DECKER WAS SITTING at the table in the Mitchells’ kitchen two days after the funeral.
He’d smoothed out the copies he’d made of the letters he’d found in Stanley Nottingham’s locker back at the senior living center in New Jersey and placed them on the table. There were several of them, but none seemed to contain any information pertaining to a hidden treasure.
He looked at one of them for the fifth time.
Dear Samuel,
I know that things have been estranged between us and that we have not communicated in a long while. But I’m taking up my pen now because I miss you, son. I wish you had not abandoned Baronville, but I know you have your own life to lead. I realize you were never enamored with Master Baron but he treats me very well. Just last year we went on a long journey that included a months-long trek across Australia. He chartered a private ship for our trip, and though the voyage was long, it was fascinating. Though many of the countries that we visited previously were truly unique and fascinating in many ways, I have never seen such a place as Australia in all my life. We toured through the coastal cities, Sydney, Perth, Adelaide, and the acting capital of Melbourne. I heard they are thinking of a new capital at a place called Canberra. We also visited Geelong, Toowoomba, Kalgoorlie, Ballarat, Moliagul, and a dozen other places with equally fanciful names. We saw aborigines, as well as kangaroo and emu, wombats and kookaburras and other wildlife I could never imagine even existed. One of our guides killed a serpent three times as tall as I am. There are grand coral reefs and water that is so clear you can see to the bottom. There are vast mountain ranges and dense rain forests along with massive deserts. The interior of the country, called the outback, is beyond description. It makes England seem a bit dull by comparison, though I am proud to say it is still very much part of the British empire. I believe even the mighty Baron, who is mostly focused on business, relaxed and enjoyed himself. However, I am sad to report that upon our return Master Baron began to feel unwell. I believe the arduous journey was too taxing on him. It is now nearly a year after our return and his robustness has failed to return. He attempts to remain strong but I know him better than anyone else, and I can tell that he is failing. Once he goes, I don’t know what will happen here. He is not enamored with his children, none of whom have his business acumen. He has done so much for them and yet they really are the most ungrateful lot. And, son, to tell the truth, your father is not feeling all that well either. My bones are creaking and my lungs are heavy. I trust that you and the children are doing well. I hope to see you before I’m gone. If not, come and visit my remains, and though hopefully I will be dwelling in a place far above you, one never knows, does one? I might be lurking below. It’s all in God’s hands and I bow to his forgiveness.
Yours truly,
Nigel
Decker put the letter aside. If there was a clue in there he wasn’t seeing it. It was a bit pathetic how Nigel seemed to worship Baron solely because he was wealthy. But then again, lots of people still did that to this day. And Nigel had not been far off the mark about both men’s failing health. The letter was dated only six weeks prior to his and Baron’s deaths.
He looked up when Jamison walked into the room.
She sat down across from him and glanced at the letters.
“Find anything relevant?” she asked.
He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “How are Zoe and your sister?”
“I think it was a good idea to take Zoe back to school today. She needs structure to keep her mind off what happened. I’ll pick her up later. Amber is at the bank going over some financial things. And she called that lawyer Ted Ross recommended. He’s coming here to meet with her.”
“Good. She needs to make Maxus reach into their deep pockets and pay.”
“I told her that too, and not to sign anything they might send her. And Frank also had life insurance. A half-million-dollar policy, so that will help too. From what she said, it’ll be paid out pretty shortly.”
“Did he have that through work?”
“I think so, yes.”
Decker nodded and looked down at the letters.
“Any idea why Dan Bond might have been killed?” she asked.
“Because of something he might have known about what happened that night.”
“Not something he saw, then, but something he heard?”
Decker nodded. “I did confirm that Fred Ross was at the hospital that night getting checked out. So whatever Bond heard, it had nothing to do with him.”
“Do you think Alice Martin might be targeted next? Whoever killed Bond might be afraid she saw or heard something too.”
“Which is why I asked Green to have a patrol car make regular rounds down her street for now.”
“Good plan,” said Jamison.
Decker rose.
“Where are you going?”
“To the Baronville Historical Society.”
“Everyone left this morning to go back home. You want company?”
