Lost and Found (32 page)

“Is that so?”

“He was devastated. His sense of guilt weighs so heavily on him. Don’t you understand? He blames himself for everything that happened.”

“Randall blames himself for the screw-up of our marriage? That’s news to me.”

Brooke looked first confused and then ruefully apologetic. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t quite what I meant.”

“Oh, I get it. He feels guilty because by rushing into marriage with me, he screwed up his chance of marrying you.”

“I’m the one who must carry the weight of that guilt,” Brooke whispered. “I walked away from Randall because I thought he was too obsessed with gaining control of what he viewed as his rightful inheritance. I was afraid that his single-minded determination to loosen Stanford Felgrove’s hold on Austrey-Post would destroy any hope of happiness in our personal relationship.”

“So you turned to George Langworth.”

“George is a wonderful, kind, caring man. But I realized almost at once that marrying him was a terrible mistake. By then, however, it was too late. He had been diagnosed with cancer. I couldn’t leave him. Meanwhile, Randall had married you. We were both trapped.”

“A couple of star-crossed lovers.”

A pained expression flickered across Brooke’s face. “Please don’t be facetious. I realize that you can’t possibly have much sympathy for me, but I know that you care for Randall in your own way.”

“My own way?”

Brooke hesitated. “Randall has explained to me that you’re a lot like your great-aunt when it comes to strong emotions.”

“Meaning I’m cold, controlling, incapable of blazing passions and so forth?”

To Cady’s amazement, embarrassment infused Brooke’s expression. “Everyone is different when it comes to strong emotions.”

“Maybe we ought to get back to the reason you asked me to come here today. Why don’t you tell me exactly what you want from me?”

Brooke walked to the nearest chair and sat down. Her voice dropped to a lower, more intense pitch. “I wanted to make certain that you understood just how important it is that this merger go through. It’s an excellent opportunity for both firms, of course, but it’s vital for Randall’s emotional well-being.”

“Are you telling me that you think he’ll go off the rails if the merger falls apart? Maybe sink into clinical depression or something?”

Brooke twisted her hands together very tightly in her lap. “I don’t know what he’ll do if the merger fails. That’s what frightens me.”

A man appeared in the opening that separated the living room from the expansive front hall. He was dressed in white trousers, a white shirt and soft-soled white shoes. A stethoscope was slung around his neck.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Langworth.”

Brooke turned sharply in her chair, eyes darkening with concern. “What is it, Kevin?”

“You asked to be notified at once if there was any change in Mr. Langworth’s condition.”

Cady could see from the somber expression on Kevin’s face that the change in George Langworth’s condition, whatever it was, had not been for the better.

Brooke was already on her feet. “Yes, thank you, Kevin.” She was halfway across the room before she seemed to remember Cady’s presence. “Will you excuse me? Jill will show you out.”

“Don’t worry. I can see myself out.” Cady rose from the sofa and collected her purse.

Brooke inclined her head once and then disappeared with Kevin.

Cady crossed the huge living room and went into the front hall. She stepped out into the sunshine and closed the door on the brooding shadows of age and impending death that filled the Langworth villa.

“
I
think I’m getting somewhere with this financial data on Arden that you gave me,” Gardner said on the other end of the phone. “Some patterns are emerging. But I’m going to need more information.”

“What kind of information?” Mack asked.

Gardner paused briefly. “We might as well start with the obvious suspects. Can you get me some banking history on Stanford Felgrove and Randall Post?”

Mack thought about how ridiculously easy it had been for Ambrose Vandyke to pull Jonathan Arden’s financial records off the internet. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I won’t ask why that is not a problem,” Gardner said dryly. “I’d rather not know.”

“You and me both. First thing I learned when working with a really good freelance consultant is not to ask too many questions.” Mack heard the doorbell ring at the front of the villa. “I’ve got company. Anything else you need?”

“Not right now.”

“In that case, I’ll talk to you later.”

