Here Comes Trouble (6 page)

“Covering my—” The accusation stung. “Jesus.” He shoved restless fingers into his hair. “It wasn’t my ass he was covering, Ty.” The second the admission was out of his mouth, his cell phone vibrated its silent confirmation of a successful upload. “I’m going to get the proof, one way or the other, and show you none of this”—he waved his hand around the office—“is what you think it is.”

“Why now, Malcolm?” Ty leaned his arms on the desk and stared at him. “After all this time, all these years, why are you churning all this up?”

Because I might not have another chance.
But the truth lodged in his throat. “Because when all is said and done, you’re my brother. You and Gran are my family. Somewhere, sometime, you’re going to have to hear me out. I know you won’t believe me, but you don’t know everything. You only know what Dad wants to you know.”

“He said you’d say that.” Ty folded his hands behind his head.

“Dad says a lot of things.” Malcolm slipped his phone into his pocket. “And I can promise you that very little, if any of it is true. I’m staying at the Empire if you change your mind and you want to talk.”

“Please don't hold your breath.”

Malcolm headed to the door, trying not to let the bitterness in his brother’s voice cling to his wake. He heard the elevator rush past to the third floor, a flood of voices erupting as the doors opened on the landing above him, and he stood for a moment, watching as the same sullen receptionist led the line of stockholders around to the conference room across from where he stood. He counted them off, including the stunning leggy redhead bringing up the rear.

Her gaze caught his, maple-brown and razor-sharp. He inclined his head before he nodded one sharp time. The corner of her lips quirked before she dipped her chin and ducked back into the room, pulling the doors closed behind her.

Malcolm took the stairs down, walking out of the building and rounding the corner into the mid-morning sun before pulling out his phone. “Yeah, it’s me. You should have full access to the system now. Find me what I need. And find it fast.”

“Sheila, you’re spoiling me with these visits.” Levia Abrams beamed, aged silver-grey eyes blinking through thick trifocal lenses as the waitress refilled their water goblets.

The dining room at the Water’s Edge Retirement Home was understated with its subtle green and blue hues, accents of copper threading through the embroidered chairs and matching draperies. Early afternoon on a Monday—Levia’s preferred meeting time as she had a canasta game at one—meant few other residents were around and interruptions were less likely. “I know how busy you are with all your parties and events.”

“I’ll always make time for you, Aunt Levia.” Sheila raised her glass in a toast after she ordered a small salad with dressing on the side. “Besides, Mom loved visiting with you and I’m happy to continue the tradition. You were very important to her. Just as you are to the rest of the family.”

Sheila clutched her hands in her lap. Looking across the table as her adoptive aunt squinted and angled her gaze, she was reminded it wasn’t only Chadwick’s schedule working against her, but Levia’s failing sight. In another few months, maybe weeks, finding the painting wouldn’t matter. Levia wouldn’t be able to see it. The family she’d lost, the family she was convinced was gone forever, really would be.

Returning that portrait was the least she could do for the woman who had shared her love of art, striking a chord in Sheila at just the right time that set her on the path to discovering and developing her talent.

Color flooded Levia’s taut olive complexion as she smiled and plucked a soft roll from the metal basket. “Now, tell me, how is your painting coming along? The last time we spoke, you were working on a piece that was inspired by your mother?”

“I haven’t finished it yet,” Sheila admitted, and ducked her head to avoid the shrewd disapproval on Levia’s face. “I’ve been busy with work and now that Morgan’s getting married—”

“Ah, finally, a Tremayne wedding. I never thought Morgan would be walking down that aisle before you.”

Neither did anyone else, which meant a detour of conversation was in order. “I did want to see if you were able to get in touch with someone at the Marmount Museum in France?”

