Sitting on a Fortune Read online

“I have no idea. And I can’t come out and ask. I’m not supposed to know about it.”

  “Aside from possibly exposing our own little adventure, there’s a bigger concern,” Genny pointed out. “Who did this? And why?”

  “I’d say whoever kidnapped Mr. Pruett.”

  Another gasp from the other end of the line. “You know for certain he was kidnapped? Brash said so?”

  “No,” Madison admitted. “But it makes sense. The man is a creature of habit, but he misses his standing Monday ritual. The lights are still on, the car is in the driveway, and the alarm wasn’t set. No one has seen or heard from him in days. Now his house is ransacked. I think—” Madison paused as someone passed within earshot of her hushed conversation.

  She stepped further away from the ballfield. “I think,” she continued, “someone kidnapped him to find either the necklace, or those fabulous collections he’s always bragging about. Or maybe even both. When he couldn’t take them to it, they came back to search the house.”

  “They didn’t leave a note,” Genny pointed out.

  “I don’t think this is a kidnap for ransom situation.”

  “Then, what?”

  Madison lowered her voice, trying to break the news as gently as possible to her friend. “I hate to say this, Gen, but I’m afraid it’s worse than that. I think it’s a ‘you give me your valuables or I’ll kill you’ situation.”

  Twenty-Six

  Brash came home late that evening, but Madison was there to greet him at the door.

  “Dinner’s waiting in the microwave,” she said as she accepted his kiss.

  “Is Blake still up? How did the game wind up?”

  “I think he just laid down. We won, 11-4.”

  “Did he pitch the entire game?” he wanted to know, pulling his starched uniform free of his belt.

  “They brought in a relief pitcher halfway into the sixth inning, once it was obvious we had the game under control.”

  “I’m proud of my boy!” Brash beamed. “Are you sure he’s in bed? I can just poke my head inside his room…”

  When he would have turned to take the back staircase up to the second floor, Madison grabbed his arm. “Not so fast, Mister. You can talk ball over breakfast, same as every morning. I want to know what happened at Mr. Pruett’s.”

  “That.” Just one word, but full of weariness. Shaking his head, Brash tucked his arm around her waist and asked, “Do you think I could have my supper before I go into the details? And a big, tall glass of sweet tea?”

  “We’ll compromise. You can talk while you’re having supper.” She slipped out of his reach and hurried to the refrigerator. “One glass of tea, coming up.”

  Settling his large frame into a seat in the breakfast nook, Brash waited for the promised glass. He stretched his neck and rubbed at his eyes. “It was a huge mess,” he volunteered, even before she placed the bribe before him. “I don’t think they left a single thing untouched. Tables turned over, shelves knocked off the wall, pillows ripped, drawers upended.”

  “Mirrors, too?” She tried to sound casual as she punched buttons on the microwave.

  “Most of them busted,” he agreed. “One or two knocked off the wall.”

  “Really?” she squeaked. “Why?”

  “Probably looking for a wall safe. Some of them were the perfect size and location.”

  “Lo—Location? Like where?”

  Brash shrugged. “Usually it’s the bedroom or a hallway. Sometimes it’s in the bathroom where a medicine cabinet should be.”

  Her heart stalled at the mention of the bathroom, where her prints surely paraded all over the windowsill and the floor tile. Not to mention the long, full-length mirror. “Oh, so the smaller ones,” she managed to say, gathering his eating utensils. The microwave beeped before she had her voice schooled enough to sound natural. “Did they find anything?”

  “No idea what the thieves found, but we didn’t find a thing. Thanks, sweetie.” He smiled as he accepted the plate she offered.

  “None of those grand collections he bragged about?”

  “No, but we did find some interesting photographs in the hallway. It turns out, Tom Pruett really did have a long and distinguished career in the Armed Forces, the Secret Service, and in national intelligence.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. While the officers finished up, I went back to the station and made a few calls. Despite the late hour, I confirmed everything with DC. Including the fact that Pruett was an alias.”

