Angela Agranoff - Sophia O'Malley 01 - Organized Blackmail Read online

  Eleanor’s demeanor changed from hospitable and kind, to uneasy and worried. “Yes, perhaps that would be best, dear. I needed to walk the grounds before you arrived. I needed to have the time to clear my thoughts a bit.”

  Sophia felt the urge to step toward Eleanor, take her hand and ask what the matter was. However, she knew Eleanor well enough to not press the woman into a corner. When Eleanor wanted to speak about a matter, she would. “It’s a beautiful morning and the grounds are beyond gorgeous. If one needed to clear their thoughts, this would be the place.”

  Appreciating Sophia’s support, Eleanor turned around and examined her property. “I have lived on this property for over forty years, Sophia. My husband Michael and I purchased this land and built this house when Piney Woods was only an unpopulated valley. Michael wanted to live far away from the world, you must understand. And as small as Piney Woods is, he wasn’t very pleased when plans were made to begin building the community here. Michael has been dead for eight years now, but I still see him everywhere…even complaining that the world invaded his privacy.”

  Sophia kindly smiled. Michael Beaman was a famous artist, she knew. His work was dark, gloomy, and depressing. Michael’s work was also known as powerful and brilliant, speaking in colorful thoughts that somehow cried out for an escape from a dark dungeon of despair. Sophia knew Michael Beaman was known as an eccentric man who was extremely anti-social. However through Eleanor, she came to learn that Michael Beaman was not anti-social. Instead, she learned that Michael Beaman was simply a man who cherished his privacy and who loved nature. “My parents were the same way. I grew up in a middle class neighborhood. But every chance my parents had to whisk me away to their cabin at the lake, watch out.”

  “You seem to be following in their footsteps,” Eleanor told Sophia. “Now, let us go inside. We will begin in the library and work our way to the other rooms.”

  “Okay,” Sophia agreed. As she allowed Eleanor to take her hand she saw something from the right corner of her eye. Turning her head she noticed a tall, thin man with black hair who appeared to be her own age standing down the driveway just far enough to be hidden out of sight. “Eleanor, who is that man?” Sophia pointed.

  Before Eleanor could look the man moved out of sight. “I don’t see anyone, dear. It was probably one of the ground workers. There is much to do before the Annual Women’s Garden Club meeting next week.”

  Sophia nodded her head but didn’t agree. She allowed Eleanor to walk her inside. The home whispered poems into the seasons through windows and had doors that led into rooms filled with splendor, beauty, imagination, and brilliance. Sophia paused in the luxurious white-marbled foyer, while Eleanor closed the front door. The smell of fresh roses and herbal tea filled her nose. “I can never get over how beautiful your home is.”

  “Your home is amazing as well,” Eleanor told Sophia. “I believe you are an artist, as you have taken a very old cabin and turned it into a modern day wonder. Everyone in Piney Woods remains impressed to this very day at the transformation your cabin has taken.”

  Feeling her cheeks blush at such a compliment, Sophia focused her attention on a magnificent wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. “I just love that staircase. It reminds of the grand staircase on the Titanic.”

  “Michael fashioned the design from that very staircase. I’m impressed with how you notice such detail!” Eleanor told Sophia. “Oh, where have the years gone? It seems like yesterday we had this staircase built. Come along, dear.”

  Sophia followed Eleanor up the luxurious staircase. When they reached the top, Eleanor turned left and walked down a long hallway lined with expensive burgundy carpet and exquisite antique furniture. Walking down the hallway made Sophia feel as if she were in London during the turn of the century, preparing for a night read in the library as a heavy fog blanketed the night.

  Stopping at a large wooden door, Sophia watched Eleanor pull a set of keys from the front pocket of her dress. Sophia understood the importance of keeping the library locked, as Eleanor possessed a detailed collection of antique books that were valued high enough to tempt any thief. “I always feel like I’m in London when I visit you,” said Sophia. “The rich, dark wood paneling makes me think if I move a light fixture a wall will revolve!”

  Eleanor laughed and nodded her head as she opened the door leading into the library. “Yes dear. I remember you told me that once. Michael was from London. Many times I wondered why he settled here instead of London. But as you can see by the designs his heart never left London.”

  Before Sophia could answer, Eleanor stepped into the library. Before following, Sophia closed her eyes and thought of her husband. In her garage were boxes that held certain belongings of his. The library was all around her, like one big storage box, holding everything that Eleanor’s husband cherished. Perhaps, she thought, Eleanor didn’t have a room full of dusty boxes. Instead, she had one big box full of memories decorated beautifully. That one thought made her wonder if getting rid of certain items of her husband’s had been the right choice after all?

  Walking into the library Sophia stopped at few steps in. Three walls of the large room she entered were lined with polished wooden shelves, holding shelf after shelf of books. The shelves began at the floor and reached to the high ceiling. The back wall of the library held an incredible, if not intimidating, giant stone fireplace. In the middle of the library sitting on an expensive emerald colored rug, sat two leather wooden chairs separated by a glossy wooden drink table holding coffee and tea. The reading chairs were facing the stone fireplace. It looked like the perfect place to snuggle up with a good book and a soft cozy blanket. The one item that library did not consume were windows. “I love the smell of these antique books and the old leather.”