“Oh, yes.” Levia reached into the needlepoint bag she had looped over the arm of the chair. “A very nice docent returned my call and said they’d taken some time to dig into their archives, what survived from those years around the war, anyway. But I’m afraid all he could come up with was this.” She unfolded a piece of paper and handed the photocopy of a signed and faded handwritten inventory receipt to Sheila. “The few paintings I know belonged to my father are noted, but there were more in his collection. When the war started, the curator at the time hid a number of transaction journals, including those belonging to my father, behind a wall in the basement. Anyone suspected of doing business with those of Jewish descent would be considered criminals, so I suppose in protecting himself, he was able to preserve a bit of my family history for a time.”

Sheila’s fingers itched as she took the offered paper and scanned the information, her trepidation vanishing as another piece of her plan fell into place. It was one thing to get the painting into Levia’s hands. It was another, given the attention lost artwork of that period captured these days, to ensure it stayed there.

“He’s mailing me the original journals,” Levia continued. “As soon as they’re documented for the museum, they’ll be on their way. I know it won’t be the same as having my father’s paintings, but . . .” Her lips tugged into a sad smile.

“Levia.” Sheila reached across the table and covered Levia’s hand. “I came across something the other day, a picture in an archive. I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but I was curious if this might be one of your father’s paintings?”

She reached into her own bag and withdrew the color copy of the photo she’d taken in Chadwick’s vault.

“Oh.” Trembling fingers reached out, pulled the photo close to her face as she angled the photograph this way and that, making Sheila’s stomach pitch at the thought of a former art teacher who would soon not be able to see.

But maybe, just maybe, Sheila would be able to right a fraction of the horrible tragedy her aunt and family had endured.

Proof that Sheila could, in some small way, be relevant in her own right.

“Oh, my dear.” Levia clutched the photo to her chest. “Wherever did you find this?”

“I’ve been doing some online research into lost World War II art. It is your father’s painting, then?”

“Yes.” Tears welled in Levia’s eyes, spilled down aged and weathered cheeks, and for an instant, Sheila saw the child from the painting reflected in the face of the woman sitting across from her. “Yes, this is it. My little brother, Jacob, and sister, Samara. She was only a year older than I.” She traced a finger down the edge of the picture. “I’d forgotten how beautiful my mother was. And that gleam in my father’s eye, whenever he looked at her. Oh, what a gift this is. Thank you.”

Sheila swallowed around the lemon-sized lump in her throat. Even before Levia had the painting in her hands, Sheila felt as if she’d given her something special . . . hope. Now all she had to do was fulfill it.

“All these years,” Levia breathed. “There were rumors of course, of thefts, of fires, but nothing my fellow survivors or I could ever prove. I’d long given up hope of ever seeing them again.” Levia ducked her chin to gaze into the photo again. “Some days I wanted to see them so badly, if only to prove to myself that life before . . .” Her voice broke. “That life before wasn’t a dream. That something of my family, besides myself, survived. Once I’m gone, how will anyone know my family was ever here?” Another tear trickled free and stopped in the crook of her wan smile. “How will anyone know they lived?” “I’ll know,” Sheila said and reached across the table to take hold of Levia’s arm. “And I’ll remember.”

***

“I’m beginning to believe you don’t pay me enough, Malcolm.” Veronica Harrison, all five-feet-eight sinuous inches of her strode into his hotel room the second he pulled open the door and headed to the kitchenette and wet bar, shoulder-length auburn waves flying like Medusa in a rage.

Ten seconds and two fingers of Scotch later, she dipped out of her skyscraper high heels, plopped herself on one of the two love seats bookending the gas fireplace and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “I thought you’d been exaggerating all this time, but guess what?” She toasted him with her glass. “Your father really is an arsehole.”

“Careful, Veronica.” Malcolm scooped up the paperwork he’d been rifling through and joined her in the sitting area. The British always came out when her temper had been tweaked. “Talk like that might just make me fall in love with you.”

