Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (42 page)

But
first he had to convince Nina that he hadn't done anything.  Otherwise she'd
take his running as an admission that he was the one to hurt Abel, and she'd
sic the cops on Leo first chance she got.  So Leo ran after her.  Told her to
stop.  Told her, “Wait up, stop running, you bitch!”  And still she wouldn't
stop! 

He
couldn't believe she was just ignoring his attempt to have a rational
conversation with her like that!  To get away from him, she ran up the stairs
to the second floor and suddenly, she seemed to lose ground like Abel had. 
Within seconds, her balance slipped and she fell—and she came toppling down the
stairs, crashing to the floor.   

Frantic,
Leo ran back to the cellar to wake up Abel, to revive him and explain—but the
goddamn guy was dead! 

So
Leo had bolted.  He'd run from the house, never looked back.  Never came back,
until he'd had no other choice.  Hell, he'd tried to live as Abel, but soon
found out that Abel hadn't been lying.  The shmuck really
was
out of
money.  A check Leo wrote to himself on Abel's account that bounced had been
his first clue.  To make it worse, “Abel” barely inherited diddly squat from
Nina. 
What else was I supposed to do?
Leo lamented now, as he was
thrown, cuffed, into the police van.  

“It's
not fair!” Leo shouted, but his anger fell on apathetic ears.  His brother's
death was an accident.  It wasn't like he'd known how he'd react to the
drugs—that wasn't
his
fault.  How could Leo have predicted that?  And
sure he'd impersonated Abel after he was already dead, but—look, the guy was
dead
. 
What was the harm? 
It's not fair
, Leo thought bitterly. 

“Thanks
a lot, Abel,” he grumbled to the air, “thanks a fucking lot.”

On
his way out, Michael found a box on the front step of his townhouse. 
Tentatively, he reached to pick it up, spotting the “Fragile–handle with care”
sticker across the top.  The return address was:
Rosenberg
/
Maple Street
/
Brooklyn
,
NY
.

Curiously,
he brought it back inside and used his key to cut it open.  Inside the box, he
found stacks of photos.  There were certificates in frames, drawings in crayon,
and a stuffed rabbit with a jingle bell.  There was also a note on personalized
stationery. 
 

Dear
Michael: I know the last time we spoke it was not the right time, but I hope
now will be better.  It was with great fear that I realized how precious time
is, and how the next patch of time I waste may be my last.  Not too long ago, I
dreamed that I died.  It's scary how real a nightmare can seem—but sometimes a
dream can change your life. 

Forgive
the maudlin beginning, but I've never been much of a writer.  I am, however,
much better “in person” so please, if you feel you have any desire to talk,
call me anytime.  Meanwhile, I thought you would enjoy some of these mementos,
pieces of your mom's life before you knew her.  I can imagine how hollow this
sounds to you, but I love you very much.  I hope to hear from you. 

Love, your grandmother, Danya

P.S.
Did I mention that I'm 81 and have diabetes?  No pressure!

At
that last bit, Michael burst out a laugh.  So his grandmother was a wiseass? 
Then, feeling literally dumbstruck, he set down the card and rested his hand on
the edge of the box.  Jesus, his grandmother after, what, six years?  The last
time he'd seen her was right after his mom, Eliana, had died, when Michael had
been very young and very angry.

Thoughtfully,
he sighed.  Somehow he wasn't all that angry anymore.

***

That
same afternoon, Nicole was sitting across from Cedric Davy in his quaint
Beacon Hill
law office.  Her
sister, Alyssa, was in the chair beside her.  The room was cast with a muted
autumn glow.  Cedric's desk shone richly with polish, and bright gold leaves
fluttered against the window.

Cedric
sat, holding Nina's gallery contract in his hands.  A deja vu feeling floated
about; had it only been September that Nicole had last been here?  It seemed
like so much had happened since the reading of the will.  But here she was
again, face to face with her aunt's lawyer and Halloween was only a day away.

