Lost and Found Read online

  Lost and Found

  ❖

  Dallas Schulze

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dallas Schulze's affection for old movies led directly to her writing Sam and Bab's story in Lost and Found, which was inspired by the chemistry between Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night. In addition to viewing old films, Dallas also enjoys collecting recordings of old radio shows. Along with her husband, she makes her home in Southern California.

  Lost and Found

  Dallas Schulze

  Published September 1988

  First printing July 1988

  First Australian Paperback Edition January 1989

  ISBN 0 373 16263 4

  Copyright © 1988 by Dallas Schuize. All rights reserved.

  Philippine copyright 1988.

  Australian copyright 1988.

  New Zealand copyright 1988.

  Prologue

  "I've always suspected that I was adopted. Now I know it must be true. I can't possibly be related to such a collection of half-witted birdbrains!"

  "Really, Babette. That's most unkind. I don't think it's the least bit justified, do you,Clarence?"

  Clarence Smith nodded his bald head, looking like an occidental Buddha. "Quite right, Bertie. Quite right. Unjustified, Babs. Unjustified."

  His great-niece ignored him, as did everyone else in the room. The only person who had paid any attention to Clarence in the past fifty years was his wife, and no one paid much attention to Bertie, either.

  Babs focused her attention on the person she knew to be the real culprit. Her aunt Dodie was the only one in the room with brains enough to come up with this half-baked scheme. Dodie Davis met her niece's fiery look without flinching. She'd done what was right, as always.

  "Aunt Dodie?"

  The older woman imperiously raised one eyebrow. "Don't use that tone with me, Babette. This is no concern of yours."

  "No concern of mine? You can't possibly be that stupid."

  Dodie bristled, her thin mouth tightening until it almost vanished. "Don't be impertinent."

  "I'm too old to be impertinent. I'm being downright rude but it's nothing compared to what I'd like to do."

  "I think you're getting a bit hysterical about this, Babs." Her uncle Lionel cleared his throat importantly and then ruined the effect by glancing at his wife as if seeking her permission to speak. When she didn't frown him down, he dared to pull his soft features into a fatherly grimace. "I'm sure once you've had a chance to calm down, you'll realize that you're overreacting and—"

  "Overreacting? You think I'm overreacting? What do you think Eduardo Stefanoni is going to do when he finds out you've sold him cheap fakes?"

  "Reproductions, Babs. They're hardly cheap fakes."

  "They're not the originals you promised him."

  Lionel stared at her for a moment and then lifted his hand to stroke the neat beard he'd grown recently, thinking it made him look more manly. All it succeeded in doing was making him look like a furry weakling. He glanced at his wife who ignored him, as she'd done for most of their thirty-five years of wedded bliss.

  "Er.. .ah.. .um."

  Babs's brown eyes darkened with contempt. "Hemming and hawing isn't an answer, Uncle Lionel. Did you or did you not sell Stefanoni objets d'art that you claimed were originals?"

  "Really, Babette, this is not a court of law. That tone of voice is completely out of place." Lionel subsided gratefully into the background as his niece's demanding look shifted from him to his wife. Dodie was much better equipped to deal with the girl. She was too willful by half. Always had been.

  "Believe me, my reaction is restrained compared to what Stefanoni is going to do when he finds out that you've sold him fakes. Don't you know who he is?"

  Bertie took it upon herself to answer the question. "He's a businessman here in L.A. I read that in the paper just last week." She looked so proud of herself. Babs wanted to tell her to wake up and smell the coffee. But Bertie hadn't been awake since before Babs was born. There was no sense in trying to change her now.

  "Aunt Bertie, Eduardo Stefanoni owns a good portion of southern California. He has strong ties to organized crime. If you had to decide on a life of crime, couldn't you have chosen some nice midwestern banker who was going to hang the paintings in his guest bathroom? The only way you could have chosen a worse person to bilk was if you'd sold the stuff to Don Corleone."

