Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors (25 page)

“Spoken like a true marketing woman,” Henry said, still not looking at the diamonds. I let go of his hand and continued cooking.

Henry studied the diamonds through the spyglass some more, while I continued dinner preparations. Then he looked at some of the books on the coffee table and inevitably came upon the one about me. “
Brilliant – the Works of Calendar Moonstone
,” he read aloud, astonished. “They already made a book about you and your work?”

I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell him about the history of the book that held my name. “It was … sort of a gift.”

“You mean the author dedicated it to you?” Henry asked, paging through the large format photographs of my early and most famous works.

“No, the publisher had it made for me as a present.”

“Come again?” Henry said, still amazed.

“The publisher was my fiancé, back in New York City. It was his idea of an engagement present to me. He found a very good writer about gem art, commanded a renowned photographer who traveled around the world to photograph all my previous works residing in private collections and museums, and had this book made without me knowing it.”

“And got it published, somehow,” Henry said, turning pages.

“He cheated and bought a publishing house for that,” I explained, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Well, this raises the bar for another suitor considerably, I suppose. I am speechless,” Henry said and started reading the book about me.
 

“Is that Photoshopped or…?” he said, pointing to a picture of me beside the king and queen of Sweden.

“No, the real deal. Charming Swedish accent. She is from Germany; did you know that?”

Henry stopped asking anything else.

The red snapper I had prepared was delicious, the salad was perfect, and the pizza bread hot and steaming. The wine fitted perfectly to this arrangement, and I had some easy music on the CD player, James Taylor crooning about “Carolina” and “the good die young.”

“Hmm … this is perfect. Do you have any other housewife qualities?” Henry marveled after we sat stuffed and unmoving.

I looked at him over my wine. “I can clean up pretty good after I mess up a house, too. I can bake mean pies. What about you?”

“I’ve had a housekeeper from about the time I could afford it,” Henry laughed. “I eat out most of the time, and after a brief spell of bad eating habits and thirty pounds added within a year, I restricted myself to health food during the work week.” He patted his non-existent stomach. “Seems to work out.”
 

“Typical Californian health nut,” I teased him.

“What made you…?” he started.

“Don’t you think you’re asking too many questions?” I said.

“It’s hard to forget what you are,” he said.

“Same for me,” was as much as I dared to reveal.

The next hour passed quickly. I was in a constant state of forcing myself not to look at the clock in the kitchen. I felt torn between hunting down Rip and enjoying Henry’s company, but it was a date waiting to be over; I was sitting on hot coals. Henry helped me clean up the cooking aftermath, and we settled down on my sofa and talked about books, locations, people, diamonds, and police work—and sipped the rest of the wine until Henry poured the last drops into my glass.

“Oops, there goes the mood,” he said, playfully sad.

“You want to open another bottle? I have some nice Napa Valley lying around.”

“Better not, I may be stopped by my own people and checked for alcohol.”

The conversation lagged, and when we didn’t find a new thread for a minute, Henry looked around the bungalow. I looked at him, and we smiled at each other, looked away, and I had to roll my eyes.

“What?” Henry asked.

“I think this is the moment when you are supposed to kiss me, stupid!” I said, sliding nearer to him.

“I just realized one thing,” Henry said. “You know that you have the lifestyle of a cat? No, I’m not referring to the allegations of you being a cat burglar. But look around you. You live in a kind of bungalow on a larger estate like a cat in a family household. You are independent and go your own ways most of the time.”

“Is this some excuse not to kiss me?”

Henry raised his hands. “I just formed this theory, and I’ll try to find more evidence in the future. What did you say before my discovery?”

“This is the moment….”

“Oh, yes, I am so out of touch,” Henry muttered.

“Amateur hour,” I said, and we kissed. And I forgot everything about my other plans for the evening.

Henry had a very soft kiss and strong hands, a killer combination, especially when the hands started moving all over my body—and when the last year hadn’t been actually full of kisses nor hands of any kind. I was deep into enjoying every move he made and finally was courageous enough to start my own. We became seriously entangled in hands and hair and kisses, testing the couch’s abilities to accommodate two bodies.

And after a long period of hugging and kissing and quick stops for breathers…

Just like in a movie, Henry’s cellphone started to ring.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Girl on a Mission

My head was still spinning from kissing and touching, and I cursed at the criminal who had dared to interrupt our base hopping, concentrating willfully on the late evening traffic.
 

I was driving north again, toward Van Nuys, and made good time on the freeway—there wasn’t much traffic around 10:30. Mick had sounded astonished when I had called him and tried unsuccessfully to convince me not to pursue this little trip.
 

Jesus, where is this leading?
I thought while the silence of my car lulled me in. The burglar in love with a policeman … the policeman interrupts the date to hunt some criminals in the neighborhood, and the burglar uses the freshly found spare time to break into a house in the next valley.
 

The whole thing was beginning to get out of control; it felt like an overload of my sensory systems. My last serious boyfriend with more intense body contact had been about four years back, and after things fell apart, I’d had the urge to be alone more than ever, except maybe for an attempt or two. Right now, the collected turmoil of emotions was overshadowed by the lingering feeling of Henry’s lips and the memory of his fingers on my spine, neck, and other important areas. I hoped that in the morning I was able to think about this affair, this love affair, more clearly. I stared at the red taillights of my co-cruising nighthawks and remembered Henry’s cat analogy. The independent feline….

