Laura and the Lawman Read online

  Laura shook her head. “Vincent and Serena had no children. To my knowledge there are no other relatives. Believe it or not, he left his entire fortune to the surviving employees of his marble factory. The factory itself closed its doors sixteen years ago when he retired, but apparently Vincent kept in touch with them.”

  “How many are left?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And they say thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

  “Not in this case. When all of Vincent’s property and his stocks and bonds are liquidated, before taxes they should each receive a little over four million dollars.”

  Michael gave a low whistle. “Now I know why they were so careful about who they chose to dispose of Vincent’s belongings.”

  “You would think that, wouldn’t you? But Joseph told me they were more concerned with how Vincent was presented to the public than they were about how Joseph would handle the distribution of the proceeds. Joseph couldn’t get over it. Frankly, I can’t, either. Here were these thirteen men, each of them staring a small fortune in the face, and they would quibble endlessly about what was to be written about Vincent in any promotion surrounding the sale of his property. According to them, Vincent made it a pleasure to go to work each day. He always greeted each employee by name, and he paid them well and provided generously for their retirement. They insisted he be treated with no less respect, now that he was gone.”

  “Not many employers inspire such devotion in their employees,” Michael commented.

  Joseph surely didn’t, Laura thought. Oh, he paid his workers well enough, but only because he himself was ignorant of the work to be done. Any devotion he inspired was through fear of how he might retaliate if displeased.

  Of course, she wasn’t about to say that out loud. Ruby wouldn’t waste more than a second or two thinking about the welfare of anyone but herself. Laura knew exactly what her alter ego would say in response to such a comment.

  “No, they don’t. Nor should they need to. You ask me, Vincent was a fool. He should have paid his employees the minimum he could get away with. And he should have spent every penny he had. You might not be able to take it with you, but you can sure have fun with it while you’re here.”

  There was a grimness to the set of Michael’s mouth, but his voice sounded light and unconcerned when he spoke. “I can’t disagree with you. I’m sure Joseph doesn’t, either.”

  “Trust me. He doesn’t.”

  “Marble,” Michael mused, his brow furrowing. “I thought the bulk of the marble quarried in this country was in Vermont.”

  “Vincent didn’t make his fortune quarrying marble. He came home from World War II and built a factory that produced marbles. Plural.”

  “Marbles?”

  “Marbles,” Laura confirmed. “Little, round, multicolored spheres. The kind kids play with. The kind you shoot with your thumb and forefinger.”

  Michael burst out laughing. “Marbles?”

  She couldn’t help laughing herself. It did sound ridiculous. “I kid you not.”

  “Just how many marbles would a man have to manufacture in order to make a fortune?”

  “A frightening number of them. But in Vincent’s case, he was also a canny investor.”

  Michael shook his head. “So the man made marbles.”

  “He did indeed. And in his spare time he worked in his garden. It’s my understanding that people came from miles around to see it.”

  “He must have been some gardener for people to travel this road.”

  “I only know what I was told,” Laura said. “Besides, maybe the road was in better shape then. Apparently, after his wife died five years ago, Vincent lost interest in pretty much everything. He and Serena were devoted to each other for more than fifty years.”

  “Not many marriages last five years these days, let alone fifty.”

  She stared off into the distance, recalling a time when she’d hoped to spend fifty-plus years with Jacob. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to, to think of him and the plans they had made, the dreams they’d shared. She was slowly learning that there was a kernel of truth in the old saying about time healing all wounds. Whether she wanted it to or not.

  Of course, she didn’t dream anymore. And she didn’t plan much beyond the next job. To do either was to risk having them snatched away, cruelly and without warning. It went without saying that she’d cordoned off her heart, as well, the way a theater reserved its best seats, to be offered by invitation only. It hurt too much to love, to feel, so she didn’t do either anymore. The only feeling she nurtured was her need to rid the streets of bad guys.

  And now that need was fading. What would happen if it disappeared altogether? Would she actually consider dreaming, planning, maybe even—and her heart faltered at the thought—allowing herself to fall in love again? The notion seemed as incredible as it was disloyal. Especially since, barring her contact officers, the only men she’d associated with in recent years had hardly been glittering examples of the male species. Case in point was the man at her side.

  “That’s true,” she said, her voice subdued as she recalled the unwanted emotions Michael Corsi stirred in her. “They don’t.”

  After what seemed forever, they reached the crest of a hill. Abruptly the forest disappeared and a clearing came into view. In the center sat a huge mansion enclosed by an iron lattice-work fence. Michael brought the truck to a halt. For a long minute both of them just sat there, staring.

  “Incredible,” he murmured.

  “You can say that again,” Laura replied.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I have. In late-night horror movies.”

  “Talk about your fixer-uppers,” Michael said. “This one is a doozy.”

  “And a half,” she agreed.

  Rust coated the spikes of the iron fence. The hinges of the main gate had obviously rusted through, because it slanted inward at a drunken angle. The house itself, a three-story edifice, was straight out of a Gothic novel, its stone weathered to a dull black. Drawn shutters, dark-green paint flaking, made it look even more dank and gloomy. Ivy crawled everywhere along the walls, looking for all the world like a widow’s shroud. Or, in this case, a widower’s.

