The Secret (Seacliff High Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

Alyson leaned over to try to see what he’d dug up. “It looks like . . .” Alyson paused and looked up at Mac, “It looks like a human arm.”

“What!” Mac exclaimed.

“Tucker, come,” Alyson called the dog away from his prize. “Sit. Stay,” she commanded. Tucker sat in the spot Alyson indicated as she walked over to examine the find more closely. Moving the dirt aside, she continued to dig with her hands as best she could.

“It doesn’t appear there are any other bones,” Alyson observed. “Just a hand and an arm. Of course the rest may be buried deeper. Or maybe the rest of the body is somewhere else and the arm was detached and moved.”

“It looks like the hand is pointing toward something,” Trevor said. “All the fingers are bent inward except the index finger. It looks like it was purposely posed in that position.”

“But who would do something like that?” Eli asked.

“Barkley,” Alyson and Mac said in unison.

“I wish we had brought a shovel. We need to see if the rest of the body is here.” Alyson looked toward the darkening sea. “It’s getting dark and the fog’s rolling in. We’ll have to come back.”

“Do you think we should call the police?” Mac asked.

“Probably,” Alyson answered. “But I want a chance to look around a little more first. It looks like this arm has been here for a long time. A few more days shouldn’t matter.”

“Maybe we should take a look around before we disturb the arm by digging around it,” Mac suggested. “The arm may be pointing to a very specific spot.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Okay,” Alyson said, “if you follow the sight line of the index finger you have a cliff face.”

“Let’s take a closer look at the cliff,” Mac said. “Maybe there’s a hidden cave or something.”

“Should have brought flashlights,” Eli added as a thick blanket of moisture began to make its way toward the shoreline.

They spent the next fifteen minutes searching the face of the cliff through the thick undergrowth. The longer they looked around, the colder it became. They really didn’t have long before the entire area would be engulfed in the thick clouds that were peeking over the top of the cliff.

“I don’t see anything.” Trevor stopped to look around. “Maybe the arm just happened to fall that way when it was dumped and it’s not really pointing toward anything at all. We really should get back. The visibility is just going to get worse.”

“Where’s Tucker?” Alyson asked, looking around for the dog.

“He was here a minute ago,” Mac said.

“Tucker!” Alyson called.

A bark sounded from somewhere beyond the thick foliage.

“Here, boy,” she called again. She felt a moment of panic as the fog grew even closer.

Just then Tucker bounded out from behind the growth, dragging a vine behind him.

“There must be a cave behind the vines,” Eli guessed. “The first time he barked it sounded like he was far away.”

“We should get back,” Alyson said.

“Let’s just take quick peek,” Trevor said.

They began to tear at the vines, with Tucker barking beside them.

“He thinks this is a game,” Trevor observed.

“I think I found something,” Mac called to the group. She pulled the remaining tangle of vines away from the rocky face of the cliff to reveal a small hole leading into the rock formation.

“We’re definitely going to need flashlights,” Eli said. “The entrance is so tiny it can’t let much light in.”

“Maybe Tucker can help us out,” Alyson suggested. “Fetch, boy,” she said firmly, pointing toward the opening in the side of the cliff.

Tucker barked and ran into the small hole. He came back a few seconds later with a bone in his mouth that looked suspiciously human.

“Do you think the rest of the body is in there?” Eli asked.

“Probably,” Trevor responded. “But why bury the arm out here? Why not bury the whole thing in the cave?”

“Maybe there’s something else in there,” Alyson ventured. “Or whoever buried the body wanted to be sure someone eventually found it.”

“But why not bury the whole thing out here?” Mac repeated.

“Wild animals?” Alyson guessed.

“Maybe the whole skeleton was inside the cave originally and someone moved the arm out here more recently,” Trevor speculated.

“Barkley?” Mac guessed.

Trevor looked out toward the fog that was rolling in more quickly now. “It’s getting dark. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Dinner wasn’t quite ready when they returned to the house, so they settled into the living room, which contained only lawn furniture. They began several conversations regarding school and the new season’s television lineup, but after several failed attempts it seemed obvious everyone was still very much focused on the mystery they hoped to solve.

“Maybe we could use this time to look around for the key to the trunk,” Mac suggested.

“How many rooms still have furniture in them that hasn’t been gone through yet?” Eli asked.

“There are two rooms on the third floor with stuff still in them, plus the one we stacked all the stuff from the attic into. The rooms mostly have bedroom furniture, but I think I remember seeing a desk in one of them. The rooms on the second floor have all been cleared out,” Alyson said. “There are just the two bedrooms my mom and I are using, a bath, and what was probably a third bedroom that my mom plans to use as an office. The bottom floor probably has the most potential. It looks like Barkley pretty much lived on that floor exclusively. The kitchen has been completely gutted and remodeled. It looks like the room we’re sitting in must have been used as a living room, and there’s another smaller room that was probably a parlor. Just on the other side of that wall is a formal dining room, another bathroom, and a bedroom off the kitchen, which looks like the one Barkley was using.”

