The Seductive Impostor Read online

  “Oh, Rachel,” Willow softly wailed. “Not your ring? Why would Dad have given us gifts that didn’t even belong to him?”

  “Because he trusted Thadd,” Rachel quickly prevaricated, trying to soothe her sister’s disappointment. “He wasn’t thinking about papers of transfer. But you and I know better, and now we’ve got to make this go away quietly.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I,” Rachel shot back, getting angry, more at herself than anyone else.

  Or was it Frank Foster she was really mad at?

  “We’ll come back to this in a moment,” Willow said, sounding very much like a lawyer. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing at Sub Rosa.”

  “Keenan Oakes arrived early,” Rachel told her. “And he showed up on my porch and asked for my help opening the house.”

  Well, that was the truth. She didn’t need to mention that the man had showed up at two in the morning and taken her back to Sub Rosa without her consent. But those were minor lies of omission compared with the whoppers she was telling now.

  “And I decided to help him because it would give me an excuse to be in the house.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to actually stay there,” Willow said, obviously not liking Rachel’s reasoning.

  “But it will make things easier. I slipped and hurt my knee again. Not badly,” Rachel rushed to assure her. She rubbed her forehead. This lying business was giving her a headache. “It was my idea. I can’t hobble up the cliff path and through all the tunnels to return the items. This way I just have to disappear into a wall and come out in Thadd’s library.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  It was time to end the conversation. Rachel suddenly pitied anyone who dared cross the citizens of Maine. Once started, Willow could argue a point until her opponent folded from sheer frustration.

  “I have to go now, Willy. I promised Jason I would show him how to fill the saltwater swimming pool.”

  “Who’s Jason?”

  “He’s one of Kee’s apostles,” Rachel answered, smiling.

  “Kee? Apostles?”

  “Keenan arrived with a small army,” Rachel explained. “And three of them are named after the apostles, so that’s what I call them.”

  “Dammit, Rachel. You’re enjoying this.”

  Rachel was taken aback by her sister’s tone. “No I’m not,” she assured her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be civilized about this. The men are really nice, Willy.”

  Rachel remembered meeting Luke, and how Matthew and Peter had helped her today, to move Mabel and the kittens down to her new bedroom. The two men had left wearing bloodstains and several Band-Aids.

  “You called him Kee. That’s sounding a bit chummy to me,” Willow said, no trace of chumminess in her voice.

  “That’s his name.”

  “I’m coming home. Tonight. I’m leaving here in ten minutes, and I’ll pick you up at the front door in two hours. Be ready, because I’m not getting out of the car.”

  Rachel rubbed her forehead again. “No. I don’t want you coming here, Willy. I’ve got everything under control. I’m going to return the stuff tonight, after everyone’s gone to bed.”

  Silence answered her. Rachel wanted to slam the receiver down in its cradle, but wisely refrained from adding to her sister’s anger. Willow would be at Sub Rosa within an hour if she did, and she wouldn’t stay in the car as she threatened. No, she’d be racing down Sub Rosa’s halls, shouting for Rachel and charging through anyone who got in her way.

  For a baby sister, Willow could be downright scary sometimes.

  Rachel took a calming breath and counted to ten before she spoke again. “Willow,” she said more softly. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just let me get rid of Thadd’s things tonight, and I’ll return home tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “What if you get caught?”

  “I won’t. Nobody but you and I knows about the tunnels.”

  “What did they do with Thadd’s collections?” Willow asked, sounding calmer now but still not convinced. “It wouldn’t all fit in his vault.”

  “No. Most of it is still in place, but I think the more expensive, larger pieces are locked in a room on the third floor. That would have been my choice. It’s a secure location, and it’s climate-controlled because Thadd kept his tapestries in there. And when I tried the door today, it was locked.”

  “Then that’s where you should take the emeralds and painting. There’s a direct tunnel from the great room. Can you walk well enough to climb three flights?” Willow asked, now obviously resigned to Rachel’s illegal operation.

