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I’m not particularly fond of the idea of using Willow as bait, but she can be rather insistent when she wants to be. We descend the stairs together and make our way silently down the hall, passing by several ceiling-mounted security cameras. I know for a fact Heath is working the surveillance room tonight, but we still have to move quickly. I’d rather not risk being caught.
Willow goes on ahead of me, her bare feet padding across the cold tiles. The singular guard standing in front of Arturo’s office notices her immediately.
“Ms. Allegra, you can’t be here.”
“Please!” she says, a convincing warble to her voice. “I saw one of the dogs outside acting really weird. I think it was frothing at the mouth! Doesn’t that mean it’s sick?”
“Are you serious?” the guard asks, already stepping away from his station. “Stay inside, Ms. Allegra. I’ll handle this.”
He rushes off, using the radio strapped to his chest to call a few of the other guards. Willow skips on ahead, clearly very pleased with herself.
“And the Academy Award goes to…” I tease her as I round the corner.
She smirks. “That should keep them busy for a few minutes. Let’s hurry.”
On the surface, there doesn’t appear to be very much in Arturo’s space. Nothing of importance, at least. His workspace is tidy and without clutter, not a single errant document to be found. No family photos are on the walls, none of those typical trinkets you’d bring back from family vacation. It’s impersonal in here, without any real character or hint about who Arturo is.
Willow moves quickly, circling around her father’s big mahogany desk. She crouches and disappears beyond the surface, feeling around underneath for something. The softclicktells me she’s found a hidden button. On the other side of the room, one of the framed landscape paintings pops forward by an inch, exposing the wall safe behind it.
“Fancy,” I murmur, making my way over.
Willow joins me, taking up the reins. Her slender fingers move nimbly, rotating the combination lock right, left, and then right again. “Ten, twenty-four, seventy-three,” she whispers to herself as she works. “My mother’s birthday.”
The door to the safe swings open.
“How’d you know that was the combination?” I ask.
“My dad’s pushing sixty,” she explains. “His password is pretty much the same for everything. His laptop, phone, email… It’s easier for him to remember that way.”
I chuckle. “Clever girl. I feel like you could give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money.”
We peer inside together. The contents of the safe are, unfortunately, lackluster. There’s barely anything in it, save for a thick yellow envelope, a ring box, and a silver Rolex tucked into the far back.
I go for the envelope, opening it carefully so as to not leave any tears. We don’t need Arturo knowing someone was rifling through his things without permission. Out slides a thick stack of papers, all of them covered in fine print.
“A will?” Willow breathes, glancing at it over my shoulder.
“It’s in Spanish,” I notice aloud.
A quiet gasp escapes her throat. “It’s my mother’s…”
I shift through the pages as quickly as I can, using my camera to take a snapshot of each side. There’s no time to read it all now, and we can’t risk taking it with us in case we aren’t able to replace it in time. Once every page is digitized, I put everything back in its place, but not before eyeing the ring box in the back of the safe.
Willow reaches for it, prying it open with curiosity written all over her face. Inside rests a beautiful diamond ring with three massive gems seated atop a band of white gold.
A memory flashes through my mind.
A wedding chapel. Christmas evening. One too many drinks and a warmth in my chest as I peer into a set of gorgeous blue eyes.
I shake the thoughts from my head. Weird.
“Let’s get going, Nancy Drew,” I say. “How’s your Spanish? Do you think you’d be able to translate this for me?”
Willow grimaces. “I’m afraid not. I know the basics, but my father didn’t see any need for me to keep up my studies. He didn’t want me to be able to understand what he was saying when talking business.”
I swallow the anger boiling in my chest. This isn’t the time or place for distractions, butdamndo I want to punch that son of a bitch square in the face when he gets back.
“That’s fine,” I say as we close the safe. “I know someone who might be able to translate it for us. Although it might take some convincing on my part.”
