Page 35 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

Of course his grandfather had meant the cave. Limestone caves were cool, dark, and dry. That’s why the Nazis had stored much of their looted art treasures there during the war. Why the US government had warehoused vital federal records in caves for decades.

They were the perfect place to hide and preserve valuable objects.

Like the paintings and jewelry his grandfather had taken from an estate in Germany during World War II after the US Army moved into the area and the owners fled.

And since lore pegging the place as haunted would discourage unauthorized exploration, he was free to roam about in the cave without fear of discovery.

He paced over to the window in the guest bedroom of the house where he’d been relegated after the professor took up residence in the cottage that had always been his private domain.

If she hadn’t spotted his flashlight, no one would ever have suspected there was activity on the premises at night.

He took a gulp of the scotch and glared at the cottage.

At least Cara would be gone soon, back in Cape for the weekend, and he’d have free run of the place.

Unless the sheriff got Natalie to agree to install security cameras.

The man had made a valiant effort when he’d stopped in after sharing cookies and a kiss with Cara outside the cottage.

Steven scowled as he replayed the touching little scene he’d watched from his bedroom that had confirmed what he’d already concluded.

The two of them were smitten with each other—meaning Cara had the sheriff’s ear. If she saw anything else suspicious, he’d be all over it.

Luckily, Natalie hadn’t been convinced that installing cameras would produce results.

And he’d reinforce that conclusion over the next two days.

But at the moment, the cameras were less of a worry than the questions Brad Mitchell had asked him about his whereabouts the day Micah died.

Those had come out of left field, after Natalie retired to her room for her afternoon nap.

Steven finished his drink. Examined the empty glass.

Dare he have a third?

No.

He shouldn’t be drinking at all. He had to keep his wits about him.

Fisting his free hand at his side, he drew a steadying breath.

Who knew why the sheriff was checking alibis? The man hadn’t provided a rationale, other than to say he was talking to everyone who visited Natalie’s place. It had all been very low key and friendly.

But his eyes had been sharp. Probing.

Conclusion?

Brad Mitchell wasn’t wasting his time tracking people down to talk to unless he had serious cause to believe Micah’s death hadn’t been an accident.

Steven did his best to tamp down the sudden uptick in his pulse. There was no cause for worry. He was in the clear.

Thank goodness he’d had the foresight to leave Saturday evening and go to his gym on Sunday morning, where there had been plenty of witnesses to attest to his presence the day Micah had died.

What no one knew was that he’d hung out all night in his car on the vacant property he’d scouted out half a mile from Natalie’s.

Nor did anyone know he’d gone straight to the gym on Sunday morning after he’d done what he had to do, stopping en route only to dispose of the bloody ski cap in a quick-shop dumpster.

All the witnesses knew was that he’d been on the elliptical by a few minutes after nine o’clock.

So whatever had the sheriff sniffing around would lead him nowhere.

Nevertheless, going forward it would be prudent to search only during Cara’s absences.

No need for any more Thursday arrivals. He’d just have to extend his Friday and Saturday hunts to compensate for the lost night.

Since he could only disappear for so long on his daily “hikes,” evening sessions would be in order again—just as they’d been after Micah had started giving him the evil eye.

Shouldn’t be a problem, though. Natalie had grown accustomed to him sleeping late.

And long nights would be worth it if his clandestine forays led somewhere.

He crossed to the bed and picked up the notebook where he’d been mapping the cave as he searched. Paged through it, frowning. The network of passageways was a literal maze, leading to a hunt that was long and frustrating.

Was it possible he’d missed some clue that would make it easier?

He zipped open the side pocket on his suitcase and pulled out the folder containing the letter he’d found among his father’s papers last spring after his dad’s sudden death, along with his grandfather’s handwritten inventory. Sat on the edge of the bed to reread the letter.

Steven,

There is a less-than-honorable chapter in our family history that I must share with you. I didn’t learn about it myself until shortly before my father died fifteen years ago.

