Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (22 page)

“No games. I don’t mean... sorry.” Her dark eyes held no guile, only pensiveness. “Just I have some thinking to do. About the rest of what Mom said. That’s all. Okay?”

He didn’t understand. But he nodded.

Halfway up the stairs, she turned back. “I forgot to tell you. While I was at Seoul Food, I got a text message from my airline source. More enigma to confuse matters.”

After her odd rebuff, he couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for whatever she’d dug up. “Yeah?”

“Get this. During the two days after André told Cassie he had to go to France, they have no record of anyone named André Rozmer or any permutations of the two names boarding any flight commercial or private out of D.C. or Baltimore.”

***

After Cort heard Mara close the door to her room, he pulled out his cell phone for the call he dreaded.

“Don’t you know the difference between the time zones, Jones? Middle of the night here.”

“Sorry, but you don’t sound like I woke you.” A good thing. He needed Thomas Devlin alert.

“I don’t sleep much. You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. What’s up?”

“I fucked up. Yerik got to Mara.” A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “She’s all right. A warning, but, Devlin,
he fucking burned her!
My fault.”
Shit.
He’d meant to hold it together. He closed his eyes and breathed.

“I’ll take it out of your hide later. Tell me.”

As calmly as possible, Cort related Yerik’s assault and warning.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Devlin said when he finished. “You told Mara to stay put until she saw you. She didn’t. She went into that parking lot unprotected. Trust yourself. You saved her, didn’t you?”

“Same thing she said.” They’d argued about who screwed up. He was supposed to be protecting her, but no use flogging the same dead horse with the man whose help he needed. “I can’t let her go down with me. Can’t you speed things up? Get Yerik and his thugs out of the picture?”

“I almost have an arrangement. What’s underway takes time. Hang in there a little longer.”

“The coronation is less than a week from now.
Time’s running out and I’m not even close to knowing where Leon hid the crown jewels. My life isn’t worth shit but Mara—” He hauled in a ragged breath. “She could die.”

The next morning, Ellen Plante welcomed Mara and Cort to her modest row house. Mara hated the reason they’d come, but all too necessary. Someone was cutting down possible accomplices like trees in the woods where Cort lived.

And how André Rozmer fit into this puzzle was anyone’s guess. She hated continuing to sneak research behind Cort’s back but she could do only so much on her smart phone. She should’ve brought her tablet but had packed fast and forgot it. Not like her. Her chest felt clogged, as if her lungs had seized up.

“Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Plante,” she said to the woman seated opposite her on a comfortable looking green tweed armchair that matched the sofa where she and Cort sat. “I know this is a difficult time for you and your family.”

“Least I can do,” Ellen replied. Clad in a modest navy-blue dress, she was a slimmer, younger version of her mother. She clutched a wadded tissue. “You tried to save my mother’s life. She might’ve made it, too, except—” Her voice wavered and she wobbled her hand to indicate the attack on the ambulance. Words too painful to utter.

Mara knew exactly how she felt, tears never far away, the ache in her chest as if by a tight strap. She’d experienced the same raw anguish when her dad died. For Ellen to lose her mother to senseless murder, the grief must be compounded with outrage and helplessness.

She caught a glimpse of Cort beside her. Stoic as usual, except for the tourniquet grip on his knees. She didn’t sleep well last night and suspected neither did he. She would rather have spent the night in his arms but needed to sort out her jumbled feelings.

She ought to be able to come to a rational decision. But no. Her conclusions flipped like pancakes with every toss and turn in her lonely bed. When he cut his gaze toward her, she looked away, afraid she would show her turmoil.

Family photographs papered one wall. A dollhouse and a toy box stood in one corner along with a pink tricycle, its handles decorated with pink and purple streamers. The broken cake on the floor beside Danita must’ve been for Ellen’s daughter Shayla. Her fifth birthday. Tears burned Mara’s eyes.

“What is it you want to know?” Ellen straightened her shoulders and tucked away her tissue. “Something about the Gramornia crown jewel robbery? That’s the reason those men killed her, isn’t it?”

Relieved the connection to the robbery was out in the open, Mara nodded. She explained, beginning with how Leon’s death renewed the search for the crown jewels by several parties and ending with Cort’s and her reasons for the search. “Your mother was one of the museum guards suspected of complicity in the robbery eleven years ago.”

“If my mama knew where those crown jewels were hidden, you can bet she’d have turned them over to the cops years ago.”

Mara blinked.
Did Ellen just admit her mother’s guilt?
She and Cort exchanged a glance.