  Rachel was impressed with her sister’s deviousness. She should have thought of the room herself three nights ago, instead of the vault. It was a much simpler solution.

  “Then that’s what I’ll do,” she told Willow, her headache magically disappearing. “I can make the climb okay. And I’ll be back home by noon tomorrow.”

  The receiver in her hand suddenly jerked, and Rachel looked down to see a kitten hanging from the phone cord dangling near her feet. The little bundle of fluff was accompanied by its two litter mates, and they were all trying to attack the cord. She smiled at their awkwardness.

  “Oh, by the way,” she said into the receiver, holding it firmly. “For the record, we own a cat.”

  “We do?” Willow asked, obviously confused by the sudden change of subject.

  “Actually, we own four cats,” Rachel told her. “I had to make up an excuse for being someplace I shouldn’t have been, and the only thing I could think of was that I was looking for my cat.”

  “Where were you?”

  “On the cliffs, near the tunnel entrance.”

  “Dammit, Rachel. You’re going to get in trouble.”

  “No I won’t.” She laughed out loud when one of the kittens began attacking the lacing on her sneaker. Some of the tension she was feeling suddenly eased. “It turns out there really was a cat, sis. I don’t know where they found her, but two of the apostles showed up with her in their arms. And she’s got three kittens. You just have to remember that her name is Mabel.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” Willow cried, her worry returning. “Wait until I get back and can help you. I’ll go along with your plan—just wait for me.”

  Rachel decided she should have hung up ten minutes ago. “For the love of God, Willow,” she said, her patience gone. “This isn’t rocket science. Nor does it require two people. I’m here now, and I’ll stash the emeralds and be home tomorrow.”

  Silence again.

  “I have to go. Jason’s waiting for me. Good-bye, Willy. Call tomorrow at noon, and I promise to answer the phone.”

  “Wait!” Willow said, obviously not ready to hang up. “What did I see in the paper about a boat burning in Fisherman’s Reach? What happened? The article said it was a lobster boat named Norway Night. Do you know who it belonged to?”

  Rachel went deathly still. “What did you say the name was?” she whispered.

  “Norway Night,” Willow repeated. “The paper said it appears to be arson.”

  For the life of her, Rachel couldn’t speak. “Norway night” was a boat? Her father’s dying words had been the name of a boat?

  “Rachel? Did you see the fire? Do you know what happened?”

  “Ah, yeah, I did,” she said, forcibly pulling herself back to the conversation. “But I don’t know anything about it. Did the paper say where the boat was built?”

  “No,” Willow answered, sounding somewhat confused. “It didn’t even say who the Norway Night belonged to. That’s why I asked. I thought you might know more about it.”

  “I don’t. But I’ll try and find out. I gotta go, Willy. Jason’s waiting.” Rachel rubbed her forehead again, letting out a tired sigh. “I can’t stop you from worrying, sis,” she added softly. “I can only promise that I’ll be careful. Good-bye,” she said again, more gently this time. “I love you.”

  Rach
el waited until Willow quietly repeated the declaration before she softly set the receiver in its cradle. She closed her eyes, rubbed both of her hands over her face, and blew out a calming breath.

  Norway Night was a lobster boat. And lobster boats often traveled beyond the sight of land to tend traps, and would be a perfect way to inconspicuously meet up with another boat at sea and bring stolen art back into port. No one would be suspicious because lobstermen were as common, and just as ignored, as seagulls around there.

  Great. Just great. Another mystery had just been added to this blasted mess, further complicating things. Now she had to find out why her father’s dying words had been about the Norway Night, whether it had been built by Thadd’s shipyard, and if Frank Foster’s name was on the designs.

  Willow had said they suspected arson. Lord, she hoped it was payback from a rival lobsterman in a trap war, or maybe even an insurance burning.

  Just as long as it wasn’t connected to her father in any way.

