Sitting on a Fortune Page 15

  “I—I just hope there wasn’t a surveillance system that caught us in action!” The thought brought another gale of laughter, until they eventually remembered why they were there in the first place. They instantly sobered.

  “Help me up, girlfriend,” Genny said with determination. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She opened the bathroom door, stepping gingerly into the hall. “Mr. Pruett?” she called. “Mr. Pruett, are you in here?”

  “It smells okay,” Madison murmured, drawing a sharp look from her friend. “Hey, I watch TV,” she defended herself. “After two days…” She didn’t point out she had been the one to find Ronnie Gleason. Of course, he had been inside a chicken house, where it reeked with or without a dead body. “With any luck, he’s just fallen and knocked himself unconscious,” she offered.

  With that cheery thought, they moved forward. After a thorough search of the house, they saw no signs of Tom Pruett.

  “I don’t get it,” Madison said, standing in the middle of the living room. “There are no signs of a struggle. No signs of someone breaking and entering.” She looked around with thoughtful eyes. “In fact, there’s not much signs of anything.”

  “It is rather sparse, isn’t it?” Genny murmured, her gaze taking in the hollow room. It held only skeletal furniture and a sad lack of personal decoration.

  “Are you sure he still lived here?”

  “I’ll look in the bedroom, you look in the kitchen.”

  They met back to report their findings.

  “An adequately stocked kitchen, consistent with someone who eats most of his meals out. There is, however, a distinct lack of pots and pans.” Madison arched her brows in speculation, recalling Mr. Pruett’s wild claim of midnight raiders.

  “His closet and medicine cabinet are full. There’s a suitcase under the bed, so I don’t think he went on a trip. Not a planned one, at any rate.”

  “Then where is he?” Madison wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know, but his car is here. He either left on foot or with someone else.”

  “We should talk to his neighbors.”

  “Okay, but first, let’s look around. Maybe we’ll find a clue as to where he may have gone.”

  Moving to the side tables flanking either end of the sofa, Madison muttered, “A note would be nice.”

  “While you’re wishing, wish for a map with a big X circled on it,” Genny suggested.

  They made a second sweep through the house. With only two bedrooms and one and a half baths, it didn’t take long.

  Genny stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, waiting for Madison’s exit from the second bedroom.

  “Did you see these?” she asked, tipping her head toward the framed photos marching along the wall.

  Madison nodded. “It looks like we owe Mr. Pruett an apology. Unless those are excellent forgeries, he really did serve in the Secret Service. Possibly the FBI, too, or one of those other alphabet agencies. Apparently, not all his stories are fantasy.”

  “It’s crazy, right? We just blew him off, assuming he was delusional. I feel terrible.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. Some of his stories may have been true, but there are plenty that weren’t. The Nazi warplanes flying overhead, for instance. If he was even born then, he had to have been very young. He’s not remembering that, Gen. He’s flat-out making it up.”

  “Maybe,” Genny said, sounding unconvinced. “But if you’re going to tell tales, shouldn’t you at least tell them in the right century? He can’t seriously think there are Nazi warplanes in current times. That suggests a definite nod toward senility, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Maybe he’s a history buff. Maybe it had to do with some case he worked back in the day, and he’s getting it confused in his mind.”

  “I’ve heard that, for the sake of national security and for their own personal safety, top-level agents are brainwashed to forget sensitive information.”

  “I’ve heard that, too.” Madison studied a few of the photos as they wandered down the hall. Most were in black and white, dating them mid-twentieth century. Tom Pruett had dark hair in the photos, but his wardrobe was as bland and dependable then as it was now. Back then, he wore dark, nondescript suits with a white shirt and a dark tie. “It’s like he simply faded through the years,” she murmured. “Bleached out, to gray and tan.”

  “In that line of work, I guess it makes sense not to call attention to yourself,” Genny agreed. “But you’d think inside the house, where no one else can see, he would have some sort of personal effects. I don’t even see signs of a hobby in here.”

