Claws for Alarm (21 page)

“You mean they created the forgeries in order to smuggle the gems? Is that even possible? I mean, how can you hide gems inside a painting? Unless maybe the frame?”

“They could be secreted in the backing. There have also been cases where the gems were actually covered in oils and embedded in the paintings. It requires a great deal of skill to camouflage them, but it can be done.”

“Wow.” My eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to me. “Do you think it could be possible Pitt found diamonds in one of his paintings? Maybe that's the reason he was killed! His wife said he called the gallery the morning of his murder, and she heard him complaining about a flaw. Most likely he was talking about his painting being a forgery, but what if the person he told this to thought he meant something else, like maybe he'd discovered diamonds?”

“It's possible,” Daniel admitted.

“Maybe you should take a closer look at those other paintings in his office,” I cried, grabbing Ollie's arm. “Maybe we should go there now and—”

Daniel held up his hand. “Hold on. The two of you aren't going anywhere, Nora.”

I whirled to face him. “What? But you said we were going to share information. That we were going to work together.”

“No,” he said firmly, “I said that you might have found out some things we needed to know, and I proposed we share our information. I never said we were going to work together to solve this case.”

“That's true,” Ollie agreed. “He never said—OW!” He yelped as my elbow made sharp contact with his rib cage.

My eyes narrowed. “That's not playing fair. You lied to me. Finding the answer to these murders is the only way to free Lacey, and you know it.”

He leaned over, tucked his thumb under my chin, and raised my face to his. “These people play for keeps, Nora. Samms is right. You're very intuitive, but you're not a trained investigator.”

“Ollie is,” I said, squeezing his arm again and ignoring the black look he bestowed on me.

“I'm aware of Oliver J. Sampson's reputation. He specializes in missing persons, finding stray animals, taking photos of philandering husbands. An investigation like this is out of his league, and it's out of yours. Do you think I want to see you end up like Julia?”

“I only had one stray animal case,” Ollie mumbled. “And the rabbit came home by himself.”

I ignored his whining and turned to Daniel. “No,” I grumbled. “I don't want me to end up like Julia, either.”

Daniel patted my arm. “Good. Now, why don't you take Ollie back to his office and return to Cruz. I'm sure Chantal will be glad to turn the reins of the sandwich shop back to you.”

“Chantal is fine,” I spat. “And my business won't suffer too much. There's still the little matter of Lacey coming up for trial for a murder she didn't commit, remember? If we can't get a confession out of someone, Lacey's sure to get convicted on that circumstantial evidence.”

“I do remember, and you have my word I'm going to do everything I can to find out what Julia discovered and bring Pitt's real murderer to justice. Honest, the best thing you can do is go back home and let us handle things.”

“I was planning on staying with my aunt. In case you haven't heard, Lacey's trial has been moved up. I—I need to be here.”

Daniel nodded. “I can appreciate that. We'll take you to your aunt's and take Ollie back to his office.”

“I've got my own car, thanks.”

“I'll take advantage of your offer for a lift, though,” Ollie spoke up. “I do have some urgent matters at the office I should attend to.”

“Great. One of Samms's men will take you back. I'll follow Nora to her aunt's.” He wagged his finger under my nose. “Give me your word you won't do something stupid, or do I need to assign a bodyguard to you?”

“That's not necessary. I promise to behave. Scout's honor.” I'd never been a Girl Scout, but what the hey. What Daniel or Samms didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Daniel, however, was not so easily deterred. “Let me see your hands.”

I held them out in front of me. “I promise. See? Nothing's crossed. Do you want me to take my shoes off, too?”

He looked down at my narrow-toed heels and chuckled. “Not necessary. I'll take you at your word. Let's go.”

We were halfway out the door when Daniel paused. “Oh, and I do have news for you on another matter. You remember you asked if I could find out anything on Bronson A. Pichard?”

My head snapped up. “Really? You located him? Where is he?”

“It wasn't easy, but you can find him at Greenlawn Heights, in Los Angeles.”

“Greenlawn Heights?” I frowned. The name seemed familiar, and not in a good way. Even as I asked the question, I got a creepy-crawly, shivery sensation all along my spine, as if I knew what his answer would be. “What's that, some sort of exclusive residential complex?”

He shook his head. “Of sorts. It's a cemetery. Bronson A. Pichard is dead.”

D
aniel and Samms walked me down to my SUV, one on each side of me, pressed against me so tight I felt like the filling in one of my sandwiches. I might have actually enjoyed it if the two of them didn't look like they thought I might bolt at any given moment. Once out on the sidewalk, Samms walked Ollie over to a nearby patrol car. I walked right over to my SUV and got in, aware of Daniel's watchful gaze on me as I buckled my seat belt.

“You know, you don't have to treat me like public enemy number one,” I said, gripping the wheel with both hands. “I promised to drop investigating, didn't I? Nothing was crossed, remember? Or would you like me to pinky swear?”

“Not necessary. It's not that I don't trust you to keep your word,” Daniel said. “But you know as well as I your zeal for solving puzzles often overshadows your better judgment.
Or have you forgotten you were on the receiving end of a .45 recently?”

