Chapter 7LinkCassie
Chapter 7
Link
While Cassie and Quinn discuss girl stuff the whole way to the Harper estate, I run through every scenario where I’d lose my jewelry if I were an old lady. But by the time Cassie and I are escorted through the foyer and into a formal sitting room to meet with Mrs. Harper and her son, I know that isn’t what happened.
This is a real case, and I just brought Cassie into one of the lions’ dens. Leaving Quinn in the car for a quick getaway was probably the smartest thing I’ve done all day, though the bar is on the floor.
Footprints lead to the back patio as if someone brazenly walked through the front gate and the lawn. Usually, this wouldn’t catch my attention—footprints on grass—but this is Mrs. Harper we’re talking about. The woman practically invented ‘Get off my lawn!’ I’m convinced it’s the reason she put up a gated stone entrance in the first place.
Several staff members line the perimeter of the room like Marines at attention. From the exchanged looks I’m spotting, this part, at least, is a usual affair.
How often does she accuse them of stealing from her? And would any be bold enough to finally do it?
Mrs. Harper herself sits in the center of the room in an expensive-looking chair. It’s something I’d expect to see in Downton Abbey … if I were to watch that, which I most certainly do not.
Behind her, a younger man, who shares her piercing blue shark eyes, stands with his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for coming to our aid, Mr. Suco. Whatever assistance you require, please do not hesitate to ask. If searching the help is necessary, we have a room…” The man lifts a hand toward a doorway, and I stop him.
“No, that won’t be necessary. Mrs. Harper, when did you first notice the missing jewelry? And what, exactly, are you missing?” I address my questions to the woman in the chair, but the man responds.
“Mother notified me late yesterday evening that her grandmother’s necklace was stolen. We spent most of today searching.” From his tone and the uncomfortable shifting along the row of staff behind him, I have a pretty good idea what that searching entailed.
Again, I turn my attention to Mrs. Harper. “When’s the last time you saw the necklace? Are you sure it was stolen? Could it be in a safe somewhere? A bank vault?” The man begins to answer for her again, but I raise a hand. “It’s best if I hear it from your mother since it’s her necklace, and she was likely the last person to see it.”
“Whoever stole it from her is the last person to see it,” he answers in a clipped tone. I’m sure he’s never been told, however politely, to shut up before.
I give him my best placating smile.
“I already know who stole it,” Mrs. Harper says. Her voice is stern as ever. The woman’s tongue could cut glass, even at her age. “The only man brazen enough to come into my house after all these years.”
“Mother,” the man says, squeezing her shoulder, but she swats him away.
“Who else could it be? You tell me, Wesley. Who else would dare come into my house and steal from me?” Mrs. Harper slams the palm of her hand against the armrest.
“Mother,” he tries again without the squeeze. “We’ve been over this.” His voice is low, almost too low for me to hear.
“Do not patronize me, Wesley. I know Mathias Abrams is dead. But his rotten boy isn’t!” Mrs. Harper stares me in the eye. “That man has had it out for me since I married my Lawrence. Couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
What kind of Hatfield and McCoy drama have I gotten myself into? And Cassie?
I look to my right, hoping to see disbelief or boredom on Cassie’s face. Instead, I see that same glint in her beautiful blue eyes that Robby used to get. Like a dog on a bone. If I don’t steer this ship in the right direction soon, we’re gonna have a problem.
“Do you have a picture of the necklace?” Cassie asks before I can stop her.
Both Mrs. Harper and her son turn toward her.
“And who are you, dear?” Mrs. Harper asks.
Her son, however, knows precisely who Cassie is. It’s written all over his starstruck face. It’s an interesting look for someone who obviously spends an inordinate amount of time pretending to be bored.
“Cassandra…” Cassie stumbles. It sounds like she couldn’t decide between her stage name or her real one and said neither.
“Are you his secretary?” Mrs. Harper asks. Cassie and Wesley both cough.
“I’m the brains of this operation,” Cassie says, recovering quickly.
Mrs. Harper looks me over, then nods. “I’m glad to see it. Did you ever finish that little story you were working on? I thought I read about it in the paper.”