  “That is rather strange.” Madison pursed her lips. “I wonder if there’s a basement. And if so, where? My guess is it would be off the kitchen.”

  Genny trailed behind her friend, muttering, “Great. Crawling through a bathroom window wasn’t enough. Now we’re going down into another basement. It’s our past adventures, come back to haunt us.”

  After a futile search, they came up empty handed.

  “Well, that idea fizzled out,” Madison admitted.

  “Knowing Mr. Pruett’s fascination for conspiracy theories and hidden agendas—and now finding out he really does have a secret past—I half-expected a hidden dungeon somewhere.” A giggle escaped Genny’s lips, but it had a nervous warble to it.

  A light went on in Madison’s eyes. “Hidden. That’s it! He has a hidden room somewhere!”

  “But where? This is a small house.”

  “Yes, but…” Her voice trailed off as she hurried from the room and down the hall. Genny followed in time to watch her stop just outside the half bath and study the wall.

  Madison poked her head into the spare bedroom beyond and turned back with a brilliant smile. “Just as I thought!”

  “What? What is it? Hidden stairs to the basement?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s a false wall in the bathroom.” Madison led the way inside the bathroom, pointing to her rationale. “See those tiles? On these three walls, there’s a pretty little border. On this blank wall over here, no border. I noticed them when my face was squashed against them at an up close and very uncomfortable angle.” She aimed a pointed look at her friend.

  Genny offered an apologetic wince. “Sorry. You’re the one who pulled.”

  “True. Anyway, I thought the placement of the window was a little odd. It’s jammed up against this wall, instead of centered in the room. Obviously, the wall was added later. I imagine a bathtub once sat along this wall.

  “But there’s no door.”

  “No, but there’s a full-length mirror.”

  “I did notice it had an elaborate frame,” Genny murmured, watching as Madison’s fingers worked along the mirror’s edge and gently tugged. “The rest of the house is Plain Jane, but this one mirror is Fancy Nancy.”

  One solid yank, and the mirror swung out to reveal an opening sawed into the wall. “Hel-lo, Nancy!” Madison whistled.

  The hidden room was tiny and compact, but it housed a network of fancy computers, monitors, and electronic gizmos. Worried her elderly friend might be inside, Genny shoved Madison aside and stuck her head through the space.

  “He’s not here,” she said, her voice a curious mix of relief and disappointment. She had hoped to find him inside, safe and sound, but had feared the opposite.

  Madison stretched on her tiptoes to peer over her friend’s head. “This is… incredible.”

  With an abundance of caution, Genny stepped over the threshold. The doorframe rose several inches from the ground, hidden behind the mirror’s facade. There was hardly room for one person inside the narrow space, but without a word, Madison crammed her way in beside her.

  There was a long counter running the length of the room, serving as a desk for his collection of electronics and scattered paperwork. Short filing cabinets sat beneath either end of the desk, while a rolling chair made easy work of sliding the distance. The walls were plastered with whiteboards and monitors. In lieu of a
corkboard, pegs punched directly into the sheetrock. Photographs, reports, and bulletins hung from their colorful stubs.

  “This looks like some sort of command center,” Genny breathed. “Is that… is that one of those old ham radios?”

  “Actually, it doesn’t look too old,” Madison murmured in wonder. “None of this stuff does.”

  “You’re right. This looks like state-of-the-art equipment. But… what in the world is he doing with all this?”

  “I’d say he’s working a case.”

  “Real, or imagined?” Genny wondered.

  “Good question.” Madison bent forward to get a closer look at some of the papers pinned to the wall. “That report is dated 1933. And that… oh my gosh! That’s a copy of Executive Order 6102!”

  “So? What’s Executive Order 6102?”

  Madison put a hand to her forehead, her thoughts spinning.

