Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(18)

Sam was now on full alert. Susan’s response wasn’t quite right. Instead of shock at murder, she was shocked at the site of the discovery. “Are you surprised Mr. Fitch was in the study late at night?”

Susan shifted in the chair. “Sometimes when I come—came—to work I’d find notes on my desk. I have a desk in a little alcove on one side of the room. He didn’t sleep much. Everyone knew that. It would be like him to come to the study to work without thinking about the time. And you said he was found there?”

“Or perhaps”—Sam’s gaze was riveted on her pale face—“he found someone in his study.” When she made no reply, he pressed her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I can’t believe this has happened.” Her face crumpled. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I never knew anyone more alive. When he walked into the room, it was as if the lights were suddenly brighter and the music louder. Everything was better. He shouted a lot”—tears slipped down her cheeks—“but he was kind and generous.”

“Apparently he was struck down after he opened the safe.”

“The safe?” She scarcely managed to speak. “The safe was open?”

“Yes.” Sam’s stare was hard. “You know about the painting that conceals the safe?”

“The painting moves.” Her voice was thin and shaky.

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what caused the look of devastation that followed his mention of the safe. “Do you know why he would open the safe?”

She shook her head.

“Please answer yes or no.”

“No.”

“Are you familiar with the contents of the safe?”

“Yes.” The reply was barely audible.

Sam leaned forward. “How do you know the contents of the safe?”

“Sometimes Wilbur asked me to bring things from the safe.”

“Such as?”

“He has two valuable coin collections. American Gold Eagles and Roman coins from the time of Julius Caesar. When he worked”—she edged her tongue over dry lips—“he’d ask for one of the collections. He kept the American Eagles in a small lacquered wooden chest and the Roman coins in a velvet bag, and he’d put the chest or bag on the desk and open it. He picked out special coins that he liked and arranged them, sometimes in rows, sometimes in stacks. He said touching coins that had survived through the centuries relaxed him. Sometimes he’d talk about a particular coin, tell me its age and what it was worth. He knew the value of each coin.”

“Was there anything else in the safe that would attract a thief?”

“The shoe box.” At Sam’s frown, she continued jerkily, “Wilbur wanted cash available at any time of the day or night. He kept stacks of fifty-dollar bills in the box.”

“Was the box full?”

“Yes.”

“How much money was in the box?”

“I don’t know. I think perhaps a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Sam gave a soft whistle. His eyes slid toward Hal. Hal pushed back his chair.

Susan’s head swiveled to watch him cross to the huge door, push through.

A trill from a xylophone brought Susan to her feet, the chair crashing behind her on the stone floor. She scrabbled to tug her cell phone from her pocket, could scarcely stand she trembled so hard. Eyes wide and panicked, she held the phone, swiped. “Sylvie?” Her voice was half cry, half sob. “Oh, it’s you, it’s you— Wrong? I’ve been terrified. Where did they take you? Who was it? How did you get away?”

Sam heaved to his feet and Judy Weitz rose. To them, Susan’s sudden distress must look like hysteria.

Susan rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face. “Did they hurt you?” Her face suddenly changed. “Wait. Start over. . . .”

Sam frowned. “Ms. Gilbert—”

Susan held up a hand. “I have to talk to my sister.” She spoke into the phone, the words rushing ahead, quick, urgent, frantic. “I thought you’d been kidnapped. I got a call last night—” She broke off, listened, her face a picture of incomprehension. “A prize?” Susan reached out, gripped the top slat in the chair, held on to it. “So it was a lie. Oh my God. But you’re all right. Please stay there. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Something dreadful has happened and the police are here. When I finish talking to them, I’ll come home. Stay there.”

She still held tight to the chair as she slid the phone into her pocket.

Sam came around the end of the long table, loomed over her, his face stern. “Who did you think was kidnapped?”

Susan stood quite still and straight. Abruptly, she lifted her chin, met his demanding stare. “I have information for you. But first I need to get something out of my car.”

The big door swung in. Hal hesitated for an instant when he saw Sam and Judy standing and staring at Susan.

Sam’s tone was steely. “You are not free to go until you explain that call and whatever call you received last night.”

Hal closed the door behind him, stood with his hands loose at his side, feet apart, ready to block her way.

I truly revere the Precepts, including Precept Three: “Work behind the scenes without making your presence known.” But as I am often forced to remind Wiggins, there are exceptions to the rule. I dropped down next to Sam, stood on tiptoe—he is much taller than I—and whispered, “Let her go to the car, Sam.”