Marked Masters (10 page)

The saloon was almost pitch black, the
curtains all closed, but I located a sliding switch near the
doorframe and pulled the lights up to just past dim. I knew what
Jack had said, but I wanted to be sure while I had a chance to
verify my own thoughts. Something was familiar about the
brushstrokes and tickled an idea in the back of my mind.

Within a few minutes I'd confirmed for my
own interests that what Jack said was true, but I couldn't remember
what my subconscious still seemed a bit obsessed over. Eventually,
I knew the information would surface. I had just returned the tiny
torch to my pocket when I heard a startled "Oh!" from behind
me.

"I am so sorry." Margarite gave me her broad
smile as she moved closer. "I walked by and saw the lights on a bit
and thought Ernesto had forgotten to extinguish them."

With a wave toward the painting, I
explained, "I couldn't sleep, so I came in to take another look at
the paintings and see if I could find that wonderful cognac I was
too sleepy to enjoy earlier."

She laughed and moved to the bar. "But of
course. The best way to get back to sleep, I say. Is the room
comfortable for you?"

"Absolutely. No complaints at all." I
accepted the small snifter she passed to me, then watched as she
poured another for herself. She was still in the dress she wore at
dinner, and nothing about her looked slept in. "When do you go to
bed, Margarite?" I took a sip. Heaven.

Once again, she laughed. "I am…oh, what is
the word? Insomniac. That is it." She set her glass back down on
the bar top and waved her hands as she spoke. "I sleep a few hours
here, another few there. It all adds up in the end."

The liquid slid effortlessly down my throat.
"This cognac is excellent. Of course, everything about Folly Roost
has been superb as far as I can see."

She picked up her glass, raised it high
above eye level, and swirled it near one of the recessed lights.
"This is the owner's private collection. He keeps it especially for
his valued guests."

"Who owns the Folly Roost?"

At that second, the captain burst in. "Oh,
good, you're here. We received your call. He's holding for
you."

"Please excuse me." She slid her glass back
to the middle of the bar. "I've been waiting for my son to call. I
must go to the bridge." She slipped her hand through Captain
Morgan's arm. "Thank you for coming to notify me." And they
disappeared out the door.

I finished my cognac and rinsed the glass
under the faucet behind the bar. I wandered past the Picasso, but
my heart wasn't into examining it any closer. It looked like the
real thing, and the fact that Jack pointed up the other as being a
fake right away, without mentioning the Picasso, made the probable
answer lead my feet back to
Woman Dressing Her Hair
.

Something. Something. But what? Those
brushstrokes. Whose were they? Why do I remember them, and what am
I remembering?

The effort was too great. I was trying too
hard, and the answer wouldn't come as long as I persisted. Besides,
fatigue was coming back suddenly in great waves. I hadn't had
enough sleep, and the liquor on top of the exhaustion was the final
push.

By the time I made it back to my stateroom,
I was nearly operating on autopilot. I'd left my lamp on and
oriented my feet toward the bed. Then I remembered nothing
else.

The next morning dawned overcast, the
distant clouds of the wee hours now settling comfortably in the
Miami environs. I was ahead of Jack getting to the saloon, despite
the fact it was after seven already. I couldn't remember when I'd
had a better night's sleep, and discovering the beautiful
fawn-colored linen suit in my closet—and finding it a perfect
fit—pushed me into the delirious zone on my happiness meter. I'd
even decided to tell Jack about the snuffbox, let him know we could
be at the end of our journey in searching for the microchip that
supposedly held details of what could soon be the greatest heist in
the art world. We also might reasonably have the chance to halt all
preparations in their tracks.

I felt like the cat that ate the
canary—cliché, I know, but apropos. Out the windows, I watched the
sun move higher in the sky and heard a speedboat zoom away from
close by. It may have even been the boat Jack and I arrived on the
previous evening. The motor sounded familiar anyway. I imagined the
speedy craft made many ferries back and forth for supplies, as it
obviously had yesterday to return with all the clothes Margarite
stocked in my bedroom suite.