  “Maddy? What’s wrong? Why has your face turned so white?” Blue eyes darted back to the writ pinned to the wall. “What’s Executive Order 6102?”

  “It’s, uh… It’s… I’ll—I’ll explain later.” Using the tail of her blouse to cover a telltale fingerprint—better late than never—Madison pressed the Enter button on the keyboard nearest her.

  The monitors sprang to life, washing the tiny space with their many bright pixels.

  Over Madison’s gasp, Genny’s voice was incredulous. “Why does he have pictures up there of that horrible necklace? Are those diamonds? Rubies? That’s… that’s almost a criminal waste of precious jewels!” Genny stepped to her left to peer at a second monitor. “Who’s this guy, I wonder?”

  She pointed to the man on the screen. It was obviously an old photograph, grainy and captured on black and white film. If nothing else, his slicked-back hair and sharp attire dated the look to the ‘30s era. Genny moved down to the next screen and briefly scanned the document.

  “It says his name was Abel Cartwright. He was a jeweler in downtown Bryan.”

  Twenty-Two

  “Maddy? You look a little green now. What is going on?” Genny demanded.

  “We, uh, need to… go. We have to get out of here.”

  “But we still don’t know where Mr. Pruett is!”

  “But he’s not here, and we shouldn’t be, either.”

  Genny crossed her arms over her chest and took a stubborn stance. “I’m not budging. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Not here.” What if the room was bugged? Madison’s mind screamed.

  “Madison Josephine!”

  “Please, Genny.” Madison took her friend by the arm and pleaded, “Trust me on this. Not here.”

  Genny huffed out a silent protest, but she turned to make her way through the crude opening. Once both women were on the other side, they swung the mirror back in place and made their way to the side door.

  “The alarm wasn’t set,” Madison pointed out. “Either Mr. Pruett forgot to set it when he left, or whoever he left with didn’t give him time to do so.”

  “As much as I want to question the neighbors, I want to question you more.” Genny’s tone was blunt. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?”

  “I will tell you,” Madison promised, “but not until we get to Granny Bert’s.”

  “What is so dad-burn important that you had to pull me away from my Tuesday afternoon Bunco group?” Granny Bert wanted to know, stomping into her kitchen with noisy protest.

  “We may have a problem.”

  “May? May?” the older woman demanded. “I was on a hot streak! I was coming back after your great Aunt Lerlene rolled snake eyes and cost us all our points! I rolled three buncos in a row and had us back up to within two points of the other team when you called. I got so flustered that when I rolled another bunco, that Bettye Hooper stole the dice out from under me and won the game.” She all but glared at her granddaughter. “I hope you’re happy. I was playing for the top prize. It was a DVD of that movie about the male strippers, and it came with two tickets to a show in Houston with the same name. I was going to take Sybil there for her birthday next month.”

  Madison put her hands over her ears, even though it came too late. “Why do you tell me these things, Granny? That’s definitely more information than I need to know.”

  “What I need to know is why I had to come home in such a rush. We hadn’t even had our margaritas yet,” Granny Bert complained. “And Sister Caroline makes them nice and strong, just the way I like them.”

  “Sister Caroline, the preacher’s wife?” Genny clarified.

  “That’s right. She’s the one who won the top prize, thanks to Madison’s call.”

  Madison shook her head, hands still to her ears. “Didn’t hear that,” she claimed.

  Speaking louder, Granny Bert repeated, “I said, Sister Caroline won tickets to the male str—”

  “Please! Don’t say it again. I heard you the first time!”

  “Then stop all this nonsense and tell me what’s going on. What’s this all-important problem you have?”

  Madison took out her phone and showed a picture to her grandmother. “Do you know this man?”

  After studying it for a moment, Granny Bert shook her head. “Who is he? He looks sort of like a movie star from the silver screen.”

  “Wrong profession. Right era.” Before following her friend from the secret room, Madison had snapped pictures of the computer screens. “His name was Abel Cartwright, and he was a jeweler in Bryan from 1914 until the mid ‘40s.”