  Madison’s gasp was sincere. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “So, all those crazy stories…”

  “May not have been so crazy,” he completed her thought. “I have no idea if he collected half the things he claimed, but the truth is, he did travel to a lot of different countries and saw a lot of amazing sites. When he squawked about conspiracy theories and the government watching, he may not have been as delusional as we all thought. According to my buddy in Washington, he worked on some high-profile and sensitive missions.”

  “I feel terrible,” Madison admitted. “All this time, we thought he was crazy.”

  “About that.” Brash pushed back his plate and looked at his wife with a serious expression. “It appears that Tom Pruett, as we know him, does have some severe issues with not only his memory, but with his mental wellbeing. He’s in the early stages of Alzheimer's, but he’s been battling dementia for a while now.”

  “Your contact told you all this?”

  “I asked. I found Pruett’s medicine and looked up what the pills were prescribed for.”

  “That was fast,” Madison murmured, impressed with her husband’s detective skills. It only took him a couple of hours to accomplish what had taken her half a day.

  “Without his medication, Pruett becomes a wild card. He could as easily turn comatose as he could volatile. We need to find the man as soon as possible.” Brash took her hand in his and stared into her eyes. “So, I’m going to ask. What is it you’re hiding from me?”

  Madison resisted the urge to jerk her hand away. “Hiding?” She knew her voice came out unnaturally high.

  “Yes, Maddy. Hiding. I know there’s something you and Genesis aren’t telling me.”

  “I, uh, told you. She hired me to find Mr. Pruett.”

  “And I believe you. I also believe that’s not the entire truth. There’s something you haven’t told me yet.”

  Suddenly suspicious, she pulled back. “You already know what it is?”

  “No, that’s why I’m asking you. But I know there’s something you aren’t telling me. Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what it is.”

  “Did you… take fingerprints?” She studied the large hand engulfing hers, pretending to look for the telltale black dust.

  “The team did. But quit changing the subject. Tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

  After a long moment, punctuated by a sigh of defeat, Madison caved. “I may as well tell you. You’re going to know soon enough. When Genny and I went to check on Mr. Pruett, we sort of… let ourselves in.”

  “Genny has a key? Why didn’t you say so? I had to track down a locksmith in Riverton, wait for—”

  Madison shook her head, interrupting his exasperated comments. “No key.”

  The slow, precise annunciation of his words revealed his growing suspicions. “Then how did you get inside?”

  “We didn’t break and enter. We just… entered. The bathroom window was open.”

  “Madison, that’s—”

  She broke in before he could explode. “I know. I know what we did was wrong. I know what we did could be construed as unethical as well as slightly illegal, but—”

  “No slightly about it!” he bellowed. He jerked his hand away and fell back against the chair. Hard.

  “But there were extenuating circumstances,” she went on calmly, as if he hadn’t interrupted her with his outburst. “We were worried about Mr. Pruett. Genny truly thought we would
find his body inside. She thought that, as his friend, she should be the one to find him.”

  “That’s hardly the point, Madison.”

  “It’s the whole point. We were going the extra mile for a friend. Being loyal and dedicated to the end. The very thing we teach our children to do.”

  “Not to break the law, we don’t!”

  Before Madison could come clean—before she could tell him the house wasn’t ransacked until last night, or that there was a secret room, or that the mystery went deeper than Mr. Pruett’s disappearance—Madison’s cell phone rang. She glanced down, seeing Bethani’s name pop up on the screen.

  “What’s she still doing up?” Madison muttered. “I thought she went to bed an hour ago.” One glance at Brash’s thunderous expression, and she hit Ignore.

  The phone immediately rang again.

  “Yes?” she answered tersely.

  “Mom? I feel sick,” the teen mumbled, her voice sounding terrible. “Can you come up here?”

