But perhaps the jewels and paintings would bring in sufficient money to not only pay off his debts but give him a sizable cushion going forward.
There were always Natalie’s assets to tap too. Family lore said her father had inherited a fortune from his wife, and how much of it could Natalie have spent living in the middle of nowhere her whole life?
It was a shame she’d never let him invest her funds for her instead of keeping them in CDs. Then he’d know exactly how much she had.
On the other hand, if shehadlet him handle her money, she could be as broke as he was.
Going forward, though, he’d try to get a clearer read on her resources. For future lifestyle planning.
His lifestyle, not hers.
For now, however, his focus had to be on the jewels.
He strode into his office, pulled out the folder containing his drawing of the cave passages, and concentrated on planning his schedule for the coming trip. It was important to cover as much ground as possible with each visit to the subterranean corridors.
And hope he hit pay dirt before the life he’d built imploded and left his precarious world in ruins.
TWENTY-SIX
SWEET HEAVEN.
Stevenwassneaking out of the house at night.
As Natalie peeked through the canted shutters in her room, her stomach clenched. There, in the moonlight, a dark figure hugged the shadowed edge of the galérie, then hurried toward the woods around the perimeter of the backyard and disappeared into the ten o’clock gloom.
The subtle noise she’d heard in the house, like the soft opening and closing of a door, had to have been her cousin. If she hadn’t been wide awake and listening for it after his unexpected arrival on this Wednesday night, she would never have known he’d slipped out.
Unless ... was it possible the person prowling about wasn’t him? That the noise she’d heard hadn’t been a door opening but simply the creak of old boards in the house?
Best to check his room and confirm it was empty before jumping to conclusions.
Clutching her cane, she crossed to the door. Peeked into the dark hall.
All was quiet.
She made her way down to his door as fast as she couldwith her bad leg. Carefully twisted the knob and peeked in, sending a silent prayer heavenward that she’d find him asleep.
Her prayer went unanswered.
His bed was empty.
Breath hitching, she closed her eyes.
Oh, Lord, what am I supposed todo now?
Seconds ticked by, but when no answer came, she trudged back to her room. Closed the door. Sat on the edge of the bed and replayed the counsel Father Johnson had offered her after he’d slipped into the pew beside her at the back of the empty church after early Mass on Sunday.
The pastor had an uncanny ability to sense a troubled soul.
While she hadn’t provided specifics, she’d given him enough information to capture the gist of her moral dilemma.
Namely, what do you do if you suspect someone you’ve always trusted and loved may be involved in a questionable activity?
The priest’s advice had been sound for most such situations—verify your suspicions if possible, then bring your concerns forward and have a candid and compassionate conversation with that person.
If the person was engaged in anything criminal, however, the advice might not work as well. In such a case, a conversation like that could even be unsafe.
Except Steven would never do anything illegal. Nor was he dangerous. The two of them were family. He’d never hurt her. Her concern about danger was unfounded.
