Marked Masters (26 page)

"How did you know?"

"Signs of shock are easily
recognizable."

We try to fool ourselves, but I
apparently wasn't fooling him. I followed orders and learned he
knew what he was talking about. I felt better almost
instantly.

Without further ado, he stood up
and pulled me back to my feet. "Come on. I know a place close
by."

In the tiny
restaurant, after Jack palmed some euros to the
capo cameriere
,
we were led to a secluded table in the back corner. I
surrendered his jacket and asked to be excused. Jack shot me a
look.

"I solemnly swear I only want to
use the restroom. I'll be right back. This ladies' ritual is part
of getting back to normal."

Jack reluctantly pointed the way.
"I'm tempted to go with you. You have no idea how
tempted."

"I promise I'll return. Besides,
you were right. I'm definitely up for some food."

"Laurel, I—"

"I promise. I really want to pull
myself together." Translate: fix my appearance and call Nico in
private.

Once in the bathroom, I picked at
my hair to get it looking in better shape. When I reached in the
clutch to grab my gloss, my hands found something else instead,
something I hadn't put in there.

A woman's compact, fourteen carat
if I wasn't mistaken, and I knew I wasn't. This was an old one,
probably from the 1970s. For a second my mind went to—bomb!—but I
dismissed the possibility as absurd. It would have already gone
off. I opened it, and a sweet smell filled the air, the comfortable
aroma acquired by good face powder when kept on a shelf for a long
time. A piece of folded paper sat atop the old puff. I almost
didn't want to pick it up but knew I had to. I placed the compact
on the marble counter, reached for the paper, and carefully
unfolded it.

It was a faded color photograph,
easily 1975 or thereabouts. In the background, the ocean met the
beach. Three people stood in the foreground: a handsome
late-twenties, maybe early-thirties male facing the camera, and two
women, a bit younger than the male. The women were arm in arm,
facing mostly away from the camera and at him. I could see some of
their profile because one was standing slightly behind the other,
but not much. The women weren't wearing tops—their backs were bare,
as was the side of one woman's breast. I wondered if it was Nice or
somewhere else on the French Riviera. I looked at the photograph as
long as I could before turning it over.

Then I called Nico.

"I thought I made it clear. No
more calls today."

"Quite bitchy, oh surly one. You
picked up." I filled him in on the latest development with Tony B,
leaving out references to Tina as well as who I believed the three
people were in the photograph. I wanted to keep my team focused.
They had too much to consider and puzzle out at the moment, and I
didn't want to feed them more information unless I felt it was
pertinent. Seeing Rollie was something I also skipped as well as
his reference to me reminding him of someone. The photo in my hand
told me I needed to contemplate his remark a bit further
first.

"Anything else?" His tone
indicated boredom.

"For a few minutes, at the
gallery, I lost visual contact with my clutch purse." I quickly cut
off his objections. "I know, I know. Stay with me a second. It's
all about continuity. I came into the bathroom a moment ago to
restore my appearance, and I found a piece of paper I didn't put in
my purse. On the paper were these words: codes are often based on
memories." My words met with silence. I could hear his brain
ticking away. "I thought that was worth the call."

"All right, I see this was a
necessary call. Are you sure you are telling me everything? I mean
it, Laurel. It might be important."

"I'll think everything through
again, and if something occurs, I'll get back to you."

"Good. Think hard and fast. I may
be on to something, but I am not ready to go there yet without more
information. As soon as I am, I will get back to you."

At this point, I wasn't even
tempted. Not even to help the case. "Hey, before I let you go, is
the Vespa ready for tomorrow?"

"Of course. I sent you the
details."

"Thanks, pal. I could really use a
break."

"Yeah, right, like scouting around
for information is not your real plan. Pull the other one,
Laurel."

I laughed. "Get some sleep, oh
grumpy one."

"I thought I was
surly."

"Surly, grumpy, one and the
same."

"May I remind you some of us do
not have time for sleep."

"My violin cries for you." I hung
up, smiling a bit, but the humor faded fast. What the heck I had
walked into?

Maybe it would be a good idea to
spend my Sunday in Florence scouting. I hadn't lied. I definitely
needed some fun time, and if I could combine it with finding some
helpful information, all to the good.

Water and a
glass of red wine graced my place setting when I slid into the
chair on the opposite side of the table from Jack. The waiter came
to refresh the wine, and I saw Produttori del Barbaresco
on the label. Jack hadn't skimped. Wines made
famous by an Italian vintner in the Piedmont area. No cheap Chianti
for our Mr. Jack Hawkes, but a 2007 Nebbiolo.

"You aren't going to make any
friends with the locals if you buy wine from outside Tuscany.
Especially if we drink it while we're eating the famous local
beef.

"If they didn't want to sell it,
it wouldn't be available."

"Yes, but
Chianti is pretty much a ritual with Chianina beef. You know what
the locals say, Jack, '
si sposa
bella.
'"

"Yeah, yeah, 'they marry well
together.' I like cheap as much as the next man. However, I saw
this and couldn't resist. I'm in love with this wine. I don't need
to see my meal marry to have a Tuscan experience with my food." He
took a long swallow, and as I watched his throat work, I felt an
unfamiliar twinge, which I summarily dismissed. We needed to have
more fun. Maybe I would invite Jack to join me in my Vespa
adventure.

A plate of antipasti and long bread sat in the
middle of our table, along with a container of the house olive oil
dressed with herbs.

We stared at each other over the table. Jack
said, "I've waited, but it hasn't been easy. I'm starving."

We fought over who got to the bread first. I
won. Unfortunately, he proved right. I too fell in love with the
wine.