  Her mom instincts on full alert, Madison felt guilty about her sharp greeting. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “Don’t know.” Her voice was low and groggy. “So cold. And my stomach…”

  “Okay, Bethie. I’ll be right there.” She was already sliding out of her seat.

  Overhearing the exchange, Brash frowned. “Is she okay?”

  “She sounds terrible. I know you think I’m running out on the conversation—”

  “Go,” he interrupted her. “This conversation isn’t over, but it can wait. Go check on our girl.”

  Madison brushed a kiss across his lips before she left. “If I’m too long, don’t wait up.”

  Despite a fever of 101, Bethani still complained of freezing. Madison layered another blanket on her bed and tucked it in close, just as she had done when the girl was a small child.

  “Thanks, Mom.” The teen’s smile was weak.

  “You’re welcome, baby. Does your throat hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  “Your head?”

  “Feels like a ton of bricks.”

  “What about your stomach?”

  Blue eyes fluttered closed. Madison thought she had fallen asleep until she finally answered, “Not happy. Cramping.”

  “Do you know if there’s a stomach bug going around? Or the flu?”

  Her answer was an indistinguishable moan.

  Mopping her daughter’s feverish brow, Madison offered, “Would you like some Sprite or soda water to settle your stomach?”

  “Not sure it would stay down.” She mumbled something more, but Madison couldn’t understand the words. After a long pause, Bethani moistened her lips and asked weakly, “Did Daddy D get home?”

  Touched by the girl’s concern, Madison smiled. Not so long ago, the relationship between Bethani and Brash had been strained. Understandably, her father’s death shattered the teen. It wasn’t easy for her to accept a new man in her mother’s life, but Brash had slowly won the girl over with his patience, understanding, and with his good and loving heart. There was still something about a pony, some private joke between the two of them, but Madison allowed them their secret. It helped strengthen the newly formed bond between the two.

  “Yes, he was having his dinner and heading up for a shower. He’s worried about you, too, honey.”

  A pleased smile lifted one corner of the girl’s mouth as she drifted in and out of sleep. She awoke with a start, several minutes later. “Mom?” Her voice sounded worried.

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Stay?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me. You get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

  It was a long night. Bethani slept in bits and pieces, alternately freezing and burning. The Sprite, intended to help, didn’t stay down.

  By morning, the fever had broken and her stomach settled, but Madison kept her home from school. The best thing for them now was rest.

  It was late in the morning before Madison was up and moving. After her second cup of coffee, she called Genny.

  “Sorry, but we’re already slammed with customers,” her friend said when she answered. “I can’t talk long.”

  “Do you want me to call back after lunch?”

  “I don’t know if that will be any better. My entire day is crazy. That party is tomorrow night, and I still have to prep.”

  “I’ll make it quick, then. I had to tell Brash about our visit—the first one, anyway. I didn’t have time to fill him in on the room or what we found on the computer because Beth got sick. It’s been a rough night.”

  “Ah. Bless her heart.” There was a loud crash, followed by Genny’s rare oath. “I’m sorry, Maddy, but I really have to go.”

  “I’m still going to tell him, Genny. I have to.”

  “I’ll back you any way I can, girlfriend. Just say the word.”

  “I appreciate that. Bye.”

  The call to her grandmother didn’t go as smoothly.

  “You promised me three weeks,” the older woman said stubbornly. “You said until Brash’s birthday.”

  “Which is Monday,” Madison reminded her. “His party is Sunday.”

  “But not today.”

  “A man’s life could be at stake, Granny. Mr. Pruett is missing, and now someone has ransacked his house. I’m sure they’re looking for the necklace.”

  “So, the damage is already done. No reason to rush now.”

  “Except that he’s been kidnapped!” Her cry was filled with exasperation.

  “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “I think it’s rather obvious, don’t you?”

  “Not necessarily,” Granny Bert challenged. “Someone may have seen he was gone and decided to rob his house. Doesn’t mean something bad happened to him. He may have taken one of those bus tours to Louisiana to do a little riverboat gambling.”