One
big difference, though.  While Nicole had been a passive participant at
September's meeting, this time she was the initiator. 

Once
she got back to
Boston
and had time to think, she'd decided to call Cedric
and ask him for some direct legal guidance.  With the stolen paintings of
Nina's now recovered, Nicole wanted to know how long she could hold on to them
before they needed to be declared and handed over to Goliath Gallery.  What
were her options? 

Nicole
had confided only to Alyssa and Cedric about the lengths their aunt had gone to
in order to hide her newest works.  Still, she left out the part about
Michael's involvement in the theft.  What would be the point?  As misguided as
it may be, it just seemed like a private knowledge that she should protect. 

Now
they sat watching Cedric; his appearance was a rumpled kind of affair, but not
as sallow as the last time they'd been there.  Perhaps then he had just been
saddened, as they were, by Nina's death. 

“What
do you think?” Nicole asked him now.  “What are my options now that the
paintings have been returned to Aunt Nina's estate?”

“Well,
they have been returned in as far as they are salable goods to be enterprised
through Goliath Gallery,” he said.

“No,
but I don't
want
to sell them,” Nicole insisted.  “Nina didn't want
that.  There has to be another way.”

After
a careful pause, Cedric replied, “From what you've told me, it sounds as though
your aunt did intend for
you
to sell them, but not to have the gallery
take them from you and control the sale.  It was my understanding that her
primary objective was to provide as much, financially, to you and your sisters
as she possibly could.

“Assuming
the paintings get turned over to Goliath, then yes, the gallery would be the
intermediary seller.  But you would still receive a significant percentage, per
your aunt's contract.”

“But—”

Alyssa
broke in, “Nic, it sounds like Nina was just trying to cut out the middle man
so she could leave us more.  But hey, she tried and it didn't work out that
way.  I mean, if she had lived, then she could've waited, held onto her
paintings for several months, before giving them over to us.  Right?”  She
looked at Cedric to confirm.

“That's
correct.  She was obviously concerned that her illness might take hold before the
six month extension window on her contract was up.  I'm sure she never
anticipated that she would...well, that a fall down the stairs would be the
thing....”  His voice trailed off then.

“You
shouldn't feel guilty about selling them,” Alyssa added.

“I don't,”
Nicole insisted.  “I just genuinely don't want to.  This is the last piece of
Aunt Nina we have, and it was done for us.  I want to keep mine, anyway. 
Always.”  Alyssa started to speak when Nicole put her hand up to quiet her
little sister—who had wanted to come today not just for moral support, but also
for the legal education.  Fine, so she could be educated, but Nicole was going
to go forward without being swayed.  “I don't want to sell my painting.  And I
don't wish to turn it over to the gallery for sale.  Since Nina's contract
expired in August—granted there is the termination of rights clause—but surely,
there must be something I can do.  Please tell me what my options are.”

“Well—there
is one option,” Cedric admitted.  “A loophole you might even call it.”

Intrigued,
Alyssa's eyes lit up.  “Really?  What?  This is getting good.”

Cedric
elaborated, “The contract stipulates the gallery as agent for 'profit and
sale'.  So if you were
not
to profit or sell from the paintings, you
would, in effect, negate that aspect of their claim to ownership.”

Confused
Alyssa asked, “You mean if she just hangs them on a wall in her living room?”

“Well—given
recent events—I doubt you would want to do that anyway,” Cedric replied,
obviously referring to the break-in and theft of the paintings in the first
place.  This reminded her yet again of Michael; willfully, she suppressed the
thought.  Now was not the time for dewy-eyed wallowing.

“Okay,
fine, not hang them on the wall,” Alyssa corrected, “but lock them in a safety
deposit vault or something?  Is that what you mean?”

“I'm
afraid it would be more involved than that,” Cedric said, almost sounding
apologetic.  “Perhaps...
too
involved.”