  "I don't believe we know Don Corleone, do we, Clarence? Besides, I can't believe that nice Mr. Stefanoni is a criminal. He was very polite. He said he liked my shawl."

  Her husband nodded. "Very polite, Bertie. Very polite. But I don't think we could know this Corleone fellow, my dear. I think he's a television person. Don't think he exists at all."

  Babs stared at them, wondering how it was possible to be so out of touch with reality and still be alive. They would never understand the dangerous repercussions of what they'd done.

  "Give it up, cuz. What's done is done. The artwork is gone. Stefanoni got a great price. We got enough money to hold house and home together for another few months. Everybody's happy."

  Babs turned to look at her cousin. Of them all, Lance was the one who suited the magnificent room the most. How hatchet-faced Dodie and weak-chinned Lionel had managed to produce a son with such Adonis-like features was one of the great mysteries of the Western world. The fact that he had the morals of an alley cat and the ethics of a squid had not yet begun to show on his face. At thirty, he was the picture of masculine perfection. And he knew it.

  Having grown up with him, Babs was unimpressed. In her opinion, Lance was the ultimate example of beauty being only skin deep. When you scratched the surface, there was nothing underneath but a vain, shallow man, who spent his time looking for someone else to blame for everything that went wrong in his life. She didn't like him but she was desperate for someone to understand the situation.

  "Lance, you've got to know what's going to happen when Stefanoni finds out he's got fakes. The man didn't get where he is by letting people cheat him."

  "Don't get so panicky. Who's to say he's going to find out? Besides, what can he do? We told him the sales had to be under-the-table because of Greatgrandfather's will. He won't go to the police."

  "People like Eduardo Stefanoni do not sit quietly while amateur crooks walk over them."

  Lance widened his eyes mockingly. "Why, cuz, how is that possible? He was so nice and he admired Aunt Bertie's shawl."

  "He would have admired an old tennis shoe if he thought it would help him get his hands on the Caravaggio."

  Lance lifted muscular shoulders in an innocent shrug. "I think you're overreacting. What can he do?"

  "He could have you all fitted for cement shoes."

  Lance shrugged again and Babs bit her tongue to keep from shrieking in sheer frustration. How could she get it across to them that this was not something they could sweep under the Aubusson rug and forget? She drew a deep breath and decided to try a different angle.

  "I don't understand why you needed the money anyway. When I left for Europe, the quarterly allowance from the trust fund had just been deposited. That was only six weeks ago. What happened?"

  "I don't know that it's any of your business. We didn't touch any of your money." Lance's beautiful mouth curled in a sneer.

  "You may not have used my money directly but you knew that I'd be the one who'd have to bail you out of this mess. Where do you think the money is going to come from to pay Stefanoni back? I'm sure none of you has a dime left."

  Her gaze swept the small gathering scathingly. Clarence looked confused and Bertie looked vaguely distressed as if she knew Babs was angry but couldn't quite put her finger on the reason. Dodie's mouth tightened, furious that anyone sho
uld dare to question anything she chose to do. Lionel stared at his pudgy hands, clasped over the straining buttons of his vest. He knew that look of Babs's and he didn't want to meet her eyes. Babs's lip curled and her gaze shifted to Lance. His beautiful blue eyes stared back at her, full of malicious amusement.

  "What are you going to do, cuz? Throw a screaming fit like you did when you were eight?"

  "No, I'm going to do something a lot more effective. You've got ten days to go to Stefanoni and tell him what you've done and give him the Caravaggio and anything else you sold him."

  "And then what? Are you going to call the police?"

  Her eyes settled on Lance, chill with dislike. Her wide mouth curved in a smile every bit as nasty as his. "I'm going to talk to Finney and explain exactly what you've done."

  The mention of the family lawyer had exactly the effect she expected. According to the terms of her greatgrandfather's will, if any of the family heirlooms were sold for any reason, the money he'd left in trust for his relatives would be turned over to several charities. If Finney were to find out what had been done, they'd all lose every cent. Except Babs. Her trust fund came from her grandfather and was separate from the others.

