Chapter 1 #2
She swallowed away her irritation and smiled her acknowledgment. “Thank you for calling our team, Mr. Lemoine. You were very cryptic on the phone. So what exactly do you need our help with?”
“Call me Victor.” He set the glass down and ran a hand over his head. Wispy and messy silver hair was cinched tight with a tie in the back. “I—”
A long, low creak echoed in the hallway and took his attention. “The front door.”
Abby froze. Listened. Heard the rusty hinges. Her heart galloped into high gear, and she shot to her feet. “Probably just the wind. Stay here. I’ll check it out.”
She rested her hand on her sidearm before starting for the shadowy hallway.
As she’d crossed the bay, a storm had been brewing, but there was no wind in the hallway. No draft. Just the front door inching open into the dim foyer, and she braced herself for whoever would come through.
The Lemoine Mansion hadn’t seen many visitors in years, and it showed in the serious disrepair, cobwebs, and dirt surrounding the main entrance. But it welcomed Detective Burke Ulrich with an unlocked door.
Not a good sign after Victor Lemoine’s frantic call to 911 about a theft. Not good at all.
He drew his weapon and carefully pressed on the splintered wood. Light spilling into the space to his left illuminated the dark, shadowed foyer and outlined a petite woman facing the door, feet planted, weapon drawn.
“Police!” he shouted as he tried to make out her facial details. “Lower your weapon to the floor.”
“You have no worries with me.” She dropped her arms, revealing her face.
Say what? Couldn’t be!
He knew her—former sheriff Abby Day. The one woman who’d managed to break through the wall he’d built since his fiancée left him at the altar a little over a year ago. What in the world was she doing here?
“I’m Lost Lake Locator, Abby Day. I’m going to holster my gun.” Her movements were exaggerated, likely for his benefit.
This county was Burke’s jurisdiction, but they’d once worked a murder investigation together when she was a nearby sheriff.
The last one she handled before leaving the job to join the new firm of investigators who specialized in finding missing people and things.
They’d recently been praised in newspapers and on TV for their good work.
Of all the people!
They hadn’t seen eye-to-eye before, and now she was a nosy private investigator.
If Lemoine hired her to find his thief, she was bound to be a thorn in his side.
Not only as far as the investigation went, but also by raising old feelings he’d worked very hard to banish from his life. Just what he didn’t need.
“Detective Burke Ulrich,” he said in case she’d forgotten him.
“I remember you, Detective.” Her unfavorable memories of their time together came through loud and clear.
He got it. They’d had a love-hate relationship, disagreeing on most investigative steps, yet finding themselves attracted to each other and fighting it all the way. Could she have left the job because he’d questioned her all the time?
Nah. She didn’t seem overly bothered by his behavior. More likely, she left because they’d investigated three young children who’d been abducted on their way home from school and brutally murdered. The horrific details nearly caused him to leave his job. Why wouldn’t it do the same to her?
Old news, but her change of careers was important news. Still, now wasn’t the time to bring it up—he couldn’t allow himself to get lost in memories or his feelings for her. “I assume Mr. Lemoine called your team to investigate the theft.”
“I did,” an older man said from the doorway, the light behind him accenting his age-diminished build.
“Detective Burke Ulrich.” He offered his hand to the gentleman. “You must be Mr. Lemoine.”
“Victor.” His dry, papery skin rasped against Burke’s as he latched on with a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s about time law enforcement showed.”
Haughty was the word that came to Burke to describe this guy’s tone. He could be acting due to stress from the theft. Burke didn’t want to make it worse for him by responding with a sharp reply.
“Unavoidable transportation delay,” he said. “I would’ve been here sooner if your call indicated you were in any danger and needed immediate attention.”
“It seems your understanding of the matter is quite limited.” Mr. Lemoine’s upper lip curled ever so slightly. “I’m always in danger.”
Burke shot a look at Abby for her reaction. She planted a hand on her hip, long lashes blinking at him. Apparently she hadn’t heard about this either.
He returned his attention to Victor. “Then let’s sit down, and you can tell us about it.”
