Loving Grace (10 page)

Seth was watching her, his brow arched.

“But first, you’ve got to tell me what you
know, Seth. I am aware you have contacts on the Force. I know you
have an idea of what they’re after.”

Seth took a sip of coffee then said quietly,
“The word is, they think the whole business is a front for
drugs.”

“No—”

“Yes. Grace, customs found coke sealed in the
crate lid of one of his paintings. He’s a dealer.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s Elise and
Bryce. It’s not him.”

“Come on. Okay, I thought he might be unaware
of it too. But look how fast his stuff sold, at what price? It’s
fishy he appears on the scene at his age, does a show. Bam! He’s
got a gallery and everyone loves the art.”

“He’s that good. Have you seen his
stuff?”

“No.”

“Go see it.”

He sighed. “This is the real world, Sis. It’s
not fiction where every great painter does what he does because of
some spiritual conv—”

“Please.” She shook her head, got up and set
her cup on the small counter. Her legs trembled. “You’ve got to
believe me. You’ve got to get proof he’s not part of it, if
anything happens.”

“I’m not stepping on the toes of the FBI,
Grace. I work for money as cold as that sounds. I’m not out here
trying to waste valuable time, cash to me, to help some guy who’s
likely guilty.”

She stared up at the grilled window with six
inches of dirty snow melting outside in the late January sun. She’d
gone back to work, back into her old routine and tight schedule,
but given a few nights a week to Seth. They had scoped out the
Gallery, watched Elise and Bryce, watched Noel. Unfortunately, the
man in the sweat suit hadn’t reappeared, and though Seth saw Bryce
and Elise go to the back of the Gallery after closing, it appeared
to him as if they used it for their lovers’ tryst.

All this time Grace had been holding back the
photos she took inside, and the ones in the studio. She’d developed
the ones of Noel the night before Seth came back. Apparently, she
should have taken the negatives out of the trashcan.

“What did Elisa say when you called her?”

“She said she would send a check. She was
glad Noel was faithful. Made some jokes, comments, and thanked me.”
Seth added. “That’s how I know the cops will be knocking on my
door, Grace. I need you to talk to me. I know the kind of person
you are, you don’t want them showing up here and getting you mixed
up in this.”

Oh God, no. She hadn’t thought of that. “What
did you do with the negatives?”

“I burned them.”

She felt her whole body slump and rested her
chin on her chest a moment with her eyes closed. She murmured, “We
can’t sit by and do nothing.”

“Yes, we can.”

“I went there, Seth.” She turned and stared
at him. “I went there often and he...painted me.”

Seth’s expression stilled. “Grace, if there
are paintings of you there at his place…”

“I know, I know.” She sat down and ran her
fingers though her hair. “I used a fake name. He didn’t know
anything about me. I lied about what you did too.” She told him the
information she’d given.

He shook his head, looking at her as if he’d
never seen her before. “Damn, I would never have thought—”

“Oh, Seth. Me neither.” She held her head in
her hands, elbows on her knees as she stared at the brick floor.
Then, she told him the truth, all of it, except for her intense
feelings, her desire for Noel. She explained it as this curiosity
that wouldn’t die, and put it in terms she thought he himself would
use on a case that nagged at him. But when she was done, Seth
nodded, simply looking at her. Grace had a feeling that Seth saw
through her and was sparing her the discomfort of talking about
those personal, private, feelings.

The muffled sound of the city filtered in
combining with the tic of the clock on her shelf. Silence stretched
while Seth thought, and Grace stared blindly at the floor, seeing
the face of the man she never stopped dreaming about.

A few weeks ago, she’d been in a coffee shop
and spied him across the street. Dressed in her usual winter wool
and with her hair in a bun, and black glasses on, Grace doubted
that from a distance he could recognize her. He’d had on a long
leather coat with a dangling red scarf. His hair was cut very
short, curls hugging his head. He’d grown a close-cropped beard and
somehow the polished artist look made her feel sad, mourn for the
man in torn, paint spattered Levis, barefoot and wild-maned.
However, there he stood, talking to a reporter wearing black wool
slacks, a white cable sweater, and expensive boots. The beard
enhanced his lips, and the shorter hair tamed the curls. Before
he’d stepped off the curb to a waiting car, one with tinted windows
and a high price tag, she’d seen him check an expensive gold watch,
and thought...no, no, that wasn’t the Noel she knew.

