Page 20 of A Mile of Ocean (Pelican Pointe #19)
T he stables bustled with activity as the team gathered for their nightly patrol. Savannah’s expression was serious as she took in the gravity of the situation, letting go of Trent’s hand right before they reached the group.
Hawk stood tall and imposing, his gaze scanning each member as they arrived. His eyes settled on Savannah and Trent, a knowing glint flashing in his dark eyes.
“About time you two showed up,” Hawk grumbled, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Trent ignored the comment and turned businesslike. “Is everyone accounted for?”
Hawk nodded. “Everyone is in place and ready to go.”
“Any problems?”
“None. Birk and Beckett are in place. Everyone else is aware of their assignments just like before.”
Trent’s eyes landed on his grandmother. They traded heated looks before he angled back to Hawk. “Everyone knows to use the new radio frequency, right?”
“They do.”
“Then I guess we’re all set,” Trent said, raising his voice so anyone listening could hear. “Remember, we’re out here making certain the guy is dead, and there’s no partner to worry about. Our goal tonight is to make sure he acted alone. We make the circuit, tick off all the boxes, and don’t stay out beyond that. Duchess wants us out here tonight, believing he’s dead. It should be an early night,” Trent said, glowering at his grandmother.
The group dispersed with a few grumbles, setting off into the night, their horses’ hooves echoing in the quiet darkness as they rode toward their positions.
Savannah was on high alert as they rode out, scanning every shadow and listening for any out-of-place sounds. The chill in the air only seemed to heighten the tension coiling in her chest.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, the hairs on her neck prickling with unease. Trent rode beside her, reassuringly, in the darkness, but even his steady presence couldn’t settle her nerves.
As if sensing her distress, he whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s out there somewhere. I know it. I can feel it.”
“I’m sure he is. But try to play it down. We could even discuss how we’re sure he’s dead, about how everyone’s leaving tomorrow.”
“We could, huh? I’m not sure I’m that good at acting. Why are things so tense between you and your grandmother?”
“You caught that, did you?” He went into a detailed explanation about the scene in the study, giving her a play-by-play of the ugly confrontation.
“She locked you out of the safe? What is wrong with that woman? Doesn’t she realize you’re the glue holding this place together?”
“She’s obviously keeping something from us, something she’s either too afraid to tell us or ashamed to admit.”
“What do you suppose it is? Did she have a child out of wedlock? A previous husband? Did she kill someone?”
“It could be that simple. But I don’t think it is.”
“She tore up a letter that no one read but her,” Savannah emphasized. “That’s weird, Trent.”
“If it existed at all. A letter demanding a hefty sum of money sounds like extortion.”
“That implies someone did something wrong and doesn’t want the secret out there. Are you sure she didn’t kill anyone? Maybe your grandfather did.”
“When we catch this nutcase, you can ask him yourself. Revenge is a powerful motive. Colt said that he’s seen instances where people waited decades to get back at a perceived enemy.”
For the rest of the night, Savannah’s mind raced with possibilities as she pondered the mystery surrounding Duchess. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to be scattered all around them, waiting to be put together to reveal the truth that lay hidden just beneath the surface. As they continued their patrol, her shoulders ached from the mounting stress.
She couldn’t shake off the impending danger, a sense of foreboding that seemed to whisper through every tree. She gripped Giselle’s reins tightly, her eyes darting back and forth, scanning their surroundings for movement.
Hours passed with no sign of trouble.
They returned to the stables at midnight, meeting up with the others in the courtyard. It had been a tense but uneventful patrol until Duchess marched up to Trent in a huff. “I’m still the one in charge here. Remember that. Barrett might be gone, but you’re not the one giving orders.”
“And we all appreciate you sending us out in the middle of the night to catch the bad guy if he’s already dead,” Trent fired back. “Why don’t you admit you were in over your head trying to cut a deal with this guy?”
Duchess showed off her ill-tempered side as she chose to butt heads with Trent in front of everyone. “I’ve known guys like this one my entire life. They want something for nothing, something handed to them without doing the hard work. I’m not the doddering old fool that people think I am. Not you. Not Tate. Not the madman who thinks he could scare me into giving him money.”
“So, you finally admit he tried that first,” Trent snapped, realizing the byplay could reveal a crack in her veneer.
“I never admitted any such thing,” Duchess said, her eyes flashing with indignation. “The man was weak. Weak like all the others who thought they could take advantage of me and my family.”
Trent’s jaw clenched as he stared at his grandmother, wondering if she’d gone senile within the last twelve hours, the tension between them thickening with each passing moment.