  Laura let her gaze rove to the rounded turrets. She half expected to see bats circling. The gardens and the circular driveway, what was left of them, anyway, were a tangle of shapeless hedges, weeds and, here and there, thigh-high grass. One lone rhododendron bush, at least six feet tall and just as wide, sat to the right of the front door. Amazingly it was in bloom, the splash of brilliant violet adding color to a mostly monochromatic scene.

  She wondered how long it would take for the encroaching weeds and ivy to reclaim the remainder of the grounds, and shivered. In a year or two, maybe three, it would look just like the pictures of Sleeping Beauty’s castle she’d seen in the storybooks she’d read as a child.

  “Hard to believe people used to come from miles around to view this garden,” Michael murmured. “You sure there’s electricity and running water?”

  “That’s what the caretaker told Joseph.”

  Michael gave a harsh laugh. “Caretaker? If I was the caretaker of this place, I wouldn’t admit it in front of witnesses.”

  “He was appointed after Vincent’s death,” Laura said.

  “So Vincent Bickham made his fortune manufacturing marbles.” Michael shook his head. “You ask me, somewhere along the way he definitely lost his own. How could he let this place get so run-down?”

  “I’ve heard grief can do that to people,” Laura murmured.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “This is the estate Joseph spent months negotiating for? These grounds, and the contents of that mausoleum, are worth millions of dollars? In my opinion, somebody has just pulled something big over on our boss. Not to mention those thirteen heirs, who, by the looks of things, are going to be receiving a good deal less than four million dollars apiece.”

  Laura surveyed
the scene in front of them again. She could only imagine Joseph’s anger if he had been lied to.

  “If those directions of yours were correct,” she said, “this is it. The man Joseph sent to check out the place assured him that, even though it was a little run-down on the outside, the contents inside were immaculate.”

  “If this is what he calls a little run-down, I’d hate to think what he calls immaculate.”

  “All I know is what he told Joseph.”

  “Let’s hope, for his sake, that he wasn’t exaggerating.”

  Apparently, Michael had had the same thought she had.

  “You know,” she said, cocking her head and studying the house once more, “at second glance, it really isn’t all that bad. Some spit and polish, and this place could be a showcase.”

  Michael gave a contemptuous snort. “More like a couple of backhoes, a dozen machetes and some sandblasters.” After giving the place the once-over the same way she had, he added, “But maybe you’re right. With the proper work, it could be stunning.”

  “Something we actually agree on.”

  “Will wonders never cease?”

  Laura sat up straight in her seat. “This might sound outlandish, but give it some thought before you make your decision. Maybe you should consider snapping this place up.”

  “Me?” He looked taken aback.

  “Yes, you.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  She gave him a blithe smile. “Why would I want to do that?” Not waiting for a response she didn’t expect him to offer, she said, “I’m serious, Michael. A place like this would give you the status you crave. It would show people how well you’re doing.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Status means nothing, if no one can find their way out here to see how well I’m doing.”

  “I bet the price is right,” she said.

  “Even if it was, and even if I could afford it, I’m not interested.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “It’s a little too permanent for me.”

  She studied him for a minute. “No permanent things and no permanent people in your life. Is that it?”

  “That’s it,” he agreed.

  “Because…?” she prompted.

  He shrugged. “It’s not exciting.”

  “Do you own your own home now?”

  “No, I rent. That way if I get bored with a place I can just move. Plus, someone else has to pay for the upkeep.”

  “Variety is the spice of life?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  And the man said he didn’t have commitment issues. Someone was seriously deluded here, and it wasn’t her.

  “You feel that way about jobs, too?” she asked.

  “I go where the top dollar is. Money is the one thing that never bores me.”

  She gave him the response her role required. “Another point we agree on.”

  “At this rate we’ll be bosom buddies by the end of the day.”

  She crinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Michael’s laughter held genuine enjoyment. “Neither would I.”

  In spite of his faults—and they were legion—Laura couldn’t help admiring his sense of humor. Not many people possessed the ability to laugh at themselves.

  Thankfully, he spared her any further introspection by pointing out the Mercedes that was parked to the right of the front door. A man sat in the front seat.

  “Someone waiting for us?”

  “That would be Howard Bracken,” she said. “He’s the lawyer in charge of the liquidation. He should have some keys for us.”

  “Why bother locking up?” Michael muttered. “Who in their right mind would come all the way out here, just to rob the place? I doubt many people even know it exists.”

  “Why don’t we just go get the keys from Howard Bracken?” Laura suggested.

  Michael carefully drove past the leaning front gate and around the circular driveway. He parked behind the Mercedes, and they both climbed to the ground. After so many hours spent sitting, Laura was grateful for the opportunity to stretch.

  Howard Bracken, a stern-looking, middle-aged man wearing a perfectly pressed gray suit, met them at the foot of the steps leading to the front door. Laura watched his sternness fade after he got an eyeful of her short skirt.