“Good to have you back, partner.”
* * *
“Yes, I remember Mr. Costa quite clearly.”
Decker and Jamison were at the historical society speaking with the director, Jane Satterwhite, who was apparently the only employee of the place. She was a dowdy gray-haired woman in her late sixties wrapped in a pink shawl and with granny glasses dangling from a chain.
The society was housed in a drab brick building with abandoned structures on either side of it.
“We have a very rich history in Baronville,” Satterwhite said. “Only we lack the resources to fully tell it.”
She was speaking the truth here, for as Decker and Jamison looked around, the shelves were only half full and the displays looked old and dusty. The entire place had an air of neglect.
“Do you get a lot of visitors?” asked Jamison.
“No, I’m afraid not. People aren’t interested in history anymore, it seems.”
“Then they’re doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past,” noted Decker.
“Exactly,” said Satterwhite, suddenly animated. “You’ve hit the nail right on the head. Everyone looks to the future for answers, which ignores the fact that people, despite the passage of years, remain fundamentally the same.”
“You were telling us about Bradley Costa?” prompted Jamison.
“Oh, yes. That’s right. A very nice young man. Very interested in our town.”
“Anything in particular?” prompted Jamison.
“Particularly in John Baron. The First, I’m talking about. The one who founded this town.”
“What exactly was he interested in having to do with John Baron?” asked Decker.
Satterwhite led them into another room.
“This is our Baron Room, as I like to call it. Here, we house everything we have about John Baron, from his birth to his death.”
“I understand that he died on the same day as his butler, Nigel Nottingham.”
“Yes, that’s right. Are you an historian too?”
“An amateur one,” lied Decker. “Was Costa interested in that fact?”
“Well, he asked me about it. He wanted to know if we had any correspondence from Nigel. He was the first person ever to ask about that.”
“And did you?” asked Decker.
“No, we didn’t.”
“Did he ask about anything else?”
“Any business correspondence that Baron might have had in the time leading up to his death.”
“And did you have anything like that?” asked Jamison.
“Just one letter.”
She turned to a file cabinet, opened it, and rummaged through its contents. “That’s funny.”
“You can’t find it?” asked Jamison.
“Well, it was right here. Maybe it was put back in the wrong place.” She went through the other drawers, without success.
“Well, that is strange,” she said more to herself than to them. “It’s not here.”
“When was the last time the letter was accessed?” asked Jamison.
“Why, when Mr. Costa was here. But I know that I put it back in here.”
“Could anyone else have gotten to it?”
“Well, I’m the only one here. We do leave the door unlocked during the day, though, so I guess if I’m in the back and someone comes in but doesn’t call out to me, they could come in here without my knowing. But who would do that?”
“Can you tell us what was in the letter?” asked Decker.
“Yes, because I read through it quite thoroughly when I got it out for Mr. Costa. It was nothing special. Baron had written to a company about the construction of another building at his textile mill. It had to do with the purchase of equipment, clay, lots of concrete, brick molds, those sorts of things. I didn’t consider it important, really. It was just business.”
“When was the letter dated?” asked Decker.
“About a year before his death.”
“Was it a local company he was writing to?” asked Jamison.
“No, it was a company from Pittsburgh.”
“Do you remember the name?” asked Jamison.
“Oh, let me think. Yes, that’s right. O’Reilly and Sons. I remember because my mother-in-law’s maiden name was O’Reilly.”
“But I presume Costa was interested in the letter?” said Decker. “Since you pulled it out for him?”
“Well, yes. But that letter was really the only thing I could find about any business correspondence. We mostly had to rely on the Baron family for any such materials, and apparently they either didn’t have much, or else they didn’t want to part with it.”
“Well, thank you for your help,” said Jamison.
As they were walking back to their truck she said, “Well, that’s strange that the letter went missing. Do you think Costa stole it?”
“Maybe. Or maybe someone else did.”
“I wish we had learned more.”
“Well, we have a new question we need an answer to.”
“What?”
“What did Baron the First really use the stuff he ordered for? Because it wasn’t for a textile mill expansion.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because of what Detective Green already told us.”