Lost and Found (13 page)

Babs's jaw set. "It's your coat and you're getting just as cold and wet as I am. I don't see any reason why / should have the coat."

"Because I said so and I'm bigger than you are." He smiled, not the bone melting smile she'd seen over the past few days but a baring of teeth that threatened physical force. She didn't really believe he'd force her to wear the coat but something in his eyes made her decide that discretion was the better part of valor.

He took her sack of clothes from her and stuffed it into his pack while she shrugged into his coat. Babs would have died before admitting it, but the quilted jacket felt wonderfully warm. Sam zipped the front for her before she could get her hands free of the long sleeves and it felt too nice for her to protest that he was treating her like a child.

They continued walking, Sam a few feet ahead. He hunched his shoulders against the dampness. He glanced back a few times but Babs wasn't looking at him. Her attention seemed to be on the ground beneath her feet. Not that he knew what to say to her anyway.

A long sloping hill slowed their pace to a crawl but, once on top of it, Sam stopped, waiting until Babs caught up with him.

"There it is." He pointed to a little house about three hundred yards away. A narrow dirt lane meandered off the highway toward the building.

Sam stared at it. The entire day had been a disaster. From start to finish, nothing had gone right. He'd quarreled with Babs when it was the last thing he wanted to do. He'd been in a fight, paid a hundred and twenty dollars for a handful of cheap plates, gone without breakfast and walked for hours in the pouring rain. It was not his idea of a fun time. But the end of the road lay before them. Once inside, they'd be able to rest and decide what their next step had to be. The worst was over.

He turned to Babs and then forgot what he was going to say. She was looking in the direction of the house but her eyes were glazed, slightly unfocused. Her skin was the color of cement.

"Are you all right?" He was reaching for her as he asked the question. It was patently clear that she was not all right.

"I'm just fine." The snap in her voice might have been reassuring if it hadn't been followed by a funny little catch in her breathing. She looked at him, her eyes puzzled. Sam caught her as her knees buckled.

"
M
r. Stefanoni will be with you in a moment."

"Thanks." Emmet watched as the plump housekeeper left the room. The room she'd left him in was large and airy, decorated in shades of gold with touches of brown—hardly what you'd expect to be the lair of a gangland boss. But then, Stefanoni wasn't your typical mobster. Born and raised in California, he'd gotten control of his empire by shrewd maneuvering. He wasn't above violence but he used it judiciously. So far the police hadn't been able to trace a single illegal act specifically to him. He was, on the surface, nothing more than a powerful businessman.

Emmet stared at a glass display case that was filled with Chinese jade, his hands linked behind his back, his thoughts on the man he was about to see. He hoped Stefanoni would be more interested in getting the real paintings than on getting revenge. As far as Emmet was concerned, Stefanoni was welcome to fit the entire family with cement boots and drop them in the Pacific. All of them except Babs. She was the only one of the bunch worth caring about. It was for her sake that he was here. Whether she liked the family or not, she felt an obligation to them. He'd do what he could to pull their fat out of the fire. For her sake.

The door opened behind him and he turned as Stefanoni stepped into the room. Emmet had seen pictures of the man, photos of him at charity balls or dedicating a hospital wing. Stefanoni's charitable contributions were one of the reasons it was so difficult for the police to get proof of his illegal activities. Too many people were grateful to the man. He looked bigger in the pictures. The man standing before him was below average height and slightly built. His face was narrow, ascetic. His dark eyes watched the world with cool cynicism. He looked more like he belonged in a monastery than in this luxurious house in Beverly Hills.

"Mr. Malone. Sorry to keep you waiting." The two men shook hands. Stefanoni's grip was cool and firm. "Would you like a drink?"

"No thanks."

"I've read your work. You've given me several hours of pleasure."

"Thank you." Emmet seated himself opposite his host, aware that they were skirting the real reason he was here. Apparently they had to get the polite preliminaries out of the way before they got down to business.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Malone? Somehow I don't think this is a social call and I doubt if you're researching a new novel."

"I think we both have a pretty good idea why I'm here. A few weeks ago you bought some artwork from my family."

