Grace Among Thieves (4 page)

“Seriously?”

“The guy may be a pest, but he’s not stupid. You ask me, he was afraid the girl might turn around and blame him for some indecency. The man was covering his . . .”

“Tracks?”

“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Exactly the word I was about to use. Anyway, while she slept it off at the station, Rodriguez ran her name. She may have over-imbibed, but her record is as clean as my momma’s kitchen floor on Sunday.”

I laughed.

He continued, “When Lenore woke up the next morning, it was like she hadn’t been drunk at all. No hangover. She ate everything the cops put in front of her. And she talked. A lot. They couldn’t get her back to her hotel fast enough. Rodriguez says he feels sorry for the lady. He even went as far to declare that if she’s a criminal, he’ll hire Ronny Tooney as his personal assistant.”

“Whoa.”

“Which is why I let her go. But I’m holding John responsible for her. He knows that.”

“He’s got his hands full.”

Terrence grinned again. “You couldn’t pay me to take on that man’s job.”

Chapter 4

WHEN I MADE IT BACK TO MY OFFICE, FRANCES was waiting for me. Wearing a peach polyester shell and coordinating plaid slacks, she stood in front of her desk, arms folded across her ample bosom. She tapped her sensibly shod foot impatiently against the golden oak floor and glared at me like a cranky principal about to hand out a tardy. The tiny pink note she held between two fingers completed the image to perfection. “And what was all the fuss about?” she demanded, pointing toward the first floor.

“Wow,” I said. “That was fast, even for you. You need to let me in on your secret.”

Unappreciative as usual of my humor, she sniffed. “The Mister stopped by. Told me to tell you that he was headed back up to his rooms. He also said to tell you that as soon as the fuss started, Hillary took off like a shot.” Frances’s eyes narrowed. “The Mister thinks she’s behind all these thefts, doesn’t he?”

I didn’t answer. Hillary’s innocence or guilt would be proved by facts, not by gossiping behind her back. Pointing to the pink slip of paper Frances held, I asked, “Is that for me?”

She extended her arm, presenting it high, near my face. “Some woman you know who works at the Kane Estate in California. She called. Sounded important.”

“Nadia?” I said, grabbing the note to read it. Not much information. Her name, number, and Frances’s scribbled, “CALL ASAP.”

I must have frowned because my assistant was quick to pounce. “I know you
prefer
e-mails instead of notes written on paper, but like I told you before, we’ve got a crate of these ‘While You Were Out’ forms, and if we don’t use them they’ll go into the garbage. Is that what you want, for me to waste the Mister’s money?”

I counted to five silently as she ranted, reminding myself that Frances protected Bennett as though it were her solemn duty. What she didn’t understand is that I shared that responsibility. My assistant was doing her job the best way she knew how. I only wished she’d learn to converse rather than confront.

“This note is fine,” I said. “Did Nadia tell you what it was about?”

“If she had, don’t you think I would have written it down?”

I made my way to my office, tapping the paper thoughtfully. Nadia and I had met years ago, when I was a grad student and she a tenured professor. Despite the age gap, we’d forged an enduring friendship and shared a love of all things historical. She’d retired from teaching last year and had taken an assistant curator position on the West Coast in one of the finest homes in the country: the Kane Estate. She and I kept in touch via e-mail and snail mail because Nadia refused to own a cell phone, claiming that at her age she didn’t need to be available every minute of every day. In her mid-eighties, the woman was fit, spry, and perennially cheerful. She was as opposite Frances as a person could get. It was very odd for Nadia to call, and I wondered what was up.

I sat at my desk and picked up the phone, talking to myself. “I hope she’s okay.”

Frances shouted from the other room. “She sounded fine.”

I put the receiver down, got up, and went to the doorway that separated our offices. “Thanks,” I said to my assistant. Then I shut the door.

Back at my desk, I dialed Nadia at work. She answered on the first ring.

“Grace,” she said, with such joy in her voice I was immediately warmed. “I’m glad you got back to me so quickly.”

“It’s great to hear from you.” Nadia’s voice was strong, her tone upbeat. Relief surged over me. “But I have to tell you, I was a little concerned when I read the message. It says to call you back ASAP.”

“Then your assistant did her job,” she said. “What a charming woman. She asked me all about you and how you and I knew each other.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Did she?”

“It sounds as though you’ve had your share of trouble at Marshfield over the past few months. I remember you e-mailing some of the story, but I didn’t realize how close you’d come to getting hurt.”

