The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 5

“Darcy,
were you going to point your dad’s gun at Ray Drake?” Mom
asked.

I turned from watching that
big blue Buick disappear down the street. “Only if I felt we were in immediate
danger, Mom.”

She frowned. “Where is your
faith in God’s protection?”

Where
indeed? Had I even prayed when I became suspicious of
Drake?

“I should have more faith,”
I admitted. “It was just a gut reaction to that man’s hatefulness. I guess I
didn’t think of prayer. Why didn’t you tell me about Ben’s trip to New York?”

She shrugged. “I just forgot
about it. The trip was last month. I don’t think it could have anything to do
with Ben’s death, do you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think
Ray Drake is with the FBI but he is certainly after what we know about Ben. He
must have heard about that gold, but how?”

“The story of lost gold has
been circulating around town for decades. Oldtimers may have put it down to
being a fable and I doubt that many remember it at all,” Mom said. “Ben told me
the secret of the hiding place was passed down from generation to generation to
only one member of his family. Nobody outside the family would take it
seriously. They’d think it was an interesting tale but nothing to get excited
about. He didn’t tell me his reason for his trip. He said he’d tell me later,
but he never did.”

“Are you sure that Ben’s
daughter is the last of Ben’s family? Could there be anybody else, some
far-flung relative who might have remembered that Ben had hidden wealth? He
didn’t really tell you he had an FBI relative, did he?”

She raised her eyebrows and
looked at the ceiling. “No, he didn’t, may the Lord forgive me. Ben’s parents,
his wife, his brother, they are all dead. There was a nephew, but he left
Oklahoma years ago.” She shook her head. “Elijah Ventris. Folks called him
Hammer. I hadn’t thought about him in years.”

“Do you think Skye would
know why her dad went to New York?”

“Maybe,” Mom said. “Ben gave
me her phone number. It’s around here somewhere. We could call and ask if she
knows.”

She left the room and a few
minutes later, came back with a small, embossed card. Taking it from her hand,
I read that Skye Ventris was a psychiatrist in a top-rated hospital in Oklahoma
City. Maybe she would have a free moment and could talk to me. It was worth a
try.

Dialing the number, I waited
until a receptionist answered, informing me that I had reached the office of
Dr. Skye Ventris and yes, she would see if the doctor was available.

Skye, I remembered, was a
few years older than I. In high school, I was in awe of this beautiful
teenager, a cheerleader at the time, with olive skin and long, silky black
hair. She had come to Levi as soon as Grant told her of Ben’s death, but I had
not seen her then.

Her voice was warm. “Of
course, I remember you, Darcy.”

When I asked if she knew the
reason for Ben’s trip to New York, she seemed eager to talk.

“I have been so upset about
Dad that I haven’t realized the possible implications of that trip. In fact, he
didn’t tell me what he learned while he was there. Dad had a family heirloom
that he was particularly curious about and he wanted an expert’s opinion. I must
come to Levi soon and have a long chat with Miss Flora. Dad gave me a map that
he wanted her to have in case something happened to him. I’m afraid the map
isn’t worth much except as a curiosity. There’s another document that is far
more important. So, if I can’t get away from my practice in a day or two, I’ll
drop them in the mail.”

Her
voice quavered. “My work is all that is saving my sanity. When
I’m
not busy, the whole horrible thing keeps replaying itself in my mind.”

Skye talked for ten minutes
and, after she hung up, I turned to Mom who was fidgeting on the sofa beside
me. “Well?” she asked. “What did Skye say?”

“Ben had gone to see an
antiquities dealer, an Arlen Templeton of Forrestal Antiquities, to get an
estimate on the value of a certain family heirloom. Skye gave me that address,
in New York City. She had not talked to Ben about what he found out. I’m going
to see if I can get an airline ticket on short notice. I’m going to the Big
Apple.”

Biting her lip, Mom shook
her head. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

“You want to find Ben’s
killer, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Then we can’t leave any
stone unturned. I’ll be fine. Remember, flying is safer than driving.”

Sighing,
she said, “But car wrecks don’t happen 30,000 feet in the
air.”

I ruffled her curls and went
to pull the telephone book out of its drawer. Tulsa might be the nearest
airport, or maybe Highfill, Arkansas.

“At least, take Grant with
you,” Mom said.

“No, thanks. I don’t want to
spend a lot of time alone with Grant. Something tells me he would need very
little encouragement to take up where we left off, and I’m not ready for that.”

She was actually wringing
her hands as I made my reservation. I would fly out of Arkansas.

“Darcy, I could go with you.
If the plane went down with you on it, I’d want to be on it too.”

Hugging her, I said, “I
appreciate that, Mom, but you would be petrified and I don’t think the plane is
going to go down. However,
it’s not a good
idea to leave you alone for two days. Please pack a bag and go to Aunt Bet’s.
In fact, I can drop you off there before I catch the
plane.”

Aunt Bet was no relation,
but she and Mom had been friends for years. She lived in Fayetteville and it
would work well for my mother to stay with her while I was out of town.

For a wonder, Mom needed no
persuasion.

At two o’clock the next
afternoon, after a much smoother flight than I expected, and after a Pakistani
driver who seemed to think he was taking part in the Indianapolis 500 delivered
me to the wide front door of Forrestal Antiquities Group, 621 East Kimball
Circle, I stepped out of the cab and felt much like an ant among giant redwood
trees. Skyscrapers towered above me and the roar of traffic and the din of
honking horns beat on my eardrums.

