Brunch took on a different meaning when Scarlet, Michael, and Sam entered the solarium where the table was set for five. And Mitcham and Karina Vandenberg were already seated. He sipped coffee. She enjoyed a mimosa.
Scarlet felt a twinge of guilt. She’d taken advantage of their hospitality. Their kitchen staff had provided dinner and Housekeeping had picked up after the trio. Not to mention Scarlet had spent the night under one of the Vandenbergs’ roofs on the estate. Then of course there was the matter of what actually had gone on under said roof.
Did Michael’s father and Sam’s mother know about the two men’s fetish? Were there rumors about the estate or even the revelation following the FBI statements given? Did they suspect what Scarlet’s relationship was with their sons?
Heat crept up her neck and spread over her cheeks. This was definitely an awkward situation. But she still had a job to do. Still had all those thoughts and questions spinning in her head. She hoped to quell her internal speculation and wipe the slate clean where this family was concerned.
Michael graciously made the introductions.
Karina Vandenberg, a delicate-looking blonde dressed in classic Chanel, said, “It’s so very nice to meet you, Miss Drake. How have you enjoyed your trip to the Hamptons so far?”
“This is a beautiful property, Mrs. Vandenberg. And your staff is above reproach.”
“We’re quite fortunate.”
Scarlet couldn’t help but wonder if that comment ran deeper—beyond staff competency to eternal loyalty?
It was possible.
Anyone within these walls could be protecting the family. She needed to be on her toes. Not get stuck in first gear over what had gone on the previous evening in the guesthouse.
Though that was extremely difficult. Because the memories of what Michael and Sam had done to her were next to impossible to relegate to the back of her mind.
Actually, she was good at relegating. The memories just refused to stay there.
So she took the chair that Michael held out for her, across from Mitcham. Who coolly said, “Miss Drake.”
“I appreciate this opportunity to speak with you,” she told him. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person.”
“I’m sure you’ll be disappointed to know I haven’t anything more to share with you than when you phoned my office,” Mitcham said.
“I’m just crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s,” Scarlet replied. “I assure you it pleases me that everything appears to be on the up-and-up here.”
“Appears to be?” Mitcham snorted. “Did you find anything amiss?”
Scarlet smiled. She’d been down this road a million times before with people she’d needed to run theories by and she’d met with similar obstinacy and defensiveness. Nothing new here.
She said, “I’m satisfied with the physical inspection. My only qualm, really, is in how the paintings were actually removed from the premises.”
“Perhaps we should have brunch before we get down to business,” Karina suggested. She gestured to the buffet stations set about the room.
Michael got to his feet and pulled back Scarlet’s chair. Beside her, Sam stood. Mitcham assisted his wife.
When they all returned to the table with full plates, Mitcham surprised Scarlet by asking, “What do you think happened to the collection, Miss Drake?”
“Well…” She took a drink of cappuccino and then said, “I thought the FBI’s theory of the event workers being involved was feasible. But every single employee who’d come onto the property and worked the party was interviewed and there wasn’t anything presented as a viable lead. A few arrests were made based on illegal immigration and also two counts of possession of marijuana; however, no solid clues to the crime committed were discerned.”
“Then why are you involved?” Mitcham challenged her. His gaze was darker than Michael’s. Not a grayish-blue but a much-too-close-to-black for comfort. Mitcham was a tall, muscular man with wide shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair. He was foreboding and it was a bit intense questioning the man on his territory. But Scarlet had dealt with his kind before.
She told him, “I’m just performing due diligence for the insurance company that paid the claim.”
The senior Vandenberg said, “And your personal theory is?”
“It falls along the lines of the FBI’s,” she said. “I think the culprits came in through the service entrance with the other trucks that supplied the tents and equipment for the party. Possibly in an unmarked vehicle so that no one could identify or provide a name of the company after the fact. The truck and the supposed ‘employees’ would be extremely nondescript from the corporate aspect as well as their own appearance. White coveralls, generic Dockers, and polos with ball caps pulled low on the brow. That sort of thing. Point being, anyone who happened to see them coming or going would not consider them of interest nor could they pinpoint anything about them later on.”
“So they just breezed in as though they were working the party and then breezed out with over a half-dozen paintings?” Mitcham rumbled. “We’ve heard that concept before.”
