by D. L. Wood
“Greg says Kingsford hoped for more than a delay. He was hoping Bartholomew Hotels would get fed up and eventually sell. Then he would swoop in through a straw-man buyer and pick it up. He would have his contemporary resort and this one too. A monopoly in luxury lodging available right on the river. And Greg had his own motives. You were right about his connection to the robbery accomplice.”
Chloe’s stomach flipped. “I was?”
“Greg was well aware of it too. The tale’s been passed down through generations of his family about his great-grandfather Jonas Archibald Flint—he went by “Archie” by the way, since Archibald was his middle name, in case you want to do any more research. He bragged about being involved in a huge robbery and never getting caught. He said the stolen items were hidden somewhere, and the story goes that he even went looking for them. He never would say what robbery it was exactly, too afraid of being caught obviously, but it seems he never gave up on getting his hands on what they took.”
“So you’re saying,” Jack chimed in, “that all these years, Prater’s family—Flint’s descendants—knew about the possibility of Archie being involved in a heist and the stolen property, but they didn’t know enough to do anything about it? Then, for some reason, eighty years later, Greg Prater somehow figures it out, decides Flint was telling the truth, and moves to Stonehall Estate? He gets a job here and what, starts searching blindly for the stolen property? That doesn’t make sense. What changed?”
“Ah,” Li said, raising a forefinger. “Prater found something no one else had. There was one heirloom Archie Flint passed down through the years. Told his wife their future was in it, that it was priceless and to keep it safe no matter what. Believe it or not, it was a family Bible. One of those hefty ones, with the family tree recorded—leather bound, linen-lined—”
“Don’t tell me,” Chloe said, already suspecting what was coming.
“Prater was in the line of eldest descendants—daughter to son and so forth—so he ended up with it. Says he saw some news program once about stuff hidden in the lining of books and got to thinking about the Bible, which, by all accounts of his great-grandfather’s character, shouldn’t have mattered much to him, but did. That made Prater suspicious. He sliced back the linen lining and found three sheets of paper. One was a map of the Stonehall Estate property with Xs marked in a variety of locations. The second was a letter written by Flint himself, and the third was a letter from Lily Stone to Will Rader.”
A tidal wave of elation washed over Chloe. A letter from Lily to Will! What did it say? Would it shed more light on the heist? Their relationship?
“I haven’t seen the letter, but I’m told it confirms Lily and Will’s plan to carry out the robbery and to resell what they stole, donate most of the proceeds, and keep only enough to live on. It didn’t, as you can imagine, give away where Will hid the treasure.”
“Otherwise,” Chloe said, “Prater would have found it and been on his way long ago.”
“Exactly. When he came here, this place was abandoned, and he was employed to keep it from falling into further ruin. It gave him plenty of time and privacy to search without having to explain himself. And if he’d found anything—”
“He would have been able to keep it without reporting it,” Jack said. “But then Bartholomew Hotels swooped in, bought the place, and suddenly he wasn’t free to search anymore.”
“Right. He managed to keep the job as groundskeeper, and with his wife being a horsewoman, he got her the stable manager position.”
“And just like that he gets to stay on and keep looking,” Chloe said.
“At least until the project was finished and guests were staying here. Once the hotel opened, there was almost no way he’d be able to keep searching. So when Kingsford made him the offer to pay him to delay the opening, Prater jumped on it.”
“What did Prater think was going to happen if his sabotage succeeded and we gave up and sold the resort?”
“I think he was hoping he’d find the treasure before that, and if not, he’d find a way to delay again.”
“Kingsford would’ve known it was him,” Jack countered.
“Like I said, this guy wasn’t a mastermind. He says he would have tried to bring someone in to carry out the disruptions instead of him, but who knows?” Li turned to Chloe. “It does seem the letters you obtained from Joe Graves fueled Prater’s determination to find the treasure. The little bit of new information spurred him on.”
“And he was willing to kill for it? Treasure he likely wasn’t even going to find? That’s crazy.”
“Apparently, he maintains he never intended to kill anyone. Nate Lewis was an accident. Lewis found Prater trying to sabotage one of the electrical panels in the outbuilding and they fought. Nate fell and hit his head on the loader bucket. Prater says he checked for a pulse but couldn’t find one. He grabbed Nate’s phone, because he had no idea who Nate had talked to—if he’d told anyone where he was going or if he had suspicions about Prater. He didn’t, but Prater kept the phone as part of the plan to frame someone later.”
“Why would Greg go back to the outbuilding to commit more sabotage in the same location where he’d already sabotaged the generator? That seems stupid,” Jack said.
“They asked him that,” Li replied. “He chose it because it was the same location. He thought no one would expect the saboteur to return to where he had already been. But Nate surprised him. Told Prater he’d decided to keep an eye on the place until the grand opening by camping out in a corner behind some equipment. He waited until Prater started fooling with the panel, then confronted him.”
“And what about Riley? You say Prater never meant to hurt anyone, but he stabbed my friend and left him for dead.”
