by D. L. Wood
“Hi, Greg,” she said, pausing briefly. “I just got back from a guided ride with Vanessa.”
He stood and smiled amiably, running a hand through his haphazard hair. “You picked a good day. Tomorrow the snow might be too much.”
“It was just what I needed. She did a great job, and the horses are gorgeous. The trails were well thought out. It felt like we went a long way, but I know we never left the property.”
“It’s larger than you think. But you’re right, the trails do double back a bit. In the summer, when everything greens up, it’s almost impossible to tell.”
“I’m sure I’ll take another ride soon,” she said, as she stepped away, leaving him to his work.
At the front desk, Rita held a large envelope out to her. “This came for Tara, but Deidre said I should give it to you.”
It was a nine by twelve white envelope with a return address indicating the sender was the New York Department of Corrections and Community Supervision.
The research on Will Rader!
It wasn’t terribly thick, but based on its weight, it was more than just a few sheets, so hopefully they had dug up something helpful.
“This is great, thanks, Rita,” Chloe said and tucked the envelope under her arm, her heart thrumming at the thought of discovering what was inside. She started up the grand staircase but only made it up two steps before curiosity got the better of her. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out the cover letter from Mallory Banks, Director of Records for the Department of Corrections. It contained a simple paragraph stating that a search had been conducted for the records on file for William Rader, Jr., but given how long ago he was incarcerated, there was very little to provide. However, what they did have was enclosed.
Chloe raced up the staircase and walked into the gallery, intending to plop down at the desk and go through every page. But as soon as she neared it, she knew the contents of the package would have to wait.
A folded piece of cardstock sat atop the desk addressed simply, “Chloe.” Inside, in a very familiar scrawl, was written, “Meet me at the pergola at four fifteen. Don’t be late. Wrap up warm.” It was signed, Your husband.
Chloe glanced at her phone. Four twelve.
She laid the envelope down and hustled out to meet Jack.
The pergola offered the perfect view from which to watch the sunset behind the western bank of the Hudson. There were others wandering the grounds as well, and Chloe could hear voices from inside the maze, where it seemed a couple of guests were attempting to navigate it but had gotten separated and lost. Laughter billowed out from the evergreen hedge that comprised its boundary. But Chloe’s gaze was focused on the person sitting on one of the marble benches on the edge of the pergola platform.
“What’s this?” she said, drawing near to the pergola’s steps and spotting a placemat-sized red-and-black tartan cloth laid out beside Jack. A large thermos and two pottery mugs were on top of it, along with a small insulated canvas bag.
Jack patted the seat beside him, beckoning her to join him.
She grinned and moved to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him before sliding onto the seat.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” he said.
“You were cutting it close. My ride didn’t end until just before four.”
“You’re here now.” He opened the thermos and poured dark amber liquid into the two mugs. Steam rose, and with it, the scent of cloves and cinnamon.
She took the mug. “Cider,” she squealed, then sipped the hot liquid. “This is perfect.”
“Almost.” He opened the insulated bag and pulled back aluminum foil to reveal a s’more as big as a sandwich. Two giant graham crackers made up the top and bottom, and between them, melted marshmallows with a lightly toasted crust and a slab of melted chocolate. He handed it to her, then slung his arm around her and pulled her close.
Across the Hudson the last of the sun blasted gold and orange against the sky hemmed in by lavender clouds. “Now, it’s perfect,” Jack said and kissed her forehead.
It was quite the romantic spot. And not just because it offered the best view of the sunset and a modicum of privacy, given its distance from the rest of the gardens and the semi-circle hedge of fir trees behind it. The real romance of it was the design of the pergola, with the doves at the pinnacle of the wrought iron open canopy and the vines, roses, and figures carved into the marble columns. Chloe wondered how many couples had sat in that very spot over the years.
Then again, it was in use for such a short time before the night of Lily’s murder. Given the cold relationship between Harold and Florence Stone after that, it was unlikely they spent much time here. Maybe it hadn’t been used much at all.
With the passing of the estate from owner to owner and the property being closed up for such long periods of time in between, it was quite likely that very few couples had been able to take advantage of it. But tonight, she and Jack sat quietly, soaking each other up, until the last of the sun’s rays faded into twilight. They shared the s’more, passing it back and forth, its warmth and sweetness punctuated with a light crunch where the marshmallow had caramelized, a perfect complement to the hot, rich cider warming her insides. She breathed in deeply and exhaled, a sense of fullness overtaking her, feeling in her bones just how very much she had to be thankful for.
“How was your ride?” Jack asked, breaking the silence.
“Bliss. I loved it.” At the mention of the ride, she thought of Molly and Ben. “Could you ask your dad something for me?” She explained about the children and how restrictive the Praters thought they needed to be with their movements about the property. “Do you think that’s something the company’s requiring? It seems onerous to me. Those kids seem pretty worried about popping up in the wrong place and getting their parents fired by mistake.”
