Chapter 25 - The Desperate Alliance
"Arthur, take Clara and Sarah into the panic room beneath the pantry," I said instantly, my voice dropping into military calm. "Now."
"Bonnie, no," Clara said, stepping forward, her eyes blazing with unexpected grit. "I spent the last two weeks running from these bastards. I slept in my car at highway rest stops. I hid in public restrooms. I’m not hiding in a hole while they take what my mother died waiting for."
I looked at Clara. In that single moment, every doubt vanished. She had the exact same stubborn, unbreakable fire that Grandma Evelyn possessed until her final breath.
"Alright," I said, nodding once. "Then we don't cower. We take control."
I pulled out my phone and dialed the direct private cell of Sheriff Miller, the Cannon Beach police chief who had handled Melinda's trespassing incident months earlier.
"Sheriff Miller," I said the second he picked up. "This is Bonnie Vance at the bluff estate. We have an unauthorized black SUV with out-of-state plates parked inside our perimeter easement. The occupants are connected to the interstate harassment of an heir under an open Chicago probate investigation."
"Sit tight, Bonnie," Miller replied without missing a beat. "I have two patrol cruisers less than three miles away on the coast highway. We’ll box the lane. Don't engage."
I hung up, turning toward Cole. "How many men?"
Cole lowered a small pair of high-powered binoculars from the window. "Two in the vehicle. But look closer at the passenger seat."
I took the binoculars and focused the lenses on the front windshield of the black SUV.
Sitting in the passenger seat, wrapped in a worn faux-fur coat, smoking a cigarette with nervous, jerky motions, was my sister.
Melinda.
Beside her was a thick-necked man in a dark leather jacket, barking into a hands-free headset.
"She broke her diversion probation," I whispered, a sickening mixture of disgust and pity washing through me. "She left Illinois. That’s an immediate felony warrant."
"Richard must have promised her a fortune," Arthur muttered. "Melinda was always easily bought. She knows the layout of this estate because she visited you during the first week you moved in. She’s their guide."
Down on the driveway, the black SUV suddenly accelerated, smashing through the ornamental wooden gate that marked the outer tree line of the private road. The heavy tires threw gravel against the trees as it sped directly toward the lower turnaround near the boathouse path.
"They're not coming for the house," Cole said, his eyes widening in realization. "They know about the boathouse! Catherine must have remembered the old sea vault from when she was married to your father!"
"They want to blow the lock," Arthur gasped. "If they destroy the original documents inside that vault, the probate deadline passes on Friday, and Richard wins by default!"
"Not on my watch," I snarled.
I grabbed my heavy rain parka from the hall hook, took Grandma’s brass clover key from the desk, and turned to Cole. "Can you cover the cliff trail?"
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"I was a Chicago beat cop for twenty years before I took Evelyn's retainer, Mrs. Vance," Cole said, a grim smile touching his weathered face. "I can handle two hired thugs."
"Clara," I said, extending my hand. "Bring the second key. It’s time we close Grandma’s accounts once and for all."