  “Miss O’Toole,” he said with a delighted smile. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you.” Turning to Michael, he added, his greeting noticeably less warm, “And you must be Mr. Corsi.”

  Laura turned Ruby’s practiced charm on the man. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you going out of your way to meet us here. Especially considering the state of things.”

  “Don’t be discouraged,” Howard Bracken said. “I have a feeling that Mr. Merrill will be very pleased with what you find inside. Very pleased, indeed. Would you care to follow me?”

  The lawyer preceded them up the stone stairs, inserted a key and pulled on the heavy oak door. With a loud creaking noise that sounded suspiciously like a shriek, it slowly opened.

  She had taken only one step, when Michael closed a hand around her upper arm, forestalling her. Ignoring the questioning look she shot him, he called, “Mr. Bracken? Mind if I confer with my colleague for a minute?”

  A look of annoyance crossed Howard Bracken’s face in the instant before he composed it into a mask of urbanity. He bowed his head.

  “Of course not, Mr. Corsi. Take your time.”

  Steering her by the elbow, Michael led her over to the truck.

  “What’s the point of all this?” she hissed, glaring at him.

  Michael leaned forward. Speaking in a low voice, he asked, “You sure you want to go in there?”

  She blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Doesn’t he seem a little too eager to you?” He nodded to where Howard Bracken stood, pointedly gazing at his watch. “To show us around, I mean.”

  The citrusy aroma of Michael’s aftershave tickled her nose, and the warmth of his skin made the hairs stand up on her arm. Laura took a step back. Michael was getting a little too close for comfort. Her comfort.

  “Of course he’s eager. Like us, he’s traveled miles to get here. And our detour made us late. He probably wants to get back to his office as soon as possible. I don’t blame him.”

  “Well, I have a different take on the situation.”

  Laura heaved an exasperated sigh. “And what take would that be?”

  “Ever see the old Bugs Bunny cartoon, where the evil scientist invites Bugs into his dark, creepy mansion and then proceeds to try to use him in his vile experiments?”

  Laura just stood there, staring at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why should I be kidding? We are in the middle of nowhere, aren’t we? And we do live in a violent world. Neither one of us has ever seen Howard Bracken before. Who knows? Maybe that man on the steps is an imposter, and the real Howard Bracken is gagged and bound in the trunk of that Mercedes.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Neither she nor Ruby had any idea what to say. Surely he couldn’t be serious. Could he?

  Michael’s lips twitched, and the truth suddenly dawned on her. He was making fun of her.

  “You have a warped sense of humor, Corsi,” she snapped. “And a terrible sense of timing.”

  His eyes actually had the nerve to sparkle. “I have to take my enjoyment where I can find it.”

  He was throwing her own words back in her face. What was worse, she knew she deserved it.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to liven things up.”

  “And you chose now to do it?”

  Michael shrugged. “No time like the present.”

  “Joseph is paying Howard Bracken by the hour, you know.”

  “He can afford a few spare moments. Besides, since small talk usually gets us into trouble, I thought I’d try humor. You smile a lo
t, Ruby, but I don’t think you laugh all that much.”

  It surprised her that he had noticed. Her internal warning system went on alert. Michael Corsi was, in all probability, the most dangerous opponent she had ever faced. More dangerous than the mythical terrors he’d described awaiting them inside the Bickham mansion. More dangerous, even, than Joseph. Because every time he annoyed her, or otherwise sent her emotions spiraling, she promptly lost her professionalism.

  The best defense, she told herself, was a good offense. “You’ve been doing precious little laughing yourself.”

  “All the better to laugh now.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still not laughing.”

  “That’s because you won’t let yourself,” he chided. “You have to admit it’s more fun to laugh than to cry.”

  She couldn’t imagine this man crying over anything. Unless, that is, he was sent back to jail.

  “And since we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next few days, we might as well laugh? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “By George, I think she’s got it!” He smiled broadly at her.

  Oh, no you don’t, Laura told herself fiercely. You’re not going to charm me into liking you. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

  Framing his hands around his mouth, Michael called, “We’re ready, Mr. Bracken.”

  Even though she knew he had only been pulling her leg, even though she knew that the stern man in the gray suit waiting for them was a lawyer and not a mad scientist in disguise, Laura couldn’t help peering cautiously around the door as they went inside.

  From behind her came a low, knowing chuckle. Gritting her teeth, she suppressed an extremely childish urge to kick Michael in the shins. Then, shaking her head, she chuckled at her own foolishness. Ruby might not have a sense of humor, but Laura did. If ever there was a time to laugh at herself, this was it.

  “See?” she heard him say. “It’s always better to laugh.”

  Chapter 5

  T hey worked straight through dinner. Exhaustion had Laura’s feet dragging and her shoulders slumping as she climbed into Michael’s truck for the drive to the motel Joseph had booked for them. More powerful than her fatigue, however, were the hunger pangs squeezing her stomach. She couldn’t wait to eat.