“It can’t be that serious. I’ll ask him the next time we talk.”
“When I ride next, would you come with me? I think you’d like it.”
“Absolutely. I’ll need a break anyway. I’ve been on a roll with Riley. I can’t thank you enough for bringing him here.”
“I think he’s pretty happy about it too. He seems smitten.”
“Deidre?” He chuckled. “You’re such a romantic.”
“But…?” she egged him on.
“But you’re not wrong,” Jack admitted. “He managed to bring her up multiple times today.”
“Where is he right now, anyway?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“No…”
Jack nodded. “Romeo’s helping out with some maintenance issues. Deidre lost another handyman to Kingsford today.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Riley overheard when we were checking to see if we could reserve a private study because the suite was getting a little claustrophobic. He offered to pick up the slack, claiming he needed to take a break from me.” He rolled his eyes as if that were obviously untrue. “And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Deidre was insistent on refusing until I told her that if she didn’t let him help, I’d never hear the end of it.”
“What’s with the labor shortage? Can’t they just hire people to fill the gaps?”
“There’s just nobody available right now. It’s the week after Christmas. Some businesses are closed, people are on vacation or busy with the backlog from the holiday. Eventually, it’ll get sorted, but he was pretty much her only option.”
“Riley saves the day again,” Chloe said, shaking her head.
“His favorite role. But I don’t think she minds. At least that’s the vibe I get.”
“Look at you, playing matchmaker,” Chloe teased.
“It’s just nice seeing him happy. I don’t know if it’s got long term potential, though. She’s up here and he’s all the way down in Miami.”
“We were in different parts of the world too—New York and Atlanta— and we made it work. Wasn’t even an issue, as I recall.”
“Did you know I was ‘it’ before or after you whacked me in the head with a football to get my attention?”
“It worked, didn’t it? And like I’ve told you a million times, I wasn’t actually aiming to hit you. Just get close.”
“Well, let’s hope Riley’s got something a little smoother up his sleeve.”
Jack raised one eyebrow. “From where I’m sitting, I think my approach turned out just fine.”
“No complaints here, mister,” she said, burrowing deeper into his side. “Not one.”
They left the pergola with a little time to kill before their seven thirty dinner reservation with Riley. After promising to meet him back in the suite in just a minute, she dashed up to the exhibit to grab the envelope from the Department of Corrections, just in case the information inside called for more research. She could work from the suite as well as from the gallery, and that way they wouldn’t have to spend the little time before dinner apart. Besides, Jack was a sucker for a good story. He’d probably want to see what was in the prison records as much as she did.
With her cheeks still chilled from the winter air and her belly still warm from the cider, she hummed as she pulled back the exhibit curtain. She walked to the desk and froze, stunned.
The envelope was gone.
26
The envelope had been opened. So how much of it had Chloe Bartholomew read? It was gone now, and unlikely that she had time to make a copy or bothered taking photos. The questions were, what had she seen, and would she remember the particulars?
And even if she did, would she realize what she had? Would she pick up the loose threads and tug?
No one else had. Not in all these years. So many looking. But always at the big picture. The big players. Never taking the time to scrutinize. To think outside the box. And that’s what had made it all possible.
But Tara Hollis had. She was the one that requested this information. It was why she’d had to go.
And then Chloe Bartholomew had ended up with the fruits of Hollis’s labor—but not anymore.
The steps taken to keep an eye on her would reveal how much of it she remembered and whether she chose to head down the right—or in her case, the wrong—rabbit trail.
And whether or not Chloe Bartholomew would have to go too.
Things were spiraling. But the plan was in place.
It was just a matter of following through. And if there was one thing that was for sure, follow-through was not a problem.
Nate Lewis had learned that the hard way.
27
RILEY
The work that needed doing that afternoon included a leaky sink in a guest room, a broken thermostat in a hallway, and several burned-out light bulbs in the main chandelier as well as in other fixtures throughout the mansion. It also ended up including a fair amount of redecorating in the common areas, mostly swapping out Christmas decorations for ones more suited to New Year’s Day, changing the color scheme from red and green to silver and gold. It wasn’t exactly how Riley had planned on spending his time in New York, but if it helped him make in-roads with Deidre, it was worth it. He had a feeling about this woman, and if he had to weave different color ribbons in the greenery hanging above the fireplace mantels to spend more time with her, then so be it.
By six o’clock, they were working to finish the last of the mantel decorations. She had stuck around to help, despite likely having more pressing problems to deal with, and they’d been able to get to know each other a bit. She was from Charleston originally, but had ended up in New York after graduating from Syracuse University with a degree in hotel management. She’d worked in various places for a few years before getting a job with Bartholomew Hotels, three years before. This was her fourth project for the company, the first as lead project manager.