  “I do too dear. At night I come in here to sit next to the fire place and read,” Eleanor told Sophia. “It’s very peaceful.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Sophia agreed as her eyes searched the library not noticing the painful expression that suddenly overtook Eleanor’s face.

  Eleanor drew in a deep breath and fell into a deep thought. Eventually she spoke. “On the very top shelf dear,” Eleanor pointed to the bookshelf against the far right wall, “is my husband’s journal. Please roll the library ladder to the shelf, get it and bring it to me three doors down on the right. I will be waiting for you.”

  Sophia became confused. “A journal? I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Eleanor. I thought we were getting books ready for the book sale. This library is amazing and filled with so many priceless treasures. How wonderful for you to donate these.”

  “I’ll explain in time. We can come back to the library to sort and organize books for the fair later”

  Eleanor patted Sophia’s hand. “Remember, I need a friend and a confidant. Now retrieve my husband’s journal for me. He titled it ‘Memories of an Artist’.”

  “Of course,” Sophia forced a smile hoping it would mask her confusion.

  “Thank you, dear. I know you are a bit confused. Things will become clear shortly, I promise.”

  Sophia nodded her head. When Eleanor left the library, Sophia began to search for the first the journal. “Memories of the Artist,” she whispered walking to the right wall next to the doorway. Before locating the journal, she let her eyes flow over the antique books with curiosity and wonder. Within each word of each book were beautiful memories that could be relived time and time again simply by opening the book up. “So beautiful,” she whispered as she struggled to fathom Eleanor’s mysterious agenda. “She could have retrieved her husband’s journal herself, so why have me do it?”

  Trusting that Eleanor would clear the unsettled water before her eyes, Sophia retrieved the assigned journal. The journal was very old with an antique red leather covering. “Inside are the words of a brilliant artist,” Sophia whispered while examining the outside of the journal. Not daring to invade a man’s personal thoughts or violate Eleanor’s trust, she kept the journal firm
ly closed. “Something is happening with you Eleanor, but what?”

  Feeling a dark cloud rumble in her gut, she turned and hurried out of the beautiful library. The only room she had been in on the second level had been the library, so as she maneuvered her way to the room Eleanor was waiting in, she didn’t know what to expect. Stopping at the door Eleanor had given direction to Sophia took a deep breath as she tried to calm her racing heart. “Oh my,” she whispered again and then, using her left hand she gently tapped on the wooden door standing closed before her.

  “Come in, dear,” Eleanor’s voice answered the knock like an agonizing woman desperately pleading for peace.

  With a trembling hand, Sophia reached down and turned the antique brass doorknob. When the doorknob made a loud ‘click’ Sophia swallowed and pushed the door open. She walked into a large, dimly lit, room with hard, creaking floorboards, and dusty walls covered with cobwebs. “What is this?” Sophia began to ask but fell silent as her eyes took in one dusty painting after another. Some paintings were hanging on the dusty walls. Others were lined against the walls, and others stacked against on top of other in decaying wooden crates. “There must be hundreds of paintings.” Sophia said.

  “Yes,” Eleanor agreed sitting on an old wooden kitchen chair that had seen its day. “These are Michael’s paintings. Dear, please bring me the journal.”

  “Of course,” Sophia replied and carefully walked to Eleanor and placed the delicate journal down into her wrinkled hands. “Why did you have me retrieve the journal?”

  Eleanor wiped at tears that were streaming down from her sorrowful eyes. “This journal holds very painful memories for my husband and it is difficult for me to touch it. It is difficult for anyone to touch misery chained in ink. I haven’t touched my husband’s journal since he died. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb the last place he left his journal before death took him away from me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sophia attempted to comfort Eleanor. “But I’m assuming you want to reveal something very important to me, something inside your husband’s journal?”

  Eleanor bowed her head in deep sadness and grief. With great care she caressed the outer cover of the journal. “My dear, dear Michael, please forgive me but I can’t handle this alone.”

  Sophia watched as tears began to fall from Eleanor’s eyes. “Eleanor, are you alright? Maybe we should--“

  Eleanor interrupted Sophia with a shake of her head. “Dear, inside of this journal are words that reveal lies about my husband that he was never able to disprove while he was alive.”

  “What?” Sophia asked forcing her voice to not sound anxious.

  Placing the journal down in her lap, Eleanor retrieved a letter from her dress pocket. “Please read this,” she pleaded with Sophia. Feeling her chest tighten, Sophia cautiously took the letter from Eleanor, opened it, and began to read.

  “Is someone is accusing Michael of stealing paintings? I thought these painting were done by him?” she gasped finishing the letter.

  Eleanor nodded her head in grief. With great control of her emotions she began to reveal certain secrets about her husband. “Michael was a very loyal son. His father had a horrible gambling problem, this is of the utmost importance to understand. Oh, the shame that would have been brought on his father if certain debts went unpaid.”