Stefanoni nodded, his eyes unreadable. "The Caravaggio and several other pieces. Yes, I remember." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a string of amber beads, running them through his fingers. "I hope you don't find such things disturbing." His smile was self-deprecating. "I find the worry beads help me think. A habit I picked up in Greece."

"Not at all." Emmet smiled, keeping up the polite facade.

"You came to discuss the paintings?"

"I came to buy them back, if you're willing to sell. Naturally I understand that the value of the paintings has gone up since you purchased them." If Stefanoni didn't know that they were fakes, Emmet didn't want to be the one to tell him.

"Ah, you're here to make me an offer I can't refuse." The dry wit drew a surprised smile from Emmet.

"I hope you can't refuse it."

Stefanoni drew the beads through his fingers, his eyes on his guest. "I'm not interested in selling the artwork. I have wanted that particular Caravaggio for some time. I was delighted when your young cousin offered to sell it to me."

"Lance?"

"Yes. He explained the terms of your grandfather's will so I understood the need for secrecy. It's a disappointment, of course, that I won't be able to show the painting but it's enough that I have it for my own enjoyment."

Emmet smiled, wondering how he was going to go about explaining that the painting Stefanoni set such store by was a fake. He cleared his throat.

"Well, there's a bit of a problem here."

"The fact that it's a fake?"

Emmet blinked and then smiled, his expression wry. The man deserved his reputation for shrewdness.

"I'm afraid not all members of my family understand the value of fair play. You can understand why I want to purchase the pieces back from you."

Stefanoni nodded, his eyes dropping to the worry beads sliding through his fingers. "I must admit I was quite upset when I found out that the paintings were not genuine. No one likes to be taken for a fool." For just an instant, his face hardened, the mask of polite businessman slipping to reveal something far more dangerous.

"No one need ever know."

"I will know, Mr. Malone. But that's neither here nor there. It's been a good lesson to me. To be taken for a fool by a pack of amateur con artists has taught me not to be too complacent." His smile held a feral edge. "However, I'm not an unreasonable man. If you can provide me with the originals, I'm willing to forget this incident ever occurred."

It wasn't the deal Emmet had been hoping for but he was willing to take it. Dodie would have a coronary over losing the real artwork but it was better than losing the trust fund. Besides, it served the whole pack of them right. It was about time they faced up to reality.

"Done. You'll have them within the week."

"Excellent." Both men stood up and shook hands. "It's been very pleasant doing business with you, Mr. Malone." Stefanoni tucked the worry beads back in his pocket.

"I'll contact you about arrangements for the paintings."

"Fine. I've heard that your niece has been kidnapped."

"That's right."

"A terrible tragedy. We've met once or twice at social functions. She's a charming young woman." Emmet waited. It was clear the man had something more to say. Stefanoni reached out to rub his fingers over a priceless jade figurine.

"The men who kidnapped her—you've heard from them?"

"No. They haven't made any demands yet. Do you know something about them?"

"Perhaps. I have heard rumors that someone hired some very cheap labor. Labor known for doing heavier work than kidnapping."

Emmet felt his stomach tighten as if from a blow. Stefanoni glanced at him, his eyes cool. "I only mention it because you've given me many hours of pleasure with your work and, as I said, your niece is quite a charming young lady. I saw her once put a matron in her place by telling her that if she loosened her girdle, her face might not look so much like a prune."

The half laugh was startled out of Emmet. It was so typically Babs. Stefanoni smiled, sharing his amusement.

"I would hate to see something happen to a young woman of such spirit."

"Do you know who hired this 'labor' and how they contacted them?"

"No. Such people aren't hard to find if you have the money to hire them. They are not the sort I would have working for me." His contempt was obvious.

"Thanks for your understanding and for the information."

"My pleasure."

Enclosed in the quiet of his truck, the radio set to a classical music station, Emmet drove up the coast highway toward Santa Barbara. Sunshine blazed down from a clear blue sky. The Pacific Ocean lay to his left, endless miles of water, calm on this bright spring day. Emmet felt anything but calm.

If Stefanoni was right and the kidnappers were something more than kidnappers, then Babs was in more danger than he'd thought. He'd wondered why Sam hadn't brought her straight back. Even if he didn't want to bring her back to the Malone household, he would surely have been in touch with his mother and Cecily hadn't heard from him. No one had heard from him since he'd called the Malone house and found out the truth about the kidnapping.

