by Lynn Patrick
“Were made by the intruder, who found his way into the secret passageways,” Rick said, stopping at the window to stare out at the continuing storm. The rain hadn’t stopped, and now the winds had picked up, so the fog had lifted, leaving the lake itself turbulent. Waves beat against the shoreline, pitching up several feet in the areas lined with rocks. “I assure you that was a flesh-and-blood man you saw in the boathouse, Cora. I chased him out onto the lake.”
But Cora didn’t look convinced. “Where he disappeared into the fog, right?”
“He and the boat he took out. A ghost wouldn’t be able to do anything with a boat. Besides, I saw him, Cora, just not his face. Flesh and blood.”
She closed her eyes for a second and let out a sigh. “You must think I’m a foolish old woman.”
“No, I don’t. You’ve had reason to be spooked. What I think is that you’re someone I can count on.”
Her eyes flashed open. “To do what?”
“To figure out what he took, for starters.” Rick looked around the room, filled with books and some memorabilia of the 1920s. “If anyone knows what belongs in this house, you do. Something is missing. The man’s a thief. He uncovered the boat, then disappeared for eighteen minutes then reappeared with his booty. That was enough time for him to get into the house, take what he wanted, then get back to the boat. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell what he was carrying.”
“Are you saying he broke in? Where? Is there another window that needs repair?”
“No, no, take it easy.” This situation was getting to the poor woman. Cora looked on the verge of nervous collapse.
“He used a tunnel—probably the one to the conservatory. I found the entrance from the coach house yesterday. He must have known the tunnels were there.” And the intruder apparently had enough time—and the right equipment—to get through, if the cement rubble inside the tunnel were any indication.
He hesitated a moment. “Any idea where he could have found out about them?”
“Absolutely none.” Cora sighed. “Since you arrived, I’ve done a lot of thinking about this. I recall that Mr. Phillips told me once that he had a partial map of the tunnels. It took him quite a bit of research—and time and money—to find it. The federal government had them sealed off back in the thirties.”
“Did Phillips show the map to you?”
“No, he just talked about it.”
“Could he have shown it to anyone else?”
“He sometimes shares historical information with those who appreciate it, like David.”
“Guildfren, huh?”
She looked dismayed. “You don’t think David—”
“I’m looking at everything and everyone,” he stated honestly, though he certainly hoped her gentleman friend had nothing to do with the situation. To get her mind off that possibility, he said, “I could use a copy of that map myself.”
“I’ll call Mr. Phillips and ask him where he’s keeping it. I know he has a personal wall safe.”
“Which means he will have to be present to open it.”
“Yes, and he’s in New York on business at the moment.”
Rick nodded. Okay, the map would have to wait. “This morning I ransacked the boathouse until I found an entrance into the main tunnel there, too.”
He’d also adjusted the camera so that next time—if there was a next time—he would get a better look at the guy. He would have secured both entrances, but he wanted to catch the intruder in the act. And he didn’t think the man was done with the estate.
“Oh, my,” Cora said softly.
Rick could tell she was still worrying about her friend. “You said David—Mr. Guildfren—came in from an evening in town after you saw the footage of the boathouse.”
“Yes.”
“So why don’t you ask him if he noticed anything out of the ordinary?”
She nodded slowly. “I can do that.”
Rick thought for a moment. “Also, I know you trust your workers, but is there anyone who is worried about money for some reason?”
Cora shook her head and then her expression shifted. “Well, not for herself.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Kelly. Her daughter Natalie has gotten into some financial trouble.”
Kelly, the cook, who lived at the mansion. “Natalie lives in Kenosha?”
“No, in Milwaukee. That’s where Kelly is this weekend. She’s visiting her daughter before the summer season gets into full swing next weekend. Then she won’t be able to get away until fall. Her summer assistant is doing the cooking until she returns.”
“What about this Natalie?” Rick asked. “What kind of financial trouble is she having?”
“I—I don’t like to gossip.”
“Cora, I need to know anything that could give me a lead to the intruder.”
“Oh.” The color drained from her face. “I—I didn’t realize...” She took a deep breath and said, “Natalie was passing bad checks last year. Kelly basically has been supporting her until she finds a better job.”
Which made Rick wonder about the daughter rather than Kelly herself. Maybe this Natalie was going beyond taking financial advantage of her mother and getting someone to steal valuables from Flanagan Manor. He wouldn’t say such a thing to Cora, though. She obviously was uncomfortable with the subject.
“I need to get back to those security checks I was doing on the employees,” he said instead. “And you’ll look around to see what might be missing?”
Cora nodded. “All right. I will give the house a thorough once-over. I’ll start with the butler’s pantry right this minute.” She clucked to herself as she headed in the direction of the kitchen.
And Rick headed for his quarters and his laptop.
As he raced across the grounds through the rain, he looked out at the areas that the EPI crew had been working on. He wished it weren’t the weekend and that it wasn’t raining, so he could watch Heather with her team. Not even a day since he’d seen her and he missed her already. Missed her smile. Her laugh. Her outrage when she was challenging him.