“Frances exaggerates.”

“I’m not so sure about that. She seemed genuinely concerned for your safety.”

“Well . . .” I was about to launch into an accurate description of Frances, but stopped myself before getting the first negative word out. Why spoil Nadia’s happy impression? No good would come of that. “She’s certainly efficient.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I’m so pleased to know that you’re working with other good souls. People can make or break a job, you know.”

Before I could respond, she switched gears. When she spoke again, her tone was serious.

“I’m sorry to bring more trouble your way, Grace, and I sincerely hope it turns out to be nothing . . .”

I sat up, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. With Nadia in California and me in North Carolina, I couldn’t imagine what trouble might be brewing. Unless . . .

“My sister hasn’t been in touch with you?” I asked, feeling oddly breathless. “Last I heard she was out West. Please tell me she hasn’t hit you up for a loan.”

Nadia put my fears to rest immediately. “No, honey. Don’t worry. It’s not about Liza.”

“Thank goodness.”

My sister was currently missing in action, but fears about her returning to wreak havoc on my life never drifted far enough from my mind to give me peace. I longed for the day when I could relax completely, but I knew my sister too well to believe she would ever stay out of my life for good. My only hope was that it would be years, not months, before I heard from her again. Maybe by then I’d be strong enough to forgive her. Despite the fact that I was better off without my former fiancé, Eric, the memory of their dual duplicity still made my throat catch. Sisters didn’t do that to one another—at least not sisters who cared.

Nadia had been shuffling papers. “Here it is,” she said, although I couldn’t see what it was she referred to. “I made a few notes so I wouldn’t forget the details.”

“I’m listening.”

“First of all, everything I’m about to share is strictly confidential. We’re working with the authorities and carefully monitoring how much information will be released to the media when the story eventually breaks.”

“This sounds serious.”

“It is. Grace, we’ve been robbed. Three items of great historical significance, not to mention considerable worth, are gone. A few smaller pieces have been taken as well.”

I sucked in a breath. “What’s missing?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m under strict orders not to share more than absolutely necessary.” Her voice lowered. “It seems there have been other thefts at other historical sites like ours over the past couple of years. I can tell you this much: They have a specific MO. That’s the term for ‘modus operandi,’” she added helpfully. I knew that, but let her continue. “They snatched the smaller pieces early on. The theory is that’s how they start. Kind of a practice. A dry run.”

“What did you do when the first pieces went missing?”

“We began an investigation, of course, but that’s where it gets interesting,” she said. “Their timing was perfect—too perfect to be coincidental. They stole the first few items mere days before we’d scheduled a giant fund-raiser.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Kane supports many worthwhile charities but we rarely host them on-site. Insurance concerns, you understand. This time, however, we’d planned a gala fund-raiser to benefit at-risk teens. We not only opened our doors to four hundred generous donors, we invited thirty disadvantaged teens as well.”

I still wasn’t getting it, but Nadia hadn’t finished explaining.

“The three major pieces we lost?” she continued. “They disappeared during the event.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. The thieves started a small fire during the party. You can imagine the chaos and fear that caused. Fortunately, no lives were lost. What’s important to note is that the disturbance provided a diversion. While guests and security scrambled to prevent a major disaster, the thieves made their move. Two people were injured, including one of our security guards. He’s hospitalized with a gunshot wound.”

“Is he okay?”

“Doctors say he will be. But he couldn’t identify the gunman. He said it happened too fast.”

“That’s terrible, Nadia,” I said.

“Initially, the police wanted to interrogate the kids, thinking they were behind the theft. Poor people are always the easiest targets, aren’t they? Thankfully, before that public relations nightmare got started, we realized that this had been a strategic strike.”

“How so?”

“The three stolen pieces were all from the same dynas—oh, I’m getting too specific. Let’s just say they were all from the same region, the same century. We had acquired them from different sources at different times and we’d received the final piece in the collection the week before. Although they were housed in the same general area, they were not grouped together. In fact, whoever stole these passed up several other valuable pieces nearby. The thieves knew what they wanted. Probably for a collector who isn’t picky about provenance.”

I’d heard of fencing operations like these. They usually targeted museums, though they tended to do so infrequently, both because security measures were improving by the minute, and because one successful haul provided plenty to live on while strategizing the next hit. I sat back, stunned, “I’m so sorry to hear this. Do you have any leads?”