Veronica smirked and laughed, the sound a massive contradiction to the image she projected. His elegant and sophisticated VP might look the part of the consummate professional businesswoman—with a law degree to boot—but she’d drunk him under the table more often than he cared to admit and provided a shoulder more times than he could count. Any other time, any other life, things might have been different for them, but from the moment they’d met, Malcolm hadn’t been able to view her in any other way than a kid sister. A very mature this-girl-could take-care-of-herself sister.

“According to Chadwick Oliver,” Veronica said, “everything at Oliver Technologies is sunshine and roses. Not a penny out of place. And those beautiful spreadsheets he provided? Stephen King couldn’t have created more perfect fiction.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, casting her gaze out to the mid-afternoon sun with a heavy sigh. “It was almost Shakespearean, watching him wax poetic about the strength of the company, convincing his shareholders that within six months to a year they’ll see a double down on their current investments.”

“They believe what they want to.” Malcolm settled in the corner of the loveseat, narrowing his gaze at his phone as it buzzed for the fifth time that day. He should turn it off, but that would feel like an amputation. “They have no idea he’s been selling off shares at a record pace, or that he currently owns less than fifteen percent of the company.”

“Or that you and your subsidiary companies have bought up all those lovely shares.” She toasted him again. “Another eight percent and you’ll have controlling interest. You’ll have him right where you want him.”

“Yeah. Right where I want him.” Taking down the company was one thing. What he’d do with it after, that was another question. At least he’d be able to protect Ty and his grandmother from the buyout effects.

“You going to answer that?” She reached out her foot and nudged his vibrating phone toward him with her toe.

“No.”

“You’re going to have to at some point.” The unspoken words hovered heavy between them until Malcolm couldn’t do anything but respond.

“I will.”

“Doc Chapman is on your side, Malcolm. She was three years ago when you were sick, she will be again if you need her to be. But nothing’s going to happen if you don’t answer that call.”

“I know what she’s going to tell me. The cancer’s back.” The headache beat behind his eyes like a Scottish Tattoo, thundering, ear shattering. “I don’t have time to deal with it right now.”

“First of all.” Veronica heaved herself up and knocked her knees together as her pale lavender skirt shifted around her knees. “You don’t know that for sure, and secondly, postponing treatment will make things worse down the road.”

“I wasn’t aware you could get a medical degree in law school.”

“Really?” Veronica’s eyes sparked. “After the day I’ve had watching your son-of-a-bitch of a father pontificate about imaginary investment numbers, you’re going to pick a fight?”

“Maybe.”

“Men. You know I should answer the next time she calls, get the test results myself, and then hold them over your head like a water balloon. Kablam!” Her fingers shot out like maniacal jazz hands. “I have your power of attorney you know. I could do it.”

“Yes, you could.” Malcolm nodded and tapped his papers into a neat stack before pushing them toward her. “But before you take my medical destiny into your hands and I take my grandmother to dinner, would you please look this over?”

“What is it?” Veronica grumbled. “I was hoping to avoid any more paperwork in favor of a large bottle of Merlot and a pizza from that Italian market you’ve been banging on about.”

“A new draft of my will.”

A good ten seconds passed with her staring at him. “Well, shit.” She tossed back the last of her Scotch, set her glass down, and picked up the papers. He could see her fighting to keep the sympathy he knew she was feeling out of her eyes. And he loved her for it. “I guess you’re ordering my pizza.”

“Liza, any luck?” Sheila scrambled on all fours across the coffee-colored office carpet, peering under chairs, her desk, beside the brocade sofa against the far wall. Nothing. She sat on her heels and tried not to panic. “Karma, you need to stop paying me so much attention.”

“No sign of it?” Liza crouched down to scan the same area that had proved fruitless for Sheila, blond hair skimming the carpet before she stood up, her navy blue maxidress brushing against the straps of her black sandals. “When was the last time you saw your bracelet?”

She pressed fingers into her temples and closed her eyes. Chadwick’s office. Dammit. She couldn’t very well have Liza call and ask if someone had found it.
That
wouldn’t be awkward to explain. “Don’t worry about it.” Sheila sighed as she got up and brushed at the belted navy dress. “Did you confirm my reservations for dinner?” She retrieved her bag from behind her desk.