Thinking about the footage of her that he’d deleted, he couldn’t help smiling all the way to his quarters in spite of the weather.
Still...Monday seemed a long, long time away.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING DIDN’T come soon enough for Heather. Thankfully, the rain had stopped mid-day on Sunday. She hoped the ground wouldn’t be too wet because she’d scheduled planting for today. She arrived at the manor at the same time as the EPI truck, which was filled with pots of grasses and perennials, plus several flats of flowering annuals for instant color. Her team had worked so hard last week and Heather was looking forward to the planting.
And she was looking forward to seeing Rick again.
All weekend she’d wondered what he’d found when he’d hightailed it back to the mansion from Sparrow Lake. She was anxious to learn whether or not he’d solved the mystery. And if he had, would he even tell her about it?
To her disappointment, he didn’t seem to be around. Probably better for her focus, she thought as she helped Tyrone and Amber transfer the plants from the truck to the cart and then from the parking lot to lakeside.
They were on the last load when Rick finally appeared.
“There’s the man,” Tyrone said.
Amber waved. “Hey, Rick.”
While Heather stood silent, her pulse accelerated with each step that brought him closer to her. He was staring at her, making it impossible for her to move.
When he stopped in front of her and said, “Heather,” in a tone that curled her toes, she grinned up at him. “Rick.”
Tyrone cleared his throat. “So what do you want us to do with this load, boss?”
Heather looked at him in
confusion for a second. “Oh, the plants. Put them with the others.”
Tyrone was grinning at her.
Amber playfully punched her coworker in the arm. “C’mon, give them a minute.”
Give them a minute? Was Amber aware of the nondate date?
Good grief. Nothing like having everyone know her business.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” Rick asked.
“Lovely. I spent it taking care of some paperwork for Sew Fine’s online store. But never mind what I did. What happened here Friday night after you left? Did you nail those pesky raccoons?”
“I wish.” Rick looked around as if making sure no one would overhear and then said, “Lost them in the fog.”
“That’s too bad.” Really, it was. So why didn’t she feel bad? In fact, she had to laugh. “Okay, look, I know we’re not talking about raccoons. Did you figure out who set off the security alert?” For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. “C’mon, Rick.”
He gazed at her for a second. “Since you’ve made some pretty good guesses, I want your word you aren’t going to tell anyone else.”
He looked so solemn, she became serious, too. “Of course, you have my word.” A little thrill went through her. “Was it vandals?”
“A thief. He took something from the mansion. Cora spent half the weekend scouring the place to determine what was gone.”
Heather became concerned. She had intuitively felt the security issue must be serious, but she hadn’t expected a real robber to be stalking the estate. “What was stolen?”
“Cora finally figured out a candelabra is missing. Antique silver. And it belonged to Red Flanagan.”
“Didn’t just about everything that’s old here belong to him at some point?”
“This candelabra had special significance. It is in the portrait of Flanagan in the rotunda.”
Heather had never seen the portrait. Or the rotunda. She’d been in the kitchen once, talking over her plans with Ben Phillips, but she hadn’t had reason to tour the house.
“Was the candelabra valuable?” she asked.
“According to Cora, it was a Tiffany with seven lights. She estimates its worth at fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Yikes, I’ll bet Mr. Phillips wasn’t too happy.”
“No, but it was insured. We made a report with the local authorities, so it will be covered.”
“The police?” she asked.
“This isn’t the first time I talked to Detective Morse about the situation. I told him there have been multiple incidents, break-ins, over the past several weeks, but this is the first time anything was stolen.”
Multiple break-ins? No wonder Rick had been installing security cameras. And he was definitely more than a handyman, Heather thought.
“But the candelabra was part of the house’s history,” she said. “I doubt there’s a way to insure for that sort of loss. Is there any way you can get it back? The thief might have a hard time selling such a unique item.”
“The police took a detailed description and are going to keep an eye on the local pawn shops and antique stores. They also dusted for fingerprints one afternoon when the guests were out. We’re keeping it quiet.”
“Yeah, a theft like that can’t be good for business.”
Just then, Tyrone yelled, “Hey, boss, you want us to get started here?”
Heather’s pulse jumped.
“I’m coming!” Her gaze locked with Rick’s as she backed away. “I need to get to work, but I’ll keep an eye out for anything out of place. I’ll also keep my mouth shut.” He’d trusted her enough to confide in her and she wouldn’t let him down.
“Thanks.” He smiled. “Talk to you this afternoon.”
She would be looking forward to that.
Ten minutes later, Heather was hard at work. First she checked the soil by grabbing a handful and forming it into a ball that easily crumbled. Perfect. If it had stayed clumped, they would have had to wait to plant to avoid compacting the soil.