Entering the lobby, I
consulted a brass-plated directory near the security desk. I had phoned a
newspaper colleague in this big city before I came. From him, I learned that
New York was the antiquities group’s main headquarters for its worldwide
operation. It was no surprise, then, to find that Forrestal occupied the entire
eleventh floor. Separate suites were indicated for Human Resources, Financial,
and Benefits. The other side of that floor was allocated to Appraisals,
Purchasing, and Consulting.

With the elevators as my
destination, I said a silent prayer that Mr. Arlen Templeton could throw some
light on a mystery that seemed to grow more complex with every piece of
information we dug up.
Reaching the eleventh
floor, I stepped off the elevator into a lobby
tastefully decorated in
what could be described as subdued opulence.
A
velvety gray carpet muffled my steps as I approached the front desk.
The
receptionist was underwhelmed with the press card I presented. Technically, I
still worked for
The Morning News,
just not on a full-time basis.

“I need information about a
gold heirloom,” I told her, “and Arlen Templeton is the only person who can
give me that information.”

The receptionist glanced
from my card to me. “Mr. Templeton is in a meeting,” she said, her voice
sounding bored. “I’ll find out whether Mr. Fredricks can see you.”

Evidently, I needed to
project a different demeanor, a warmer, friendlier, woman-to-woman approach.
Leaning across her desk, I lowered my voice. “I just love your hair. So
sophisticated.” I hoped the Lord would forgive me; this was for a good cause.

The receptionist’s nameplate
read, “Minda Stilley.”

“Ms. Stilley,” I said, “it’s
so hard to get a decent haircut, isn’t it? But I imagine you know lots of the
best places here in New York. Could you recommend somebody?”

Her long, lime green
iridescent fingertips caressed her black-as-shoe-polish hair. “Well,” she said,
“I usually go to Antonio’s on Riverside Drive.”

She stared at my version of
a French twist. “I can see that your hair is thick and naturally wavy and
inclined to frizz.”

Boy! Was she right about
that!

“You probably just need a
good styling,” she decided as she wrote on the back of the card I had handed
her. She scribbled the address of Antonio’s and returned it to me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Listen, I
actually need to see Mr. Templeton about a case that involves a murder that
happened a few days ago.”

Minda Stilley’s eyes
widened.

“I’m sure gals in your
position know everything about the ins and outs of this business and can bend a
few rules. Could you figure out some way I could talk to Mr. Templeton this
afternoon? It’s really important. My problem involves a man from out of state
who met
with Mr. Templeton the last part of
April. Shortly afterward, he
was
murdered. Since the man was possibly one of your
clients, you can understand that it’s necessary that I speak to Mr. Templeton
about Mr.
Ventris.”

Her lips formed a perfect O.
“You—do you mean Mr.
Ben
Ventris?”

Bingo! Somebody within the
company had evidently been notified of Ben’s death. It was significant that the
death of an unassuming man from northeast Oklahoma had been noted in this
metropolitan empire.

When I nodded, Ms. Stilley
lifted the telephone receiver. “I’ll see what I can work out.” She spoke softly
into the mouthpiece and turned back to me.

“Mr. Templeton can spare you
a few minutes, Ms. Campbell.”

I gave her my biggest smile.
“Just call me Darcy. And thanks so much for your help—for all your help.” I
patted my flyaway hair.

Minda Stilley grinned and
gestured toward the hallway. “The fourth door on your right.”

Arlen Templeton was waiting
for me. He was a tall, slender man with thin, sandy hair and sharp blue eyes
that would not miss many gnats on the wall. He wasted no time with
preliminaries.

Stretching out his hand, he
said, “Mrs. Campbell, good to meet you. You want to talk about Ben Ventris?”

He waved me toward a
burgundy leather chair. “I was shocked to learn of Mr. Ventris’s passing.
Murdered? Unbelievable.”

Guessing that this
straight-talking man would appreciate nothing less than the truth from me, I
dropped my bag on the floor, looked him in the eye, and began.

“Mr. Templeton, let me be
honest. I do work for
The Dallas Morning News
as my press card says, but
only on a freelance basis. I’m not here in any professional capacity. I’m here
because I am very worried. Ben Ventris was a close friend of my mother’s.”

I proceeded to tell him all
the gruesome details of Ben’s death and included my fear that Mom’s life might
now be in danger.

“Why did Mr. Ventris come to
see you, Mr. Templeton? The man is dead and his reason for coming all the way
to New York may have some bearing on tracing down his murderer.”

Arlen Templeton stared at me
for a few seconds. “I will certainly help all I can, although I would think
that your local police should be delving into his murder, not you, young lady.”

An
astute observation. “I don’t think our authorities know that
Ben
came to see you.
Until I find out whether his visit was important in finding his killer, I’d
just as soon the Ventris County sheriff didn’t
know.”

I trusted Grant but couldn’t
say the same for Jim Clendon. Who knew how he would react to whatever news
Arlen Templeton was about to give me?

Arlen Templeton’s eyes
narrowed. “Isn’t this unlawful, hiding facts that may be pertinent to a
felony?”

Evasion seemed to be the best
response. “I don’t know what the facts are yet.” As far as I knew, Grant had
never heard any legends about Ben being the keeper of a treasure.