Scarlet calmly said, “Yes, as it pertains to the identified event companies. I’m talking about one that had absolutely nothing to do with the setup and teardown of the party. These guys weren’t hired, contracted, expected on-property, or able to be tracked down. They were wraiths. Didn’t exist. Someone could have seen a blank white service truck parked amongst all the other legitimate trucks and vans, but they wouldn’t have been able to provide any further information.”
“Even my perimeter security didn’t find anything conclusive,” Mitcham seemed to reluctantly admit. “I have since extended my surveillance inside the mansion. I’d never believed I’d had to do that. I thought I could trust those within these walls who tend to the estate.”
“Your wife just said something similar,” Scarlet pointed out. “She agreed they’re above reproach.”
“That doesn’t equate to trust,” Mitcham argued. “They can excel at their jobs. It doesn’t mean someone who works for me won’t steal from me.”
“Then you believe it was an inside job?” Scarlet asked.
“What I believe,” Mitcham said as he pushed aside his half-eaten plate of food, “is that someone stole something that meant a lot to my wife. And if I ever get my hands on the lousy SOB who orchestrated the robbery, I will happily wring his fucking neck.”
He shoved back his chair and stood. Tossed his napkin on the table, bent at the waist to kiss his wife on the cheek, and then stormed off.
Scarlet watched him go. That wasn’t just anger that radiated from the man. It was torment.
Because he’d assembled something significant for his wife and someone had been Machiavellian enough to swipe it from under his nose—and devastate the woman he loved.
Scarlet slid her glance to Michael. His prominent features were hard as stone. His fist was wrapped around his Bloody Mary glass.
She shifted her gaze to Sam. He was also visibly disturbed. Scarlet was certain that was because his mother was essentially reliving the nightmare.
Because of Scarlet.
Somehow this had become an even more complex scenario than any other case she’d ever tried to solve. There were too many personal connections this time. Michael and Sam, sure. But Scarlet couldn’t deny the admiration she had for Mitcham Vandenberg, a man who’d come across initially as too condescending, too arrogant, too powerful, to give her more than a few seconds of his time. Not to mention a man who found it all too easy to tell her to go to hell when she pried into his business. But he clearly still loathed the fact that something Karina had adored was now long gone.
As Scarlet considered Karina in her peripheral vision, she recognized that the very lovely blond-haired, blue-eyed woman was just as distraught.
But with Karina mostly dropping her gaze to her plate following Mitcham’s departure, Scarlet couldn’t help but wonder if there was more going on here.
The complication came from having Michael and Sam at the table. It hindered Scarlet because she honestly didn’t want to probe deeply when they were here. She wasn’t trying to upset either of them. Just wanted to get to the truth.
Unfortunately, in order to do that, she had to push a little harder.
She asked Sam’s mother, “Who was the one to discover the paintings were gone?”
“A housekeeper. She was in charge of maintaining the gallery and she performed that duty in the evening so she didn’t disturb anyone in the room during the day. I used to take my afternoon tea in there.”
“I see. And may I speak with this housekeeper?”
“She’s no longer with us.”
Scarlet’s interest piqued. Skyrocketed, actually, when both Michael and Sam visibly tensed. Her pulse hitched a notch.
“When did she leave your employ?”
“Shortly after the theft.”
Scarlet eyed Michael once more. Why hadn’t he mentioned this? Talk about suspicious behavior on the housekeeper’s part!
To Karina, she said, “Do you have forwarding contact information so that I can get in touch with her?”
“I most certainly do not,” Karina huffed, suddenly indignant.
Scarlet’s gaze narrowed. They were definitely on to something here.
“If you could please provide her name, that would be helpful,” Scarlet encouraged. “I’d like to ask her—”
“Scarlet,” Sam interjected.
Beside her, Michael quietly said, “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Her spirits sank. Her pulse returned to normal. Well, relatively speaking. It was as normal as possible while she was in Michael and Sam’s presence.
Karina neatly folded her linen napkin and placed it gently next to her plate. She’d only eaten half a grapefruit with a wedge of dry toast. She crossed her long, slender legs and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Anything else, Miss Drake?”