“If I wanted to hide something valuable I’d keep it close. Let’s take a look at the bedroom on this floor,” Trevor said.

The room in question held a dresser, a large bed with a saggy, moth-eaten mattress, a large oak desk, two scratched-up nightstands, and a rocking chair that looked like an antique. The closet, as well as the dresser, was stuffed with clothes, boxes, and other personal belongings.

“It feels so dirty in here,” Mac said, keeping her arms to her sides. She grimaced as she looked around the room. “Totally creepy. He must have died in that bed.”

“The place was a real mess when we moved in,” Alyson told them. “We stripped the bed and picked up all the clothes and personal items in plain sight before starting on the kitchen. I think I’m glad I didn’t know about the history of the place before we started cleaning up. It definitely would have given me the willies to know I was stripping the bed a man died in, even if it was four years ago.”

“What did you do with all the stuff you cleared out of here?” Trevor asked.

“We took it to the dump, but I’d remember if we came across any keys.”

The group started opening drawers and emptying things from the closet. An hour’s search produced a lot of worthless junk but no keys.

“Man, this closet is packed from floor to ceiling. It looks like old Barkley was a bit of a pack rat.” Trevor was starting to close the door when a shoebox fell off a shelf and onto his foot.

“Look at this,” Alyson said, holding up a fistful of old newspaper clippings from the box she’d picked up. “There’s an article about Kennedy Elementary School’s spring production of
Cinderella
. Jonathan Wellington played the king.” Alyson passed the article to Mac. “And here’s another one about a spelling bee. Jonathan came in third.”

“What else is in the box?” Eli asked.

“It’s mainly all newspaper clippings.” Alyson continued to sort through the box. “Some of them seem kind of random. Here’s a list of baseball scores, and an article about an accident on the interstate.”

“Does it say who was involved in the accident?” Mac asked.

“No, it just says that a vehicle traveling in the wrong direction caused a major pileup, killing four people. The names of the victims aren’t listed. I wonder if Mary died in a car accident.”

“Maybe if I do a more focused search we can find out,” Mac said.

Alyson held up a slightly less yellowed article. “This is about Jonathan’s suicide.”

“So Barkley
did
know Jonathan’s fate before he died,” Trevor concluded. “I wonder if he knew about Caleb.”

“He’s mentioned in the article. I think dinner must be about ready. We should get washed up. We can finish sorting through this stuff later.”

Alyson joined the gang at their usual table at lunch the next day. She’d managed to find a fairly innocent-looking turkey sandwich among the cafeteria’s more greasy selections.

“I can’t believe you eat that stuff,” she said, noting the huge hamburger Mac was eating, and the large grease stain on the plate in front of her.

“You should try it. It’s really good.” Mac licked a dollop of ketchup that was threatening to drip off the bottom of her burger. “Want a bite?”

“No thanks.” Alyson shuddered before biting into her sandwich.

“The problem is,” Trevor teased, “you approach food like a science. You need to develop a sense of adventure and try new things.”

“Trust me, I have more than enough adventure in my life,” Alyson assured him.

“Really? Have you ever tried a jalapeño popper?” Trevor asked.

Alyson scrunched up her nose. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Then you, my friend, are in for a treat.” Trevor picked up one of his poppers and dipped it in the thick ranch dressing on his plate. “Open up.”

“No. I think I’ll pass,” Alyson insisted.

“Come on. No guts, no glory,” Trevor said persuasively.

She smiled. “My mom warned me about peer pressure.”

Trevor laughed. “Okay, you win, but you’re really missing out.” He turned his attention to Mac. “Were you able to spend any more time working on our theory regarding Jonathan Wellington’s death?”

“I hacked back into the police records on my laptop after I got home. Can you believe that? My laptop!” Mac sounded outraged. “Our local police really need to tighten up their security system. It wasn’t all that hard, and my laptop isn’t even half as powerful as the computer I used at Cybertech the first time.”

“And you found?”

“There was a mention of the suicide letter in the file, but apparently no one bothered to scan it into the computer. I think the only way we’re going to get a look at it is to get our hands on the hard copy. The problem is that as antiquated as the system used by our local law enforcement appears to be, I doubt even they’d let us just waltz into the police station and ask to go through files.”

“We need an insider,” Alyson said. “Do any of you know any of the local police officers?”

“Not a police officer, but maybe someone who can help us.” Eli’s eyes lit up.

