Shadows Of Truth. Sharon Mignerey
those darling children to get home to.”
“Yes.”
“Then I need to tell the cook we’ll only be two for dinner. Sure you won’t change your mind?” When Rachel shook her head, Jane said, “Simon, I’ve made the introduction, and I’m leaving you in very good hands. Rachel, help yourself to a beverage.” Another wave, this time toward the built-in bar.
Rachel watched the door close behind Jane, not at all sure what to make of Simon Graden. He acted as though he was fifty, but, despite his gray hair, he looked young enough to be in his early thirties. Wanting to give her hands something to do besides flutter nervously, she opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re looking for,” she said, twisting off the cap and taking a sip.
“A half-million dollars worth of merchandise,” he said evenly.
That again. Her first temptation was to say something flip, like, There’s a lot of that going around. Her second, more concrete thought was that she must not have heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graden. I don’t think I quite understand. Are you planning to go into the antiques business?”
“I have a business.” He smiled, almost gently, and she caught a glint of steel in his blue eyes. “And it’s missing a half-million dollars.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Surely he wasn’t talking about the anonymous e-mail and the letter demanding money. She took another a sip of water, then shivered as the cold liquid trickled down her throat. His voice startled her when he broke the silence.
“Does that sum mean something to you?”
This was no dark alley where danger lurked, but she was at once as terrified as she might have been facing an armed mugger.
“Business transactions should be simple, don’t you think?” He shook his head, crossed the room back to the mantel where he had left a goblet, which he picked up, then smoothed a finger across one of the facets of cut glass. “An exchange of money for goods or services rendered.”
Rachel swiped a sweaty palm across her forehead, wishing her brain would engage sometime soon and that the panic in her chest would subside. This was bizarre beyond words. This meeting was supposed to lead to good things, to renew a career she had loved. It wasn’t supposed to be one more fear to pile on all the others.
“Reliable resources tell me that you have—or can get—what I want.”
“Antiques?”
He clucked his tongue. “Rachel, I’ve been told you’re a smart woman.” He looked steadily at her, those blue eyes cold and clear, “I’ve been told you already have the…” He paused. “…The item I want.”
Rachel felt completely disconnected, hating how much this all made perfect sense and how nothing about this situation was the least bit sensible. How would Jane know someone like this man—someone shaking her down like the third-grade bully who had regularly taken her lunch money.
Only much more dangerous.
“You don’t have to look so stunned, Rachel. You understand my requirements, don’t you?”
The simple answer was yes. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the word, somehow sure that doing so would mean admitting that she had a half-million dollars that she’d never even seen.
The man had said something about goods or services. “What services?”
“A refund,” he corrected. “That should have been returned months ago.”
“A refund?” Muzzy from the conflicting thoughts going through her head, she looked toward the door where Jane had disappeared.
He smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”
Rachel lifted a hand toward the door. “Jane thinks you want my expertise in antiques.”
“It’s best if it remains that way, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“But—”
“Now, then. When can I expect delivery?”
“I don’t have your—”
“Then I suggest you talk to whomever does.”
The library door clicked open on the heels of a quick knock, and Jane breezed into the room. “Cook says dinner is ready whenever we are. Is Rachel going to be able to help you?”
“I’m sure of it,” he said with a smile, handing Rachel a picture that had somehow magically appeared in his hand. “She was just telling me about her family.”
But she hadn’t been. Numb and feeling completely out of her depth, Rachel glanced down at the photograph. It was of her father, Sarah and Andy at the park a couple of blocks from her house. Andy had the Blue’s Clues Band-Aid on his knee from where he had skinned it.
The day before.
This picture had been taken yesterday.
“You have a lovely family,” he said. “I can see why you’re so proud of little…Sarah, did you say her name was? And Andy. He looks like a wild one.”
This man knows the names of my children. He has a picture of my children. She stared at the photograph, looking for all the world like one she might have taken. Only she hadn’t.
“He’s four now, isn’t he, Rachel?” Jane asked.
“Yes.” Rachel looked up, found Simon Graden standing close enough to touch, a benevolent-looking smile on his face. Then she looked into his eyes and found them to be as cold as the fear slithering through her belly.
“There’s nothing more compelling than family, is there? So nice your father can spend time with your children in the park. And he’s a retired minister, you say?”
Once more, Rachel nodded, her neck and lips stiff. This man was threatening her. And if he could get close enough to take pictures, he could get close enough to do worse.
He extended his hand again, this time with a business card between his fingers. “You’ll call me as soon as you can arrange delivery?”
Rachel automatically took the card, a slight nod to her head, the gesture rooted in the fear swamping her.
“Oh, this is great,” Jane said, crossing the room, a wide smile lighting her face, and giving Rachel a squeeze. “I’ve been so worried about you with that whole nasty business with Angela. And I just knew that you’d be able to get back in business again if you had a little help. It’s no wonder you’re looking a little dazed. Sometimes good news is almost harder to take in than bad news.”
Rachel glanced from Simon to Jane, both of them smiling as though things were wonderful and she wasn’t teetering at the edge of an emotional cliff. She swallowed the bile that burned the back of her throat.
“You should thank Jane,” Simon said. “Friends who will go out of their way for you are rare.”
“Yes,” Rachel agreed faintly, looking around for her purse. All she wanted to do was leave. Run. Gather up her children and her father and simply disappear.
“After you’ve had a chance to research that one item you were going to check on when you get home,” Simon said, “you can call me.”
Rachel looked from him to Jane, who smiled.
“Now that I know you’re back in business again, we’ll talk. I’m remodeling the patio and I was thinking a big bronze urn would be just thing. You know, like that Roman one you showed me last year.” As if realizing she was about to go off on a tangent, Jane laughed. “I’ll save that for next time. It’s so nice to see you again, Rachel.”
“You, too.” Good manners made Rachel respond as she went out the door. Somehow she