Scarlet peered at Michael and Sam again. A sense of dread slithered through her. Because Scarlet was about to go for the jugular. She tried to do it as politely as possible.
Squaring her shoulders, Scarlet asked Mrs. Vandenberg, “What happened to the insurance money?”
“Scarlet!” Sam shot her a sharp look.
She knew she was creating more strife. But she had the fiduciary responsibility to tie up all the loose ends. Even if it strained her relationship with Michael and Sam.
She had to persevere. She said, “There were deposits made into Michael’s and Sam’s accounts around the time the check was cut. But they’ve explained about their inheritances. You, however, didn’t prosper. That eighteen million dollars went into your personal account and then promptly vanished. As mysteriously as the artwork.”
Karina wrung her hands in her lap. Ever so slightly. She took a few deep breaths and said, “The FBI cleared this family of all suspicion. Why are you still digging? What do you hope to gain?”
“I’m just looking for the truth, Mrs. Vandenberg. On my client’s behalf.”
Karina raised her hands in exasperation. “It’s no one’s business what I did with the insurance money. The claim was settled. I cashed the check. End of story.”
“My experience has been that there’s usually an epilogue when dealing with this sort of claim.”
“Well, in this case, you’re wrong.”
Scarlet was undeterred. She calmly said, “I understand you consider this a closed book. I’d like to as well. When I’ve exhausted all avenues that were open for pursuit. That’s why I’m asking where the funds went.”
“The money was allocated to another project,” Karina said between clenched teeth.
“Fascinating.” Scarlet smiled, trying to appear as nonassuming as possible.
Michael glanced at Scarlet and then Karina. He looked a bit perplexed. It was, after all, $18 million they were talking about.
Sam paced behind his chair, hands on his waist. Clearly agitated, but it was difficult to tell if it was because Scarlet had grilled his mother or because Karina was becoming just defensive and irritable enough to make her innocence doubtful. Still, Sam looked as though he’d jump in at any moment, if necessary.
Scarlet didn’t want to give him a reason to. Deep in her heart, she didn’t want to shatter his belief in his mother. Scarlet absolutely did not want Karina to be the villain. But she still needed to get to the root cause of Karina’s unease and pinpoint how both the paintings and the money had simply evaporated into thin air.
She dared to ask, “What other project was that money allocated to?”
Karina’s gaze narrowed. “It was a personal cause, Miss Drake.”
“Please understand, Mrs. Vandenberg, that vagueness doesn’t help.”
Karina hitched her chin and said, “And if I told you it was none of your business, Miss Drake?”
“That would imply you have something to hide, Mrs. Vandenberg.” Scarlet stared the woman down.
Sam drew up short. “This has gone far enough.”
Michael stood as well. He reached for the back of Scarlet’s chair once again.
She said, “I’m asking a simple question.”
“Scarlet, come on,” Sam coaxed, trying to reason with her. “The insurance company paid the claim. The FBI closed the case. There’s no authoritative governance for—”
“No, there isn’t,” Scarlet concurred. “Not since the statute of limitations ran out on the time to prosecute. Even though lying about the disappearance of your personal property and collecting from your insurance carrier is considered a felony. Punishable by incarceration. This isn’t a criminal investigation. However, there’s still a small window for the insurance company to file a civil suit and win compensatory damages. Fabrications on your part will only cause you more trouble down the line. Therefore, I highly recommend that you’re honest with me.”
“And if I tell you exactly where that money went, Miss Drake, will that be the end of this? Will you stop badgering me and my family?”
“I’m not trying to badger—”
“I’m asking you a question, Miss Drake.”
“It would be incredibly helpful to know where the money went so that I can report back to my client and we can wrap this up.”
“It’s not a crime to spend the payout,” Sam contended.
“It is if that payout came from a fraudulent claim,” Scarlet corrected.
“But it didn’t,” Michael insisted.
“I understand your natural compulsion to protect her,” Scarlet said to both men. “But if she’s covering something up—”
“She’s not covering anything up,” Sam insisted in an edgy voice.
“Then it shouldn’t be so difficult to ascertain where the money went.” Scarlet’s gaze snapped back to Karina. “It’s a simple ques—”
“A gambling debt!” Karina blurted.
Looking just as shocked and devastated by her abrupt confession as Michael and Sam.