  Rachel stood up and tested her right knee. It was only tender now, and felt surprisingly stable, but she wasn’t pushing it any further this evening. She sat back in her wheelchair and glided over to the bedroom door. She was going to find Jason, fill the saltwater pool, and then get rid of the fake emeralds, just as soon as Kee and his men went to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  But instead of finding Jason at the pool, where they’d agreed to meet, Rachel ran into him and Kee and Duncan in the huge three-story, tall, glass-domed foyer. Kee had a thick three-ring binder tucked under one arm, and all three men were holding plastic-covered sheets of paper.

  They were also frowning hard enough to hurt their faces.

  Kee looked up as her wheelchair softly whirred toward them, and Rachel’s hand suddenly slipped off the lever, Kee’s piercing glare bringing her to dead stop a full ten feet away. If she weren’t mistaken, that glare was filled with anger and…and accusation.

  Kee walked toward her, his eyes stormy, his stride filled with purpose, his mouth set in a thin line that spoke of impending disaster.

  Rachel’s first thought was to spin around and race back to her room, but she held her ground even though a flock of butterflies had taken flight in her stomach.

  Duncan and Jason also strode forward, and when Kee stopped in front of her, they moved to flank him on either side, the three of them forming an imposing wall of testosterone.

  Rachel darted a glance at the papers in their hands, wondering what had them so riled. Matthew came into the foyer just then, followed by Luke. Peter entered from the south wing. They also held plastic-covered papers and were also frowning.

  “Two of the items on my list are missing,” Matthew said as he approached. “And a sixth-century urn from Greece is shattered to pieces.”

  Rachel snapped her gaze to Kee, but his only reaction to Matthew’s news was to lift his left brow at her.

  “Unless there’s been one hell of an earthquake, that urn didn’t jump out of its nook all by itself,” Matthew continued. “Somebody helped it along. I found it clear across the room.”

  Kee’s stare remained on her—and remained accusing.

  The butterflies in Rachel’s stomach turned to angry bees.

  “Three of the items on my list are missing,” Luke said.

  “I found everything on mine,” Peter interjected, glancing at his papers. “Except for a painting that was supposed to be hanging in the upstairs hall of the south wing.”

  “What’s going on?” Rachel finally asked, lifting her own brow inquiringly.

  “We’re taking inventory,” Kee said, his voice neutral. “And it appears that someone’s been helping themselves to my inheritance over the last three years.”

  Rachel lowered her gaze back to the papers in his hand. Items were missing from Sub Rosa? And Kee thought she was responsible.

  She looked at the other men. “That’s impossible,” she told them. “A mouse couldn’t get into this house without having the security codes.”

  “Then explain how several items on the inventory list are missing,” Kee demanded.

  “They can’t be missing. They’re just…they’re only misplaced. Have you checked the tapestry room on the third floor? It’s a secure room and climate-controlled.”

  Kee was shaking his head before she even finished. “We’ve checked. We found two of the items in there, but that still leaves over thirty unaccounted for.”

  “Thirty!”

  Kee gathered the sheets from his men, opened the three-ring binder, and started putting them inside.

  “What about the vault?” Rachel asked. “Did you finally get it open? Maybe they’re in there.”

  He snapped the binder closed and looked at her. “I got in. Everything is accounted for, and none of the missing items are there. But this did puzzle me,” he added, reaching into his pocket and then opening his hand toward her.

  It took every bit of control Rachel possessed not to react.

  “The odd thing is, I found it on the floor,” he said, holding the emerald earring between his fingers. “And there was already a set of earrings in one of the safes, along with a matching necklace.” He dangled the glittering emerald in front of her. “I’m not that well acquainted with women’s jewelry. Is it common to have three earrings in a set, Rachel?”

  “Ah…I don’t know much about jewelry myself,” she whispered, darting a glance at the silent men. She looked back up at Kee. “I don’t wear jewelry.”

