Page 48 of Afraid to Hope

“Sometimes things hidden in plain sight don’t call attention to themselves. You know that. Or maybe whoever was looking around wasn’t interested in the coins.”

“I’ll accept that. What about Clara and Oliver?”

“Clara and Oliver?” Her hands flew to her hips. “They have worked for my grandparents since my mother was a young girl. They’re above reproach.”

“Come on, Nat. They have full access to this place. Your grandparents were wealthy as hell.”

“No. Absolutely not. You met them—”

“I met Clara, and I like her.”

Natasha’s voice was icy, and her eyes flashed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? I’m only being thorough.”

“Leave them out of this. I told you before—I trust them with my life. There is no reason they would do this, and they are very comfortable financially. My grandparents treated them well when they were living and left them a sizable inheritance when they died.”

“People have different motives. You know that.”

Natasha glared at him, her eyes resembling prowling stormy clouds that were ready to rain hell.

Bane threw his hands up. “Fine. For now.”

“This—” She motioned to the desk. “This happened sometime after I locked it. Neither one of them have been here since I arrived.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Hmm. I wish to hell theriadhad a security system. What about Gia or Viviane? Either one of them could have gone through things when they were here for dinner.”

Natasha’s laugh came out as a bark, and she shook her head adamantly. “No. The only time either of them was out of sight was to make phone calls or use the restroom. Viviane is into men. Period. I don’t remember anything else coming even close to interesting her. And Gia, well, no. Besides, both of them are financially sound.”

“As I just said, sometimes there are other motivating factors.”

“No.”

“Then we continue to ask questions and make observations.” He focused on the desktop and inclined his head toward it. “How often did your grandfather work from here?”

She had calmed down some; however, her tone was still guarded. “Every weekday if he wasn’t out consulting.”

Bane opened the largest drawer. A cardboard box filled most of the space. He placed it on top of the desk and opened it. “Tools of his trade. Not many though. Is this where he would have stored his tools after he retired?” he asked, pulling the drawer and the remaining ones from the desk. They were all empty, but he examined each of them, then carefully scanned the interior of the desk, aided by his flashlight. Bane didn’t find any other hidden depressions, buttons, or writing. He returned the drawers and put the box back in the deep one.

“Yes. Mémé said Pépé gave a lot of them away. They would have gone to my father,” she informed him, her voice straining.

Bane touched her shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said, tenderly kissing Natasha on the forehead, watching her silently deal with the weight of her grief. How he wished he could make it evaporate.

She picked up on the silence and raised her head, presenting him with smoky eyes and a smile that glittered too brightly. “I’m okay.”

“Are you?” His eyebrows lifted with the question. “This is a tough situation. I’d have trouble with it.”

“I am. Truly.” She walked to the empty corner. “Pépé set up my own desk here when I was little. I used it when my family visited. My brothers were sent outside to play because they were into everything. I was quieter, so I got to remain inside. We talked about everything, or so my young self believed, and I shared my drawings with Pépé at the end of his mornings, before lunch. He was so encouraging and patient with me. After we had eaten, Mémé would usually entice me outside with gardening or reading time,” she said wistfully. “I made that pen-and-pencil holder for Pépé when I was eight. I remember when I gave it to him. He acted as though it was the most special gift he had ever received.”

Bane ran his fingers over it thoughtfully. “My mom has always insisted that the best gifts were the ones my brother, sister, and I made her, because they came from the heart and were made with the deepest love and intention.”

“I love that. That’s how I felt when I made it for him.” Natasha ambled back to the desk and lifted the small globe from the desktop. Joy infused her face. “A globe was the first thing Pépé and Mémé gave me for my desk. Mine was much larger than this one and it spun on an axis; it took up half my desk. Eventually the globe became part of my education. Pépé made it fun. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t pepper me with information about world history. Countries. Cultures. Governments. I enjoyed it so much.” Her hand swept toward the coins. “He made the coins part of my geo-history lessons.” She stopped abruptly, wide-eyed, before continuing, her voice rising with horror. “Jesus! What if he acquired some or all of his coins through looting? Or the American? What if some of the coins in my personal collection came to me through looting? Mémé and Pépé started me collecting.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself or why we’re here. The agreement and manifest need to be analyzed.”

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