“Who?” Mac asked.

“My brother Devon.”

“You have a brother?” Mac asked. “How come you’ve never mentioned said brother before this? And why haven’t I seen him when I’ve been over to use your computer?”

“You haven’t seen him because Dev’s back east with my dad. He’s almost as brilliant on the computer as you are. He’s helping my dad install the new security system he’s been working on.”

“Does he work at the police station?” Trevor asked.

“Not really, but he has access to the files. He’s helping the county update and computerize all their historical records. He works for the county part-time, when he isn’t in school.”

“He goes to school here?” Alyson asked.

“Sort of. Dev should have graduated last year, but he missed a lot of time in Seacliff High is letting him finish up here. He just takes two classes in the morning and will graduate in December. He’s hoping to start college midyear. Because of the project with my dad, he got permission to miss the first couple of weeks of school. He’ll be home tonight. I’ll introduce you to him tomorrow. I don’t think he’s starting classes until Monday, but he should be at the game.”

Alyson had arranged to get a ride out to her house with Mac after school. Trevor was going to meet them there after football practice. Eli had promised to pick up his dad and brother at the airport in Portland, so the others promised to call him with their findings that night.

“I’ve got news,” Mac said as soon as she got into her battered yellow Bug. “I was finally able to trace the destination of the money still being drawn from the trust. It was quite a journey, but persistence paid off.”

Mac turned onto the dirt road leading out to Alyson’s house. “The work I’d already done gave me a good jumping-off point, and I was able to trace the money through the labyrinth of consecutive deposits and withdrawals that have been made. The trail ended with a local corporation, Heritage Industries. I did some digging and found that the president of the company is a vice president at the bank where the transaction trail initially began. His name is Jason Mastin, and it looks like he’s been with the bank for a long time, at least twenty years. The corporation was formed the same month Barkley died, and it appears he’s been siphoning off the money ever since. He’s been routing it through a bunch of different accounts at different financial institutions all over the world. The thing is, though, in the end the money ended up right here in Portland, at the very bank where the journey began.”

“You’re kidding!” Alyson turned around in her seat to face Mac. “Why hasn’t anyone at the bank caught on to him? Surely someone must have noticed that the monthly deductions from the account continued after Barkley’s death. And what about whoever is supposed to be in charge of administering the trust on the Cutter family’s behalf? Surely they would have noticed.”

“That’s the thing. I did some more checking and found that the trust was originally drawn up by Barkley’s father, Jacob, in 1920. The only thing I could get a look at online was the signature page, so I’m not sure what the terms of the trust were, but we can assume the intention was to provide for Barkley because the date on the original trust document coincides with the year of Barkley’s birth.”

“Makes sense,” Alyson concurred.

Mac pulled up in front of Alyson’s house. “The really interesting thing, though, is that the signature page was witnessed by Harold Laslow, a partner in the law firm of Huntington, Laslow, and James. The firm still exists, but none of the original partners still practice.”

“They’re probably dead. The trust was established eighty-six years ago.”

“The managing partner of the firm today is Steven Laslow, Harold’s grandson. It appears he’s been acting as executor of the trust since Barkley’s death.”

“So he must be in on it.”

“I think so. I Googled both Steven Laslow and Jason Mastin, and it turns out they both went to Berkeley at the same time.”

“They’ve been ripping off Caleb this whole time!” Alyson exploded.

“Well,” Mac reminded her, “we still aren’t sure Caleb is Barkley’s heir, and the only thing we really have is meaningful coincidence. We know an account set up by Jason Mastin’s corporation is receiving the monthly deposits, but we don’t have a direct tie to the transactions for Steven Laslow.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get. It’s not like ten thousand dollars a month is chump change, but assuming both men are in on the scheme, why risk everything for a hundred twenty thousand dollars a year? Steven Laslow is the managing partner in a law firm. I bet he makes ten times that a year. Why take the risk? Even Jason Mastin, as a vice president of a bank, must make six figures.”

“I thought of that too. But I don’t think they’re after the ten thousand dollars a month. I couldn’t even find any evidence that the money that was deposited into Jason Mastin’s dummy corporation has ever been withdrawn. I think they’re after the bulk of the money still being held in the trust. I decided to bone up on my local history, and it seems the Cutter family was quite rich. Jedediah Cutter worked in shipping, and from what I’ve read he did quite well. There’s even speculation among some local historians that he ran a smuggling operation on the side.”

“The cave we found yesterday,” Alyson speculated. “If it does go down to the ocean that may be how he got his smuggled goods in and out without having to use the docks.”

“But the opening was so small.”

“It might have been larger originally. There could have been a cave-in at some time in the past. So how much money do you think we’re talking about?”