Any other time, I’d have a few choice words to say over her choice of words. Little story , I repeat in my head, using her same condescending tone. But we need this case, so I smile and shake my head. “Not yet. But it’s close.”
“What makes you think it’s Mr. Abrams?” Cassie asks, turning the conversation back to the case with more than a bit of irritation in her voice.
I remember her getting in my face earlier about the books—not that I’ve written a whole one yet—and hope I never see that side of her again.
Well, maybe a little. Just not aimed at me.
“Who else would it be? Mathias did nothing but torture my family, and now he’s passed the torch to his son.”
I start to say, “He’s done a lot more than torture your family,” but she keeps going.
So, as she’s rattling off some of the things the Abrams family has done to them over the years— political attacks, stealing cattle, and land grabs, mostly—I’m thinking of what the Abrams family has done to the rest of the town.
Land grabs, price gouging, and dominating the industrial market, to name a few.
Then there are things Phineas Abrams had his hand in that I wouldn’t even dare think out loud.
“It all started when my grandmother refused to marry the first Phineas Abrams, this one’s namesake. My grandfather was a prideful man. He flaunted the fact that she chose him over Mr. Abrams, which only fanned the flames of their already tense business rivalry. Then Abrams began buying up properties all over town. The only way to stop him from taking over was to buy up the rest, you know?”
I nod as if buying half the town is an appropriate and plausible reaction for anyone. “Is there anything you can show me on the grounds that I can use to link the current Mr. Abrams to this crime?”
Mrs. Harper looks at Cassie as if I haven’t said anything. “Are you his secretary, dear?”
Cassie and I exchange glances.
Wesley clears his throat and begins talking over his mother. “The necklace itself was a gift from the elder Phineas to my great-grandmother, which he vehemently demanded back after she spurned his advances.” He pulls a small white envelope out of his coat pocket and hands it to Cassie.
Inside is a picture of an old necklace on a black velvet bust. It’s dark gold, with at least fifty rubies of various sizes running the length of the chain.
I don’t have time to get offended before Cassie asks what I was thinking. “But why, after all these years?”
“Because of this, dear,” Mrs. Harper says, pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket.
Wesley takes it and hands it to me. “As you’ll see, some grudges are not so easily forgotten.”
The letter appears to be a lien on Mrs. Harper’s estate for the return of the necklace or an amount equal to the updated valuations based on an appraisal done by the first Phineas Abrams over a century ago. I can’t help but gulp at all the zeroes or think our two-thousand-dollar fee is grossly undervalued.
“If he’s putting a lien on the estate, why steal it? Why not wait…” I trail off, not wanting to state the obvious. He’s waited this long. What’s another couple of years? Surely, Mrs. Harper must be pushing ninety already.
“Because I’ll take that necklace with me to the grave before he gets his hands on it!” Mrs. Harper slams her fist on the armrest. “And if Wesley gives that man one red cent of my money after I’m gone, I’ll haunt him!”
“Noted,” I say with a smile. “All right, I’ll take the case, but it’ll cost a bit more.” Cassie and Wesley both glare at me, but I don’t let that deter me. “This is a very complicated case, with all the history and bad blood between your families, not to mention it’s Phineas Abrams I’ll be going up against.”
“How much?” Wesley interrupts before I can finish my spiel.
“Four thousand… plus a per diem.”
Mrs. Abrams and Wesley wave their hands in the same dismissive manner.
I smile and nod, taking Cassie by the arm to leave. As we reach the foyer, she yanks her arm away.
“What?”
She yanks the door open and storms out.
Cassie
“I cannot believe you!”
“What?” Lincoln asks again, as if he doesn’t know exactly how disgusting he is right now.
“How could you take advantage of that poor old woman?” I open the driver’s side door, but Lincoln grabs my arm again.
“Maybe I should drive.” He has the nerve to say.
“I would drive this car into a lake before I let you behind the wheel again!” I get in and slam the door in his face.
“Sounds like things went well,” Quinn says from the back seat, reminding me of her presence.
I just groan and start the car.
Lincoln climbs in the passenger seat beside me and slams his door. “You know, poor is the last thing anyone should call her. She has purses that cost more than our new fee.”
“What new fee?” Quinn asks.
