recommend that you’re honest with me.”
“And if I tell you exactly where that money went, Miss Drake, will that be the end of this? Will you stop badgering me and my family?”
“I’m not trying to badger—”
“I’m asking you a question, Miss Drake.”
“It would be incredibly helpful to know where the money went so that I can report back to my client and we can wrap this up.”
“It’s not a crime to spend the payout,” Sam contended.
“It is if that payout came from a fraudulent claim,” Scarlet corrected.
“But it didn’t,” Michael insisted.
“I understand your natural compulsion to protect her,” Scarlet said to both men. “But if she’s covering something up—”
“She’s not covering anything up,” Sam insisted in an edgy voice.
“Then it shouldn’t be so difficult to ascertain where the money went.” Scarlet’s gaze snapped back to Karina. “It’s a simple ques—”
“A gambling debt!” Karina blurted.
Looking just as shocked and devastated by her abrupt confession as Michael and Sam.
SIXTEEN
“It was a gambling debt, okay?” Karina repeated. “A very large one, Miss Drake.”
Sam sank back into his chair. Michael’s brow crooked.
Karina shook her head. Let out a heavy breath.
Scarlet’s stomach plummeted. But she asked, “You couldn’t have just told me that from the onset?”
“No one knew,” Karina said. “Aside from Mitcham. I didn’t want my sons to find out.”
“Mother—”
Karina lifted a hand to cut Sam off. She explained, “I developed a vile and evil addiction not long after that artwork was stolen. I started drinking in the afternoons. Sipping vodka with my Valium. Call it cliché if you must, Miss Drake, but you have no idea, I’m sure, what it’s like to be a waitress living in a horrific neighborhood and doing everything you possibly can to raise a son. Only to fall in love with a man of Mitcham Vandenberg’s caliber. He moved me and Sam out here. To a completely different world in so many ways. There were expectations to meet. There were people to convince that I truly did love my husband, and that I wasn’t just after his money. There was pressure, Miss Drake, to fit in.”
Scarlet asked, “You feared you were falling short?”
“Miserably.”
“I’m not calling you cliché,” Scarlet told her. “And you’re right, I don’t understand what you went through. I can comprehend it in my mind, but I can’t fully relate to it.”
“I did everything I could think of,” Karina continued as she toyed with her napkin with her finger and thumb. “I was willing to do anything to prove I was genuine, to be the kind of wife Mitcham deserved, to live up to the image and reputation of his first wife.” Her gaze lifted from the table and landed on Michael. “I know it was a painful situation for you. It all happened so fast.”
“Yes, it did.” Michael sat again with the rest of them. The air in the solarium shifted from tense to dismal.
Karina told him, “I worked in a café close to Mount Sinai. Your father would come in mid-afternoon. He’d order coffee but never drank it. He’d stare out the window toward the hospital, not saying a word. With his frequent visits always around the same time of day, we reached a point where he didn’t even have to ask for the coffee. I just brought it to him. He didn’t have to speak at all, and I could tell he preferred that. He’d just gaze outside, lost in his thoughts. It was perfectly evident to see that he was distraught. Tormented.”
“My mother got ill suddenly,” Michael said. “Died quickly.”
Karina nodded. “After a couple of weeks, I noticed a change in him. The tear in his eye as he stared out the window. Just one. It’d pop up on the rim and he’d whisk it away before it fell. Then his entire demeanor would turn rigid. His jaw would clench and his fists would ball on the table, next to his untouched coffee. He’d take a few deep breaths, and then he was composed again. On the outside, at least.”
Scarlet stared at the woman, seeing Karina’s turmoil as much as Karina had witnessed, become wrapped up in, the turmoil of the stranger in her café.
Karina’s eyes misted as she said, “I didn’t know who he was, but I could tell he was a strong, prideful man. From the way he dressed to the way his shoulders were always squared, no matter the hell playing out in his mind. In his life. I didn’t doubt that he felt out of control of this situation that I knew nothing about and it tore him up.” She paused a moment, sniffled, then told them, “It tore me up, too. I didn’t even know him, but I was heartbroken for him.”
“That was very compassionate of you,” Scarlet said in a soft voice.
Karina dabbed the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “I wondered when he’d stop coming in, but every day he continued to show up. After a month or so, he appeared a little less wrecked. Not quite so angry. He started drinking his coffee.
Glancing around the café, I guess really seeing it for the first time. Really seeing me for the first time. One day, he smiled. Not a full one. Just enough to express gratitude that I’d respected his space, his privacy. That I’d been there for him, in a sense.”
“I appreciate that,” Michael said her.
“I liked his quiet strength, his commanding presence, in the obvious face of tragedy,” Karina explained. “I didn’t speculate about what he did for a living or who he was. I was curious, of course. But mostly I was interested in what had brought him in that very first day and why he kept coming back.”
“So you eventually asked him,” Scarlet ventured.
“No. He was the one to start the conversation. I was about to take my break before a double shift started and he asked if I’d sit with him. He wanted to buy me a coffee. And a slice of pie.” She grinned, albeit shakily. “He said I looked like I could use more than one slice. I was rail thin back then, and I’m sure he could tell I couldn’t afford to splurge on dessert.”
Scarlet did not miss the shame that crossed the other woman’s beautifully made up face. The shame of being poor, of being a struggling single mother, of living in the hellish neighborhood she’d mentioned, had clearly been emotional baggage she’d brought to the Hamptons. Had not fully rid herself of even fourteen years later.
Scarlet found that intriguing. Karina was a humble woman. One with secrets, certainly. But she’d been fighting her demons since she set foot in this house. That resonated within Scarlet, because she’d witnessed Karina’s son battling his own mental monsters in a home he was supposed to have shared with his wife and child.
Scarlet’s gaze shifted to Sam, who sat stiffly. Perhaps he hadn’t known all of these things about his mother. The shame. The difficulties she’d confronted when moving here. The addictions.
Getting back to that, Scarlet asked, “How did you hide the gambling debt from your husband?”
Karina sipped her mimosa, then said, “I took out a private loan. Not with a bank,” she pointedly added.