“Possibly tens, maybe even hundreds of millions.”

“Wow.” 

“There’s no way to know for sure,” Mac concluded, “but it must be a lot if men like Jason Mastin and Steven Laslow are willing to take such a big risk to get to it.”

Alyson grabbed the handle next to her and opened the car door but didn’t get out. “You’d think that with a pot of money that big the trust would be on lots of people’s radar.”

“I don’t think the money’s all in one place. The bank in Portland probably only holds enough to make the deposits into Barkley’s account. The rest is probably tied up in other accounts, or even other types of investments. My guess is that originally someone at Huntington, Laslow, and James managed the trust on Barkley’s behalf, because he was only ten at the time his father died. Whoever was in charge of administering the trust probably made investment decisions on his behalf. Normally, once the heir reaches the age of maturity he takes control of his money, but let’s assume Barkley didn’t want to, or wasn’t able to, do it. He might have turned the management of the trust over to the law firm permanently.”

Mac got out of the car to stretch her legs but continued to speak. “Generations have gone by and the money is spread out into many investments, the way large fortunes are bound to be. Everyone originally involved in the trust is dead, the only apparent heir is dead, no one has come forward claiming any part of the inheritance, so Mastin and Laslow figure that if they help themselves to the Cutter family assets no one will be any the wiser. I mean, technically, if Barkley signed management rights over to Huntington, Laslow, and James, Steven probably has the right to invest the money anywhere he sees fit, even in Heritage Industries. In the absence of anyone to protest, all of the money could eventually be moved into dummy accounts. No one would ever know.”

“Are you saying that so far no illegal transactions have taken place?” Alyson asked.

“Not technically, but if we prove Caleb is the heir, he probably could argue conflict of interest regarding at least the Heritage Industries investment.”

“It stands to reason, then, that if Jason and Steven are helping themselves to the Cutter family millions they probably don’t want an heir found. Do you think one of them is our phantom thief? Whoever broke in to the house that night was definitely looking for something specific.”

“Like a will or a birth certificate?” Mac ventured.

“Makes sense, especially if they know about the existence of an heir. They probably figure as long as Caleb doesn’t find out that he’s entitled to the money they’re in the clear.”

“Do you think they’d hurt him?” Mac asked.

“I doubt it, but you never know. We’re talking about a lot of money, and it looks like Caleb might be the only person standing in their way. We need to find proof that he’s the rightful heir, and fast.” Alyson began walking toward the house. “Caleb might not be safe until we have enough proof to go public.”

Alyson opened the kitchen door and found Tucker camped out on the rug in front of it. He immediately jumped up and began what Alyson fondly thought of as the dance of the abandoned dog. He circled her feet several times, licked her hand, and wagged his whole body in greeting. Alyson reached down to scratch his neck, and he promptly sat down at her feet.

“You’d think you’d been gone a week.” Mac smiled.

“He doesn’t seem to have any sense of the passage of time,” Alyson responded. “If I’m gone an hour or all day I’m greeted with the same happy dance.”

“It’s sweet.” Mac reached down to pet the dog at Alyson’s feet. “My goldfish doesn’t miss me at all when I’m gone.”

“I’m going to go upstairs and say hi to my mom, and maybe change into something a little more suited to crawling around in the dirt.” Alyson started toward the stairs. “Help yourself to a snack. Whatever you can find.”

Tucker followed Alyson up the stairs, as if reluctant to let her out of his sight for even a minute now that she was home. “Hi, Mom,” Alyson said, poking her head through the door to the attic. “I just wanted to let you know I was home and that Mac and I are going to take Tucker for a run.”

“Will she be staying for dinner?”

“No, I think she’ll probably head home after we get back.”

“How about trying out the diner in town you were telling me about tonight? I’ve been painting all day and I really don’t feel much like cooking tonight.”

“Sounds good. Now that I’m a licensed driver maybe we could go car shopping on the way.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Alyson changed into an old pair of jeans and a paint-spattered Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt. She tied a red sweatshirt around her waist in case it was windy up on the bluff and dug out her oldest pair of Nike sneakers. After pulling her long straight hair into a sloppy ponytail, she headed back downstairs.

By the time she had rejoined Mac, Trevor had shown up carrying several flashlights. Alyson grabbed two shovels from the shed and they headed out. Tucker ran several yards ahead of them as they walked toward their destination, stopping occasionally to chase a bird or sniff a bush.

“Fall is definitely in the air.” Mac wrapped her sweater tightly around her torso. “Did you get your fireplaces all cleared for use?”

“The guy will be here Tuesday. I can’t wait. Tucker, wait up,” Alyson called when she noticed the pup had wandered too far ahead. Tucker sat down in the middle of the path and waited for the others to catch up.