Savannah watched the exchange in silence, feeling like an outsider caught in the crossfire of a generational feud. What had become of the perfect family she’d met six months ago? This was a side to Duchess that she’d never seen before. Sure, the woman had been frosty at times, maybe even cold-hearted, but now she seemed downright hostile. If this was an act, Duchess Callum deserved an Oscar.
“I think it’s time we all got some rest,” Tate interjected, breaking the charged atmosphere with her voice distinctly calming. “We’ve had a long series of nights. You should go to your corners and postpone this discussion until morning. Right now, we need to take care of the horses and table this for a later time.”
Duchess sent her granddaughter a crushing stare. “This isn’t over. I’m not done with either one of you yet.”
Trent and Tate exchanged confused looks as they watched her hand over her horse’s reins to Woody before storming off toward the main house.
“Was that part of the act, or has she gone completely off the rails?” Tate whispered as she handed off Mermaid to Blake to unsaddle.
“Maybe a little of both,” Trent replied, handing over Phoenix and Giselle to Cecil for grooming.
“Have you figured out a way into the safe yet?”
“Sure, if you consider using a sledgehammer a way in,” Trent cracked.
“Do you have a quieter method for Plan B? Because it needs to be tonight, Trent. The longer we’re kept in the dark, the worst-case scenario we’ll likely face.”
“If the schematics I found online are correct about that model, it was discontinued because it had a major flaw in the design. It was meant to be a wall safe and not a standalone. The back isn’t as thick as the front and two sides. The back is the weak point.”
“Ah, hence the sledgehammer.”
“We might be able to use a chisel, and a hammer wrapped in a towel to muffle the noise. Otherwise, we’ll need to come up with a distraction.”
While their discussion continued, the group of ranch hands—tired and cranky—groomed their rides before heading to their respective quarters, leaving Trent, Tate, and Savannah huddled in the courtyard.
“You don’t need to be a part of this,” Trent told Savannah. “Why don’t you go to my house and get some sleep? I’ll be along shortly.”
“No way. You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you two alone. Someone has to be the voice of reason. I’m staying put.”
Tate sputtered with laughter. “It’s not like we haven’t opened that safe a hundred times since we were children. Not once did Granddad ever lock us out. Now, suddenly, our grandmother wants to keep what’s in there a secret. Why change the combination if everything is above board? If she burned the letter, what’s inside the safe she doesn’t want us to see?”
“In retrospect, it is her safe,” Trent noted.
“Sure, and no one’s been trying to kill us off for more than a week,” Tate offered. “How long should we wait until she falls asleep?”
“Another thirty minutes at least,” Trent answered. “Let’s see if Dolly has anything left over in the kitchen. That quiche is wearing off.”
“I could eat,” Tate said, tugging Savannah with her as they approached the main house. “I always wanted a sister.”
“Don’t go trying to butter me up,” Savannah joked, a sense of unease settling over her. The once welcoming estate now felt like a labyrinth of secrets and hidden agendas. “You want another partner in crime. I’m fairly certain Duchess is the type who will press charges.”
Tate slung an arm over Savannah’s shoulder in a show of sisterly support. “Nah. She’s all bark and no bite. Mostly.”
Once inside the kitchen, Trent turned on the light and headed straight for the refrigerator. “I’m making myself a ham and cheese sandwich. Anyone else care for one?”
“Make it two,” Tate added.
“I can’t believe you guys are thinking of your stomachs at a time like this.”
“Like what? Contemplating breaking into a safe I’ve had access to for most of my life?” Tate grumbled.
“You’re thinking of doing what?” Dolly asked, standing in the doorframe in her bathrobe. “Why would you need to break into the safe?”
“Because the Duchess has gone stark raving mad and locked us out of it,” Tate explained. “She changed the combination. She says someone sent a letter demanding money—and we’re thinking it’s the same person who shot Granddad—even though our grandmother isn’t saying.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. That explains a lot. You don’t need to break into it. I know the combination she likely used.”
Trent stopped making the sandwiches. “You know the combination? How?”
“When you were both away at college, she got mad at Barrett and did the same thing she’s doing now. Every time she gets upset, she changes the combination to the same set of numbers so she can easily remember them. It’s a combination of their wedding anniversary, 5-15-66, and your father’s birthday, 7-11-68.”
“Why didn’t we think of that?” Tate admonished.
“Because we’re idiots,” Trent stated as he made a beeline to Barrett’s office. Tate, Savannah, and Dolly trailed after him.
Inside the study, Trent flipped on the lights and went over to the antique Mosler safe his grandfather had picked up at an auction back in 1971. While Tate stood watch by the door, her eyes peeled for any sign of her grandmother, Trent dialed in the combination: five right, fifteen left, sixty-six right, seven left, eleven right, and sixty-eight left. He was surprised when he turned the handle and the safe opened.