For a second, Lincoln looks startled. He forgot she was here, too. Then he turns back with a huge grin on his face. “Talked her up to four thousand.”
“Nice!” Quinn gives Lincoln a high five.
I’m about to lay into her, too, when my phone rings. I check the caller ID and get out of the car. No way I’m having this conversation in front of Lincoln Suco.
“What did you find?” I ask in a whisper as I walk away from the car. We’re still in the client’s driveway, but I need to take this call now.
“It’s still in the early stages, but I think there’s something here. You’re right about why you aren’t getting gigs. The question is still who’s behind it.”
That’s what I hired you for, I think, but don’t say. Not that I had the money to do so, either. But I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own. Hiring a P.I. was ironic, seeing as my father always handled those issues when I was younger, and now I was technically a P.I. myself.
“How well do you know Anthony Rollins and Marissa Farmer?”
“Um…” I have to think. “Anthony’s an agent with the firm. Or at least he was. I think he started his own company not too long ago. But Marissa… what would she have to do with anything?”
“Yes, Rollins does have his own agency now. And Farmer went with him, along with a couple of others who may not be involved.”
“Involved?”
“Well, it seems they were an item before branching out independently. And one or both may have been up to no good. It’s all very complicated and…”
I brace myself for what I know is coming.
“… going to cost more.”
I picture poor Mrs. Harper’s face as he says it, which only makes me hate Lincoln more. Is this just a thing shady investigators do to vulnerable people?
“I’ll have to call you back,” I say as I hang up. All the other choice words running through my mind right now should be saved for Mr. Suco himself.
As I’m turning back to the car to hurl those choice words at him, I realize two things.
One, we’re still in the Harper driveway, and I was just pacing back and forth, airing my dirty laundry. I don’t have time to think about everything their security cameras heard me say because of the second thing I notice. Lincoln and Quinn are whispering and exchanging glances in the car. By the way they shake and nod, then jerk away from each other, looking the epitome of innocence, I know something’s up.
“What?” I ask, getting back in the car. I’m surprised Lincoln didn’t jump in the driver’s seat while I was on the phone. I guess he was too busy conspiring.
“Where did you learn to ask good questions like that? You were a pro in there with Old Lady Harper.” I can tell from the grin on his face that it’s a set-up, but I take the bait.
“You know I played a cop for two years. We had a detective on set to make sure everything sounded authentic.”
Quinn groans, and I catch her passing Lincoln a wadded-up bill.
“Did you bet on me name-dropping my show?”
Neither of them responds.
“Well, that was a leading question. What else was I supposed to say?”
They exchange looks again, then Lincoln says under his breath, “That your dad was a P.I., and you learned from the best… his partner.” He adds that last part with a mischievous grin.
Now I groan and roll my eyes. “That’s the last thing I’d ever say.” I look to the back seat through the rearview mirror. “Quinn, never bet I’ll give Lincoln credit for anything but my anxiety.”
She opens her mouth to say something but closes it.
“What she means is,” Lincoln takes over, speaking for me in a way that grates my nerves, “She thought you would say your dad taught you.”
I glare at him. “My dad didn’t want me to have anything to do with this lifestyle. And certainly, not anything to do with you.”
“Ouch.” Lincoln holds his chest like he’s been shot. “The Robby I remember wanted nothing more than to have you here with us, solving crimes and taking names.”
“That makes zero sense.”
“It made sense in my head.”
I put the car in reverse and start backing out of the driveway, but I don’t know where to go. “Well, where to? This case isn’t going to solve itself!”
I'll show them if they think this is all fun and games. I’m not one to be trifled with, and I’ve had too many people deciding my fate for me lately. Now it’s my turn.
“All right!” Lincoln slams a hand on the dashboard like he’s preparing for game time. “Let’s do this!” I look at him, his excitement infecting me, and nearly smile. But he has to go and ruin it by adding, “Only way to solve it is by solving it.”
My chest aches, and I barely notice the cars driving past us from the end of the driveway. I can’t believe he would use my dad’s line.
“Don’t say that!”
“Cassie—”
“And don’t call me that!”
I pull onto the next road, not knowing where I’m headed and wishing it was anywhere but here with Lincoln Suco.