True to form, Jack had ordered not just the
wine but our dinner. Fortunately for my waist, he hadn't ordered a
traditional Florence dinner with one course after another…after
another… The three-inch grilled steak came back glorious. In true
Tuscan fashion, the beef was cooked over a hot flame, and as we
sliced the tender steak, the inside was
sanguinoso,
or
flavorfully rare.

"Magnifico." Jack barely breathed the word.
I think I groaned with my first bite. I didn't want to think about
the diet I was going to have to endure after leaving Florence, even
without all the courses.

As we ate strozzapreti gnocchi with spinach,
and finished off the magnificent steak, I briefed him on what had
happened with Tony B and Tina. We more thoroughly covered the
incident with Rollie, and I left out all the other parts personal
to me.

"You never spoke with Flavia?" Jack placed
his napkin on the table and relaxed back into his chair, sipping
his coffee.

"No. If I did get close to her, I'd get
stopped by someone and lose the opportunity because she'd already
be gone when I looked again. I'll give her a call tomorrow. The
whole night felt off. Weird. But I was right, you know."

"In what way?"

"No one of significance approached me until
I was away from you. All the action occurred when I was alone."

Jack gave me the look. "I admit I can't be
sure what's going on with any of the people who set off our
internal alarms tonight, but as you pointed out the last time we
talked, there's quite a bit going on none of us can explain."

"Anyone on your end find anything yet?" I
ate the last bite of tiramisu, one of my favorite desserts in
Florence. Nothing like the version I'd been served in the States,
although I liked it there too.

Jack frowned. "Moran continues to remain
invisible and off the known grid. Nothing on Simon. Still not sure
where or how Tony B fits in at this point. As you said earlier,
Tina links both Simon and Tony B, and based on the art fair, Tony
B's linked to Rollie, we think, but in which way and to what camp?
We still don't know who killed the Greek or came after you." He
took another sip of coffee.

"What we can genuinely conclude is we have
nothing much at all except the bill of lading from Florence for the
forged snuffbox now in our collective possession and a number from
the Orlando safe-deposit box we can't decode but which is labeled
'Miami.' Also, some supposition on Nico's part and not much else
except the appearance of artwork that disappeared over fifteen
years ago from the place where we
enjoyed
our weird
experience tonight."

Artwork.
The Portrait of Three
.
Juliana
. She was just as beautiful as I'd remembered her.
The way she glowed as though she had an inner fire, tempered by the
sweetness of her smile and the clearness of her eyes. The artist
had loved her. Anyone with half an eye could see the evidence.
She'd had the same emotional effect on me yesterday as she had when
I was a child. I'd wanted so much to be like her and everything I
envisioned she was. Simply from her portrait. I'd wanted so much to
be loved as she was loved. The thick feeling in my throat when
tears threatened began building. I was not going to cry again in
front of Jack. Focus! Focus on the case.

Rollie's weird "you remind me of" statement.
Tina's total makeover and disappearance. I stopped for a moment and
contemplated her return to the living.

"Tony B has to be behind Tina's faked death.
He's the only one in this mix to have the connections to make
either the police department cover it up or substitute another
body. And he had the snuffbox. Was my knowing about the snuffbox
the reason for her disappearance and the murder cover-up, or just a
coincidence?"

Jack nodded but remained silent. The look on
his face said he was quietly brainstorming, but he still paid
attention to my words.

"Funny how Tony B didn't mention the fact
the snuffbox was missing from his safe when he waylaid me at the
party." I played with my napkin as I mused, "Could he not know that
I took it?"

"Good point," Jack said. "We'll have to keep
that possibility in mind. Either way though, the micro-drive with
the plans wasn't inside. Tony B bragged to you too much about
everything else he had control over. If he had the plans, I have to
believe he would have slipped in some kind of hint. He's the type
who can't help themselves."

I shook my head and tossed the napkin on the
table. "He didn't say anything along those lines." Another thought
hit me, and I stared off for a moment into the distance.

"What are you thinking, Laurel?"

I held up a finger for another moment of
silence. "What if this was all a misdirection scenario on Simon's
part? What if he planted the Miami reference in the safe-deposit
box to lead us there, and if I hadn't run into Tina, he gave her
instructions to find me. She's the one who first said anything
about the snuffbox. I just brought up Simon's name."

"Awfully subtle plan to count on your friend
Tina to carry out." Jack frowned. "I think if I were Simon, I would
want a more direct route of getting a message to you, if my plan
was to send you scurrying in the wrong direction."

I rubbed my temples. "You're right. My mind
is working overtime, and that's probably the worst thing I can do
until we learn more."

The compact almost shouted at me from my
clutch, but I kept its identity a secret. Was it a possible
misdirection, or something to keep me too occupied to see other
clues? I'd told Nico what he needed to know, but the rest? The
photo needed to stay with me for a while. Jack would come to the
same quick conclusion I did if he saw the people in the shot, but
not yet. Tonight, it was mine. Maybe I'd tell him later. Or maybe
Nico would tell him about the message.

No, I would show it to him tomorrow. When
I'd had time to process my feelings about the compact and the
photo. I needed to talk to Margarite, and the only way I knew to
contact her was through Jack. But he would expect to know why, and
I needed to be ready to tell him.

What did Tony B mean about Jack not being
who I thought? And what was this big favor the thug was doing for
me? An overwhelming part of me wanted to dismiss the whole thing as
some kind of made-up drama, some mind game Tony B was chortling
over, and I could have easily tossed the worry aside if…if I just
knew something—anything—concrete about Jack. I told myself that's
what Tony B was counting on, expecting me to use my own fear
against myself.

"Jack, where are you from?"

He laughed. "England, of course. I presumed
Hamish made that abundantly clear tonight."

Yes, Hamish did. Question was, who exactly
were Hamish and Milli? They left me with more questions than
comfort. "But where? What part of England?"