One Dark Wish, page 18
“You did what?”
Before he could answer, a slender woman wearing a hot-pink shift and her black hair twisted into a knot came over. The woman defined stunning. “Miss Munro?”
In her dirty skirt, dusty sandals, and hair that had been ponytailed for the eighth time that day, Sarah felt like a sad cow. “Yes.”
“The auction manager has been waiting for you.” The woman spent way too much time staring at Nate, her head moving up, down, and up again. “Come with me.”
If Sarah had had nails, she’d have used them to claw out the other woman’s brown eyes.
Nate took Sarah’s hand before following the woman through the lobby toward the courtyard pool area. Banging sounded from the second floor, and they stepped over tarps.
“Don’t mind the construction,” the woman said. “We had an incident a few weeks ago.”
An explosion that had killed Miss Beatrice Habersham, a woman Sarah had known well, and injured many before taking down the power grid for twelve hours. From the way Nate’s jaw cranked, she wondered if he remembered too.
“Will the construction be finished before tomorrow?” Sarah asked.
The beauty lifted her chin as Sarah imagined the goddess Venus would’ve done. “Of course.”
They moved into the white courtyard with a sparkling blue rectangular pool in the middle. Workmen loaded lounge chairs and small tables onto long carts.
Sarah pointed to the side areas with potted palms, pink roses, and night-blooming jasmine. “Is this where the items for sale will be on display?”
“Yes.” The woman’s heels clip-clopped on the tile. “There is one item that will only be shown in the hotel manager’s office and protected by hired guards.” She glanced at Sarah with an eyebrow raise that could be either disdain or helpfulness. The woman’s hair was so tightly drawn back, it made her face taut and her meaning unclear. “For security purposes.”
“There’s nothing in the collection that needs armed security.”
“That’s why the auction manager would like to see you.” The woman led Sarah into an office and then disappeared.
One wall of the room held a window overlooking the side garden. Two black leather club chairs flanked a desk. The room was white-walled with no artwork. A man stood near the window, studying a notebook.
Nearby, an older woman with perfectly coiffed white hair sat on a low settee and checked her phone. Miss Nell Habersham wore a pale-pink knit suit that looked vintage French and matching Louboutin heels. She also wore a diamond rope necklace that had, apparently, been a gift from some long-ago suitor. Her sister Miss Beatrice had offered that bit of gossip one night after one too many champagne cocktails.
“Sarah.” Miss Nell stood and held out her arms, and Sarah went into them. “Are you looking forward to your auction tomorrow?”
“I am.” Sarah breathed in Miss Nell’s floral perfume, surprised Miss Nell would spend any time in the same place where her sister had died. Then, maybe, that was the point.
Sarah held out her hand to Nate. Before she could introduce him, he had Miss Nell in a bear hug, his arms around the small woman, her feet dangling.
“Nate!” Miss Nell clung to his neck. When he put her down, she kissed his cheek. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
Nate smiled, and Sarah couldn’t help but stare at the red flush staining his cheeks.
Should I be jealous of Miss Nell? Sarah was kind of silently joking and kind of not.
“I came with Sarah.” Nate took her hand again. “I thought you were living with your cousin in Charleston.”
“I am.” Miss Nell sighed. “I’m just visiting and trying not to regret selling Habersham Mansion. I came a day early, though, because Carina added something to the collection and asked me to check it out. Sarah—” Miss Nell motioned to the short man with fluffy brown hair and wearing a yellow golf shirt, khaki pants, and braided leather belt who finally deemed to look at them. His round glasses finished off the bookish look. “Do you know Dr. Maurice Burns?”
“Yes.” Unfortunately.
Maurice slammed the notebook shut and put it on the desk. “You’re late, Sarah.”
She frowned. She didn’t answer to Maurice. “What are you doing here?”
Maurice squinted at Nate. “Who’s this?”
“A friend.”
Nate moved until his shoulder was slightly in front of hers. “Is there a problem?”
