Page 4 of Lost Cause
Haughty was the word that came to Burke to describe this guy’s tone. He could be acting due to stress from the theft. Burke didn’t want to make it worse for him by responding with a sharp reply.
“Unavoidable transportation delay,” he said. “I would’ve been here sooner if your call indicated you were in any danger and needed immediate attention.”
“It seems your understanding of the matter is quite limited.” Mr. Lemoine’s upper lip curled ever so slightly. “I’m always in danger.”
Burke shot a look at Abby for her reaction. She planted a hand on her hip, long lashes blinking at him. Apparently she hadn’t heard about this either.
He returned his attention to Victor. “Then let’s sit down, and you can tell us about it.”
Victor didn’t speak, but clunked with his cane to his chair in the library and gingerly lowered himself to the worn cushion. Burke waited for Abby to enter the room and drop onto the sofa’s plush cushions, slightly uneven from years of wear.
Her black tactical pants and matching polo shirt spoke to her law enforcement training and professionalism, but he saw more than the uniform. So much more. Her chin-length hair hung around her face, and her large brown eyes remained sharp.
Memories of how those luminous eyes often sparked in response to him came back. But more so, they reminded him of everything he respected about her. Resourceful, intuitive, compassionate, quietly courageous. Not to mention grounded in an unshakable faith.
She looked at him, and he jerked his attention away like a teenage boy with a crush.
Seriously? Get control.He remained standing and formulated his line of questioning. “So, Victor, tell us about this theft, and the danger you think you’re in.”
“Notthink.I’m in danger. I know I am.” He stared at the fireplace, silent and imposing, then whipped his attention back to them. “You must promise to keep the information I’m about to share to yourselves.”
Abby met the older man’s gaze with the confidence of a seasoned investigator. “If you want us to find your missing item, I’ll have to share with my team everything you tell me. We’ll keep it strictly between us.”
“And you, Detective?” Victor raised a bushy eyebrow. “Can you guarantee this will not leak to the public?”
Burke couldn’t offend this guy if he wanted to keep his job, the only thing he had left in his life, but he also wouldn’t make a promise that he couldn’t keep. “I’m sorry, Victor, butI can’t guarantee that. I can assure you that I won’t share any information unless absolutely necessary, and absolutely nothing with the public without your knowledge.”
Victor sniffed, as if the air smelled foul. “I suppose it’s the best I can do. But this has remained a secret since 1887, and I would hate for it to get out now.”
“An extremely long time to keep something quiet.” Abby ran her gaze over him. “This all started back then?”
“Yes, 1887 in France under the rule of the French Third Republic. Just after the fall of Napoleon III and the monarchy, the Republic saw the Crown Jewels as symbols of tyranny.” His brows drew together, forming deep creases across his forehead. “They decided to liquidate almost the entire royal collection, both to make a political statement and to raise funds. The sales included multiple royal crowns—some bejeweled, some stripped. Many were bought by private collectors or dismantled for their gems.”
“Interesting story, but what does it have to do with you?” Burke asked.
Victor lifted his pointy chin and aimed it at Burke. “My great-grandfather, Valère Lemoine, was an art historian living in Paris at the time, and he bought the Crown of Napoleon III to bring it back to America. When he returned, he had this house built.”
“It’s a long way from Paris to the Oregon coast.” Burke quickly reviewed information from his Oregon history classes to try to remember what was going on in the state in the late 1800s. “If I remember it right, Oregon was just being developed then. Kind of rowdy and unruly in those days for keeping an expensive item safe.”
“Probably not the best place for an art historian to find a job either,” Abby added.
Victor wagged a finger at her. “It’s not like he ever worked a day in his life. He didn’t need to. Not with our family money.He’d gotten an art history degree to please his father, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was a real adventurer. After a single trip out here, he wanted to claim land and build before anyone else came along to spoil the nearby beauty.”
Again, interesting, but it still didn’t explain what was going on. “So what does this crown in the 1800s have to do with your call?”
“Like I said.” His tone turned condescending as if he’d expected them to figure everything out by now. “He had this house built, and he included a special hidden display case for the crown. From that point forward, he lived here alone and didn’t tell anyone about the family treasure until he was on his deathbed. He then revealed it to my grandfather, who then inherited it. It’s been kept a secret and passed down to the firstborn son in every generation, currently my responsibility.”
“Oh my goodness!” Abby shot forward on the cushion. “The crown! The crown was stolen.”
A swift nod was Victor’s only response.
Far more interesting than a simple burglary. “I assume it’s quite valuable. Do you have a recent appraisal?”
Victor crossed his arms. “It’s politically correct these days to return artifacts to their country of origin. An appraisal would simply draw unwanted attention, and I would likely be forced to return it.”
Abby blinked a few times. “But what you’re saying applies to stolen items, and the crown wasn’t stolen from the French government. Do you have a bill of sale or any proof it was purchased by your great-grandfather?”
Victor nodded. “I not only have a bill of sale, but I also have a certificate of authenticity, both of which are kept in a safety deposit box in the local bank. However, it doesn’t matter. It’s considered a national treasure of France, and the Frenchgovernment would ignore my legitimate rights and claim it under cultural patrimony laws.”