I had to shake myself out of it and opened the side windows wide to let in the cold night air and keep me fresh for the task at hand. Usually I went better prepared and better rested into a job. I didn’t drive around in my own car with a sports bag of B&E tools in the trunk, and my nerves weren’t affected by such an overdose of hormones. I felt a little nervous because I had never broken into the home of another criminal. Well, not completely true, I had broken into the safe of my fiancé once upon a time—and had paid the price for it. Rip Delaware was not comparable to Thomas Cornelius, but both had a certain effect on me. Maybe the criminal undercurrent in their respective personalities were in sync with my own criminal instincts on some level.

Cousin Mick waited for me outside the Adlon Apartments. I parked my car legally a few yards down the road and slipped into his brown, nondescript Ford Taurus. He switched off the low-volume blues rock music from Sirius XM.
 

Mick was all business and had stopped arguing. “How do you want to play it?”

“What can you tell me about Rip’s house?” I said, emptying myself of emotions and trying to be as professional as I might.

Mick looked ahead and concentrated. “One level, built on the slope, partially overlooking the valley. Main door and garage entrance from the housing complex road, small pool and terrace right on the edge of the slope. BaySec Alarm System, low tech with basic wiring of all doors and windows including the overhead daylights. He left some lights on in the house before he left, including the TV.”

“How fast do you think the security guys will react?”

“In this area? Don’t know, would have to guess. About five minutes, maybe ten if they are standing in the line for a Starbucks coffee?” Mick shrugged.
 

“Any idea about the code and such?”
 

“I couldn’t see him entering any number; he was careful to close the door before deactivating the alarm.”
 

 
“You seem to know a lot about a house you just discovered last night,” I asked Mick, slightly amused.

“I am good at scouting out locations, if that is what you mean,” Mick said slyly. “I am something like the sneaky guy among our posse.”

“You take after the Moons.”

Mick had to grin. “Mick Moon, at your service.”

“You actually bear Bernie’s name?” I asked, unaware of the fact that Bernie had actually been married to that flame of the season twenty years ago or so.
 

“Yes, Dad married all of the girls who gave him children. Divorced them, too, of course. I have five more stepbrothers and sisters.”

“My family is growing by the minute.” I was thinking through my plan. “Okay, this is how it goes. You will be the lookout. Do the guys notify you when Rip is on the move?”

“Yeah, last I heard they are in a bar not far from the dinner place they went to. Talking, drinking, kissing.”

“Call me when it gets hot. I will take the way over the terrace and check out the house inside.”

“What do you hope to find?” Mick asked.

“Not sure what I will find, to be honest. If Rip is a professional, I will find nothing about his crimes in his house. He will have stashes around everywhere but here. Maybe I will find something personal that will tell me who he is and what he is up to. See you.”

I rummaged in my little sports bag and moved my basic gear into the little nylon backpack. I changed shoes and my pullover, then checked my cellphone and set it to vibrate. “You got the number?”
 

Mick nodded, and I slipped out of the car into the night. I made my way over to the next house, took the trash bin alley, and stayed in the shadows until I had reached the bushes behind the housing complex. Then I stumbled a little bit in the weak moonlight over stones and gravel and came up behind Rip’s house. It was an easy feat climbing up one of the pylons that held the terrace deck. Rip not only had switched on the lights in the house, but the terrace and the pool were bathed in light, too. I climbed over the railing and walked casually like a late-night girlfriend over the terrace and checked the living room.
 

Thank you for the light, Rip
.
 

I could make out the position of the infrared sensor, and it was far away through the large living room over on the far end of the corridor. I was able to roam the living room without fear of alarms.

I spread out my little toolset, did a little drilling on the underside of one of the windows, located the necessary cables, and bridged the circuit of the alarm system of the terrace door. Easy piece of work. I credit-carded the locking mechanism of the door and slid it open.
Hello, Rip’s residence
.

I took some precautions and made one very careful round to check for any tricks of the intrusion trade like trip wires and coins, hair over a doorframe and such. I didn’t find any, which I took for a bad sign: Rip didn’t have anything to hide in here.
 

The living room was spacious and furnished with a modern sofa, coffee table, and some bookshelves with a small bar attached. To the left and the right were two doors leading into the bedroom and workout room. It took me about an hour to make my way through all three rooms that were accessible to me, as I couldn’t go into the front part of the house due to the infrared sensors. It was midnight exactly when I stood in the living room again without learning anything. Nothing revealing Rip’s true identity; nothing showing too much of his personality except that he had good taste in furniture, interior design, and clothes. Nothing hidden anywhere behind walls, floors, or carpets. A perfectly sanitized home.
 

I froze for a second when my phone in my pocket started humming.
 

It was Mick, of course. “Rip and his girl left the bar and are in his car. They are on the move, destination unknown. Could be home, could be her place, could be a club.” He hung up.

Outside the air was fresh and cool, and I sat down on one of the deck chairs and looked around. The night was still; only some cold-resistant insects were making chirping noises accompanied by the gurgling of the pool filter. Maybe he had stashed his loot in the bushes downhill? Would be a good place, but a risky one as well. You never know what loonies were walking around the semi-wilderness with their metal detectors or what kind of real estate entrepreneurs were starting digging in the morning. Maybe he had crawled under his house or the neighbor’s house and hid it there? Tacked it to the underside of a deck?