“Sure did. Six thirty. I also might have suggested your guest be paid some extra attention since he’s so well followed on social media. Can’t hurt to get his name connected with the center and the opening gala, especially since he’s going to be helping get out the word about that and the art auction.”

“Excellent.” No wonder she and Liza got on so well. Their thoughts ran on the same track. “Caprianos is already on the short list for the catering for both events, but it can’t hurt to give them a boost since I have to decide this week. Any messages?”

“Yeah. A Joseph Delaware called from Valley Wireless, something about the pending contract they have with the center.”

“Finally.” Sheila reached for the note Liza held out. “They were supposed to start wiring up the Internet feed for the activity facility last week.”

“Gina’s waiting on the final list of sponsors before she puts together the media package for the gala.”

“How many sponsors are we waiting to hear from?” Sheila picked up the phone, shouldered the receiver until Liza was finished.

“Three, and I already called and left messages giving them a deadline of Friday.”

“And?” Sheila recognized that self-satisfied glimmer in the soon-to-be senior’s baby blues.

“I might have said something about a long waiting list given the additional promotional opportunities.”

Sheila chuckled. Knowing Liza, they’d have the last of the sponsors locked in well before the deadline. “We want to get that media kit printed and online—”

“By the fifteenth. Don’t worry. We’re on it.”

“What would Morgan and I do without you two?”

“Fall apart obviously.” Liza beamed. “Thanks again for giving us each our own office.”

“Both of you do enough work. You deserve it.” One of the bonuses of Morgan’s impending marital merging with the Juliano clan was the addition of youngest sibling twins Gina and Liza to the center’s roster of employees. Originally both girls had been working for Sheila, but there was a natural alliance between Gina and Morgan that mirrored the one Sheila and Liza shared. “Just glad we took your mother’s advice to keep you separated,” she called after Liza.

She and Morgan might have had their moments of sibling argumentativeness, but they paled in comparison to the Juliano girls. And yet, they managed to work around their frustration with each other. Sheila had to admit Liza was as much a younger version of Sheila as Gina was to Morgan. Sibling rivalry aside, both girls were devoted to the Tremayne Foundation and getting the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center up and running. They got along well enough at work that the load off Sheila’s and Morgan’s shoulders had been life changing. The opportunity to be home by six most nights? Who knew it was possible? Not that she ever was.

Between organizing the gala and Chadwick’s art auction, overseeing the construction of the center’s entertainment facility and finalizing Nemesis’ latest job, along with the paintings she needed to copy . . . she was lucky to have time to breathe. But the center . . . a blossom of pride formed within her.

They were so close to realizing Morgan’s dreams, their mother’s dream. Short of a cure for cancer, the center was going to be the next best thing and for the first time in years, Sheila felt as if she was participating in the process instead of sitting on the sidelines. While Morgan had learned to ask for help, Sheila had learned that she had to stop waiting and act.

If only what had to be done on her part didn’t terrify her to the point of panic.

First things first. She picked up the phone and dialed, ready to get her part of the center completed and marked off her list.

***

A few hours later, Sheila climbed out of her car, phone attached to her ear. “No, take the search out nationwide, Liza.” She handed her keys over to the valet in front of Caprianos and scurried around the car to the entrance. The European-inspired bistro was one of the best-kept secrets in Lantano Valley and Sheila took every opportunity to enjoy their spectacular if not calorie-laden meals. That’s what treadmills were for, right? “We need a tech company willing to both supply the hardware and oversee the—”

Head down, mind askew, she slammed into a semi-solid form and sent her phone flying out of her hand the second she walked inside. “Oh, for the love of—Malcolm.” Christopher Columbus, but the universe was conspiring against her today. “Sorry. Distracted. Didn’t see you there.” But she took a deep breath, found a polite smile. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Was that humor she heard in his voice? And dammit, did he have to turn that smile of his on so bright?