“Prater says he panicked, pure and simple, which seems likely given the way he panicked on New Year’s Eve when the detectives confronted him. It turns out, Mr. Riley was right. Prater was planning a gas leak—a small one, targeted to the room above, just one room down the hall from the kitchen. He was going to set off a spark at the right moment, creating a small explosion. Not big enough to hurt anyone but enough to do some damage to the area and force the evacuation of the hotel. Mr. Riley caught him in the act, and when your friend didn’t go down after two whacks in the head and kept coming at Prater, he panicked, grabbed one of the kitchen knives stored with the extra utensils down there, and stabbed him. Once he realized what he’d done, he said he wanted to call 9-1-1 but realized if Riley lived and recognized him, he would be on the hook for murder and attempted murder.”
“So he just left him there!” Chloe spouted, her blood boiling at the thought.
“Prater said Riley was bleeding so much, he didn’t think he had a chance of surviving. And he couldn’t bring himself to finish him off. Again, he isn’t a killer. Or at least, he didn’t mean to be.”
“Tell that to Nate Lewis,” Jack grumbled.
“How did Deidre’s name tag end up near Riley?” Chloe asked.
“Prater knew about the name tag at his house. He’d seen it there, figured his kids had picked it up somewhere. They did that sort of thing—bringing back stuff they’d find on the property. He decided to use it to bolster his frame job and went back to get it. He returned to the basement, bent the pin so it looked like it came off in the struggle, and left it there in Riley’s blood. Then he went up the staff stairs—avoiding the cameras because he knew exactly where they were—planting spots of blood along the way to lead the police to Deidre.”
“And the knife and cell phone in her room?” Chloe asked.
“Hid them the next day while she was out.”
“I spoke to Vanessa Prater this morning,” Chloe told him. “She said the police took something from underneath the cottage. Any idea what that was?”
“Clothes from the night he was confronted by Nate and the night he attacked Riley. Both have blood spatters. Said he couldn’t decide the best way to get rid of them. Burning might have left something in their firep
lace, and his wife might’ve seen. Burying them would’ve left tell-tale marks in the snow.”
“What about dumping them in the trash?” Jack said, disgust lining his face.
“Too afraid somebody might find them.”
“Mr. Li,” Chloe said, “what about Archie Flint and his specific role in the robbery—”
Mr. Li held up a hand to stop her. “I don’t know any details about that. But if I get more information, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“I’d love to see those letters. And the map.”
“You and a whole lot of other people, I’m sure. I expect it will be released to Prater’s wife eventually, but it’ll be held as evidence for a while.”
Disappointment churned inside Chloe as she twirled a loose curl around one finger.
Somehow, some way, I’ve got to get my hands on those documents.
45
The afternoon of New Year’s Day quickly shifted into evening. Chloe and Jack dined by candlelight beside the windows of the grand salon that overlooked the rose gardens, maze, and river. Jack had arranged it, a proper anniversary celebration to make up for the night before. The meal was unhurried, rife with laughter, and for the first time since Deidre’s arrest, a calm settled over Chloe’s soul, unmarred by worries about Riley or Deidre or a dangerous unknown saboteur at the resort.
Later, in their room, she sat curled up in the chair next to the fireplace, reading a novel she had been saving. Or at least she read it in between watching her husband, who was currently leaning on multiple pillows propped against the headboard, furiously typing away on his computer. She found herself glancing his way over and over, tracing his lines with her gaze and feeling a smile twitch at her mouth. Something had broken loose since Riley’s turn for the better and freed Jack from the writer’s block he had been suffering. His fingers clacked away on the keys, his handsome face screwed up in concentration.
A smart writer who could take down a killer on the run. In real life, not just in a book.
Yep. That was her husband.
Unbidden, her mind drifted once more to thoughts of the future. What their children might look like. A little Jack or Chloe. Her stare settled on the crackling oranges and yellows licking at the logs, casting shadows around the room. Wistfulness tweaked her throat, but she took a breath and centered herself.
God’s timing, Chloe. It’ll only be right in God’s timing.
And at that point, there was so much to be grateful for.
“What are you thinking about?” Jack said, setting his laptop aside.
She looked across the room at him. His green eyes held hers. She wasn’t sure why he had stopped typing but wouldn’t have been surprised if he had simply felt the change in her mood. They were like that with each other.
“I was just thinking how blessed I am to have you in my life.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty lucky.”
She scoffed and tossed her paperback at him, which bounced harmlessly off his legs.
“Really? That’s how you want to play it?” he asked, pushing off the bed.
“That’s how I want to play it,” she said, laughing.
“All right then,” he said, grinning as he stepped toward her.
46
Deidre was back at work at the resort the next morning, jumping right into things as if she had never left. She greeted Chloe and Jack at breakfast in The Dining Room, offering warm hugs and insisting that they take advantage of the resort’s amenities as much as possible, since they had enjoyed them so little, being tied up with everything else going on.
“I’ve taken the liberty of planning a whole day for you because I know you won’t take the time to. First an early horseback ride, followed by massages and a cream tea in the relaxation room.”
She didn’t have to twist their arms. After a long breakfast, they headed to the stable, where Vanessa insisted on guiding their hour-long ride through the woods. The wintry air of the snow-crusted landscape carried the hint of evergreen mixed with the scent of leather and horses. The long brown legs of the animals plodded through the snow as they traveled in a single-file line, following a trail of blue markers through the trees.