“Not much. And what little we have I can’t share. What I am allowed to tell you is that the authorities believe the thieves took advantage of the fund-raiser to cover for their big heist. In a situation like that there’s always some confusion, a few mishaps, and hundreds of unfamiliar faces. We think they blended in, grabbed what they wanted, and were out before we knew anything was missing.”

“Wow,” I said, because there wasn’t much else to say. “What prompted you to call me about this?”

“I remember you telling me about the company you hired to film a DVD of Marshfield. We hired a crew to tape the fund-raiser.”

I got a sudden sick twist in my gut. “Who did you use?”

“I’m not allowed to say. Legal mumbo-jumbo. But if you tell me who you’re using . . .”

I gripped the receiver tighter to my ear and gave her the name of Corbin Shaw’s group.

She gave a sigh of relief. “Not the same company. You may be safe.”

I felt a tiny wash of relief.

“Understand, honey,” she went on, “there’s no positive proof the film crew has done anything wrong. But I remembered what you’d told me and I thought it worth a phone call. They were here during the fund-raiser. For all we know, the thieves simply waited for our guard to be down before they pounced. If so, you may want to keep your eyes open, and talk to your security chief about tightening things up. Just until the film crew is gone. And then—”

“We are missing items,” I admitted. “A few. Nothing major.”

“When?”

“Since the film crew has been here.”

“What’s missing?”

I named the items, thinking that if Nadia hadn’t gotten in touch, we might have been poised to lose even more. “We’ve kept close tabs on the crew,” I said, even more glad that I’d agreed to come in early the next morning to oversee the project. “We’ve limited filming to hours when the mansion is closed to visitors.”

“Be careful. Like I said, we had a couple of people injured. These thieves are ruthless. With all that’s gone on with Marshfield lately, I was worried you may have enough chaos in your midst to attract the thieves’ attention.”

The last thing Marshfield Manor needed right now was another tragedy. Despite the fact that the two murders here in recent months were helping attendance rather than hindering it, our goal was to draw seekers of beauty and lovers of history rather than morbid gawkers who wanted to see where bodies had been found.

At least this time we had forewarning. “Thanks, Nadia,” I said. “You have to know how much I appreciate this.”

After we hung up, I called Terrence. “Hey,” I said, “got a minute?”

* * *

BOOTSIE SAT IN MY LAP AS I READ THE NEWSPAPER at our kitchen table. The house was quiet, save for her gentle purrs thrumming softly against the inside of my left arm. The little tuxedo kitten had become part of the family from the moment she’d joined us, and I had to admit that I was secretly pleased she’d attached herself most firmly to me.

My roommates, Bruce and Scott, were busy at Amethyst Cellars, their wine shop in town. Because we were at the beginning of Emberstowne’s high season, I didn’t expect either of them home before ten and it was just past eight now. I’d texted both to let them know that I’d probably be in bed when they got back, so I was surprised when the back door opened and Bruce rushed in.

“Great,” he said, “I caught you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Bootsie raised her head, looked up at me, then wriggled onto her back, snuggling to make herself more comfortable.

Bruce placed a bottle of wine on the table in front of me. Wrapped in red and clear cellophane twisted at the bottle’s neck with ribbons cascading in silvery free fall, it was a lovely presentation. I turned it to read the label: one of their more expensive vintages. But the gift card, the “To-zee, From-zee” as we’d always called them in my family, was blank.

“Who’s this for?” I asked.

“That’s the thing,” he said, sitting across from me. “Mr. Marshfield’s stepdaughter came in this afternoon and picked it out. She didn’t give us a name.”

“Hillary was in the shop?”

“She came in for a wine tasting. Alone. But she left with at least two phone numbers. That woman works fast.”

“I’m still not getting this,” I said, pointing to the wine bottle.

“I’m not sure I get it, either. Hillary waited until her two new conquests were gone, then picked out this cabernet. After she paid, she requested gift wrapping. We told her it would be a couple of minutes, but she said she had an appointment and couldn’t wait. She knew you were planning to be at Marshfield early tomorrow and asked that we have you bring it.” Bruce held his hands up apologetically. “She was out the door before we could stop her.”

It would be like Hillary to arrange for me to be her delivery person. “No worries, Bruce. I’ll take it.”

Bootsie gave a little huff. Indignation on my behalf, possibly? She jumped off my lap and began kneading my plush yellow slippers. That was one of her favorite pastimes. I had to admit I got a kick out of it, too.