Victor didn’t speak, but clunked with his cane to his chair in the library and gingerly lowered himself to the worn cushion. Burke waited for Abby to enter the room and drop onto the sofa’s plush cushions, slightly uneven from years of wear.
Her black tactical pants and matching polo shirt spoke to her law enforcement training and professionalism, but he saw more than the uniform. So much more. Her chin-length hair hung around her face, and her large brown eyes remained sharp.
Memories of how those luminous eyes often sparked in response to him came back. But more so, they reminded him of everything he respected about her. Resourceful, intuitive, compassionate, quietly courageous. Not to mention grounded in an unshakable faith.
She looked at him, and he jerked his attention away like a teenage boy with a crush.
Seriously? Get control. He remained standing and formulated his line of questioning. “So, Victor, tell us about this theft, and the danger you think you’re in.”
“Not think. I’m in danger. I know I am.” He stared at the fireplace, silent and imposing, then whipped his attention back to them. “You must promise to keep the information I’m about to share to yourselves.”
Abby met the older man’s gaze with the confidence of a seasoned investigator. “If you want us to find your missing item, I’ll have to share with my team everything you tell me. We’ll keep it strictly between us.”
“And you, Detective?” Victor raised a bushy eyebrow. “Can you guarantee this will not leak to the public?”
Burke couldn’t offend this guy if he wanted to keep his job, the only thing he had left in his life, but he also wouldn’t make a promise that he couldn’t keep.
“I’m sorry, Victor, but I can’t guarantee that.
I can assure you that I won’t share any information unless absolutely necessary, and absolutely nothing with the public without your knowledge. ”
Victor sniffed, as if the air smelled foul. “I suppose it’s the best I can do. But this has remained a secret since 1887, and I would hate for it to get out now.”
“An extremely long time to keep something quiet.” Abby ran her gaze over him. “This all started back then?”
“Yes, 1887 in France under the rule of the French Third Republic. Just after the fall of Napoleon III and the monarchy, the Republic saw the Crown Jewels as symbols of tyranny.” His brows drew together, forming deep creases across his forehead.
“They decided to liquidate almost the entire royal collection, both to make a political statement and to raise funds. The sales included multiple royal crowns—some bejeweled, some stripped. Many were bought by private collectors or dismantled for their gems.”
“Interesting story, but what does it have to do with you?” Burke asked.
Victor lifted his pointy chin and aimed it at Burke. “My great-grandfather, Valère Lemoine, was an art historian living in Paris at the time, and he bought the Crown of Napoleon III to bring it back to America. When he returned, he had this house built.”
“It’s a long way from Paris to the Oregon coast.” Burke quickly reviewed information from his Oregon history classes to try to remember what was going on in the state in the late 1800s.
“If I remember it right, Oregon was just being developed then. Kind of rowdy and unruly in those days for keeping an expensive item safe.”
“Probably not the best place for an art historian to find a job either,” Abby added.
Victor wagged a finger at her. “It’s not like he ever worked a day in his life.
He didn’t need to. Not with our family money.
He’d gotten an art history degree to please his father, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He was a real adventurer. After a single trip out here, he wanted to claim land and build before anyone else came along to spoil the nearby beauty. ”
Again, interesting, but it still didn’t explain what was going on. “So what does this crown in the 1800s have to do with your call?”
“Like I said.” His tone turned condescending as if he’d expected them to figure everything out by now.
“He had this house built, and he included a special hidden display case for the crown. From that point forward, he lived here alone and didn’t tell anyone about the family treasure until he was on his deathbed.
He then revealed it to my grandfather, who then inherited it.
It’s been kept a secret and passed down to the firstborn son in every generation, currently my responsibility. ”
“Oh my goodness!” Abby shot forward on the cushion. “The crown! The crown was stolen.”
A swift nod was Victor’s only response.
Far more interesting than a simple burglary. “I assume it’s quite valuable. Do you have a recent appraisal?”
Victor crossed his arms. “It’s politically correct these days to return artifacts to their country of origin. An appraisal would simply draw unwanted attention, and I would likely be forced to return it.”
Abby blinked a few times. “But what you’re saying applies to stolen items, and the crown wasn’t stolen from the French government. Do you have a bill of sale or any proof it was purchased by your great-grandfather?”