“Hard to forget that, when people love to keep reminding me,” I muttered. “You've made your point. But before we go, tell me what you found out about Pichard, and how he died.”

He looked at me for a long moment before he answered. “He'd been living abroad the past year. France, specifically. He died about three months ago, in a train wreck. His body was crushed between two cars. They identified him from the dental records.”

I shut my eyes. “Not a pretty way to die.” Another question burned on my lips, but I hesitated. Finally, I blurted out, “Was it an accident or not?”

“It was ruled an accidental death, but my contact told me they have their suspicions. Pichard wasn't exactly an upstanding citizen in any country. He was suspected of selling copies of antique originals here. Nothing was ever proven and no criminal charges were ever filed against him, but the police started watching him more closely, particularly after his wife divorced him and he ended up practically penniless. When he couldn't make a go of anything here in the States, he took off across the pond. And while they couldn't find any reports on any shady dealings in Europe, the people he hung around with were . . . questionable at best.”

I scratched absently at my ear. “Well, if he's dead, I guess he didn't have anything to do with Nick Atkins's disappearance. Too bad. I thought he was a really good lead.”

“He might have been,” Daniel said. He reached out, grabbed my hand. “Look, I'm sorry about before. I'm just trying to keep you safe.”

I squeezed his hand. “I know you are, but I'm a big girl, Daniel. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.”

I gave him a rueful smile. “You might remind your pal Samms of that.”

He gave me a searching look. “As it turns out, Samms is more your pal than mine.”

“Not really. I told you, it was one semester a long, long time ago. And we weren't exactly what I'd call . . . friends.”
More like two ships that passed in the night
. “I don't think I even remembered what his first name was until lately,” I added. “He's always just been . . . Samms.”

Daniel reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn't mean to imply I doubted your word. This investigation is wearing on our nerves. We're so close. If only Julia had lived to tell what she found out, but now we're back to square one.”

“I'm sorry. I haven't exactly been a model of cooperation myself. What's eating at me is I don't seem to be able to do a damn thing to help Lacey. I hate the thought of her having to go through the trauma of an actual trial. She tries not to act it, but my sister is really very sensitive. I shudder to think what might happen if she were to be found guilty.”

I turned the key in the ignition and the motor hummed to life. “Well, you've got a murderer to find—maybe two—and I've got some catching up to do with Aunt Prudence. I don't want to keep you.”

He stepped back from the car and gave me a long, searching look. “You're going to be a good girl, aren't you, Nora? You're going to mind what I said, and leave the investigation to Lee and myself?”

I batted my eyelashes. “Of course. I promised. See?” I wiggled both hands in front of his face. “Nothing's crossed.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, looked at the screen. “They've got Taft over at the bar. I really need to get there. Do I have your word you'll go straight to Prudence's?”

“Scout's honor.” I beamed at him, crossing my ankles as I did so. He nodded and hurried across the street to his car. I waved in a brief salute and made a sharp left onto Main. Then I pushed my foot all the way down on the accelerator and gunned it. The freeway entrance was up ahead about a quarter of a mile, and I was just about to congratulate myself on my swift getaway when I saw flashing lights in my side mirror.

“What the—”

Swearing softly, I pulled over to the side of the road. The police cruiser pulled up beside me. The cop behind the wheel looked like a junior Barney Fife—receding hairline, thick lips, scrawny neck. He exited his vehicle and walked with a slow and steady gait over to me. I sighed and lowered the window.

“What's the problem, Officer?” I gave Barney Junior my brightest smile. “I might have been going a little fast, but well within the city speed limit, I'm sure.”

“Oh, you weren't speeding, ma'am. At least you weren't speeding enough to warrant a ticket. You are Nora Charles, correct?”

Uh-oh. “Yes?”

“Good. I've got orders from Detective Leroy Samms to follow you to your place of residence and make sure you don't leave. If you'd be so kind as to just wait for me to get back into my vehicle, I'll be escorting you home.”

Heck, did I have a choice? Apparently Samms was even more of a butinsky than I remembered. I smiled sweetly. “Why of course, Officer.”

“Good.” He walked back around to his car, got in, and then motioned for me to pull away. I did so, seething, and pounded my fist lightly against the wheel. Men! But if they thought a little thing like a police escort would deter me, they had better think again.

*   *   *

W
hen I made the turn onto Prudence's street the first thing I noticed was the sleek black sedan parked diagonally across from her house. Slouched across the wheel was a man, apparently engrossed in reading a newspaper. The cruiser pulled up next to the car, and the officer got out, walked over, and leaned inside the driver's window. The officer pointed to my car, said a few more words, and then got back in the police car and pulled away. The other man glanced up as I exited the car. He gave me a quick once-over and then returned to his reading, apparently unconcerned.

Well, well. Either one of Samms's men or one of Daniel's. Take your pick. I guessed Daniel's, since Samms's men all seemed to resemble sixties' sitcom personas.

I hurried up the steps of the house without a backward glance. Irene had the door open before my hand could touch the knob. She reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside, then bustled over to the window and stood behind the curtain, peering out from around the side.

“He's been out there for over an hour,” she hissed.