  Sophia eased her mind deeper into Eleanor’s words and listened the way a true friend listens to someone she deeply loves. “I’m listening with an open mind and an open heart. My job as a professional organizer is to support you. I’m not here to judge. I’m also here as a friend and confidant.”

  “It was well known in London that Michael was a brilliant artist. This was many years ago, in a time much different from your own. But the hearts of men haven’t changed very much, I’m afraid. The hearts of men are still violent and greedy.”

  “I understand.”

  “Michael loved his father very much. So in order to pay off his father’s debts, he agreed to paint paintings for the men who needed payment. The men would take Michael’s paintings and sell them. Unfortunately, Michael’s father could not escape his gambling habits. This cost Michael a great deal of misery feeling he could never catch up with the debt that needed to be repaid. Michael’s father died owing a great deal of money. By this time we were married. He was ordered by his late father’s lenders to either keep painting until his debt is paid, or my life would be harmed. I mentioned to you in the hallway how I wondered why Michael settled here instead of London, and oh how he loved London, but now you know why.”

  “To protect you,” Sophia whispered.

  “Yes,” Eleanor wiped at a tear. “He loved me, dear. He gave up his life to protect the ones he loved. He was a very brilliant man, but he made a very tragic mistake.”

  Sophia braced herself for the worst. “I’m here, Eleanor. You can talk to me.”

  Eleanor stood up from the old chair she was sitting in. With agony torturing her face she walked to a dusty painting hanging on the far right wall. Keeping her back to Sophia she paused at the painting. “Michael made a deal,” she spoke in a barely audible voice.

  “The man who wrote this letter says you still owe him? After all these years, how is that possible?” Sophia asked.

  Eleanor nodded her head. “His name is Lionel Quinn, and his father was the lender. He thinks that he can continue to take money from me, and has threatened to reveal Michael’s father’s secret gambling problem. It would seem that since both Michael and this man’s father are both dead that this debt would have died with it. However, he seems to think that I am his free ride, and he continues to threaten to reveal Michael’s secret.”

  “What is it that you want to do Eleanor?” Sophia asked.

  Eleanor responded as she stared at the innovative paintings, “I wish to bring this debt to an end. ”My husband and I owe no one anything. Yet, in order to protect Michael’s artistic reputation, I must pay.”

  Sophia fell silent. Her eyes strolled around every dusty painting in the room. How many millions of dollars’ worth of artwork was stretching out before her eyes? “Eleanor, the man in the letter is demanding payment or he is taking your husband’s secret public. What are your intentions?”

  “Lionel Quinn’s father is dead, dear. He died three years before my Michael. I’m dealing with a ghoul of the present instead of the ghost of my past. This man who is claiming Michael’s estate still owes him and is demanding twenty million dollars. I do not have that amount of money to give.”

  “Eleanor, perhaps we should go to the police?”

  Eleanor shook her head no. “If this man speaks publicly, then those who own Michael’s paintings will question their value because of this unfortunate event. I don’t want to be the talk of the town, dragging Michael’s reputation and talents through the mud. My name, and my dear husband’s name, will be disgraced.”

  Sophia gently placed her left hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “Eleanor, are you sure you want to sell the paintings in this room? I don’t usually try to encourage clients to hold onto items they want to part with,” she pleaded. “However, these are your memories of your talented husband. They belong to you.”

  “Sophia dear, the paintings in this room belong to me in heart only. With that said, they are worth millions. Lionel Quinn is demanding twenty million dollars. I have no choice but to sell these paintings in order to silence his threats. I need you to organize this room, the paintings, and create an inventory sheet. Then turn it into an art gallery. I will allow a very private showing. The last painting of Michael’s sold over eighteen years ago. I’m certain I can sell these paintings and raise the money I need to make him go away.”

  “Eleanor, that’s very risky. What if you sell all the paintings and this man still makes demands of you. This is wrong!” Sophia explained out of frustration.

  Eleanor shook her head. “I know the risk, dear. However, I do not have twenty million dollars to pay Lionel to remain silent. The question now is will you he
lp me? Before you answer, I must confess one more secret to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sophia, dear, I’m dying. My heart is growing weaker and weaker. Dr. Lewis doesn’t think I’ll see another spring. I can’t die having my husband’s name disgraced. I need your help dear,” Eleanor confessed.

  Sophia felt her heart shatter. “Oh Eleanor! I’m so sorry.”

  Eleanor turned to face Sophia. “Dear, Michael and I never had children. I was unable to. But if I had had a daughter, my dream would have been she would have turned out like you. From the short time I have known you, you have grown deeply into my heart like a beautiful flower. Please, dear, take my hand and help me.”

  “Yes, okay,” Sophia nodded her head as tears began to fall from her eyes. Before she could wipe at her tears a thought struck her. “The man I saw outside, Eleanor, he wasn’t a grounds worker.”

  “Dear, many people come to work at my estate. I’m sure the man you saw was only a grounds worker. I am preparing the grounds for the Annual Garden Club meeting next week. I seriously doubt the man black mailing me would dare trespass onto my property.”