The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) (21 page)

            The young woman smiled. “I’ll look if you have a moment, Sir.” She typed something in on the computer and waited.

            “I’m sorry, Sir, nothing under the title
The Hills Of Great Malvern
,” she said, shaking her head. “Could it be under another title?”

            Thorne said, “I don’t know—Hills In—”

            The older woman put her book aside. “What’s this you’re talking about? It’s not
The Hills Of Great Malvern
, it’s
The Hills Above Great Malvern
.”

            “That’s right, Ma’am. Are you familiar with the book?” Thorne asked.

            “I should say so. Only it’s not a book—it’s a painting, and I should be familiar with it, I painted it,” she said, pointing to a picture on the wall behind the counter.

            Thorne and the other two women looked up to the darkened oil painting of a landscape on the wall. “Well, what about that?” one of the young women said. “I never knew that was what it was called.”

            “What is the price on it?” Thorne asked.

            The older woman laughed. “Oh, no. It’s not for sale. My son Freddie would never allow it. You see, I painted it when I was just a girl. I painted a lot in those days. Went to Art School, I did. I gave it to Freddie when he opened the bookstore. He even wanted to call the bookstore

The Great Malvern Hills Bookstore
because he liked the painting so much, and gave it a place of prominence up here.” She pointed again to the painting.

            “The town permit people—bunch of old buggers—refused to give him a permit. Said, ‘If you want a bookstore named Great Malvern, go over there and open it. We’re Stratford—name it
The Shakespeare Stratford Bookstore
.’ Freddie and the permit people settled on
The Classics Bookstore.”

            Thorne stood waiting patiently for the old woman to conclude her story. She went back to her chair. “No, the painting never has been for sale. Never will be. Freddie’s instructions—not for sale.”

            “That’s true, Sir,” the young woman said. ”We get a lot of inquiries, but Mr. and Mrs. Hollister have told us it’s not for sale. Sorry.”

            “Well, thank you,” Thorne said. ”Is Mrs. Hollister around?”

            “Yes, I think I saw her go to the office in the back. I’ll call her. May I have your name, Sir?”

            “David Thorne.”

            She pressed an intercom button. “Mrs. Hollister, a Mr. David Thorne is here to see you.”

            Helena Hollister’s voice came back. “Please ask him to come to the office.”

            The young woman pointed to the opposite rear corner of the store, and Thorne threaded his way through the narrow aisles and bookshelves to the small office.

            Helena stood as he entered and closed the door. She shook his hand and said, “So nice of you to come by, Mr. Thorne. I had planned to come right back, but I’m afraid I got tied up here. I plan to go back and spend the night with Freddie.” She looked at him imploringly. “Did you get to see Freddie? Was he awake? How is he?”

            “I’m afraid he didn’t tell me much. He took medication and went to sleep while I was talking to him. He was resting comfortably when I left.”

            She started to sob and reached for a tissue from a box on the desk.

            “I’m sorry about Freddie,” he said. “He was always nice to me. I considered him a good friend.”

            She looked up quickly. “Oh, yes, he spoke about how he felt you were a trustworthy person—not like those others he was involved with. Of course, he liked Gil, but the others—well—”

She fidgeted with a tissue and looked into his eyes. “Freddie associated with a lot of people. He was an open person. What you saw when you met Freddie was what he was. He talked a lot— too much sometimes. I feel that in his enthusiasm he trusted the wrong people.”

            She added quickly, “Oh, not you. I think it was good for him to trust you. It’s the others. They . . .” Her voice trailed off, then stopped.

            Thorne said, “Freddie said something before he went to sleep about The Hills Above Great Malvern or—”

            “He did?” she asked. “That’s strange, he told me to talk to you about the same thing. Evidently, it had to do with his mother’s painting? Freddie said I could depend on you to do the right thing with the painting if anything ever happened to him. Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”

            “May I examine the painting?”

            “Of course, but I think it best if we wait until we close and his mother goes home. Naturally, she would be curious. I’ve also instructed everyone not to tell her about Freddie’s condition. She’s not in good health, and . . .”

            She glanced at the door and dropped her voice. “This time of year—Christmas season and all—most of the shops don’t close until nine. I’ll pull the front window blinds down at closing.  Can you come back to the delivery door off the back alley tonight after closing, say around ten o’clock?“

            “Yes.” He paused at the door. “By the way, my work is complete at the castle. I had planned to return to the States soon, but with Freddie’s condition— well, I plan to stay a little while longer.”

Chapter 45

By moonlight, Thorne found the back door of the bookstore, and knocked lightly. A light came on behind the frosted glass panel in the door, and Helena opened the door. She directed him through the storeroom to the checkout counter, and brought a ladder from a janitor’s closet.

Declining his help, she muscled the heavy wood ladder into the checkout area.

            She leaned the ladder against the wall, and went to the front window to make sure the blinds were completely closed. She returned and went up the ladder, retrieved the painting from the wall, and handed it down to Thorne.

            The landscape painting was in a heavy frame, and he saw it was dark—not only with age, but the technique was muddy. He smiled to himself. A son’s love easily hides a mother’s inadequacy.

            Thorne turned the painting over and found a manila envelope taped to the back. It was a blank envelope, and appeared to have been placed there recently. He carefully opened the envelope, went over to a desk, and switched on a small lamp.

            A folded piece of paper dated three days earlier, had a hastily handwritten letter signed by Freddie, and a safe deposit box key taped within the fold

Dear David,

This is to let you know of my concern for my safety. I’ve instructed. Helena to assist you, but I don’t want her involved in the affair.