The doorbell chimed again. Mack hung up the phone, got to his feet and left the study. He went into the hall and opened the front door.

Stanford Felgrove stood on the front step, smiling his polished smile.

“Thought I’d see if I could interest you in a round of golf, Easton.”

“Why not?” Mack said. “Not like I’m doing anything exciting here.”

Just trying to pin fraud and maybe a murder rap on you
, he added silently. But he could take some time off from that job, he thought. He had some very smart people working the problem. And who knew what he might learn by playing golf with Stanford Felgrove?

H
e stood on the terrace with Cady discussing Brooke Langworth.

“I think she was genuinely worried about Randall’s potential reaction to a failed merger,” Cady said. “I got the feeling she thought he might go off the deep end if it didn’t go through. She was very intense about it, Mack.”

He studied the sunset while he thought about that piece of information. “Maybe she was just trying to push some emotional buttons she thought might encourage you to vote for the merger.”

“Maybe. But she seemed sincere, Mack.”

“Think she plans to marry Post after her husband dies?”

“I certainly didn’t ask her such a tacky question, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s her intention.”

“Hmm.”

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“It means that, if you’re right, we’d better add Brooke Langworth to your list of murder suspects.”

Cady froze. And then turned quickly. “Are you serious?”

“If her feelings for Randall are as deep as you claim, then she had a strong motive for wanting to ensure the success of the merger.”

“Love?”

“More likely her motive was to ensure that Randall Post is ultimately in control of the new and improved Chatelaine-Post.”

“I don’t know, Mack. I can’t see Brooke as a killer.”

“She married once for money and status. Why wouldn’t she want to do it again?”

Cady shook her head. “She may not love George Langworth, but I think she cares about him. I saw her face when the nurse came to tell her that George had taken a turn for the worse. She’s committed to caring for him until the end. Don’t forget, she could have divorced Langworth after he was diagnosed with cancer but she didn’t. She stayed with him.”

“She probably stands to inherit a good chunk of his estate. In the end, she will no doubt be a lot better off as Langworth’s widow than his divorced wife.”

Cady pondered that. “All right, you’ve got a point. Any word from Gardner?”

“He’s still working on the printouts I gave him.”

“How did the round of golf go?”

“About how you would expect. Felgrove spent most of the time giving me a sales pitch on the joys of combining Chatelaine’s and Austrey-Post. Seemed to think that since I’m planning to marry you, I have a vested interest in making sure that the merger goes through.”

She wrinkled her nose. “He believes that you’re marrying me because of my connection to Chatelaine’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What a creep. But I can’t say that I’m stunned with surprise.”

“People tend to assume that whatever motivates them, motivates others,” Mack said. “I think it’s safe to say that Stanford Felgrove is strongly motivated by financial considerations.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“I did learn one other interesting thing about Felgrove today,” Mack said.

“What was that?”

“He cheats at golf.”

C
ady sensed his presence in the doorway of the vault just as she raised the lid of the elaborately gilded and enameled box. She tensed and then glanced over her shoulder.

He stood there, watching her with that curious, searching look that never failed to make her intensely aware of the energy that flowed between them.

“I thought you were busy with your computer,” she said.

“I’m taking a break.” He moved farther into the chamber. “Looking for the Nun’s Chatelaine, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Finding it is important to you, isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s important. It’s extremely valuable.”

“But that’s not the real reason why you’re so anxious to find it.”

She sighed. “No.” She hesitated, uncertain of how to explain her motivation. It was suddenly vital that he understand. “I have the feeling that when I find it, I’ll find answers to some questions I’ve always had about Vesta.”

“What are the questions?”

“People believe that she was cold and unfeeling. Everyone says that the only thing she ever cared about was Chatelaine’s.”

“Most of the evidence would seem to indicate that the general consensus is correct.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?” Mack asked.

She closed the lid of the box very slowly. “I’ve always believed that something must have happened long ago to make her that way. I don’t think she was cold. Not really. Not deep down inside. I think she buried her emotions
because she wanted to protect herself.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. You knew your aunt. I didn’t.”

