Authors: Amy Shaw
"Yes, she's clean. It was an honest find by Mr. Hart, all above board."
"Then why need me, you can save yourself a few bob and go direct."
"She wasn't alone. Plus, I'd rather our names not be splashed across any papers or have any awkward questions from any busy bodies. This money is needed for something important and is quite urgent."
"Well I don't see it being a problem. A clean find, I'm sure a buyer at this level will transfer funds well within the twenty eight day period."
"That's what we need. Well within the twenty eight day period, more like ten at most."
"Can't see it being a problem Mr. Munro. My usual ten percent. Money to the usual place?"
"Okay, done. And no, I'll need to set up a new account."
Abby was suddenly concerned, "Excuse me? What's the usual place? You'll need to set up an account?"
"We can no longer use your Grandfather's accounts, can we?" Mark answered.
"And the new account?" Abby asked. "Who does that belong to?"
Mark put his hand on hers and calmly said, "It's okay, it will belong to us, we just haven't talked about it yet."
"Us?" Abby snapped back, "As in you and Mr. Lyons?"
"No," said Mark reassuringly. "As in me and you. It's okay, I will show you. For now, just trust me."
Abby couldn't hide her worried face. She wanted to trust Mark. So far he knew more about her Grandpa than she did, and if it were not for him showing her the secret room, the coin would still be down there waiting for the next owner to discover.
The next owner
she thought.
That could be Uncle Brad.
No way in hell would she let Uncle Brad take ownership of the lighthouse, her Grandpa would never forgive her.
"What's the state of play?" Mr. Lyons asked. Abby took a hard swallow and nodded her head repeatedly. "Okay... okay."
"Go ahead Mr. Lyons," Mark said in a commanding tone.
"Right you are Mr. Munro," said Mr. Lyons, shaking Mark's hand. "And it's been a pleasure meeting you Miss Hart, I look forward to seeing you again perhaps."
The three of them stood up and nodded to each other before walking to the Chapel's entrance door. In unison Mark and Mr. Lyons each popped a crisp £50 note into the wooden donation box on the wall, turned out the lights and closed the large door behind them.
As Abby got back into the car, she was silent and put on her seatbelt in a slow, thoughtful manner.
"Are you alright?" Mark asked as he turned onto the dark lane.
"What just happened there?" she asked. Before Mark could speak, she answered herself. "I just let you hand over my Grandpa's coin to some old guy in a suit, a coin you say might be worth three hundred thousand, that he's going to sell and put the money into some bank account that supposedly has my name on it? Like you're doing all this to help me. Oh shit, what have I just done?"
"Abby...," Mark tried to answer but Abby kept going.
"Is any of this true? Have you just stolen my Grandpa's coin? Are you and Mr. Lyons working together? Is that why you call each other by surnames only? He's too old to be wearing a suit, is that supposed to make him look respectable?"
"Abby, will you hang on a sec and I'll..."
"I can't believe I fell for you."
"Fell for me?"
"Fell for this. Your sting. My Grandpa was probably watching you as part of an investigation, and when you called that night I shouldn't have told you he died. That's why you came rushing over, you saw your opportunity, you somehow knew about the coin, the room. You used me to get you into the lighthouse to save you breaking in, but I bet you would have broken-."
"Abby stop it!" Mark yelled. "Are you losing your mind?"
Mark pulled the car over into a gated entrance to a woods. "I did warn you this would seem strange, and I also warned you that Mr. Lyons doesn't say a lot," Mark said in a soft voice. Feeling Abby's distress he reached over and held her hand to comfort her. "Your Grandpa trusted Mr. Lyons as do I. He has never let us down. This is a complicated situation and Mr. Lyons helps us move things."
"Why him?"
"Because he has some important connections, the most important was your Grandpa. They did each other favors and helped each other on projects. Then I became the front man for your Grandpa and met Mr. Lyons at the chapel. Always at the chapel. Mr. Lyons had no idea where your Grandpa was based. Nobody does. We use a mailing address in Exeter which forwards mail onto a hotel in Kingsbridge that we pick-up from in person."