“Told you that was it,” Dolly muttered, standing over his shoulder. “Next time, ask first.”
“I’ll never doubt you again,” Trent said, planting a kiss on the top of her pink-feathered hair.
“Don’t just stand there,” Tate encouraged. “Find out if she kept the letter.”
Trent swung the safe door open and delved into its treasure trove of contents, a hodgepodge of papers he recognized as ordinary vendor invoices. “I’m not sure why these are in the safe instead of the office. But the rest, we’ll need to sort through.”
“Why are invoices in the safe?” Savannah asked. “What’s so special about them? Are they from the same vendors you ordinarily do business with, or are they different?”
Trent picked one up and read over the statement. He frowned. “These are invoices I haven’t seen before. It’s for feed delivered to a different address in Green River, Wyoming, for the Triple C Ranch.”
“What’s the date on them?”
“Most are dated recently. But they go back several years.”
“I thought you said that rancher died,” Savannah said, cocking her head to one side. “I just assumed the Triple C no longer existed.”
“That’s what I believed,” Trent declared. “Tate?”
Tate shrugged. “I don’t know anything about the Triple C. Is it important?”
“It could be.”
“Isn’t anyone going to ask me?” Dolly exclaimed, taking a seat on the leather couch.
Trent pulled out another stack of papers. “Okay, tell us what you know.”
“I overheard an argument between Duchess and Barrett after he found the invoices. They were stuffed in a box upstairs.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three months ago, sometime around the end of February. Barrett demanded that she get rid of the ranch, sell it back to the relatives in Oklahoma before the situation blew up in their faces.”
Tate’s jaw dropped open. “Could that be the key to this entire mess? She’s been running the Triple C in another state?”
Trent waved the documents in the air. “Probably. She obviously didn’t listen or divest herself of the Triple C because some of these invoices are dated from last month. Some of them go back years. So this has been ongoing for a long time before Granddad caught on.”
“Maybe he intercepted that letter,” Savannah suggested. “The one demanding restitution or else.”
“Let’s search through the rest of these documents,” Trent advised. “We need a clearer picture of what’s been going on from the start.”
They divided up the contents, each taking a stack of papers, and began organizing them into piles of invoices, legal filings by a law firm in Oklahoma City that went back decades, employee paystubs for Triple C, and a complete set of financials.
“Yes, well, get this,” Savannah said. “I’m reading the earliest legal filing, dated 1974, claiming she inherited the Triple C in December of 1970 after the owner, Noble Colter, died earlier that year. Apparently, a nephew in Oklahoma, Noble Colter’s only surviving relative, was shocked to learn that he wasn’t the Colter heir. So he sued to declare the will invalid. The case dragged on until the Wyoming courts finally ruled in 1974 that Colter’s will was valid at the time of his death, leaving it to Deanne de Haviland.”
“I’m confused,” Tate stated. “Why didn’t this guy leave the ranch to Barrett Callum?”
Trent stopped digging through his stack of papers. “That’s a good question. Only one person can answer that, and she’s decided not to talk. Who is this nephew? What’s his name?”
Savannah scanned the documents. “Josiah Colter Bohannon versus Deanne de Haviland. Josiah was the son of Noble Colter’s sister, Anna Lee Colter Bohannon. During the legal wrangling, Bohannon stated he wanted to develop the property by dividing it into smaller parcels, creating wealth for his future children.”
“How old would this nephew be now?” Tate asked. “This sounds like it goes back fifty years.”
“He’d be somewhere around eighty, nearing your grandmother’s age,” Savannah replied. She looked at Trent. “That means you’re likely dealing with a child or grandson of Josiah Bohannon, bent on getting back at the Callums.”
“Why the Callums? He sued Deanne de Haviland,” Trent noted. “A son or grandson who believes his family was cheated out of their rightful inheritance fifty years ago by Deanne de Haviland.”
“The courts ruled the will was valid,” Tate pointed out. “It wasn’t like she forced the old rancher into making her his heir, right? But what I don’t understand is why he killed Granddad and not her. If his beef is with her, he’s either a lousy shot or making her life miserable until she pays up.”
“To make a point,” Trent proffered. “To put the fear of God into her. I don’t know. But what you’re missing, Tate, is that she’s been hiding all this from her husband for decades. And us. At some point, did she promise him that she’d sell the ranch back to the people in Oklahoma and then not follow through? Why else would she hide that she’s been running the Triple C since 1974 out of state from California?”
“Oh, my God,” Tate exclaimed. “She’s known about this threat since the night Granddad was shot. She’s kept it to herself all this time. How were we supposed to catch this guy when she won’t cooperate with us?”