“Yes.” She picked up the box and carefully placed it on the display shelf. “I knew her. So did everyone else in the family. They all tell me I’m a lot like her.”

“They’re all wrong.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.” She turned quickly back to face him. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, Mack. It’s too personal. Not your problem.”

He went toward her. “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

He caught her face between his hands and kissed her before she could say another word. She made a tiny sound and then her arms went around him. She hugged him with a fierce urgency that had more to do with plain old-fashioned anxiety than sexual desire.

“Mack.”

“Yes.” He gathered her closer and ran his palm down the length of her spine.

The caress soothed her in a way that no pill or exercise routine could have done. She felt herself soften in his arms. He kissed her again. She touched the nape of his neck with her fingertips and sensed his response.

Hunger and hope unfurled inside her.

Awareness prickled.

Energy sparked.

G
ardner put the pen down on top of the stack of printouts and absently rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think we’ve got two things going on here. One of them is a record of five transfers of some rather hefty sums from Stanford Felgrove’s private account into Jonathan Arden’s account.”

Mack whistled softly.

Cady was suddenly aware of the fact that her hands were tingling. She glanced at Sylvia, who watched Gardner very intently.

“Are you certain?” Mack asked.

Gardner looked at him. “Yes.”

“Payoffs or commissions for selling the fakes to his clients?”

“Maybe. The timing on the piece he sold to Hattie Woods certainly fits into that scenario.”

Sylvia leaned forward. “No payments from Randall’s accounts, though?”

Gardner grimaced. “No. Doesn’t mean he isn’t involved—right, Mack?”

“Right.” Mack removed his glasses from his pocket
and put them on in a single motion. “The three could be working together and could have agreed to handle all the payments out of Felgrove’s account.”

“Wait a minute,” Cady said. “Gardner just told us that there is no proof—”

Mack ignored her. He looked at Gardner. “You said there were two things going on. What’s the second?”

“There are some other interesting payments out of Felgrove’s account,” Gardner said. “I can’t tell you precisely where the money is going, but I can tell you that, wherever it is, it’s offshore.”

“Ambrose can probably follow up on those transactions for us,” Mack said. “But I’m willing to bet that the payments are going into the account of whoever is manufacturing the fakes.”

“There’s no telling how much of the income of Austrey-Post is coming from the forgeries,” Gardner said. “But under the circumstances, I think it would be prudent to assume that a large chunk of this year’s extraordinarily good profits were derived from that source.”

“No wonder they’re applying so much pressure to get the merger approved as soon as possible,” Sylvia muttered. “There’s a constant risk that the scam will be exposed. If that happens, the scandal would probably bring down Austrey-Post.”

Cady frowned. “The firm might survive if it claims that the fakes were so good that their own in-house experts were fooled and if it refunds its clients’ money.”

“Refunds on this scale will amount to a considerable sum. Could easily bankrupt the company,” Gardner remarked.

“Stanford Felgrove must be the one behind this,” Sylvia said. “He has always kept Randall on the outside of the business. If there’s something rotten at the firm’s core, it is Stanford’s responsibility.”

“Besides,” Cady chimed in swiftly, “Randall would
never do anything to destroy Austrey-Post. He considers it his inheritance. His only goal is to take it away from Stanford.”

Gardner groaned. “Good old Uncle Randall can do no wrong.”

“We
know
him,” Cady insisted. “Trust us on this, Gardner.”

Mack removed his glasses and turned to Gardner. “I’m inclined to go with them on this. I did some checking. Even if he had wanted to rig the books, Randall hasn’t been in a position to do it. Stanford has kept him out of the loop by keeping him on the road chasing consignments and high-end clients.”

“Huh.” Gardner did not look pleased with that analysis but he did not argue.

Cady breathed a small sigh of relief. “We have to take this information to Randall immediately.”