“Not unless you get in the way of Maurice’s career.” Sarah hated the snarky edge in her voice until she remembered what an ass Maurice could be. No, had been and probably still was. Nate placed a hand on her lower back, and she straightened her shoulders. “Why are you here?”
“I’m clerking the auction.” Maurice eyed Nate. “Did your friend need to be fed? Is that why you’re late?”
Had Nate growled? She wasn’t sure. But there was no denying the darkness clouding his green eyes.
“Maurice,” Miss Nell admonished. “That’s not polite.”
Maurice shrugged.
Sarah touched Nate’s arm, and the tight muscles bunched beneath her hand. “Maurice Burns was a thirteenth-century historian with the Smithsonian until he left to work for a private collector. And now, apparently, he moonlights as an auction manager.”
“We can’t all live on grants. Do you know the situation?”
“There’s been an addition to the catalog.” Which was ridiculous since she was the one who’d authenticated the collection, written the historical summaries, and compiled the catalog. “I didn’t authorize or authenticate anything else.”
“It was added this morning by Senator Carina Prioleau. I believe most of these items come from the Prioleau collection?”
“It’s half Prioleau and half Habersham,” Miss Nell said. “My sister and I have a collection of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century pirate artifacts worthy of the British Museum.”
Nate found an auction brochure on the desk. “The proceeds of the auction are going to the Sea Island Loggerhead Turtle Foundation.”
“Yes.” Miss Nell smiled. “Are you a turtle fan?”
“Of course.” Nate smiled that high-wattage grin of his that made Sarah’s knees melt. “May I take this?”
“Yes, dear.” Miss Nell took the glossy color brochure from him and opened it to the last page. “We’ve had gift items, like silk ties and scarves, designed with the foundation’s turtle logo. All of the proceeds will go to protecting these special creatures.”
“I’ll tell my buddy.” Nate put the brochure into his jacket. “Cain is a sucker for turtles.”
Maurice scoffed. “Does your friend know how to wear a tie?”
Nate’s nostrils flared, and Sarah changed the subject “Maurice, if Senator Prioleau added something to the auction, and you were able to authenticate it and print a supplement to the catalog, why do you need me?”
“For your signature.” Maurice pointed to a table along the side wall with a book cradled on top. “Don’t touch it. There’s a pressure alarm underneath.”
Sarah went over. A felt book support held the water-spotted leather diary she’d held yesterday. “This doesn’t belong to the senator. This belongs to the Savannah Preservation Office. This is Rebecca Prideaux’s diary.”
Miss Nell came over and tapped Sarah’s arm. “My dear, the Rutledge family in Charleston donated the diary to the Savannah Preservation Office years ago.”
“Why is it here?”
“Because,” Maurice said, “Carina Prioleau discovered the diary once belonged to Rebecca Prideaux. Therefore, Carina believes it’s within her rights to reclaim the book and sell it.”
“Senator Prioleau is wrong.”
“Sarah?” Nate placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “How did Carina discover the diary if it’s been at the Savannah Preservation Office for years?”
Sarah wanted to kick herself. “Last week I sent the grant application with a preliminary description of the diary I wanted to restore. I know Carina somehow saw the application because this morning she gave my boss grief about it.” Sarah stared hard at Maurice. “We can’t sell this diary because it was stolen. From the Savannah Preservation Office.”
“Have you filed a police report?”
“No. I only realized a minute ago that it had been taken.”
“Can you prove the preservation office owns it?”
“There’s a catalog listing, and I’m sure there’s donation paperwork around.”
“Except Carina does own it, dear,” Miss Nell said. “Many, many years ago I helped Louise Rutledge steal it from Carina’s grandmother.”
“Noooooo,” Nate said around a smile. “Miss Nell, you’re a badass.”
Miss Nell nodded at the compliment. “I am. But Carina’s grandmother was a mean girl and deserved it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said. “That book belongs to the SPO. The board of directors, including Calum, gave me permission to seek a restoration grant.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Maurice said. “The senator wants to sell it. And the opening bid will be fifty thousand.”