In an instant, I realized exactly how much
I'd missed this life and how I planned to relish this mini-return.
The world was a glorious place when Laurel Beacham was rested,
optimistic, and eating eggs Benedict on a yacht nicer even than the
one Granddaddy used to own. I was in my element and invincible and
ready to offer Jack an "in" into my happy space.

"Ah, I knew you would be early." Margarite
swooped in with a smile and a yummy mimosa in each hand. "Here,
we'll share a little early girl talk."

My plate was empty, and my hand was full
with the lovely flute. We clinked glasses and each took a sip.

"I didn't think I'd finish breakfast before
Jack even made it in here." I laughed. "Guess that final cognac was
just what the doctor ordered for total relaxation."

Margarite waved a hand. "No, no, Jack left
on the launch a few minutes ago. He said he would meet you at the
Browning event."

The glass slipped from my fingers and
shattered across the tabletop.

"Oh, how careless of me." As one of the
waiters cleaned and someone else brought me another filled glass, I
went through the motions, said the right things, but was still
trying to figure out exactly what I'd heard a moment ago. Jack
left. Jack left without me. And without talking to me before he
departed. Despite the fact he was the one so gung-ho to make plans
and trade information the previous evening.

I wasn't sure what it all meant, but I knew
he'd just lost his opportunity to learn about Tina and the
snuffbox. I intended to hold that secret as close as I could when I
had the item in my hand within the next few hours.

The appeal of girl talk vanished about then
too. I smiled a lot and made conversation, but neither my heart nor
my brain was truly in it. Jack was long gone, and I waited until I
heard the return sound of the high-performance boat before I asked,
"Is that the launch now? Would they mind returning to shore right
away? I have a few things to take care of this morning."

"No problem at all." Margarite rose. "I'll
tell them you'll be ready momentarily."

"Give me five minutes."

While she left to inform the crewman, I flew
to my room and returned any items I'd taken from my Fendi, then
scooped up yesterday's clothes. Everything looked the same. I admit
to wishing I could stay longer, and not just for the luxury. This
desire was partly due to wanting to tap into Margarite's knowledge
of Beacham history. To be completely honest, I would have loved to
talk with her about my mother. Having lost my mom when I was barely
four, it was other people's stories that kept her real to me.
Still, if wishes were horses, yada, yada… I wasted no time taking
my leave.

At the ladder, Margarite did nothing to stop
me, didn't even try to slow my progress, but her expressive brown
eyes said she was disappointed in some way. Just as likely, the
roots of her "look" may have hinged on that last
reveal
she'd offered before she left my room the previous night. I still
needed to think about that when I had the time. The mission came
first, however, and while I had no idea if I was the cause of her
disappointment or the result, I didn't take a moment to ask.
Nevertheless, I wondered just the same.

Minutes later, I was the solo passenger on
the black launch as we drove into the wind toward Miami. The water
was choppy and inhospitable, as if it knew reinforcements were
coming and didn't have to play nice anymore. Sheer speed swept my
hair back and away from my face, and the momentum seemed to sweep
the cobwebs from my brain at the same time.

I contemplated how Margarite fit in with
Jack and/or his family. If she'd known him since childhood, they
had a history. A history that might include her making sure
something was slipped in my wine the previous evening, so my
exhaustion could be enhanced and allow Jack to slip out without me
come morning light.

Yet, this idea begged the question as to
what he could be up to so early and why he needed to go alone.
Unless Melanie gave him a lead he hadn't shared, we were still
waiting to see what Nico came up with before proceeding. At least,
that was the plan as far as Jack and I had discussed. My connecting
with Tina had been a fluke—well, not completely, since the girl
never failed to use art events in her husband-trapping plans. But
he could not have known when he drove us to the Browning Gallery
that I would encounter Tina in her new career endeavor. And he
couldn't know what she told me unless he was the person
eavesdropping.

No, that doesn't make sense. The shouting
definitely had to be between coworkers at the site.