Now that Seth voiced the suspicions, it
looked worse. Even Grace knew that. He appeared to have turned into
someone else. The man across the street that day liked expensive
clothing, cars, and appeared arrogantly full of himself.

“Hold on to those photos, Grace,” Seth spoke
quietly. “Let’s wait and see how it works out.”

She raised her head, dragging her hands over
her face, staring at him while she pressed her fingertips to her
chin. “They’ve used him. They’ve taken advantage of his trust, and
have used and manipulated him.”

“Maybe. And maybe, they’re all in it
together.”

Grace could see Seth wasn’t buying her
opinion. She watched him get up and go to the counter. He set his
mug on it before going to the rack for his coat. He pulled it on
and stood by the door, fitting his leather gloves on and looking at
her. “Don’t do anything. Keep the photos safe. I’ll sniff around
and try and find out what’s going on.” He stared at her. “Don’t go
near him or the gallery. Promise me?”

“I won’t.”

“All right. I’ll be calling.”

Chapter Twelve

It was the longest month of her life. Grace
broke down and bought a small TV. She could no longer just focus on
her job, bring her work home, and be satisfied. She no longer lost
herself in numbers nor felt satisfaction when she finished a
job.

“You got man problems?” Rita Delotto, a
tenant from upstairs, asked her one day as they were getting their
mail out of the mailbox.

“What?” Grace eyed the woman in mini coat and
mini skirt and spiked heels. She’d always assumed the woman was a
hooker. But a few weeks earlier, she’d seen her in a cocktail
waitress uniform.

“You got man problems?” Those dark eyes
stayed on her. “I’m no gossip Ms. Dean, but everyone always
whispered about how smart you were, how you had to be a professor
or something with the way you dressed.”

“An accountant.”

“Yeah. But some of us saw you coming out of
the apartment, going to your car, dressed different.” She
winked.

Grace mentally groaned.

“I wasn’t in on the whispering about you
moonlighting as something sleazy. A classy woman like you. But I
thought you might have finally met a man. No one ever saw you bring
a man home. Except that brother of yours.”

“I don’t have man problems.” Grace forced a
polite smile.

“If you say so.” Rita shrugged and tucked her
mail in her pocket. “I was just going to offer some advice. You
don’t look like...”

“Thanks. But I’m all right.” Grace
nodded.

Again, the woman shrugged and left.

Grace went to her apartment. Great, just
great. She gave her head a shake at the fact her neighbors had
always talked about her. Given that she was a near recluse, she
supposed that was normal. However, not if she got dragged into this
thing with Noel.

Three days later, she was at the office.
Grace was so busy with tax forms she hadn’t stopped for lunch. Her
cell phone rang in her purse, which hung on the back of the chair.
She paused in the middle of filling out the forms and sat back,
pushing her glasses back on her nose. It was Seth. She looked
around. Rosa’s door was closed but Grace heard her phone ringing,
the fax machines started up. Then the phones started ringing in the
main area where the owners worked. She dug the phone out of her
purse and clicked it on. “Yes?”

Seth asked, “You near a TV or radio?”

“No, why?”

“Get to one and then call me.”

“I can’t, Seth. I’m swamped with work.”

“They’ve all been arrested. All three. There
was a bust at the Gallery, and footage of them being led out in
handcuffs.”

“My God. My God.”

“The report said that agents were at all
their homes.”

Grace felt sick. She pressed her hand to her
mouth, and then said low. “What should I do? I mean, can we do
something?”

“Not yet. Grace, they found drugs in the
paintings at the gallery.” He sighed and stopped, then said, “Try
and get off early. Take your work home and do it. Just watch the
news then call me. I’ll tell you what I know. I’m going to call
some more contacts.”

She was in such a state of shock, of sick
panic she muttered, “Okay,” and clicked the phone off, letting it
clatter to the desktop. Grace propped her elbows on the desk,
holding her head in her hands, and wishing she could take off and
get to a TV. She glanced at the computer. The clock showed she’d
have to stay at least two more hours.