“That’s why it’s so important for me to get it right,” she told Riley. “And why I’ve been reluctant to ask the company for more help, even given the crazy circumstances here.”
She reached up to where he stood on a step ladder, handing him a silver ornament.
He tucked it into the pine branch spray covering the limestone mantel over the large stone fireplace at the back of the banquet hall.
“I get that,” he said. “Still, I’m surprised they didn’t send someone to deal with Nate Lewis’s death.” He tucked a stray branch of pine back where it belonged before hopping down to get a better look at the finished product.
“They felt that stepping back and allowing the police to do their job was the best course, rather than sending someone up here just to oversee that.”
“Diminish its effect on everyone by not overreacting,” Riley summarized.
She nodded. “So, let me ask you something. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help today. I do. But you came up here for a vacation. To hang out with your friends. Why play handyman?”
“It’s their anniversary week. Those two need a little space. And even though Chloe invited me up here to boost Jack’s creativity, I don’t want to consume all his time. Besides, we've made some real headway into his story, so we can afford a break. I don’t know if he would’ve taken one if I hadn’t had something else to do. So you’re actually the one doing me a favor.”
“You guys seem very close.”
“That happens when you save each other’s lives a few times.” He knew it sounded dramatic, but it was the truth. He watched for her reaction—sometimes people didn’t know how to respond and either laughed or changed the subject—and caught her confidently holding his gaze. He thought he saw the reflection of admiration and…interest…in her charcoal eyes.
This woman was solid. I like that. I like that a lot.
After a few moments, she rotated toward the fireplace, stepping back several paces. “I think that looks pretty good.”
The magnetic field drawing him toward her was almost palpable, or at least it felt that way to him.
Does she feel it too?
The rustic scent of cinnamon spice wafted from nearly every corner of the room, but more intoxicating than that was the scent of—what? Gardenias?—emanating from her skin. He wondered if her hair smelled like it too, and what it would feel like to run his hand through the silky straight sheen she had styled it in today. Unable to help himself, he actually heaved a sigh. “Yeah. Amazing.”
She twisted back to see him watching her, her face scrunching into an amused half-grin. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “I’m not much of a game-player. I tell it like I see it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, Mr. Riley, what I see is that we’ve got some boxes that need to be carried down to storage, if you’ve got a little bit left in you to help me out before we wrap up today.”
“Just point the way.”
28
CHLOE
“It was just gone,” Chloe said at dinner, filling Riley in on the disappearance of the letter. Her stomach still felt sick at the thought of it. “I can’t believe I remembered the name of the woman who sent it, but I did. I looked her up and left a message and emailed her to see if she could scan copies of whatever was sent, but who knows when I’ll hear back. That could take weeks, if ever.”
“They’ve got to add more CCTV in this place,” Riley said, undisguised irritation in his voice.
“Deidre insists they didn’t anticipate the bizarre events that have been happening. She says installing more surveillance is at the top of the list of things to correct. And as for the exhibit, it’s interesting and all, but nothing in there is terribly valuable,” Chloe replied.
“And yet,” Jack said, “it’s been broken into twice in two days.”
“There’s something bigger going on here,” Chloe said. “Why take an envelope containing Will Rader’s prison records? What meaning could it possibly have for someone?”
&nbs
p; Jack leaned toward her. “I think the better question is, what meaning could it possibly have if whatever was in there got out?”
Chloe leaned back in her chair. “Someone else must have looked into these records before. They’re public. I can’t believe Tara was the first. There was a television show about this place—some ghost hunter thing. And the treasure hunters that have traipsed through here—wouldn’t they have thought of looking into Will Rader’s background?”
“Maybe,” Riley said. “Maybe not. Or if they did, this could be more a matter of timing. Maybe what’s in the records didn’t matter before, but does now.”
“But why?” Chloe asked.
Riley shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
“More like ten million,” Chloe said. “That’s what the treasure would be worth today.”
“Hmm.” Jack looked thoughtful. “So, what, you think someone’s got a bead on it and doesn’t want anyone else getting to it first? That somehow those prison records might spoil whatever they have going on?”
Chloe lifted both hands, then let them drop. “I don’t know what to think. I realize everyone’s been operating under the assumption that all the havoc is to undermine the resort, that maybe Kingsford’s behind it all, but now with this envelope being taken…I don’t know. Why would he want that? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it’s random,” Riley said. “Maybe whoever is behind this—if there is someone behind this—is just lighting fires as they go. Break a generator here. Take a letter there…You know I had to fix a brand-new thermostat today? It looked like the wiring had been pulled. Maybe the envelope being taken is just another random bit of sabotage and nobody’s interested in Will Rader at all. It’s just part of a plan to make trouble.”