“Did you see where my phone—”

“Miss Tremayne.” A uniformed server, clad in crisp black with a stark white apron tied around his waist, held out her phone. “Your guest is waiting for you at the table your assistant requested.”

“Thank you, Jeremy.” Sheila shifted into professional mode. “Liza, sorry.” She held up a finger to let Malcolm know she’d be done in a second. “Yeah, just get me that list of tech companies and we’ll go from there. And call Gina in to help us with calls for as long as anyone’s still at their desks. I’ll stop at the office after dinner and go over the list so the two of you can go home.”

“Problem?” Malcolm asked once she clicked off.

She tried to wave it off. “The tech company that was supposed to supply the wireless system for the entire Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center bailed on us.” A new bout of anxiety wobbled inside her. She’d promised Morgan she’d have the entertainment complex up and running by the night of the gala. With the deep pockets that would be in attendance, they wanted to show the center off to its greatest potential. Donors couldn’t see the project as a money suck. She’d be damned if she’d let one idiotic company stand in her way of getting it done on time. Tremaynes didn’t give up. Ever.

“They backed out without any warning?” Malcolm asked.

“I’d love to chalk it up to it just being business.” She tucked her phone into her purse, wishing she could turn it into a fist and plow it into the rep who had given her the bad news. She’d taken a gamble on the long-established company who had seemed excited at the prospect of supplying everything they needed to make the complex as up to date technology-wise as possible. So much for longevity when reliability went out the window along with responsibility. “I have to remember to go on
Yelp
and leave a review.”

“Was Oliver Technologies not interested?”

“They turned us down, but Ty was the one who recommended Valley, so I’m not inclined to get a second from him. Are you here alone?”

“I wanted to get Gran out of the house,” Malcolm said. “I was glad to see this place is still here,” Malcolm said once the server had gone. The trompe l’oeil paintings on the walls and arched doorways acted as portals to another place, complete with the aroma of roasting garlic and fresh-baked olive bread. “It’s always been her favorite. Would you like to join us?”

“Thank you, but I’m meeting someone.”

“Of course.” Malcolm stepped aside just as his grandmother emerged from the ladies’ room.

“Sheila. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to speak with you more the other evening. The party was perfect. And that cake. I had a leftover piece for breakfast the next morning.” She reached out and drew Sheila into a gentle hug. “You did a beautiful job.”

“It was my pleasure and I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I know how busy you are, but I hope you’ll humor an old woman all the same and come and see me soon.” Alcina pressed a hand against Sheila’s cheek and gave her an affectionate smile.

“I don’t see an old woman,” Sheila said, knowing she’d always be grateful to Malcolm’s grandmother for hiring her when she’d first started her event business. Alcina’s butter-yellow silk dress and coifed hairstyle, along with her perfect posture, reminded Sheila of her own mother’s attention to presentation. Regret and guilt mingled into its own special cocktail. “I’ll be stopping by to finalize that guest list, remember.”

“I’ll hold you to that, young lady.” She bussed a kiss on Sheila’s cheek and patted her hand in that comforting yet determined way she had. “Tea perhaps, or lunch would be divine. Or maybe I’ll pop by your office one day. Maybe you and Morgan would give me a tour of the center?”

“We’d like that,” Sheila said, her face flushing as she caught Malcolm grinning next to her. She elbowed him as she passed, grinning at his grunt of surprise. “Have a nice dinner.”

She made it to her table with thirty seconds to spare and greeted her soon-to-be sponsor, but found her gaze pulled to the other side of the room as Malcolm escorted his grandmother to her seat, that lingering what-if hovering like a cloud.

***

“I bet I can guess whose face you’re picturing on that dart board.”

Malcolm set his last dart to soaring and before he saw where it landed, turned toward Nathan Tremayne. Five years and his one-time best friend looked as good as he had the day they’d donned their caps and gowns.