  In truth, Madison had never considered that option. She knew plenty of local seniors who did just that. Granny Bert, in fact, had joined them year before last, but decided to drive herself after that. She claimed hanging out with a bunch of old people cramped her style.

  “Does he gamble?” Madison questioned.

  “Beats me, but Genny says he’s a whiz with numbers. Makes sense. Say, you don’t suppose that’s where he got the necklace, do you? He could have won it in a poker game, and now someone wants it back. Maybe he’s mixed up with the mob.” There was an undertone of excitement in her grandmother’s voice, as if she hoped that were the case.

  “Granny! What a thing to say!” She heard a noise behind her and turned. “Oh, look. Here’s Beth, wobbling her way into the kitchen. She was sick all night but looks much better now.”

  Hearing the claim, the girl gave a lackluster thumb’s up.

  “I’ve got to go, Granny. Remember what I said.”

  “Monday, girl. You promised me Monday.”

  “That’s three days out, and all bets are off. I’m telling Brash. Today.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Except, she didn’t.

  She never had the opportunity.

  It was Friday, and even though it wasn’t the thirteenth, it felt that way.

  Blake was the next to succumb to the stomach flu. He came home in the middle of the day, swore off food, and didn’t emerge from his room until the next morning. If there was a bright side to the malady, this strand was short lived.

  A wreck on the highway kept Brash out late again that night. Between the wreck and a sick son, Madison only spoke to her husband in passing. He was on duty Saturday and made it home just in time to dress and leave for Virgie Adams’ birthday party.

  “Wow. This place looks great!” Madison said in breathless appreciation. “Genny continues to amaze me with her talents. And those retractable panels Cutter made are awesome.”

  Putting his welding and steel-working skills to use, Cutter had fashioned a wall, of sorts, to separate the back section of the restaurant. Ornately attached against the exterio
r brick walls, the lattice-type panels could pull and retract to stretch the distance. By the time Genny added yards of gauzy material, twinkling lights, and whatever decorations the occasion called for, the panels gave the illusion of privacy.

  “It does look great in here,” Brash agreed. He gave an appreciative sniff as his stomach growled in response. “It smells even better. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I’m starved.”

  “Why didn’t you eat? You’re not getting sick, too, are you?” she fretted.

  “I have an iron stomach,” he claimed. “We were too busy to stop for lunch.”

  “Really? What was going on?”

  “Don’t even get me started. I don’t want to talk shop tonight. I want to have a nice, relaxing evening with my gorgeous wife and a roomful of friends.” He let his warm gaze run over her. “You, by the way, look particularly ravishing tonight.”

  “Thank you.” She glowed under his attention. “When Derron insisted on buying this for my trousseau, I was afraid I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear it.”

  “We’ll have to do something about that, now won’t we?” When he would have nuzzled her cheek and promised to take her out soon, their hosts for the evening spotted them and made their way over.

  “Miss Virgie, Happy Birthday!” They took turns hugging the eighty-year-old and shaking hands with her husband.

  “A little birdie tells me this wasn’t exactly a surprise,” Madison said, eyes twinkling.

  “This one,” Virgie scoffed, putting her arm through her husband’s. “He never could keep a secret. Sixty years of marriage, and he’s never once surprised me with a gift. Can’t keep his lips zipped long enough not to spoil the surprise.”

  “At least it gave you time to find a lovely dress,” Brash said with a smile. Winking at the older man, he said, “Hank, I do believe we have the two most gorgeous dates at this party. Not bad for a couple of old country boys, huh?”

  Brash was in such a good mood that evening, Madison couldn’t bring herself to spoil it. He needed at least one night without stress and worries. Although he carried it well on his broad shoulders, the weight of his responsibilities was heavy. The community depended on him not simply for their safety, but also for his guidance. He was like their lighthouse on a foggy shore. He loved his job, and he loved his community, but everyone needed time off now and then.