Hidden Treasures. Kathryn Springer
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she knew Ferris personally. He supposedly left a gift for her on an estate he visited in northern Wisconsin almost twenty years ago. And she hired you to find it for her.”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Patrick said, way too cheerfully in Meghan’s opinion.
Of their own volition, Meghan’s fingers walked across the desk toward the plate of Oreos. Until she realized she’d eaten them all. “Why doesn’t this Nina Bonnefield go back to the estate and retrieve it herself? If it really belongs to her.”
There, she’d said it.
“That’s…complicated.”
Of course it was. “Dad, this whole thing sounds kind of fishy to me. You said she isn’t even sure if the gift Ferris left for her was a painting. Maybe it was a coffee mug. Or a souvenir toothpick holder.”
“For reasons Nina—Ms. Bonnefield—can’t share, she can’t go back. That’s why she needs my help. There’s a rumor the island is going up for sale and—”
“Wait a second. Did you say island?” Meghan interrupted.
“The Halloway estate is on a private island on Blue Key Lake, near the Chequamegon National Forest. It’s been in the family for years but they closed it up in the late eighties.”
Halloway. Halloway. The name stirred up something in Meghan’s subconscious, but another thought darted in and pushed that one aside for the moment.
“So Nina is somehow related to the family that owns the island?”
Patrick’s gaze bounced around the room and finally came to rest on Meghan. “No offense, but I promised Ms. Bonnefield I’d keep that part confidential. Jacob and I checked out her story, and both of us believe she’s telling the truth. She sent me a copy of the letter from Ferris and it does sound as if he left something for her. A thank you of some sort for her friendship and encouragement.”
“That would be some thank-you,” Meghan muttered.
“His paintings are valuable?”
“Paintings, drawings, sculptures. He dabbled in everything. Ferris is one of those artists who gained fame postmortem. By the time the critics finally noticed him and acknowledged his genius, he was in the final stages of pancreatic cancer. The collection of his work isn’t all that sizable because his career was short, so what’s out there got snapped up right away. If there’s still one floating around, I’m sure someone would have noticed. It may have already been sold.”
“Or tucked away in a closet on an estate in northern Wisconsin.”
And Meghan thought she was an optimist.
She tucked her teeth into her bottom lip and tried to figure out a way to discourage her father from getting himself into a potentially sticky situation. And helping oneself to a valuable piece of art definitely fell into that category, no matter who claimed ownership. “There has to be a way Nina Bonnefield can find out if the Ferris is there without involving you.”
“There is a reason, but I can’t tell you what it is. It’s—”
“Confidential. I know.” She hated to ask the obvious. “So what’s your plan?”
Patrick’s eyes lit up and Meghan tried not to groan. Somehow she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.
“The house is going to be opened up temporarily for a family wedding in a few weeks. According to my sources—”
Meghan blinked. His sources?
“—after the wedding, the Halloways plan to auction off the contents of the house before the actual sale of the island goes through. From what I’ve heard, the family used to be quite a patron of the arts. There’s a sizable collection of paintings and sculptures there. I’m more familiar with antiques, so I wouldn’t be much help.”
Meghan’s eyes narrowed. She had a background in art. She remembered what her dad had initially said about her finding the Ferris. She’d assumed he’d been kidding. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“Dad, please tell me you aren’t thinking I’m a shoo-in for the job.”
“Of course not, sweetheart.” Patrick looked surprised by the suggestion. “I told Ms. Bonnefield you’re a photographer.”
That much was true. Meghan relaxed a little, relieved she and her dad were on the same page. It didn’t sound like either of them would be of much use to the mysterious Ms. Bonnefield. Thank goodness.
“So she decided to find someone else to play Nancy Drew?”
“Not quite.” Patrick plucked off his glasses and rubbed them against his shirttail.
Warning bells suddenly went off in Meghan’s head. That particular gesture meant her father was either nervous—or stalling. “Daaaad?”
“I had no idea she was going to pull a few strings.”
“What kind of strings?”
“Parker Halloway has hired you as her wedding photographer.”
“Wedding…” Meghan surged to her feet. “I don’t photograph people. Didn’t you tell Ms. Bonnefield that?”
“I did.” Patrick smiled. “But she made you an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Meghan’s teeth rattled in her head as the small fishing boat bounced over the waves toward Blue Key Island. She kept her gaze trained on the slate-shingled roof peeking through a shield of poplar trees. Proof, at least, that one of Nina Bonnefield’s claims was true. The Halloway house really did exist.
Meghan sincerely hoped the woman hadn’t been making up the rest of the story.
She still couldn’t believe she’d adjusted her work schedule to accommodate a visit to the Halloway estate in the first place. But like Joshua scoping out the Promised Land, a reconnaissance mission was all Meghan would agree to. Unlike her father, she didn’t trust a woman who’d suddenly appeared out of cyberspace, claiming a friendship with a famous artist but not willing to disclose the nature of her sketchy relationship with the Halloways. Or why she couldn’t simply knock on the door and ask for her property back.
It took several days of negotiations with Patrick, but in the end Ms. Bonnefield had reluctantly accepted Meghan’s terms. If Meghan happened to spot an authentic Ferris hanging on the wall, it was up to its owner to figure out a way to claim it.
Meghan didn’t trust Ms. Bonnefield but she trusted her dad. And it wasn’t his fault that the thought of hunting for a work of art wasn’t nearly as nerve-racking as playing wedding photographer. Even though she couldn’t argue with Patrick’s assertion that it made sense for her to be in a position where she could wander around the island—and the house—with a camera.
The boat tripped over a wave and Meghan grabbed the side to steady herself.
“It’s a little choppy today,” Verne Thatcher shouted above the roar of the outboard motor. “Storm’s moving in quicker than they predicted.”
Meghan glanced from the grizzled old fishing guide to the batting of dark clouds unfolding across the sky.
She and Patrick had spent the better part of the afternoon roaming through the sleepy little town of Willoughby, trying to find someone with a boat who was willing to take her across. With a major thunderstorm in the forecast, no one seemed eager to go out on the water. Or maybe it had something to do with the reason for Meghan’s trip to the island.
Judging from the closed expressions on the faces of the locals whenever Meghan and Patrick mentioned the name Halloway, it was clear the family wasn’t going to win any popularity contests. Meghan didn’t want to speculate as to the reason why.
Close to giving up, they’d settled into a booth at the local diner to discuss their options when a shadow fell across Meghan’s