It’s better at this time for her not to know anything about it. This key is for a safe deposit box at the Beaton and Wicke Bank in the centre of town. Only your name and mine are authorized to use the key. In the box are instructions on how to proceed. I realize you are quite surprised at my asking you to handle this affair, but I feel I can trust you alone to administer to Helena’s best interests should anything happen to me.

Freddie

Thorne folded the envelope and put it and the key in the pocket of his overcoat. He said, “It’s just a personal note to me about his opinions on the additions.”

            Helena gave him a puzzled look and shook her head. “That’s Freddie. At times he has a strange way of doing things. But, why the secrecy about that?

            Thorne shrugged. “I suppose he didn’t want the others to know. I appreciate your help, Mrs. Hollister, and I’ll—”

            “Please, call me Helena, David. I know you must be a good friend of Freddie, and I feel I can trust you, too. Will you promise me you’ll let me know if you find anything that might be related to Freddie’s accident.”

            I will,” said Thorne. “In the meantime if you could find any notes Freddie may have left showing his appointments in the past two weeks, please let me know.

Chapter 46

Thorne spent the night in Bridgetown at the White Rose Inn, and went down for breakfast early the next morning. He met a courier with the paperwork Bada had promised the day before, signed it, and took the cashier’s check.

            The dining room was almost empty except for a couple of businessmen getting an early start. He buttered a slice of toast and considered the individuals involved in this increasingly complex situation. Who had the motivation and the means to make an attempt on Freddie’s life? He made a list of all those he had come in contact with since taking the job. The list was far too cumbersome, but he felt it best to make it complete and remove the obvious names such as Gweneth, Andrea, Helena and Hammersmith—and probably Gilbert Bada.

            But then, who—who were the most obvious persons who would have sought to kill Freddie after they thought he had double-crossed them?

            The first to come to mind again was Roger Linsdame, or possibly Roberts and Kelly, but they were just two thugs who were working for another man.

            Who else? Raskin? Kirk Halstrom? Blackstone? Rainier? Forestal?

            Linsdame had the most to lose if Freddie moved the bookstore. He would lose business to future development east of the river. But was that enough reason to kill a man?

            Neville Forestal had been vocal in his opposition, but that was all. Even if he was successful in stopping the relocation of the bookstore, he’d always be at odds with the Bada family—and Gweneth, his future wife.

            Freddie made no secret of his past disagreements with Forestal. Was this the real reason Forestal opposed the relocation of the bookstore to the castle enough to kill Freddie? No, Forestal didn’t seem like the type of person who would resort to murder over a loss in a Council meeting.

            Jacque Rainier appeared to be unaware of the search for the documents, but he had huge financial problems—problems that the sale of a multi-million dollar necklace—or the documents—would solve.

            Thorne put the pen down, leaned back and ran his hands through his hair.

            He was going to lose his friend, Freddie. Another good friend, Gweneth, was going marry a man that would disrupt the Bada family—and her life—and on top of all this, he had been fired for no reason.

            His job was to have been that of a consultant. Not a private detective—not a problem solver for other people’s problems—not a Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe or Rockford or Magnum chasing criminals. He had no business being involved in these people’s lives. He had taken an assignment as simple as finding a document for a client. Now he had slowly, but surely, gravitated to investigating a possible murder—yes, a murder. He was sure now if—no, not if, but when—Freddie died, it
would
be murder.

            He’d been disconnected for so long from other people he realized he now had had found a friend—a flawed, but genuine friend, in Freddie. Freddie had trusted him and him alone to take care of his wife, Helena.

            Quite a commitment from a man he had known for less than two months.

Chapter 47

The Beaton and Wicke Bank was in a small storefront three blocks from the bookstore. Unlike its older, more staid competitors, it wasn’t overly impressive, but was clean and efficient.

A middle-aged man in a tweed sports coat at the front desk stood and welcomed Thorne. “Good morning, Sir. May I help you?”

            Thorne produced the key and identification, and the man looked at a monitor. “Fine. Mr. Thorne, Mr. Hollister came in last week and put you on our access list. Now, if you’ll just step this way.”

            Inside the vault, the man matched keys and withdrew a large box. Thorne stepped behind a curtain, placed it on a counter and opened the box. A single large manila envelope was in the box, and inside the envelope was another letter from Freddie. A large plastic bag contained old letters on parchment—letters he hoped would better describe the location of the documents supposedly hidden in the castle.

            The documents were inserted between acid-free paper sheets and inserted in protective individual plastic folders, the type used to protect photographs and artwork. Freddie’s handwritten letter was paper-clipped to typewritten transcripts of the documents.

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,

If you’re reading this, it means something has happened to me. Whoever you are, Helena evidently trusts you. Please keep this information secret from Helena for her safety. She’s aware only of my Life Assurance Policy, but my whole reason for my actions is for her to benefit from the contents of this box. If I’m correct in trusting you, you need to know about these letters and how they affect the group planning to search the castle for the hidden de Vere documents.

Last year I bought these letters. The first is a two-page letter from Richard  Moldar to his son, Bascomb. I’ve revealed only the first page of this letter to the group involved in the search. It alludes to the possibility of finding proof that Edward de Vere, the 17
^th
Earl of Oxford, was the true author of the works attributed to William Shakespeare. In my opinion, the letter is inconclusive, but shows promise. The last line of the first page of the document indicates the strong possibility ‘treasures’ are hidden in the castle. I think this may be construed by others to mean the writings of Edward de Vere. However, this isn’t the complete case. The second page reveals that Moldar has hidden within the walls of the castle a priceless necklace designed for Queen Elizabeth I. I have shown the group only the first page of the Moldar letter, not the second as their interest appears to be solely in the de Vere documents.