  The amusement died out in Lance's eyes, to be replaced with an expression that bordered on hatred. Lionel twitched, his pale eyes taking on a frantic look. Dodie paled but she was made of sterner stuff than her husband. Even Clarence looked worried.

  "Now Babette, that's not a nice thing to say, is it, Clarence?" Bertie's thin fingers twisted in the yards of fringing on her shawl.

  "Not nice, m'dear, not nice at all." Clarence almost managed to sound stern.

  "Don't be ridiculous, Babette. You're not going to do any such thing. I forbid it." Dodie's stern words didn't conceal her concern. She knew as well as any of them that her niece was capable of almost anything.

  "Bad idea, Babs." Lionel clearly felt obligated to say something.

  It was left to Lance to have the final comment. "You're bluffing. You know what would happen if you told Finney."

  "I think the terms of Great-grandfather's will were quite specific. You'd lose everything. The house, the money, everything. It all goes to suitable charities. And I don't think any of you qualify."

  "You wouldn't do it because then you'd be stuck with all of us hanging on your pocket."

  Her smile was chill. "No, I don't think so. I've been paying your way long enough. I'll make sure Bertie and Clarence are settled in a nice little house but that's it. Your father could brush up his law degree and actually try to make a living at something. I'm sure Aunt Dodie could find something to do. And you, cuz, you can always become a gigolo. You're little more than that now. Only I'm not getting anything in return for my money."

  Lance jerked upright and took a quick step toward her, his features twisted. "You little bitch! What right have you got to act like a princess talking to the peasants?"

  Babs stood her ground, ignoring the fact that he towered over her by a full twelve inches. "If I were talking to peasants, I'd be a lot more polite."

  "That's enough from both of you." Dodie's harsh voice broke the building tension. Lance held Babs's contemptuous look a moment longer before he looked away. He returned to his position leaning against the mantel, his broad shoulders tight with anger. Babs looked at her aunt, raising one brow in question.

  "I'm very serious about this, Aunt Dodie. You've got ten days."

  "I can see that you're upset, Babette, but there's no reason to become hysterical." The tone was as close to placating as the older woman could manage. "Perhaps we were a bit hasty in selling the Caravaggio.''

  "The fake Caravaggio."

  "The reproduction. However, I think when you consider, you'll see that it's really not worth all this upset."

  "The only good part of this whole mess is that if Stefanoni takes out a contract, you'll at least be out of my hair."

  "That's not amusing, Babs." Lionel ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

  "I didn't mean it to be amusing." Babs thrust her fingers through her hair, ruffling it into shaggy dark blond waves. "I'm trying to get across to you that this isn't a game. When Eduardo Stefanoni finds out you've sold him fakes, he's not going to say 'They're Malones. I guess they can do anything they want.' He doesn't know a Malone from a chimney sweep. He's going to be angry and he's going to do something about it. It isn't likely to be nice."

  "As I said, perhaps we were a bit hasty but Mr. Stefanoni leaves for Italy in three weeks."

  "Do you think they're not going to recognize a fake Caravaggio in Italy? He was Italian, for crying out loud!"

  "Mr. Stefanoni is not the major issue here. You seem to think that we've been demanding too much of you financially. I think when you look at it, you'll see how foolish that is. After all, once you and Lance are married, the money will belong to both of you equally—"

  Babs's laughter cut her off in midsentence. "Lance and I married? You've got to be kidding. I thought you gave up that idea years ago."

  "I don't see—" Dodie began, her mouth tight and her spine stiff as a board.

  "No, I'm sure you don't see, Aunt Dodie." Babs bit her lip, trying to hold back the laughter. "Let me lay it out for you. I am never going to marry Lance. I don't like him and he doesn't like me. Even if we did like each other—which I can't imagine—I'd never marry someone who was prettier than I was and who spends more time in front of the bathroom mirror than I do."