Ellen sighed. “Yes, Mama was part of that robbery. She gave the thieves the security information and looked the other way. Biggest regret of her life, she always said.”

“Did she ever say why she did it?” Mara asked gently.

“Me.” Ellen sniffled. “To my everlasting sorrow. She was a single mom with only a high-school education. She made a decent salary but wanted college for me. The Jeweler, your father—” she gave Cort an apologetic look “—offered her more money than she could’ve made in twenty years walking those marble floors. He got her to give him copies of the security set-up. Lured her in with promises of an easy life and a future for me. Never happened, of course.”

The success Ellen achieved since Danita lost her museum job proved the two women’s drive. She sensed Cort’s impatience so she dug for courage. “At the time, my father questioned all the suspects. Did your mama ever say anything about those conversations?”

Ellen’s broad forehead crimped in thought. “Only that she kept telling him she didn’t know anything. Same thing she told the FBI.”

“Did she ever talk about a ring?” Cort cut in with what was Mara’s next question. “Something the Jeweler might’ve given her?” Tension edged his voice.

“That jagged thing? Too big to wear? Lord, yes. What about it?”

Finally!
Mara could barely sit still.

Just inside a rounded archway that led to a dining area and kitchen, she caught the slight movement of a pink sneaker and a black braid.
Shayla
. A small oval face peered out. Grief shadowed big brown eyes, and something else. Guilt? Surely she didn’t feel guilty for her grandmother’s death.

“The ring is what the killers were looking for. What
we’re
looking for,” Cort said, pulling her attention away from the child. “It might help lead us to the hidden jewels. We don’t think they found her ring.” He scooted to the edge of the sofa. “What did she do with it?”

Ellen plucked another tissue from a box beside her and blew her nose. “She dragged that ring with her wherever we lived. Said the Jeweler told her it was a key to the treasure. More than once she got ready to give the damn thing to the cops and confess, but she couldn’t face the idea of prison. Couldn’t bring herself to throw it away neither. Like that old story poem about the sailor and the albatross. You know the one?”

“Yes, ma’am. But the ring?”

“Gone. Seemed like a good omen to me the day that thing disappeared.”

“Gone?” Cort’s voice broke on the word.

“Lost is more like it. When she moved into that apartment. We were unpacking stuff and it just never showed up.”

“Did your mother have a storage locker or safe deposit box?”

“No bank box, and we went through every crate and suitcase in the basement locker. Good riddance, I thought then. But not now, I reckon. I’m sorry.”

Cort slumped against the cushions. “Not half as sorry as I am.”

Now was Mara’s chance. “Did she ever say my father asked her about the ring?”

Ellen shook her head. “Nobody ever asked her about a ring. Not until now.”

No proof for Global Insurance, but good enough for Mara. Dad didn’t know about the puzzle ring. He was innocent. She’d known it all along. Her shoulders relaxed. She closed her eyes, and slowly, silently, the dread and tension flowed away on an exhaled breath.

When she opened her eyes, in the doorway was Shayla’s small fretful face. The child chewed her lower lip and looked like she might burst into tears. Mara’s heartbeat quickened.

“When I was a little girl, about four,” she began, raising her voice a little, “I admired the cameo my dad gave Mom. The brooch was his grandmother’s and very precious to him. This cameo contained a small diamond chip. That bit of shine and the beautiful woman’s silhouette drew me like a magnet. Little girls always seem to like shiny jewelry.”

Cort’s brows shot together so tightly in a WTF expression he could’ve held a pencil between them. Mara shook her head slightly and he said nothing.

Ellen’s eyes widened. She seemed not at all thrown by Mara’s off-the-wall family story. “I know what you mean. Mama used to have a gold necklace. It belonged to her mama but she had to hock it years ago. You know, after...”

“A shame to lose precious pieces with memories like that,” Mara said. She slanted a quick glance at Shayla. The child riveted her dark eyes on her. “When Mom was busy, I took to sneaking into my parents’ room and playing with her jewelry. One day I took out the brooch and put it on to wear to my best friend’s house. To show off, you know?”

Ellen nodded, apparently caught up in the story.

Cort sat back, his posture tense and his expression intent.

“Sometime that afternoon, the cameo fell on the floor. I stepped on it and broke the clasp. I felt terrible. Guilty and scared to death. What would I tell my mother?”

“What did you do?”

“The worst possible thing. I hid the cameo in my secret treasure box and hoped Mom wouldn’t know the piece was missing.”

Ellen smiled. “That so never works.”