She and Amber were placing plants on the first rain garden site, mixing and matching, creating a flow that, when mature, would look like natural drifts. Tyrone had gone to the coach house to load the cart with planting tools.
Wondering what was taking him so long, Heather stepped back to get an all-inclusive view of the area they were working on. “What do you think?” she asked Amber.
“I think it already looks great,” Amber said. “I’m glad you got gallon-sized plants instead of plugs.”
The seedlings grown in trays would have taken far longer to gain maximum growth. “We’ll have to use plugs and even seeds on some of the bigger areas on the other side of the terrace.” Otherwise the cost of a project this size would be prohibitive to her fairly generous budget. “But it made sense to use plants with some maturity this close to the house. People won’t trample over them, and they should fill in by the end of summer.”
“And next year, they’ll double in size.”
“Let’s get in the Little Bluestem first.” Heather loved the bronze-kissed blue-gray foliage that would turn to a gorgeous purple-bronze in fall. “If we ever get our tools.” Frowning, she looked around for Tyrone and finally saw him coming from the coach house with the cart. “Ah, there he is! I wonder what took him so long.”
“He probably got a call from his new girlfriend,” Amber said with a snort.
Heather shrugged. If Tyrone had a little romance in his life, then good for him. He was a hard worker, so she wasn’t going to give him grief over taking a few minutes for himself.
But when Tyrone stopped at the edge of the garden, he was scowling. “You won’t believe this, but one of the new garden shovels is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?” Heather asked.
“Disappeared...vanished...maybe borrowed by someone who didn’t return it.”
“Uh, oh,” Amber mumbled. “The Terminator strikes again.”
Heather shook her head, thinking about the conversation she’d had with Rick. “I doubt it.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Tyrone sounded skeptical. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Start digging with the shovel you have. The two of you keep working on the first bed and I’ll finish setting up the other one.”
Which meant arranging the plants in the second rain garden in a mirror-image of the first. Tyrone and Amber got to work.
Heather got to work, too, but she was thinking about the missing shovel. She really didn’t believe that Rick would borrow it. Could the same thief who’d stolen the candelabra have taken off with the tool? But why?
And should she be concerned about the other equipment EPI left on the estate every weekend?
Certain Rick would have a theory, she would tell him about the missing shovel at the first opportunity.
* * *
HALFWAY THROUGH THE afternoon and most of the way through his security checks, Rick stopped when Keith Murphy called to tell him that he was in Chicago and wanted to drive up to Kenosha to meet for dinner. Though Rick agreed, the idea of seeing his best friend—of being reminded of the last mission they’d shared—put him on edge. He told himself not to dwell on it, but he was so unsettled inside that he left his laptop in the midst of a search.
He needed some fresh air.
Not wanting to face anyone at the moment, he stayed to the back of the property and walked past the boathouse to the southern end of the estate. Though the storm had abated the day before, the lake was still restless. He climbed on the wall of broken rocks that stopped the lake from eroding the land and sat down on one of them. He concentrated on watching the waves come in so he wouldn’t see what he didn’t want to—the tragic photograph burned forever in his mind.
He’d been in charge of a special ops team assigned to find a
nd rescue military hostages in Afghanistan. His informant had told him three men who’d been taken the week before were being held in a cave deep in the mountains. She’d even drawn a map for him.
Rick had had no reason to distrust the woman, who’d given him good information several times before. But he’d been duped. He and Murphy had gone in first, through a tunnel that had taken them to the cave. No hostages. Suddenly, the tunnel behind them had blown to smithereens. Nothing had been left of his two men to bury.
If not for Murphy, he might have lost it. Murphy had forced him to keep fighting, to find a way out.
That had been nearly nine months ago, but he could still see every detail as if it had happened yesterday. He couldn’t stop thinking that he should somehow have known it was a trap. He’d been responsible for his men, and he’d trusted the wrong person and now he had to live with the guilt.
Raised an army brat, Rick himself had served for fifteen years. Since childhood, he’d been aware that soldiers died in battle. He’d known soldiers who had died. But this was different. This had been personal. This had been ugly. These men had been his friends. He and Murphy had been lucky to survive and escape.
Afterward, he hadn’t been able to get what happened out of his head. Or, worse, out of his dreams. When he’d started avoiding sleeping so he wouldn’t be confronted with that nightmare, he’d known he had to try something else, something away from a combat zone. Murphy had stayed in to fight the good fight, while Rick was trying his best to settle into civilian life. He had to admit that he missed the good parts of his old life. Being part of a unit was like being part of a family. As it was, he was alone too much. People were around him, of course. But not people he knew well. Or people he cared to know well. All except for...
“Rick, are you okay?”
...Heather.
He glanced up at her worried expression. His mood immediately lightened simply at the sight of her.
“Yeah, sure.”
He was about to get to his feet when she dropped down beside him.
“I called you several times, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“Sorry. I was just thinking.” Oddly enough about her. He was glad for the interruption, for the respite from the memories. “So, you need me to help you with something?”