"So what happens now?"
"Now, I wait for a text from Mr. Lyons to let me know if the auction house has accepted the coin and what their initial appraisal is. Then we'll know if we have enough to secure the lighthouse and have it go through all the books cleanly. But I think we're going to have a problem with the money."
"Oh here we go, I knew it. I knew it."
"You knew what?"
"That there would be a problem."
"No, it's nothing about you not getting the money. I'm just wondering if it will be enough. There are auction costs, and a fee we pay to My Lyons to handle the sale and act as the finder of the coin."
"The finder?"
"Yes, he owns several farms which are rented out to tenant farmers. It looks better when something is found at one of his farms and moves the spotlight away from us."
"Is that legal? Or ethical? Won't that change how the history of the coin is recorded?"
"Slightly, maybe. But at least there is a coin and at least it is recorded. Some people care down to the inch where something was found, but others are just pleased that it was found. How much was the guide price again?"
"For the lighthouse? Four hundred thousand."
"And what do you think your Mum will take? How much does she need for the dog's home?"
"She was hoping for about six hundred."
"Pounds?" Mark asked in a white heat of panic.
"No, dollars."
"Okay, that's a relief. So yes, that's about... four hundred thousand pounds give or take a few quid."
"Quid? What's a quid?"
"A pound. And I think we're going to need a few more."
"I'm sorry I lost it. I'm glad you're here doing this. Thank you."
Mark looked into Abby's eyes deeply but said nothing. He slid the gear lever into drive and accelerated out of the dusty opening and back down the road.
"It's getting late and you're tired."
"You're right, I am tired," she said as she made herself comfy in the leather seat.
Joining the A30 dual carriageway to Exeter, Mark eased into a steady 90mph as Abby drifted off to sleep. The carriageway was always quiet at this time of night and Mark knew every twist and turn he could drive it blindfolded. But he wasn't used to having a passenger sat next to him. Especially a passenger this attractive. He struggled to keep his wondering eyes on the road ahead, sneaking in glances as he passed under carriageway lights.
Abby's silky eyelashes subtly twitched over her closed eyes, all the time threatening to open and catch him paying more attention to her than the road. Her naturally unblemished skin with a peaches and cream complexion, Mark could only imagine what it would feel like kissing those sorbet-pink lips. Biting his bottom lip and taking a deep breath through his nose, Mark drew in the faint smell of her perfume filling his soul.
Just over an hour later Abby was woken by a gentle brush of Marks fingers stroking her hair as he softly repeated her name. "Abby... Abby... you're nearly home," he said as they approached Hope Cove.
Abby slowly opened her eyes, quietly sitting in a sleepy daze as she watched Mark drive the final dark mile, the light from the dashboard dimly illuminating his face. He pulled up outside the lighthouse cottage and glanced over to meet Abby's eyes.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked in an affectionate voice.
"I should probably head back…," his voice trailing off.
"There's a sofa if you want to stay over. It's late and I'm sure there are some blankets."
"There's a spare quilt in one of the bed drawers. I've stayed before when I was working with Gene on projects."
"Well, we're working on one now. So stay." Mark pushed the red button on the center console shutting off the engine.
"I have something that will earn my trust with you. What if I put up some of the money?" Mark asked.
"You don't need to earn my trust. I already trust you."
"Well, we're going to need money for the deposit which has to be paid within twenty four hours of the auction ending."
"Mark, that's ten percent. Where would we find that amount of money so fast?"
"I have an idea. But I might need your help tomorrow getting it," Mark said.
"Are we going to rob a bank?" Abby asked playfully.
Mark turned to face her squarely and spoke in a hushed tone. "No, we're going to hold up a train, bandit style. You can ride a horse, right?"
Abby smiled and said, "Well you wear the right boots for it, I wouldn't be surprised if you had a cowboy hat too!"
"Enough about my boots lady! It's not in a bank. Well, not a traditional bank. But it might be useful to have your eyes and ears while I get it."
"It is your money though? Tell me, we were just joking then, right?"