As I stood waiting for my cab beside the
harbor master's office, I contemplated my next move. It was too
early to show up to the fête. I wondered if Nico was in town yet. A
second later I knew for sure.

"I just got off my flight from New York" was
his proffered greeting when he answered my phone call. I could
picture his stern look when he added, "And no, I have nothing yet
on the numbers. They seem to be a complete enigma."

"My first question was actually to ask why
you'd suddenly decided to buddy up with Jack."

He said a few choice words in Italian before
responding, "Why would I align myself with him? He is in Max's
pocket now."

Okay, this was as I suspected, but I needed
confirmation before I trusted only my instincts. "Sorry, Nico, I
knew better. Things have simply gone sideways a little too often
lately, and it's left me off-balance." Then I told him the facts
relating to the resurfacing of the fabled snuffbox. "I'm supposed
to pick it up today, but my cab should arrive any minute, and I
plan to shoot over to Tina's condo and try to get it ahead of
schedule."

"You don't think it still has…well, you
know."

Yes, I did know. And I appreciated his
discretion. "My first thought would be no, but Simon is nothing if
not an egotist. If he was actually selling what was hidden inside,
instead of the snuffbox, and that's why he wanted Tina to hold it
here in Miami, the object could still have exactly what Jack
purports it was drafted into transporting. That's my hope
anyway."

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb at the
end of the harbor master's office and honked. "There's my ride.
I'll meet you at the Browning event after I see Tina, then we can
decide if we want to guard the snuffbox as a team or send you back
to London with it ahead of me. You do have the foundation's passes
to get us in today, right?"

"I live to serve."

"I'll take that as a yes and not just
sarcasm." I smiled. He really was good at what he did. I wanted to
talk to him about
Woman Dressing Her Hair
when we had the
time. There was just something… The thought simply wouldn't come
forward. I probably needed to get Cassie on it. As I opened the
cab's back door, I added, "I really appreciate the way I can always
count on you, Nico. You do know that, right?"

"Let me guess. Cassie told you how Max
yelled at me."

"Yes, but—"

I didn't get to finish my sentence. Nico
laughed and broke the connection.

The driver was at least seventy and grizzled
to the point of almost appearing a caricature. His day-old growth
of gray whiskers and Chicago Cubs cap and gravelly Windy City
accent let me further know I had a veteran cabbie behind the wheel,
even if we were well over a thousand miles from Wrigley Field. A
couple of flips of my finger on my phone, and I had the Bricknell
address to Tina's condo. I recited the cross streets for the
cabbie.

The morning drive was expectedly bad, but
the driver knew his shortcuts and verbalized all of them around his
unlit cigar stub. "Yeah, I gave up smoking these stogies years
ago," he said, gravel still in his voice. "Now, I just chew on
them."

I knew I would be pushing at that mental
picture all day.

Despite the traffic snarls and snafus, I
finally saw Tina's skyscraper in the distance. Yet the first view I
had of her building was not an optimistic one. Several police cars
and an ambulance tied up the front street parking spots. I had a
bad feeling and again pulled out my phone.

"
Hi, it's Tina. I'm busy having fun or
shopping right now. Either way, promise I'll call back if you leave
your name and number. And even quicker if you're inviting me to a
party
." The giggle that ended her voice mail message made me
catch my breath. The levity didn't bode well with my
reservations.

No! It had to be a busy morning for her. She
was probably driving and couldn't get to the phone. Or on another
call and couldn't switch over. Or she could be in a dead zone and
her phone hadn't even rung for her to hear. The dead zone thought
was enough to send a shiver up my spine. Okay, maybe I needed to
quit lying to myself and acknowledge what my gut was screaming to
me.

"Stop the cab. And wait for me. Please."

"Look, lady, I can't double park with all
these cops around."

I kept my eyes trained on the boys in blue
and swirled a finger in the air. "Keep circling the block. I'll
jump back in, I promise. I'll pay the extra fare."

The cabbie's words arm-wrestled their way
around the cigar. "Gimme what's already on the meter."