  “And?”

  “And he was under suspicion for aiding and abetting citizens in their attempts to hoard gold. He had a marked increase in business immediately after the Executive Order was issued. They could never prove he did anything illegal, but according to the report, he kept a lot of late-night hours in his basement workroom, doing ‘questionable’ work. He was even held in jail overnight while they raided his business.”

  Granny Bert darted a nervous glance at Genny, wondering why her granddaughter broached the subject in front of her friend. She trusted the baker implicitly, but a deal was a deal. They had agreed not to tell another soul of their find.

  “Genny and I found this,” Madison explained, “on Tom Pruett’s computer. In a secret room inside his house.”

  “Why were you at Tom Pruett’s? And why does that man have a secret room? You know he’s not rowing with both oars in the water.”

  “Mr. Pruett is missing, and Genny was concerned, so we went to check on him.”

  “With an ax?” her grandmother guessed, not too far off the mark.

  “No. By aid of two overturned buckets and an open window. But that’s beside the point. The point is this picture and this newspaper article were on two of the monitors. This was on the third one.” She turned her phone so that her grandmother could see the necklace.

  “Ouch. It’s even uglier than I remembered,” Granny Bert mumbled.

  “You’ve seen that necklace before?” Genny’s voice revealed her surprise. She crossed her arms again, glaring back and forth between the two women. “Are you two going to tell me what’s going on? What couldn’t you tell me back at the house?”

  Madison shot a questioning glance at her grandmother. When Granny Bert nodded in agreement, she continued, “Sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I’ll get my part of the show and tell,” Granny Bert offered, disappearing from the room.

  “You remember that chair I told you about? The one I found at New Again Upholstery? Well, I went back and bought it, and Derron helped me bring it here to Granny Bert’s to recover.”

  “Yes.” Genny nodded. “You told me that the day you brought it home.”

  “I did? I guess it slipped my mind. A lot has happened since then.” Madison massaged her aching head with splayed fingers. “Once I got it here, the seat wasn’t nearly as comfortable as I remembered. I decided something must have shifted during transport. Then Granny Bert recognized the chair as one that used to
belong at the Big House, so we turned it over to see if it had the mark of the craftsman who made it.”

  “Wait. The chair originally came from the Big House?”

  “Yes, but that’s not even the big news.”

  “That’s pretty huge!” Genny protested. “What are the chances of you buying a chair in another town, only to discover it once sat in the house you now own? How did it even get to Navasota?”

  “I’ll explain that later. Right now, you need to know what we found when we turned the chair over.”

  “The craftsman’s mark?”

  “No. Well, yes, but we found something more. Something inside the chair.”

  Granny Bert returned and held both hands out, her palms curled upward. “This,” she said, unfurling her fingers.

  Genny stared at the oddly shaped rocks she held in her hands. Her brows puckered in confusion. “What are those? Why did someone spray paint them gold?”

  “They aren’t spray painted, girl. They’re solid.”

  “You—You’re kidding. Right?”

  “I never kid where a fortune is concerned. And given the weight of these two rocks and the two others we found, whoever sat in that chair was sitting on a fortune.”

  “There’s more?” Genny gasped, whipping her gaze around to Madison. “But—But—” Words failed her.

  “There was something else, too,” Madison told her, as Genny reached out a tentative finger to touch the golden nuggets. “We found a necklace. This necklace.” She flashed her phone’s screen again. “The one from the computer screen.”

  Genny’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand. Why would Tom Pruett have a picture of a necklace that was hidden in your chair? How would he even know about the necklace? And why, by the way, was there even a necklace in the chair? None of this is making sense!” she accused.

  “We don’t have a lot of answers. It’s as big a mystery to us as it is to you.”

  The three women sat at Granny Bert’s table, going over the few facts they knew, questioning the ones they didn’t. Their thoughts and suggestions were fragmented.