As I sat with him during his final hours, he rambled quite a bit.

One of the things he told me was that while he was overseas during the war, he took valuables from an estate in Germany after US forces captured the area.

Once he returned home, he hid the valuables on Robert’s property, unbeknownst to his brother.

The most I could get from him was that the objects were tucked somewhere safe, down in the dark.

He kept trying to throw the covers off his bed, saying he had to go back and get them, return them to their rightful owner.

I thought the story might be nothing more than a hallucination, which can happen near the end of life. But I found the enclosed list among his papers, along with the location of the estate in Germany, so I assume what he told me was true.

I always intended to follow through on his wish to return the items but had no idea where to look. And I’ve been occupied with other, more pressing issues. Perhaps you can take this up as time permits.

Steven closed the folder.

Yes, he’d definitely taken up the search.

But he had no intention of returning any treasures he found.

Maybe, if clients weren’t fleeing and his business wasn’t floundering after bad investment decisions, he’d have considered it.

Likewise if his father had bequeathed him any money instead of losing his shirt in a bad business deal that had left liens on the property his son should have inherited—no doubt the pressing issues he’d referred to in his letter.

Or if said son wasn’t hanging by his fingernails financially, a hair’s breadth away from losing everything.

That kind of jeopardy could lead a man to do desperate things.

Like commit murder.

The scotch gurgled in his stomach, and he swallowed.

That had been unfortunate.

But Micah had been unnerving, with his sudden propensity to materialize out of the woods and stare at him. Like he knew that the St. Louis cousin whose visits had mushroomed in recent months was up to something shady.

What choice had he had, except to eliminate that threat? It wasn’t like anyone but Natalie had even noticed the passing of the man. He’d been a nobody, with nothing of value to his name. Not only warped but a loser through and through.

It might be possible to survive on a paltry salary living as a groundskeeper on a remote estate like this, but if you aspired to more, if you wanted to make your mark in the world, you needed solid financial footing.

The price the items on his grandfather’s list would command on the black market would get him closer to that goal.

Access to Natalie’s funds, which would be his someday anyway, would also help—if he could ever convince her to move to St. Louis and cede full control of her financial affairs to him. But that had been a losing battle up to this point.

Leaving him no other way to fix his money problems besides exploiting the potential alternative source of income that had dropped into his lap.

If he could find the jewelry and the paintings.

Clearly there were many more trips to that abysmal cave in his future.

He suppressed a shudder as he slid the folder and notebook into his overnight bag.

That so-called haunted cave could freak a person out.

But he’d suck it up and get the job done. Just like he’d gotten the gory, stomach-churning job done with Micah. As long as the sheriff left him alone, Natalie remained convinced that security cameras were overkill, and Cara didn’t stumble on any other helpful tips for law enforcement.

Because he was in too deep to back off. After all the hours he’d invested and all the unpleasantness he’d had to put up with, he wasn’t giving up his quest. Spending his nights in a tomb-like cave was no fun.

And Chloe was getting annoyed with his every-weekend visits to his cousin.

Not that she wasn’t busy on weekends too with her vet practice, but she wasn’t going to play second fiddle forever.

And he needed to keep her around in case he had to restock his supply of sux on the sly.

Who knew when he’d started dating her that one day he’d have use for a drug designed to produce short-term paralysis?

He pulled his laptop from its case, moved to the overstuffed chair by the bed, and accessed the dark web.

Selling his bounty would be tricky, especially the paintings, but there were buyers for everything—including stolen goods—as long as you did your homework.

If the jewelry was as gem-studded as his grandfather’s list suggested, however, it might be safer to take out the stones and sell them loose to remove the connection to their original setting.

Whichever option he chose, a source of serious money was sitting in a cave almost within spitting distance, and he wasn’t giving up until he had it in hand.

As for anyone else who got in his way?

Like his long-lost relative, Marie, they too would come to a bad and mysterious end.