Karen Madero lived at the water’s edge in a small cabin sided with wood shingles, which Kirra guessed had once been dark and earthy in color but now closely resembled parched driftwood.
Reef held out his hand at the base of the steps. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She allowed her fingers to brush his, allowed her mind to drift to the moment he’d said he was falling for her, recalled the soft feel of his lips against hers—the first time in the cave, startled and hesitant, the second on the plane, confident and passionate. She wondered what the next time would be like and how long she’d have to wait.
“Kirra, the door?” Reef gestured with a tilt of his head and a soft smile curling on his lips.
How long had she just been standing in front of it? Embarrassment heated her cheeks as her gloved hand knocked on the plexiglass storm door.
The interior door opened, and an attractive woman in her early-to-mid forties stared out at them, lingering fear edging her beautiful brown eyes.
“Mrs. Madero?”
She clasped her cardigan closed, her fingers tight on the heather-gray material. “Yes?”
“Simon Baker sent us over.” It seemed the less intimidating and still truthful lead-in.
“Oh?” She still hadn’t opened the storm door, and as the frigid March wind blew off the bay, Kirra really wished the woman would.
“We were hoping you might be able to help us.”
Her eyes fluttered. A nervous habit, perhaps? “With what?”
“The Bartholomew and Webster break-ins.”
“I’m afraid that’s ancient history.” She moved to close the door.
“Wait. Please! My cousin’s life may hang in the balance.”
The woman paused, eyeing Kirra curiously. “Who’s your cousin?”
“Frank Jacobs’ daughter, Meg.”
Karen swallowed and then opened the storm door. She looked around before shutting it behind them.
Karen Madero’s home could best be summed up as quaint. A cozy front room greeted them, a navy couch and matching recliner taking up the bulk of the space, a basketful of yarn sitting next to a dark wooden rocker in front of a stone fireplace.
Kirra studied the woman’s stylish wool cardigan more closely and decided by some of the intricate detailing and matching spool of wool in the basket that she’d most likely knit it herself.
“You knit?” She pointed to the basket overflowing with muted grays and bright hues of pink and purple.
Karen nodded, her arms wrapped tightly about her torso. “Can I get either of you a drink? Hot chocolate, coffee, tea?”
“I’d love a hot chocolate,” Kirra said.
“That’d be great.” Reef took a seat beside her on the couch as Karen headed for the kitchen.
Reef shouldered against her, threading his fingers through hers. “How you holding up?”
“Okay.” It wasn’t easy learning your favorite uncle had a sordid past, and she felt as if everything was going in slow motion. “I’m getting anxious. Meg’s still out there, and I have no idea if we’re any closer to finding her.” Not to mention the man following them. Had he known they were headed for Kodiak? If not, how long would it take him to figure it out? He was never far behind, and she wanted to know how he kept managing to do that. Who was feeding him information on their whereabouts?
Karen Madero returned with two mugs in hand, passing one to Kirra and the other to Reef.
Kirra smiled. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Reef said before taking a sip. The hot chocolate was rich and thick and nearly rivaled his sister Piper’s—nearly, but not quite.
Karen settled uneasily in her chair, clearly bracing for the questions to come.
Kirra began. “What can you tell us about that night?”
Karen cleared her throat, staring past them both. “It was twenty years ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. Still see it in my nightmares.”
Kirra set her mug on the coaster. “Simon Baker said there were two break-ins that night?”
Karen nodded.
“The police believe there was only one, or at least only one where they actually entered,” Reef said, cupping his mug, letting the warmth ease the chill in his hands.
Karen looked straight at him. “They’re wrong.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because I was there.”
Just as Simon Baker had said. “You were part of the robbery?” Reef wasn’t seeing it. She hardly looked the criminal sort.
“No.” Karen looked down at her hands clasped tight in her lap. “I was watching.”
“Watching?” Kirra asked, before taking another sip of her hot chocolate.
Reef clutched Kirra’s hand as she conversed with Karen Madero. After all she’d been through, Kirra deserved to be protected.
Inhaling, anger flared inside. If he’d known when they’d been in that parking lot what William Daniels had done . . .
Exhaling slowly, Reef forced his racing heart to calm.
Kirra wasn’t alone in this, not anymore. He was at her side, and that’s where he’d stay.
“I knew Henry Watts was serious trouble,” Karen said, reining in Reef’s attention. “I begged Tommy not to get involved with him, but he didn’t listen. That night, I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I just knew something bad was going to happen, so I followed Tommy to the Bartholomew house. I saw them go inside, heard the alarm go off, and a few minutes later, they rushed out.”
“Did you see them carrying anything?” he asked.
Karen shook her head. “It was dark, and they moved straight for the car, but they seemed excited—not frustrated—and it wouldn’t be hard to conceal what I believe they took.”
“And what’s that?” They knew what Simon claimed, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“A Russian Imperial Fabergé egg.”
“Why do you believe they took that?”
“Because Watts and Tommy had both heard rumors about Bartholomew.”
“What rumors would those be?” Reef asked, knowing all about rumors and false assumptions, but perhaps in this case the rumors were true.
