Dana Mentink - Lost Legacy

“I know that,” Victor barked, surprising himself with his tone. He continued more softly, “I’ve accepted the loss and dealt with the grief, but the thing I cannot make peace with is that nobody paid for the crime. If this situation is in any way connected to what happened four years ago like Tuney seems to believe, I need to know the truth, all of it.”

Lock smiled and sat back in his chair. “Your father’s nickname for you was right on the money.”

Victor felt his cheeks flush and swiveled his eyes away from Brooke. “So will you allow us to go in? I would take it as a personal favor. Besides, we might just find the treasure of a lifetime.” Victor didn’t want to go over Lock’s head, knowing it would destroy his relationship with his father’s old friend. He didn’t want to, but if Lock proved an obstacle, Victor would circumvent the problem one way or another. He always did.

Dean Lock cocked his head. “All right. Because you are Wyatt’s son and because I try to be a fair-minded man, I’ll take you into the tunnels myself. You’ll see that there’s nothing there but rusted pipes and rats.”

If Lock intended to frighten Brooke with the mention of rodents, it didn’t seem to have any effect. She nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Dean Lock. I know you believe the worst about my father and I’m sorry to have to ask. I appreciate your help.”

Victor sensed her humility. He could hear in the clipped syllables what it cost to speak the words. Situations reversed, he was not sure he would have said them. “When can we see it?”

To Victor’s great surprise, the dean rose stiffly to his feet. “How about right now?”

* * *

While the dean went to retrieve his keys, Brooke paced around the office. “I can’t believe he said yes.”

Victor smiled. “Frankly, I can’t either. I was prepared for more of a fight.”

She laughed. “Thank you,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and feeling the hard strength there that made her fingertips tingle. “I truly appreciate it. You don’t have to go with me. I’ll pay you for your time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a matter of money.”

She saw the anger in his eyes, deep down, nestled like a live thing. Could he see the hurt in hers? she wondered. The grief that was kindled when her father was stripped of his job and his dignity? She moved away. “Of course. I understand. This isn’t about the painting for you.” His eyes followed her and she felt suddenly nervous. She began to prowl around, scanning the pictures on the wall. One caught her eye, a photo of a much younger Jeffrey Lock in a tuxedo and tails, smiling in front of a baby grand piano.

“He’s a musician?”

“Used to be,” Lock said from the doorway, startling her. “Before rheumatoid arthritis took that away from me. Can’t even play a scale now. It pains me to even try. I keep that piano around to torture myself with what could have been.” Lock was smiling, but there was a pained look in his eyes. “Your father and I used to joke about how our bodies betrayed us.”

Brooke hadn’t known her father had shared the deeply personal struggle with his own disease, a syndrome called FXTAS, with anyone except immediate family. While she struggled to think of something to say, he handed her a hard hat and another to Victor.

“The access point we’ll be using is in the basement of the women’s dorm. It’s empty right now in preparation for the remodel, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions.”

They followed the dean out into the chilly air, and Victor sent a text as they walked. Brooke was struck again at how lovely the campus was, a series of stately buildings sprinkled over the hills, shrouded in fog that rolled in off the San Francisco Bay. From the highest building, she imagined, a person would have a panoramic view of the entire bay and across the water to the cities of Hayward, Oakland and the infamous hippie town of Berkeley.

“The students have been relocated to our satellite campuses.” Lock gestured to the tall building in the distance. “Really there are only a few professors left here, tidying up, and a security detail to keep people out.”

“When do the renovations begin?” Victor asked.

“Officially in two weeks.” The dean shot a look at the red brick building, rising in a series of peaked gables partially hidden by a cluster of trees. “That’s the girls’—” he shook his head “—sorry, women’s dormitory. Empty now, and next to it is the library.”

She followed him past the graceful columns. The Gage Library. Victor’s family really did live in a different stratosphere. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. It was so empty, so silent. The grassy area that should have been sprinkled with students nursing coffees and cramming for tests was deserted and eerily still. She felt a deep longing for the college life that she’d given up after only one semester. After losing her dance career to a knee injury, she’d tried for years to rehab before finally admitting defeat. It seemed like a lifetime before she’d returned to college, but the decision to leave had been easy. There had been no choice with her father being investigated by the police, the press shadowing his every move.

And Tuney.

The man had broken into her hotel room.

He would not stop until her father was disgraced.

She shot a look at Victor, who would also not let go until the truth was revealed.

He must have felt her gaze on him because he turned to look at her, eyes dark in the gloomy morning. He looked completely calm, handsome, self-assured as if he might be a professor strolling the campus on his way to teach a physics class. Hard to fathom that the day before he’d been wire taut, impassioned as he worked to bring the dark-haired lady back to life.

The memory of her lying there, dying, stabbed at Brooke.

She shivered, and Victor took off his jacket and draped it over her, fingers caressing her shoulders as he did. The gesture startled her.

She started to decline but he did not give her the chance, merely strolled forward to ask the dean a question. The jacket smelled of leather and a subtle musky aftershave. In spite of herself she snuggled deeper into the supple material.

Removing a heavy key ring from his pocket, Lock unlocked the front door and they entered an empty room with windows that looked out on the grassy hill and a small patio. Again she fought a feeling of unease. So empty, as if the building was a mother who had lost all of her children to some terrible accident.

Stop it, Brooke. No time for your ridiculous imagination.

“Sad, really,” Lock said, his voice loud in the hushed space. “This building has stood largely untouched since the thirties.”

The clusters of worn, upholstered chairs were pulled into odd groups and the wooden floor was nicked and scarred by the countless students who had paraded through over the years. A fireplace, blackened inside, crowded one wall.

A few minutes later they were entering a narrow stairwell and descended three flights until they emerged in a cavernous space, dark and smelling of mold. The dean flipped on a light that flickered to life, revealing an empty basement with a set of metal doors at the far end.

He ignored a tiny panel near the door.

“Alarm?” Victor said.

“It’s not activated now so the workmen can have free access, but usually the administration takes great pains to ensure no one has access to the tunnel system. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble college kids can get into,” Lock said.

Victor chuckled. “Yes, I would.”

Lock gave him an amused glance. “Your father was amazed that you made it through medical school. He couldn’t figure out how someone with a genius IQ could get into so many scrapes.”