  "Really, Babette—"

  "No, don't lecture me anymore, Aunt Dodie. I'm too old to learn respect for my elders." Babs glanced around the room, all amusement fading. "I meant what I said. Ten days and then I go to Finney. You'll lose everything." She looked at Lance, ignoring the bitter dislike reflected in his eyes. "It just might do you good. Tell Margate that I won't be home for dinner." She walked to the door, her steps brisk. "Remember, ten days."

  The massive door shut behind her small figure and the room was quiet. On the mantel the Seth Thomas clock pinged the half hour, breaking the stillness. Those left in the room stared at each other in silence. In their eyes was the dazed look of people who'd survived an earthquake.

  "I think she means it." It was Lionel who spoke first.

  "Mother, we've got to do something about her. If she talks to Finney___"

  "I know what will happen if she talks to Finney, Lance." Dodie continued to stare at the door.

  Bertie fussed with her shawl. "I'm sure Babette wouldn't do anything nasty. She was always such a sweet child. Noisy and perhaps a teeny bit willful but very sweet. Don't you agree, Clarence?"

  Dodie ignored the elderly pair. "I'll have to have a talk with her."

  "I don't think talking is going to do any good, Mother. You know what a stubborn little witch she can be. We're going to have to do something more drastic than just talk to her."

  Dodie nodded slowly. "I'm afraid you're right, Lance. We may have to do something more drastic."

  ❧

  MALONE HEIRESS KIDNAPPED

  Police Stumped for Clues

  Babette Anne Malone was kidnapped two days ago by person or persons unknown. Ms. Malone was riding near her home in Montecito Monday afternoon, as was her usual practice. Her horse returned to the stables without her. A note was pinned to the saddle stating that the heiress would not be harmed and that a ransom demand would follow. As of this writing, no such demand has been received.

  In six months, on her twenty-fifth birthday, Ms. Malone will inherit a fortune estimated to be worth nearly fifty million dollars. The money is part of the fabled Malone empire, which began in the late nineteenth century by Carlisle Malone and continued to grow in the twentieth under the leadership of his son Caldwell, grandfather of Ms. Malone.

  In the late 1950s, Malone stock went public and Caldwell retired to a supervisory position, leaving control of the corporation's many interests in the hands of a board of directors.

  Ms. Malone's father, Earl, was being groomed for the position of CEO
when he and his wife, Lenore, were killed in an auto crash shortly after their daughter's seventh birthday.

  Caldwell survived his son by only a few months, and when he died the bulk of his fortune was put in trust for his young granddaughter. His granddaughter's money is held until she marries or reaches her twenty-fifth birthday.

  Ms. Malone is the niece of well-known adventure writer Emmet Malone.

  The Malone family has offered a reward of fifty thousand dollars for any information leading to the whereabouts of Ms. Malone or her abductors.

  Chapter 1

  "Dammit!" Sam shifted carefully, reaching backward to grasp a long thorny branch and ease its hold on his coat. Despite his care, he heard the nylon rip as the branch came loose and he gritted his teeth against the urge to turn and yank the ancient rosebush out of the ground.

  The plant couldn't have made the last few hours any more miserable if it had been guided by a malevolent intelligence. At one time, it had been part of the elaborate landscaping that had surrounded the Empire Hotel in northern Idaho. The hotel had been abandoned a quarter of a century ago and the rosebushes had been left to grow in to a near impenetrable tangle of thorny canes.

  Sam eased forward, hoping to avoid any more encounters with the bush behind him. The fact that the plants had provided him cover for the last sixteen hours didn't do much to ease his irritation. Sixteen hours ago he hadn't been cold and hungry. He shifted again and then muttered irritably. The roses might have provided him with cover but they hadn't done a very generous job of it. The hollow he'd found allowed him to watch the ramshackle old building without being seen, but it didn't include room to stretch out.

  "I should have been a stockbroker. At least I could have been comfortable. This is a ridiculous occupation for a grown man. Playing cops and robbers. I should settle down and get a real job."