“Tell
me,” Nicole said. 

Pointedly,
Cedric seemed to assess her.  “How would you feel about creating a charity?”

“A
charity...” she repeated, taken by surprise.

He
held up the contract, as if to help illuminate.  “If the works became part of a
charitable organization, then they would become part of a not-for-profit
purpose that is not constricted by this contract.” 

“Oh,
my God, a charity,” Alyssa said, sounding excited by the idea.  “That might be
really cool!  We could all help, too!”  Nicole mulled it over for a few long
moments.  Then her sister misinterpreted her silence, and backed off. 
“Actually, though...it would probably be too much work...it might not be worth
it, just for the paintings...”

When
Nicole spoke, she did so with renewed conviction, determination.  “Let's do
it.  Maybe some kind of fund, with proceeds going toward art supplies for poor
schools?  Or money that would go toward neighborhood art classes?  Something
artistic, as a tribute to Aunt Nina.”  Looking directly at Cedric, Nicole
asked, “But will you help me figure out all the legal elements?”

“Of
course, of course.  If you retain me as your attorney, I will be happy to guide
you through all the necessary steps.  But as I said, it's involved so you will
want to think this through before you—”

“I
don't need to think it through,” Nicole said firmly.  “I'm going to do this.” 

After
all, she wasn't working at the moment, she was comfortable financially for a
while because of her inheritance, and somehow in the last several weeks, she'd
become tired of hiding in her books and sweaters and under her covers.  One thing
she'd learned was that there were things in the not-so-distant world that she
was utterly clueless about.  She had always let herself be comfortably
sheltered, but still the world had come inside.  And with it, things she was
unprepared for, things with shades and layers.  Things that had ultimately
confused her life.

Maybe
now would be a chance to do something outside of herself, to be active instead
of reactive.  To think bigger, like lines of paint running off the canvas and
right onto the walls.  Nina would have approved; she had actually been like
that herself, but Nicole had been too inexperienced to realize it.  Even at the
start.  When Nina had built her nieces a kingdom by the sea, all Nicole had
seen was a tree house to play in.  Years later, Nina had given that back and so
much more.  Nicole could finally see it.  Not just the kingdom, but also the
sea.

THREE
MONTHS LATER

The
frantic yapping of her puppy drew Nicole's attention to the door.  Then the
bell rang.  “How did you know?” she said to Jingle, her enthusiastic
flaxen-haired Yorkie, who was already darting to the foyer.  Puddle leaped off
the couch to follow Nicole. 

She
glanced through the side window expecting to see Elizabeth Parker, who had been
helping with publicity for Nicole's charity, or maybe Ginger Bloomingdale—

She
gasped. 

It
was automatic, like a gust of air had been sucked right out of her.  What was
he doing here!  He was wearing a cap and his gaze was averted, but
unmistakably...it was Michael. 

Nicole
hesitated, thinking that she just wouldn't answer, but then he glanced her way
and their eyes caught. 

As 
soon as the door swung open, Puddle bounded at him, jumping on his legs with
her tail wagging like crazy.  “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, startled, a genuinely
happy smile breaking across his face.  He ducked down to pet her, rub her back,
as she panted happily, like this was the one piece she had been missing in her
life. 

“What
are you doing here?” Nicole blurted.  Then, with posed aplomb, she stood up
straight, held tight to the brass door handle.

“You
came back,” he said. 
So did you
, she thought, but didn't say it.  “I
wasn't sure you would after all that happened.  Are you okay?”

“I'm
fine.  You know how much I love it here, love this house.  It's ironic, I know,
but I feel safe here.”  Probably because the “bad guys” had been caught or
killed, and life in
Chatham
had been restored to its serene, idyllic calm. 
Nicole had moved down here, officially, after Thanksgiving.  Besides spending
Christmas in
Lexington
with her family, and New Year's in
Boston
with her
friends, she had been living peacefully in
Chatham
with her dogs.