“That Bartholomew was a collector of black-market antiquities, and that he’d recently acquired a rare Fabergé egg. I heard Watts and Tommy talking about it before they left that night, and I am certain it is the reason they broke into the Bartholomew house.”
“Okay, so why the second break-in?” Reef asked. “Why weren’t they satisfied with the egg?” It had to be worth a fortune. His sister-in-law, Bailey, would know for sure. She continued to run her late aunt’s Russian Alaskan Trading Company, and she specialized in antiques from the Imperial period.
“Watts got greedy. Before they got in the car, I heard him tell Tommy and Frank they had one more job. They argued about it as they got in, but Watts, as always, won out. I think Watts planned to make it look like Tommy and Frank shot each other at the second break-in, and then he’d just slip away with the egg. An egg that would never be reported stolen.”
“But the homeowner returned,” Reef said.
“Exactly. Phillip Webster returned armed and shot at and injured Watts before he could kill Frank. Watts returned fire and Frank fled during the shootout. Tommy died, Watts got arrested, and Phillip Webster spent a night in the hospital.”
“So what happened to the egg?”
“Frank got away with it when he fled.”
“My uncle took it?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. After the police arrived at the Webster home, they didn’t find anything on Tommy or Watts, or in the car.”
“But maybe it wasn’t even taken in the first place. You never saw the egg. No one admits to taking it, and even the homeowner insists nothing was stolen.”
“I’m telling you, they came out of the Bartholomew house with something, and I am sure it was the egg. Besides . . . there was the rumor.”
“What rumor?”
“That Frank took the egg and hid it.”
“Hid it?” Kirra frowned.
“To keep the cops off his trail. To make sure no one could tie him to the break-in.”
“And where, supposedly, did he hide it?”
“Along the Iditarod trail.”
Kirra looked at Reef, a thousand thoughts racing across her face, and through his mind.
With obvious frustration, Karen continued, “When they arrested him at the end of the race, he insisted they didn’t take anything from the Bartholomew house—but I know better. They searched his house and everywhere else they could think of. . . . Where else could it be?”
“Okay . . .” Kirra looked at Reef and then back to Karen. “So you think Watts believes my uncle hid the Fabergé egg and is holding my cousin hostage until he retrieves the egg and brings it to him?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let’s say the egg was stolen and Frank did hide it along the Iditarod trail. Once he got out of prison, why wouldn’t he have retrieved it for himself?” Kirra asked.
“The egg would be too hot to sell anywhere except on the black market, which would bring Bartholomew back into it. I believe Frank just left it out there to rid himself of it and start a fresh life.”
“So you believe that a Fabergé egg has been hidden somewhere along the Iditarod trail this entire time?” Reef asked, the notion highly intriguing. To think something so valuable could be out there somewhere was crazy.
“Yes,” Karen said with absolute certainty to her tone.
Kirra’s mind was swirling as they said good-bye to Karen Madero and headed down the front porch steps. The temperature had dropped, the sky gray and thick.
She looked up at Reef. “What do you think?”
“It’s an interesting theory, but I don’t know if it’s more than that.”
“If it is, if Karen’s theory is true, then how on earth can we help Frank? Only he knows where the Fabergé egg is hidden, so only he can retrieve it. And why would others be in danger?”
“I don’t know.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I believe we can best help by finding Meg. By focusing on her trail.”
“So we head back to Seward, where she was last seen, or back to the race?”
“Let’s call Jake and get his input, and we should call Bailey about the egg.”
“Great idea. With her expertise in Russian artifacts, she might be able to offer some helpful insight.”
“Before we leave Kodiak, though, there are three more people we need to speak with.”
“Henry Watts?” She wasn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with the man who could be responsible for her cousin’s kidnapping. Was it his man who had been following them or the ex-con himself?
“Yes,” Reef said, taking her hand in his as they made the short walk back to their rental car. “Along with Phillip Webster and David Bartholomew. Maybe after all this time and under the circumstances, Bartholomew will admit if the egg was actually stolen.”
She exhaled. “We can pray.” She’d been doing a lot of that lately, and it felt good.
“Excellent plan,” Reef said, helping her into the car.
“Wait. What plan?”
He moved around to his side and climbed in. He started the engine, then reached over for her gloved hands.
She eyed him expectantly.
“You said we should pray.”
She smiled. “Yes. I did.”
“Would you like to, or shall I?” he asked.
“You go ahead.” She was curious to hear what was heaviest on his heart.
He clasped her hands, dipped his head slightly, and closed his eyes. She did the same.
“Father, we come to you in need of direction. We don’t know which path to follow or even if we’re on the right one. Please guide us. You know who has Meg and why they have her. Don’t let us waste time chasing the wrong direction; don’t let us miss something we need to learn. We ask your guidance—and protection from the man chasing us. Thank you for keeping us safe, and thank you for Kirra and the amazing woman she is. We pray you’ll be with Frank and Meg as they face fear we can’t imagine. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Kirra kept her hold on his hands tight. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I hope it’s the beginning of a wonderful relationship between us and the Lord.”
She swallowed. Relationship? With him and between them and the Lord? One didn’t get much more serious than that.