“What!” Sarah’s screech hurt even her own ears, but she couldn’t help herself. Maurice was betraying her. Again. “You can’t sell it until we establish provenance.”
Miss Nell patted Sarah’s hand. “I’ve confirmed provenance, dear.”
Panic jumbled her words. She couldn’t lose her only link to Rebecca and Thomas. Her only link to the hide sites. And the cipher. Her last link with her mother. Her only chance to save her father.
Nate whistled. “Why is it worth so much?”
Maurice dodged Nate’s question with one of his own. “Sarah, do you know about the alphanumeric sequences?”
“Of course,” she said. “You mentioned them in the foreword when you published my thesis in The British Journal.”
Nate settled his hands on his hips. “This is the asshole who betrayed you?”
She took a few deep breaths to control her emotions. “One of them.”
Maurice shrugged. “Augustus and I believed it was time for you to find a new focus.”
She fisted her hands. She could easily find a new focus. “Is Augustus in town?”
“No. Augustus now works for a private firm in Boston.”
“Sarah.” Nate’s voice helped her come down from the mountain of bitterness and hurt she’d just climbed. “Breathe.”
She exhaled. Nate was right in his simple, silent command-type of way. No wonder his men followed his orders. He had a strong yet quiet presence about him that she was beginning to appreciate. “Why is this diary worth so much?”
Maurice adjusted his glasses on his pointy nose. “This diary is one of the earliest primary accounts of colonial life ever uncovered. Senator Prioleau brought in the diary along with a potential buyer.”
“Why didn’t she just sell it to him directly?”
“I suspect,” Miss Nell said, “Carina would like to see how high the bidding will go.”
“I’m not signing anything,” Sarah said to Maurice’s lying face.
“Would you like to tell Senator Prioleau that?”
Sarah turned to Miss Nell. “Do you have physical proof that the diary once belonged to Carina’s grandmother?”
“No dear,” Miss Nell said. “Just my word.”
And wasn’t that a kick in the heart. Miss Nell was one of the most beloved women in the city, and Sarah was trapped.
“I swear,” Miss Nell said, “the diary belongs to the Prioleau family.”
“Except it’s not Carina’s to sell.” Sarah couldn’t sign the letter of provenance. It would mean she’d lose Rebecca’s story forever. “My life’s work is based on that diary.”
“Because that’s not pathetic,” Maurice said with a slyness that told her how much he enjoyed this.
She moved forward until Nate wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered, “Don’t make things worse.”
Things couldn’t get much worse. “But—”
“I think”—the cord of steel in Miss Nell’s voice was a firm yet gracious order—“it’s time to change your life’s work.” She took a piece of paper and a pen off the desk and brought it over to Sarah. “It’s time to let Rebecca’s story go.”
Chapter 22
Nate brought the tray with barbecue sandwiches, dessert, and fries over to where Sarah sat in the Blowin’ Smoke café. Her arms were folded on the table, and her head lay on top. Her ponytail hung over her shoulder, shifting as she breathed. He wanted to hold her on his lap, wrap her in his arms, and offer comfort. Instead, he said, “You need to eat.”
She lifted her head, and her red eyes proved she’d been trying not to cry. “I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.” He went to the counter for their chocolate shakes and put one down in front of her. “Drink this.”
“Did you talk to Calum?” She sat up and played with her straw.
“I did. He told me he doesn’t get involved with his sister’s business and that you should still go to Dessie’s to find a dress for tomorrow.”
“I don’t need a dress because I’m not going to the auction.” She sipped her shake. “And my dad?”
“Still in the ICU. No visitors allowed.”
She used her palms to wipe her cheeks before taking a bite of her sandwich. She cleaned her lips with a napkin but hid her grimace.
“You don’t like it?” He took a big bite as she scrunched her nose.