"Yes, it's my money. Well, it's not money as such, but it does belong to me. It should be fairly quick and easy though. It just means we have to pop the other side of Exeter towards Tiverton."
"To get your secret stash?"
"Yep. My stash."
"Let me guess... in the hollow of a tree?"
"Nope. In a graveyard."
Abby woke early again, her body clock still not fully adjusted. She took the urn off the dressing room table and crept out of the cottage, making her way over the drive to the lighthouse.
Fumbling around at the back of the closet, her fingers found the hook and with her face pressed against her Grandpa's smelly waders she pulled up the hook releasing the hidden door. Walking along the tunnel by herself should have felt unsettling. Maybe it was because she knew Grandpa had spent so much time down here, or maybe because Grandpa was with her now, it all seemed so familiar. She turned her key and stepped into the Amber Room. It took her a moment to find the light switch and she flinched as she turned it on, forgetting it automatically turns off the tunnel light.
Placing Grandpa's urn on the shelf next to Grandma made her smile.
"There you go Grandpa," she spoke out loud. "You two are together again."
She pulled out his leather office chair and sat at his desk. Leaning back and twirling around to take in the room, she looked up at the photo of Grandpa on the shelf and asked out loud, "So what's Mark like Grandpa? He seems as crazy as you. Drives as fast as you, and he's taking me to a graveyard today to get some money. What is it with you guys and all these secrets? I suppose then you wouldn't be as interesting as you are," she answered winking at the photo.
Looking through her Grandpa's files and folders, Abby felt like a spy. Boxes on the bottom shelf contained various dossiers, all organized alphabetically. The dossiers on ancient artifacts read like a missing persons report, only it was for missing treasures. Like the forty thousand gold coins hidden by the French in a cave in Scotland, not yet found. A hoard of gold bracelets buried by a wealthy family during a war. The family was killed and the bracelets remain buried, worth an estimated eight hundred thousand dollars. The burial hoard of Kubrat, Khan of 'Great Bulgaria'. Part of the hoard was found when a boy playing by the river fell into the hole where treasure was buried. Estimated value, one and half million dollars.
Abby continued to flick through each file, her curiosity growing with every turn of her fingers. A file contained notes to the whereabouts of a royal treasure worth over fifty million dollars. Pawned to Jewish bankers who died in the Black Plague, the clues point to a house in a small town. Another file contained information on a British Expedition to locate a multi- million dollar hoard of gold, silver and jewelry stolen by pirates and buried on an island.
Abby sat back in the chair and just stared at all the files and dossiers. It was more organized and detailed than her entire team back home tracking down lost heirs. Leaning back in the chair she looked up at the urns and the photo and asked, "Where did you get all this Intel Grandpa, who are you finding all this out for?" She remained looking at him after she spoke, as if waiting for an answer. When all of a sudden, she got one.
"Different clients," the voice came.
Startled, Abby swiveled around on the chair to the door where the sound of the voice came from. It was Mark.
"Shit Mark, you scared me," she gasped.
"Sorry, didn't mean to."
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Only a few moments. I got a text from Lyons. The auctioneers will take the coin and list it for their next auction in a couple of weeks' time."
"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?" asked Abby.
"But...," Mark said nodding. "But they only estimate it at one hundred and fifty thousand pounds."
"That's not enough Mark. What about your secret stash?"
"It's about ninety thousand, so we'll still be short."
"How long will it take to get your stash?"
"There are two things we need to do. First, we need to get the stash. That will be simple and quick. Then I need to convert it into money which should be about ninety grand give or take a few depending on the current market."
"Depending on the current market? What is it we're getting here exactly?"
"Gold. Small bars about two inches long and one inch wide."
"How many?"
"Twenty two."
"And that's worth ninety grand?"
"Yep. They're about four thousand pounds each. Depending on market value. And we need to get going so I can trade them in and get the cash in my account."
Mark and Abby drove out to Underexe, a tiny Devon village five miles north of Exeter.
"You'll like this place," Mark said. "The countryside scenery is stunning with the green rolling hills and various woodlands. And there's a big river that runs right around the church. It really is a nice area."