“Too true. When she discovered the loss a few days later, she thought she left it on a jacket and it fell off. She didn’t blame me or even ask me or my sister about it.”

Cort followed her slight nod toward Shayla. When his brow smoothed, she knew he understood her subterfuge. “And you kept this guilty secret?” he asked.

“For two years.” Actually only five days. Her parents had argued about the loss. Her mom cried and shut herself in their room. Mara’d felt sick to her stomach. Even then she knew her father’s mantra by heart.
Once a crook, always a crook.
“Finally one day I confessed and handed the cameo back to my mother.”

“Let me guess,” Ellen said. “She didn’t punish you half as much as you feared because she was so glad to see the cameo.”

Mara smiled. “The punishment wasn’t the spanking or even the grounding I expected. I had to work off the cost of the clasp repair with chores like putting away toys and setting the table. The worst part was my older sister’s teasing.” Not really. The worst part was how disappointed her dad was.
Once a crook…

She glanced toward the dining room but Shayla had disappeared. Mara’s heart sank.

“I appreciate your story, but—” Ellen dabbed at a tear-dampened spot on her dress. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“We have other people to see. Thank you for your time.” Cort got to his feet and held a hand out to Mara. “Especially now. I know it’s rough.”

“If you ever run across the ring,” Mara said, extending her card, “please call me.”

“If it shows up. Maybe when I pack up Mama’s things.” Tears welled and she snatched up another tissue.

Mara trudged to the door, her heart as heavy as her hands were empty. She’d had such hope. She took a deep breath. “Would it be all right if I spoke to your daughter?”

Ellen’s face pinched with doubt. “I reckon so. Just a—”

“Mama.”

All three turned toward the childish voice.

Shayla trudged into the middle of the living room. Tears swam down her face. She pressed her small hands against her stomach, cupping them tightly around something.

Mara’s breath stalled. She ached to go to the girl, but if Shayla had come this far, she had to do the rest on her own. Mara gripped Cort’s hand. He squeezed back.

Shayla’s mother went to kneel in front of her. “You can tell me, baby. It’s all right.”

The child opened her hands. In her palms lay a large gold ring with a jagged edge.

***

Cort sat in the leather armchair he’d pulled in front of the living-room windows. Instead of the view of the Golden Gate’s lighted silhouette, he stared at the two separate ring pieces in his hand.

“Dammit, how many of these are there?”

Like the first, the new section had a raised design, this one a small
X
. One edge was finished and smooth, the right-hand outside rim with the endings of each of the four lines. The left-hand jagged edge did
not
fit the right side of Leon’s. Another piece would go between them. And another on the left.

The new piece yielded more words and more mystery.

“... THE ... HOLD

... AND ... GOLD

... FOUNT ... YOUTH.

... OUR ... TRUTH.”

The words were a poem, a simple rhyme. But too clever and too cryptic.

Thanks a hell of a lot, Leon.

Gold
for damn sure meant the gold scepter and crown. Something in the new word
hold
tickled at the back of his mind. The place
hold
ing the jewels? Or
hold
onto? Fountain of youth maybe? Did Leon hide it in Florida? Mara’d done a search for the words on her phone, looking for similar poems or something, but found nothing. Not enough words, she said. Still, some knowledge hovered just out of his reach like a wind-blown dollar bill. Like whatever seemed out of kilter at Falco’s trashed house.

His brain fucking hurt.

He’d seen the light in Mara’s eyes when Ellen said Quincy Marton interrogated her mother and that was all. Finding a way to clear her father had been a carrot he’d held out, not realizing how important it was to her and her mother. He was a total jerk.

Hell, he was no detective and no puzzle solver. Give him ten board feet of cherry and he could cut it and put together a fine chair or an elegant box. Figuring out this riddle went ass backwards from the way he thought. He swore softly.

“So you couldn’t sleep either,” a soft voice said behind him.

She padded around the chair in bare feet, her hair tied back in a sleek tail. She looked damned cute in the sleep tee that just reached her knees, as sexy as in the red silk robe. Too bad it wasn’t a tad shorter. If he wasn’t so torqued, the saying across her breasts—”Geeks know all the right MOVs”—would’ve made him smile.

“Happens when I’m pissed at myself for being dumb as a drill bit.”

“How were you to know the ring had more than three parts?” Her exotic eyes heavy lidded, she smiled as she perched on the upholstered chair arm. The wide seat left enough room for her to prop her feet, giving him a fine view of her bare legs. Her scent invaded his senses, coiling tension inside him.