“Not hard to.” Malcolm gestured toward the bar a few steps away and signaled the bartender over. The trio of large-screen TVs displayed baseball scores, ESPN commentaries, and the live feed of the NBA draft. Something for everyone, he supposed, but if the San Francisco Giants weren’t playing, what was the point? The dark walnut décor, the muted tones of bagpipes and guitars along with the intoxicating aroma of hops and frying meat enveloped him and eased the tension in his back with each throw of a dart.

Malcolm grabbed his glass. Now he saw rather than felt the years that had passed. Funny how optimism faded the longer life had a hold of you, but there was still that gleam in Nathan’s eye that told Malcolm his friend hadn’t quite let go of the charm and enthusiasm, not to mention the carefree troublemaking attitude that had bonded them in college.

“Late-night Mondays at Murphy’s is still the best deal in town.” Nathan ordered his own drink and let the bartender know they’d be taking the booth in the corner by the window. “Made you easy to find.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m boring or predictable?” Malcolm pointed at Nathan and received the acknowledging nod from the bartender.

“I’d never call you boring, Malcolm.” Nathan slid into the high back leather seat. “And you being here now wasn’t predictable.”

“Not so long ago I’d have agreed with you.” But then, life had a way of derailing best-laid plans. “Thanks for calling. I wasn’t sure . . . Given how things went with me and your sister.”

“She looked positively besotted when I saw her.” Nathan had always seemed uncertain by Malcolm and Sheila’s connection, which was why Malcolm had expected either a punch to the jaw or a hearty slap on the shoulder when the two finally met up. The fact he got neither was enough to dangle him on the edge of uncertainty.

“
Besotted
is not a word I’d ever associate with your sister.” But the idea of Sheila pining for him was far from displeasing. “Or you. You reading up on Jane Austen to get girls again?”

“Hey, I got at least seven dates by quoting Mr. Darcy.” Nathan cast an inquiring glance at Malcolm’s empty glass as their server brought him his drink. “It’s your own fault you didn’t pick up on the Bingley references. Another?”

“No, thanks.” One was his limit thanks to those damned pills of his. “Just water, please.”

“So. What’s new?” Nathan grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl on the marred wooden table.

“You want the five-year rundown or just the highlights?”

Another grin. “Eh. Save the long version for another time. Hey, Gage.” Nathan waved over Malcolm’s head as the bell over the door jingled. Nathan shifted closer to the window as a tall man in jeans and a well-worn leather bomber jacket joined them. He took a seat next to Nathan, swiping dark hair out of guarded eyes. “Gage Juliano, Malcolm Oliver. Gage here is marrying Morgan.” Nathan jabbed a thumb in Gage’s direction. “God help him.”

“And Nathan’s bucking for brother-in-law of the year,” Gage said, offering his hand across the table. “Good to meet you.”

“You sure?” Malcolm accepted the greeting despite the other man’s guarded tone.

“Until I decide otherwise.” Gage grabbed a pretzel and tossed it into his mouth. “I’m not one to make judgments about people based on the town rumor mill.”

“Ex-cop.” Nathan shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable with the descriptor. “Makes for a fun addition to the family, don’t you think?”

“As I’ve known you to put your toe over a few legal lines, yes, I imagine it is.” Given the almost practiced banter going on between the two men, Malcolm suspected this meeting wasn’t a coincidence. “Something on your mind, guys?”

“What makes you think—” Nathan almost looked offended.

“You never could lie worth a damn,” Malcolm said. “You’re stalling. So, Gage. Straight up.” Malcolm focused on the other man, who had turned steely blue eyes on him. One look at this guy’s determined face and Malcolm knew he wouldn’t enjoy being on the other side of the table in an interview room. “Let’s have it.”

“Did you do it?”

“Subtle.” Nathan accepted his drink with a modest wince. “I thought we were going to ask him about his intentions toward Sheila.”

“One question answers the other.” Gage pointed at Nathan’s glass to order his own. “Well?” He angled toward Malcolm once more.