“It’s different. Like mustard and vinegar.”
“It’s North Carolina style.” He rubbed his mouth with a napkin and added, “Mine’s better though. I’ll make it for you.” He paused and took another bite. There’d be no time to make barbecue for her. Ever.
She touched his cheek with her hand, then ate her sandwich. “It’s good,” she said in between nibbles. “But why is the coleslaw on top?”
He drank his shake and waggled an eyebrow. He needed to improve the mood. “I thought you were from Savannah. Don’t you know anything about Southern cooking?”
“Nope.” She ate a fry. Then two more. “I grew up in Boston, and we hardly ever came home. I think it was too hard on my mom.” She sipped her shake before adding, “In New England, everything is roasted. To death.”
“Kells is from South Boston, and his idea of dinner is food cooked into submission.” Nate’s phone buzzed, and he read the message. “It’s Luke. I’ll take this outside. By the time I return, I want half that sandwich eaten.” He left the diner, answering, “Any word from Kells?”
“Nope. I’m still working on Etienne’s cell phone. Know anyone named Leroy?”
“No.” Nate checked his watch. It was almost eight p.m. “I’m eating now and will head to the club. Tell Zack to meet me there.”
“Will do. Any new info on our mission?”
“Not yet.” Nate moved off the sidewalk and waited until students in SCAD T-shirts passed by. “I’ve been thinking—our OPSEC sucks.”
“We don’t have operational security because we just moved in. I’m not sure that lock on the back door works. The rats are the only thing keeping out thugs.”
“That’s not an excuse.” The Fianna would never have allowed Sarah to wander into the Prince’s office and see maps on the wall. “We need cameras on our perimeter, a night watch, and an armory.” There were other things on Nate’s mental list, but he didn’t want to overly stress Luke.
“Dude, the first requires money, which we don’t have. The second requires men who aren’t working twenty hours a day in jobs they hate, which we also don’t have. And the third requires weapons. Again, which we don’t have.”
Nate frowned. “All of the men have a personal pistol. Pete has two. Ty probably does too. And there are knives floating around. I’d like a full accounting of guns, ammo, and any other weapons we have. Then we need a place to store them.”
“All of those weapons could fit in a drawer of a metal filing cabinet I’ve been emptying. The one that’s been there since Eisenhower was president.”
“Use that. And let the men know I want a list of all weapons and ammunition by tomorrow morning. Oh-eight-hundred hours.”
“Why the hurry? Oh, right. Sorry.”
Because by Sunday Nate was going to be on his way to Maine. “This is important, Luke. It’s my job as XO to make sure you all are as secure in this new situation as you can be.”
“Got it. I’ll let you know when I find anything else on the phone.”
Nate ended the call and went inside. Sarah hadn’t eaten her sandwich, but she’d not only polished off her dessert, she still had the spoon in her mouth. “Did you like the strawberry pie?”
She nodded and licked the utensil. “It was delicious.”
He sat and drank his chocolate shake, appreciating Sarah next to him, the taste of cold chocolate, and fries cooked in oil. He pushed over his piece of pie. “Eat mine.” Before she could fuss, he said, “No arguing, not about pie or sending in your report for that grant.”
“Why? Because I just gave the diary to the senator who wants to destroy my career?”
He squeezed her arm. He wasn’t used to seeing her defeated. “Maybe Miss Nell is right. Maybe it’s time to find a new focus.” He popped a fry in his mouth. “Like me.”
She took a bite of his strawberry dessert. “For an ex–Green Beret who runs a pirate-themed gym, you think mighty highly of yourself.”
He took the lid off the shake and took a big gulp. He wanted to close his eyes and savor it, but he didn’t want to lose a moment of looking at her. “Yes, I do.”
She laughed. “What am I going to do with you, Nate Walker?”
He blew her a kiss. He was willing to look ridiculous if it meant making her happy.
She shook her head. “Men are all alike.”
“Not really. Some have stupid names like Augustus.”