The horse ride was followed with a day in the spa that left Chloe more relaxed than she could remember feeling in a long time. After the cream tea of sandwiches, cakes, and scones, all she could think about was taking a long, snuggly nap, but Jack was eager to see Riley and update him on the book’s progress. After promising to hug Riley for her, Jack left Chloe buried underneath a mountain of blankets, a fire burning in the fireplace while soft jazz played in the background.
She was out in less than five minutes.
The email came just after six o’clock.
Chloe woke to find that night had descended, the dark room lit only by what remained of the fire. She rolled over to check her phone.
She couldn’t believe she had slept almost two hours. Or that Jack had let her. But a quick review of her texts included one from him that had come an hour earlier. Deidre had shown up at the hospital, and they were going to order take-out to eat with Riley if she wanted to join them. But Jack didn’t want to wake her if she was still sleeping and said just to get in touch when she woke.
They had probably already eaten by now, but she still wanted to see Riley. She slid out from beneath the impossibly cozy covers and dressed, thinking she would call an Uber. When she tapped her phone screen to open the app, she noticed she had several new emails. None of them were important except for one from Deidre, sent ten minutes before.
Hey Chloe. Guess you’re still sleeping. I wanted to forward this to you. I knew you’d be eager to see them. My attorney was able to get the copies from the police, since he’s acting as the hotel’s attorney regarding the property damage cases. These would potentially be evidence in any civil suit the hotel’s insurance company may bring against Greg for that. I probably have some of that legal mumbo-jumbo wrong, but you get the gist.
Anyway, I know you’ll find it as interesting as I did. Give us a ring when you’re headed this way.
Deidre
Chloe dropped onto the bed, her thumb frantically scrolling to the bottom of the email. There were three attachments. The first was a jpeg file photo of a rough, hand drawn map of the estate. The paper was yellow, the ink faded, but it was still easy to make out the structure of the mansion and its wings, the gardens, maze, pools, and pergola. The pathways to and from them all to the mansion were also indicated, as was the stable—although the one that existed back in 1930 was in a different location than the present-day version. The mansion did not include many interior labels or drawings for the various floors, although “banquet hall,” “kitchen,” and “staff entrance” were scrawled on the paper, indicating their general locations. Scattered across the map were two dozen Xs, which looked as faded and old as the map itself. Chloe’s guess was that these marked places Archie Flint had searched over the years.
Chloe clicked on the next jpeg file, a photo of the letter written by Archie Flint. But when she opened it, she found it was less a letter than a memorialization by Flint of what had happened on the night of the robbery and after. Chloe read greedily.
If you’ve found this letter, then I’ve been unsuccessful. I’ve kept my mouth shut about the robbery and my involvement because obviously I don’t want to go to prison and don’t want anyone else to believe Will Rader hid the loot on the property that night. But he did. I know that without a doubt. It just hasn’t been found yet.
I’ve left this along with the map and Lily’s letter in the Bible so that, if something happens to me, at least it’ll get passed down. I’ve told Nora it’s the key to our future, so she won’t lose it. It’ll make it into the hands of the next generation, and maybe one of you can do something with it.
Here’s what happened. It’s all true.
I agreed to help Will and Lily carry out the robbery at Stonehall Estate. I was the getaway man. I was supposed to wait in the woods with horses
for me and Will. Then we’d ride off with a bag full of jewelry and money, our futures made. Only once we got there, before Will and I separated, he told me the real plan. To donate nearly every penny to charity. Charity! After putting my life and freedom on the line, I was gonna get nothing. Well, not nothing. Will said I’d get enough to live on. But I was putting it all on the line for peanuts. That’s when I decided, if Will made it out of the house with that loot, I was going to be the one leaving with it.
Only Will double-crossed me. He hid the loot on the property during his escape. I don’t know if they planned it that way all along or if he made a last-minute decision because things went bad. But he didn’t have it with him and wouldn’t tell me where it was. So I left him there in the woods without a horse, running for his life. I found out the next day they’d caught him. I’d told him that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut about me, I’d spill the beans about Lily’s involvement, which would have ruined her and her family. Guess he took me seriously because he never said a thing, even though she was dead. I even visited him in prison once, just to make sure he wasn’t going to rat me out because of that.
Turns out, he was just as eager to protect her reputation when she was dead as he was when she was alive. Plus, he blamed himself. I think he wanted to be punished by suffering alone, in silence. Though I’m sure if he could’ve gotten me back, he would’ve. Not telling me where the loot was hidden was his way of doing that, I guess. It’s all he had. I tried threatening to tell about Lily unless he told me where it was, and he said that if I told about Lily, he’d have no problem turning me in too. So I was basically out of luck.
I’ve tried, and I’ll keep trying to find the hidden loot, but that place is huge, and it’s gonna take a long time. The only thing I’ve got to go on is the letter from Lily to Will that I managed to steal from under his bed one night. Originally I took it as insurance, in case they turned on me, then later I thought it might help me find his hiding place. But it’s been useless.