I felt my jaw drop slightly. “An hour? Irene, are you sure?”

She bobbed her head up and down. “I think he might
be—what is it robbers do? Oh yes. ‘Casing the joint.' Should I call the police?”

Out in the kitchen I heard a faint squawk, and then, “Police! Police!” Apparently Jumanji had super hearing.

“No, Irene. I'm pretty sure he
is
the police.” I said this through gritted teeth because, if Irene was correct about the timeline, which she most likely was, then Daniel and/or Samms must have arranged it earlier. “How do you like that?” I muttered under my breath. “They didn't trust that I'd just come home and stay out of it. They made sure somoene was here to watch me.”

Irene was still peering out from around the edge of the curtain. “Do you think they're here on account of Lacey?”

“No, it's a long story, Irene. But you can feel safe. He's definitely not a robber.”

She still looked dubious. “You're sure?”

I pulled a grimace. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“All right then.” She let the curtain fall back into place and stood for a minute, hands on hips. “Your aunt isn't here. She went to the market. We're having a roast for dinner. Think you can stick around?”

“At this point, it's a very real possibility.”

I trudged up the stairs and entered my room. I tossed my purse on the chair and flopped onto the bed, where I rubbed at my forehead with the tips of my fingers. “Something isn't right,” I mumbled. I felt the bed shake, and then soft fur swatted my nose—Nick's tail.

I pulled him onto my lap, all twenty pounds, and rubbed his ruff. “Ever get that feeling that something's floating around in your brain, but you just can't put your finger on
it? That's how I feel. Something's bothered me ever since I saw that photo earlier.”

Nick blinked at me and I laughed. “Oh, of course. You don't know what photo I mean.” I grabbed my purse and whipped out the photo of the sculpture that had been in the manila envelope. “I managed to sneak this into my purse when Daniel and Samms weren't giving me the evil eye.” I laid it on the bed and then went over to my dresser to retrieve the bit of plaster from the burlap sack in the warehouse. “Sculptures can be made of plaster,” I murmured. “You know, it wouldn't be a big deal for an expert to substitute a plaster cast for a more expensive one. Those grooves in that bit of plaster looked big enough to hide gems inside. And if they stuffed it with enough stones, well, it'd be pretty heavy, right?”

Nick arranged himself, sphinxlike, on the bed and cocked his head.

“Jenna Whitt said her specialty was sculpture,” I continued. “And she was pretty upset over losing that pouch. She told Lacey it was because it contained some friend's tranquilizers—but what if she were lying. What if it contained something else? Something infinitely more valuable?

“What if it contained diamonds?”

I got up and started to pace to and fro under Nick's watchful gaze. “I bet that pouch was full of diamonds. Maybe it was her payoff, or maybe she was supposed to put them into a sculpture to be shipped out and she misplaced the pouch. Maybe Julia did find it after all. Dammit, if only Ollie and I had more time to search we might have found it.”

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Pitt's death might not be connected to a forged painting or a
jealous mistress at all. What if he'd gotten the wrong sculpture by accident, one of the casts containing jewels? He'd surely have noticed, being the consummate expert. That could have been the flaw his wife heard him mention on the phone. He'd told Julia he'd discussed the situation with the person in charge, which had to have been Wilson. Maybe some remark of his had led Wilson to think he'd discovered the hiding place for the diamonds.

I stopped pacing and jabbed my finger at Nick. “A nice theory, right? But I need proof. Damn, I wish I could get inside Pitt's office again. I'd like another look at that sculpture. I'll bet anything if I turned it around, there'd be a slight crack in it. And who knows, maybe diamonds inside.”

My laptop chirped suddenly, and I walked over, noticed that I had a new mail message from Louis with an attachment. I opened the missive and read:

Hey—I managed to download a few pix from the police server. Thought maybe they'd be a help. Don't lose this copy, because I'm deleting the original and all traces of my being in their system. You can reward me with an exclusive article on Pitt's murder for the next issue of
Noir
.

I had to admit I was impressed with Louis's hacking skills, and maybe just a tad frightened, too. I opened the attachment, and a second later photo images floated across my laptop screen.

I examined each of the photos closely. None of them stirred anything in my brain, until the last row. I clicked on the last picture and enlarged the image. I leaned forward to study it
and then let out a squeal of excitement, startling Nick, who'd jumped up and arranged his portly body next to the laptop.

“See.” I pointed at the screen and then snatched up the photo I'd purloined from Julia's apartment. I held the photo next to the one on-screen. “They're different. The sculptures. The one in the crime scene photo has the mask in the hand on the right, like this photo. That's what bothered me. When I was in Pitt's office that day the sculpture I saw had the mask in the
left
hand. Someone switched the sculptures.”

I stopped, frowning. Said switch would have had to be done after the murder, which meant there had to be another way into that office. Whoever switched sculptures could also have gotten rid of the drugged wine at that point, as well.

I heard a light clicking sound and looked down. Nick was using his claws to push some of his favorite Scrabble tiles along the polished hardwood floor. I rolled my eyes. I wasn't even going to attempt to guess how he'd gotten his paws on them.