So why hadn't anyone heard from him? Or from Babs? The possibilities were endless and none of them were reassuring. If the kidnappers were more than kidnappers, then just taking Babs away from them may not have been enough. If they'd been hired for something more, they might have tried to finish the job.

His fists clenched on the steering wheel. He was talking about someone trying to kill Babs. And not a stranger. Someone in the family. He didn't have much affection or respect for his family but he wouldn't have thought that they'd want Babs dead. He wouldn't have believed that any of them would have the guts to go that far, no matter how greedy they were. But Stefanoni had no reason to lie about this. He had nothing to gain or lose.

Automatically he turned the truck away from the family mansion. He couldn't stand to see any of them now. Not until he'd managed to get his thoughts straight. Without considering it beyond the fact that he needed a peaceful place, he found himself pulling the truck to a stop in front of Cecily Delanian's house. He didn't move for a moment but sat in the truck looking at the neat little home.

Home. Odd that the word came so easily to mind. Home. It was impossible to think of Cecily without thinking of homes and hearths and the scent of baking. Walking up the path, he felt his tension easing, even before she opened the door. Her smile was pure welcome, her delicate skin flushing lightly.

"Emmet. How lovely to see you. I haven't heard from Sam yet, I'm afraid. Have you had any word?" She was holding open the door as she spoke and he stepped in, letting the peace and calm surround him.

"No. I just thought I'd drop by. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. You're always welcome in my home. I hope you know that." Her eyes were soothing and offered welcome.

Emmet followed her into the kitchen, inhaling the scent of baking cookies appreciatively. Cecily laughed at his hopeful expression. "They're for the children next door but I suppose they wouldn't miss a few."

She set a cup of coffee and a plate of warm cookies in front of him and then settled herself opposite. Emmet sighed, feeling his tension ease with every minute he was in her company. He'd never known anyone who radiated such peace.

"Have you heard anything new about your niece or Sam?"

"No." He wasn't going to tell her about the conversation with Stefanoni. There was no reason to worry her with that. If someone was trying to kill Babs and Sam was protecting her, that meant that he was in as much danger as she was.

"You know, in all my years of traveling, the one thing I always miss is home cooking. The best restaurants in the world can't match a good home-cooked meal." He bit into a cookie, closing his eyes in pleasure.

Cecily laughed. "Flattery will get you an invitation to lunch. Have you traveled a great deal?"

"Most of the world, I guess. Some of it was research for books. Some of it was just because I was restless. After my wife died, I just couldn't seem to stay in one place."

"I didn't know you'd been married."

"Oh, it was a long time ago. Alice and I were just kids. Actually that's the reason my father cut me out of the will. Alice was 'not our sort.'"

"What sort was she?"

"Sweet, kind, beautiful, a laugh that made you want to laugh with her."

"That sounds like a pretty good sort to me."

"Well, my father didn't agree. He told me he'd cut me off without a penny if I married her. I married her and he cut me off without a penny. One thing you could always say about the old man—he kept his promises."

"Did you ever regret marrying her?"

"Not for a minute. We only had a few years together but they were the best years of my life. Alice is the one who encouraged me to start writing. She died just after my first book came out."

"She sounds wonderful. You must miss her a great deal."

"At first. But time heals all wounds, I guess. Now when I think about her, there's nothing but good memories. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Do you still miss your husband?" He wondered if she could tell how important her answer was to him.

"Oh, now and then. Peter and I were married a long time. When he died, it left quite a gap in my life. But, as you said, time heals all wounds. I get along all right." Her smile held a loneliness he understood. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, feeling the delicacy of her fingers in contrast to his own work-roughened palms.

"Loneliness can be the very devil."

She smiled, her eyes shining with tears. "Yes, it can. But I've had Sam. I don't know what I'd have done without him. And you've had Babs."

"Yeah, I've had Babs. I just wish I knew where she was and knew that she was all right."

Cecily's fingers tightened over his. "I'm sure Sam is taking good care of her. He won't let anything happen to her."