The Devil's Triangle (A Brit in the FBI 4)

Ben supposed he’d been expecting what she’d said—a shed. But not this. The “shed” was a charming white cottage with black shutters and a stone fireplace.

“It’s practically falling down around our ears. I think it was originally used to store grain or something. Mother took it over, added a fireplace, and made it her office. She couldn’t work in the house, said it was too distracting. She liked having a completely private space of her own.”

Ben was amused, seeing as the St. Germaines’ house was nearly as big as his apartment building in New York, and the “shed” was large enough to comfortably shelter a family of four. Nicholas’s friends and their British money was something he was going to have to get used to.

Melinda took a deep breath and pushed open the wooden door.

The inside of the cottage was simple. A tiny efficiency kitchen with tea service in one corner, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves all around, holding both books and small treasures, a few pieces of art, a fireplace, and a beautiful white wood desk the size of a door in the middle of the room, perfectly situated to see both the fire and the gardens outside the windows. There was a table behind the desk made from the same wood, and on this, stacked three-feet-deep, were books and notebooks and papers of all shapes and colors and sizes. It was a huge amount of material, but it was in clearly delineated piles.

A small staircase wound up to a second level. “The loft,” Melinda said, “in case she needed a lie-down while she was working, or was up late and didn’t want to disturb my father coming back to the house.”

“It’s a nice space.”

Melinda said, “She loved it. And don’t let the piles scare you. She was a horizontal filer. It might look a right mess, but she knew where every piece of paper was in those stacks. They are organized by subject, person, a

nd date. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way through to whatever you need. You’re welcome to muck about through everything. What the Kohaths don’t know won’t hurt them. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“So the Kohath family sued over the book?”

“No, they’re up in arms because they’re claiming their father was coerced into giving my mother the Kohath materials. They’ve demanded to read all Mother’s notes, her draft, and insist all the source materials be returned. They are trying to discredit her, to prove her dishonesty, and they have good lawyers who have tried everything to shut the whole book down.

“They’ve cited family privacy, but they’re off their rockers. David Maynes was the one who approached my mother. He was the one who sat down and gave interviews and turned over the notebooks and letters. According to our lawyers, he was completely within his rights to do so. However, the deadly duo forced an injunction, delayed the release, bad-mouthed Mother in the press, said she was a hack who conned their father, who, they insisted, was not mentally well.

“I wanted to tell them to bugger off—as if my mother would do anything not completely aboveboard.”

“So what happens to the book now?”

“The million-dollar question.” Melinda toyed with the ends of her ponytail. “Technically, it’s still tied up in the courts. The publisher wants to go ahead with it, the family wants it pulled. We’ve only just buried her, and as I said, I haven’t been ready to tackle the business. The publisher has been very kind, understands I need some time to sort things out.” She waved her hand around her. “I simply haven’t had the heart to get started.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “Absolutely.”

She gave him a smile. “You are very kind. Now, let me warn you. I wouldn’t do this for anyone but Nicholas, so I’m trusting you to keep it to yourself if at all possible. Despite what we’ve told the lawyers and the publisher, Mother was very close to finishing the draft. The manuscript will be in there, most likely in the top drawer of her desk, where she keeps a running version. You can’t take it with you, I’m not willing to defy the lawyers that much. But if you want to read it, I’m fine with that.”

“I promise, this is all between us. I’m simply looking for information that will help us solve this case. I’m not looking to exploit your mother or get you in trouble.”

She hesitated a moment, a small smile on her lips, watching him. Finally, she said, “Cheers,” and turned to the door. “Duty calls, as always. Since I’ve left my duties and come out to the godforsaken countryside, we’re throwing a small dinner party tonight, a few friends I haven’t had a chance to see for a while. I’d love for you to join us, if you can.”

Ben had the idea that Melinda’s idea of a small dinner party was going to be slightly different than his.

“I appreciate the offer. We’ll see how I’m doing out here.”

Melinda grinned, and the smile took her from serious to ethereal fairy in a heartbeat. “I’m sure you’re about to either find everything you need or drive yourself batty. I’ll send Annalise with more tea, and a sandwich for lunch. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

When the door closed, Ben could have sworn some of the light went from the room. He pulled out his notebook and approached the table behind the desk. He’d read large portions of Appleton Kohath’s initial biography on the plane, so he was familiar with the background of the Kohaths, at least. He hoped he’d know what was unique when he saw it.

Since he couldn’t take anything with him, he pulled out his phone and opened the camera. He documented everything he could see. With a sigh, he sat down and waded in. He opened the drawer, and the manuscript was there, as promised.

He pulled it out and placed it on the table in front of him, started to read, and his jaw dropped.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND VOLUME ON APPLETON KOHATH (DRAFT ONE)

It isn’t rare for a historian to revisit a biography, but there are times when it becomes clear that not all of a story has been told, and I am the first to admit the Kohaths are a family who don’t easily let go of the imagination. I was recently approached by a member of the family who wanted to tell me a story. His name is David Maynes. He is a professor of antiquities, a man about town in London, and husband to the famed archaeologist Helen Kohath, who was lost on a dig in the Gobi Desert in 2006. Helen is one of a long line of Kohaths who dedicated their lives to searching for the ultimate treasure: the Ark of the Covenant.

David Maynes came bearing letters, notebooks, an entire cache of Kohath family lore that quickly showed this biographer she had barely scratched the surface of this amazing and obsessive family.