Tate let out a gasp for air. “I just thought of something far worse than that.”
“What?”
“Is Josiah Bohannon the person who showed up here twenty-two years ago and killed our parents? Shot the tire out of the truck, and it flipped upside down in the lagoon?”
Trent looked as though he’d been sucker-punched. “She knew about this twenty-two years ago. She knew who was responsible or at least suspected who had caused the accident and said nothing.”
Dolly heaved out a sigh, placing a hand over her mouth. “Surely you’re wrong.”
“I don’t think so. She refused to let anyone bring up their deaths for twenty-two years,” Tate concluded. “When all she cared about was running the Triple C behind everyone’s back. Why did she keep it a secret if everything was above board?”
The possibility that their grandmother had been keeping such a devastating secret for over two decades left Trent reeling. “How could she hold onto such crucial information and not come forward to help get justice? To help us. We could’ve avoided all this now if she’d done the right thing back then.”
“We have to confront her,” Tate said firmly. “She owes us the truth. Hell, she owes everyone the truth.”
Trent nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting the betrayal he felt weighing on his chest. “We can’t let her continue to hide things from us. We need answers, even if they’re hard to hear.”
From five feet away, Savannah noticed something stuck to the inside top of the safe. She bent at the waist to get a better look. “What is that?”
Trent followed the track of her eyes, reached in, and pulled a large, legal-sized envelope from its hiding place. He bent the clasp and looked inside. “Holy shit. This contains the letter she said she burned. It’s addressed to Barrett Callum, dated three days before he died. It reads:
The time has now expired. Action will be taken. Retribution will be swift. So far, you have not lived up to your agreement. We’ve given you plenty of time to restore the Triple C to its rightful ownership for the agreed-upon price. Your refusal to accept our offer has already cost several lives. If you don’t return the Triple C to our family, what happens next is on you. If you can live with the consequences, so be it. There will be blood. ”
“They weren’t asking for money,” Tate surmised. “They offered her money to get their ranch back, although it doesn’t say how much.”
“Did they actually want anything from the safe?” Savannah questioned.
Trent scanned the documents laid out across the floor and the desk. “Have we overlooked something? Is there a document somewhere that spells out the agreement and the agreed-upon price?”
“How long have the two sides been bickering about this stupid ranch?” Tate questioned. “Surely not twenty-two years.”
“Long enough that they were desperate to go to war over it,” Trent assessed, studying the weird note. “Anyone could’ve sent this. The note’s written in cheesy block letters. There’s no return address. It doesn’t look like FedEx or the postal service delivered it. There’s no postmark or tracking number. Those kinds of envelopes are sold at Murphy’s Market.”
Savannah had been digging through documents and held one up. “Here. I found an offer letter, signed by Josiah Bohannon and Deanne de Haviland but never executed, dated twenty-three years ago. Deanne backed out of it. There’s no court stamp on it or anything, no notary, as if it never made it to court for a judge to sign off on or add it into public records. There’s no bill of sale, deed, or transfer of ownership on record.”
“For how much? How much did they offer?”
“Three million,” Savannah replied.
“Three million twenty-three years ago was generous unless this is a huge ranch with ten thousand acres,” Trent noted. “Were our parents’ lives worth three million, I wonder?”
“Well, according to this,” Savannah began, “Deanne de Haviland held onto it, even though a Stillwater, Oklahoma bank sent her a letter stating that the funds were there waiting for the executed documents to arrive. Your grandmother never complied.”
Trent swallowed hard. “No wonder they’re seeking retribution. I can see how this would cause tensions to escalate to this point. Whoever is doing this, he’s not leaving until he gets that agreement signed and executed. That’s why he didn’t kill her. She’s the legal owner of the Triple C. He needs her signature.”
“And she’s willing to risk all our lives to keep what’s hers,” Tate deduced.
“But no one had to die,” Dolly surmised. “All she had to do was sell them the Triple C back twenty-three years ago. If she hadn’t held onto the land, Travis and Linley might still be here.”
“Now you’re onboard with the problem,” Trent returned. “Now you see what’s been wrong with her entire mindset.”
“She’s warped out of her mind,” Dolly added.
“No argument there,” Tate whooshed out. “We need to clean this mess up because I’m not letting this go. I’m getting answers first thing tomorrow morning. Not that I’ll be able to sleep after learning about all this crap.”
With a new resolve, the siblings gathered up the scattered papers and returned them to the safe, putting everything back in its proper place the way they’d found it before locking it back up.
Trent could barely control the disappointment and anger coursing through his veins as they prepared to leave the house, knowing one greedy woman had altered his and Tate’s entire future.