  He nodded. “I noticed that. Except for a ring?”

  Rachel looked down at her right hand, touching her thumb to her naked middle finger, and saw the faded band of skin where her ring used to be. “I…I do own a ring, but it’s being cleaned.”

  A stark silence settled over the foyer at that. A silence pregnant with distrust, accusation, and, if Rachel wasn’t mistaken, disappointment.

  Kee thought she was a thief. He’d caught her in his library two nights ago, things were missing from Sub Rosa, and a third emerald earring had turned up. Dammit. He’d never believe she had been trying to add to Sub Rosa’s treasures, not steal from him.

  Rachel didn’t know if she was more disappointed with Kee or with herself. She was head over heels in lust with a man who blamed her for his missing inheritance.

  “I’m…I’m tired,” she said, without looking up. “I’ll help you hunt for the missing items in the morning.” She pushed the lever on her wheelchair, turned herself around, and started back out of the foyer.

  She was almost to the great room when Kee spoke. “Rachel,” he said with quiet authority.

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  He hesitated the briefest of seconds before gently waving her away. “Sleep well.”

  “Ya cannot be thinking our Rachel is responsible,” Duncan said into the silence broken only by the whir of Rachel’s disappearing wheelchair.

  Kee turned from watching his houseguest’s tactical retreat and faced his men. Every damn one of them looked as if he were accusing their mothers of prostitution.

  “And just when did she become ‘our’ Rachel?” he asked.

  “You have to admit she’s been working awfully hard to help us open this house,” Duncan rebutted. “And that can’t be easy for her, considering what happened here three years ago.”

  Kee tossed the binder down on the foyer table, crossed his arms over his chest, and faced his men squarely. “And that very fact doesn’t ring any bells for you? Are you not wondering why she so easily agreed not only to help us, but to stay here?”

  “She can’t walk,” Matthew interjected. “It makes things easier.”

  “It makes it very easy,” Kee agreed, nodding. “If she’s trying to finish what she started two nights ago, before we arrived unexpectedly.”

  Duncan scowled. “If Rachel is responsible for the missing items—and I’m still not convinced she is—why not just stop, now that we’re here? Why risk continuing right under our noses?”

  �
��Maybe because of this,” Kee suggested, opening his hand to reveal the emerald earring. “It’s a forgery, and was part of a fake set that was listed to be in the vault. But the emerald necklace and earrings I found in safe number sixteen are real.”

  He closed his fist over the earring. “And that set, worth well over a million American dollars, was stolen from the Grenier estate in France almost seventeen years ago.”

  “So what are you saying?” Luke asked. “That Rachel was exchanging the fake emeralds with real ones two nights ago? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed. “If she had the real emeralds, why exchange them for fakes?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Kee said. “But more important, where did she get the real ones to begin with? They’ve been missing for sixteen years.”

  “How come Thaddeus Lakeman had a forged set, anyway?” Peter asked. “That doesn’t make any sense, either.”

  Kee shrugged. “It’s not uncommon to have duplicates of famous jewelry. Nor is it illegal.”

  Duncan let out a frustrated sigh, wiped his hand through his hair, then kneaded the back of his neck. He eyed Kee speculatively. “Are ya thinking that if we just wait, the missing items will mysteriously reappear? That Rachel’s agreed to help us in order to replace the stuff she’s stolen? Hell, man, that makes the least sense.”

  “All I know is that she was in the library the night we arrived,” Kee said. “And that she’s had access to this house with complete autonomy for three years. She built Sub Rosa, and she knows every one of its secrets.”

  “That doesn’t make her a thief,” Jason said. “In fact, it makes her an asset.” Jason shifted anxiously, holding up his hand to stop Duncan from speaking. “Think about it. What if someone other than Rachel has been helping himself to Thaddeus Lakeman’s estate? She could show us the tunnels he’s obviously been using.”

  “You mean the tunnels she claims don’t exist?” Kee asked.