Grace did so. She worked on autopilot.
Numbers were what she did, and she worked almost feverishly to get
through as much as she could. She answered the phone, made calls,
sent faxes, and at five o’clock, she packed her briefcase, grabbed
her coat and purse, and with hardly a word to anyone she headed
home.

As soon as she stepped inside the apartment,
Grace grabbed the remote, switched on the little TV, and turned the
volume up. She took off her shoes and outerwear. Laying the
briefcase on the side table, Grace hurried to put on coffee. When
it was done, she carried a mug to the leather chair and took her
hair down while she sipped. After the traffic report, she finally
saw the update flash across the screen in red.

Grace could barely hear the woman reporter
over the blood roaring in her ears. She watched the plain-clothes
agents spreading around the Gallery and then one leading each of
the three owners out. Grace thought Elisa looked freaked, but Bryce
was pretty cool and calm. Noel looked angry and confused, but
wasn’t resisting. He told some of the reporters who called out that
it was mistake, and it would be cleared up soon.

Grace called Seth while she watched footage
of cops hauling out paintings, crates, and of similar activities
taking place at Elisa’s apartment, the loft, and Bryce’s hotel
room; paper bags and boxes of evidence.

“I’ve watched it.” She left a message on his
machine. “Call me soon. I really—Seth, please, please, call me.”
She hung up and stayed glued to the headline news channel for
hours. The speculation was unrestrained. Grace grit her teeth. Noel
seemed to be the main target, and reporters began reading into
every comment he’d ever given in any interview. Everything from the
car and driver he’d recently purchased, to the clothing he wore.
The high item purchases he’d made was proof he was a man more
interested in money than art. The twenty-five thousand-dollar
engagement ring he’d bought Elisa, the fact that they were
engaged.

She wanted to get up, get dressed, to dash
out, and help Noel clear himself. However, her saner self knew a
few photographs wouldn’t do that. Even what she and Seth had likely
wouldn’t help much. He was rich enough to hire a top-notch lawyer.
Rich enough to clear himself. She wouldn’t believe what the
reporters seemed to imply, she didn’t believe that Noel Hawthorn
was some coke dealer.

Please, please. Grace chanted in her mind;
let him get himself cleared and don’t let this destroy his
dream.

Nevertheless, somewhere in her gut, she felt
a sinking, as one reporter said that according to his sources, all
of Noel’s clients would be investigated. Knowing how some wealthy
people felt about their privacy, Grace cringed. Also, she realized
that the mere implication that he’d used the whole thing as a front
for drugs, to launder money, and sell coke, would taint his name in
the art world. To keep themselves from looking foolish to the
public, buyers would scorn is his talent, and set out to erase him
from the ranks of true artist.

The worst was prison, yes. But having seen
his art, watched him paint, she truly did believe, that for Noel,
the respect of critiques and his buyers meant everything. He was
going to be devastated, she feared, because she knew also, that
Elisa and Bryce were likely drug dealers.

Chapter Thirteen

Mid-March Grace took Seth’s advice throughout
one of the biggest investigations, and art world scandals of the
century. It wore on her nerves and strained her relationship with
her brother, because Seth refused to interfere as long as it was a
federal case. An agent had contacted him, having found his name in
Elisa’s online address book. He gave up his notes and photos,
admitting only that the woman hired him to follow her boyfriend,
Noel.

Grace watched TV and listened to the radio
and sat in the coffee shops, went to stores where it was talked
about. She was aware they all three had lawyers, that the Feds were
giving out few details, but people could read between the lines.
All were in jail, until at last Noel’s lawyer got him out on bail,
under very strict stipulations. He was not allowed to leave the
loft, a loft that had been stripped down according to rumor, and
what paintings the Feds hadn’t seized were sold to retain one of
the best high-profile lawyers in the states.

The murmurs in the art world rumbled to a
roar. The socialites and stars, the businessmen and rich crowd
didn’t like having their lives probed into by the government, nor
did they like having to publicly defend themselves against the
taint from embracing Noel Hawthorn.