Mosaic Mayhem (Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery) (5 page)

Laporta drove a circuitous route around the city, often winding back to roads we’d already traversed. Eventually, he took us to the outskirts of town and up into the hills. We drove for over an hour before he pulled down a long winding road flanked by date palms.

I glanced at the dashboard clock. By now Zack would have returned from
Parc Güell and found me missing. He wouldn’t know about my visit from Michael Naiman. He wouldn’t know that Laporta had taken me outside the city. Being geographically challenged, I had no clue if we were even still in Spain. We may have crossed over into France by now. With my phone turned off, Zack wouldn’t be able to reach me. No one would know my whereabouts. And that’s probably exactly the way Laporta had planned it.

We continued on for about a mile before we came to an iron gate that blocked the remainder of the road. Laporta pressed a series of buttons on a keypad attached to his dashboard. The gates swung open. After he pulled forward, the gates automatically closed behind us.

We drove another mile before arriving at the entrance to an enormous pink Mediterranean villa. I assumed the home belonged to Carlos Perella.

Laporta parked the Mercedes under the massive porte-cochère, retrieved the portfolio from the trunk, then took my arm and escorted me into the villa to a pink marble-tiled foyer larger than my entire house. A white marble fountain adorned with water-spouting cherubs stood in the center of the foyer with a double-winding pink marble staircase branching out from either side. Columned archways leading to other rooms stood to the left and right of the foyer.

Laporta led me through the archway on the left, then down a hallway that opened up into an enormous garden courtyard enclosed on all four sides by the house. Elaine Naiman sat at a glass-topped wrought iron patio table at the far end of the courtyard.

FIVE

Elaine rose as we approached. For someone who had been abducted only hours earlier, she looked amazingly serene with fresh make-up on her face and not a hair out of place on her perfectly coifed head. Rather than the red cocktail dress from the evening before, this morning she wore a pair of white linen trousers, a black silk shell, and an unstructured turquoise linen jacket with deep kangaroo pockets. A single emerald cut diamond hung from a delicate gold chain around her neck. A pair of matching diamond studs graced her earlobes. A vintage diamond bracelet watch completed her accessories. Quite an understated contrast to last night’s bling bonanza.

Had her kidnappers allowed her to return home to pack a suitcase before whisking her off into the hills?

“I’m so glad you could join me for brunch this morning,” she said, taking both of my hands in hers.

“Brunch?”

“Did you forget? I did say I’d send a car for you at nine o’clock. And here you are.” She poured two glasses of white sangria from a pitcher on the table and handed me one.

“Yes, but under the circumstances—”

She laughed. “You figured brunch was canceled?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

She waved her hand in the air as if she were swatting away a pesky fly. “Nonsense. I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

She turned to Laporta. “Is that the painting?”

“Sí,
Señora.” He handed the portfolio to Elaine. “And you were correct in assuming
Se
ñ
or
Naiman would attach a tracking device.”

“You took care of it?”

“Sí.”

“Gracias, Se
ñ
or Laporta. Please tell Carmesina we’re ready for brunch.”

“Sí,
Señora.” Laporta turned and headed toward a set of French doors off to our right.

What the hell was going on here?
Elaine certainly didn’t act like a kidnapping victim, nor did she sound as though she suffered from Stockholm Syndrome.

“Sit, Anastasia.” She waved to one of the two floral cushioned chairs on either side of the table. I settled into one, and she took the other. Then she unzipped the portfolio and withdrew the painting.

“Ah,
L’Ascète
, which of us will he miss more?” She turned to me and smiled. Her eyes twinkled with a combination of mischief and malice. “I’m guessing the damn painting. Wives are too easily replaced, right?”

Everything finally made sense. “You orchestrated everything, didn’t you?”

She laughed.

“Why?”

Before she could answer, a servant rolled out a cart filled with place settings and covered dishes. She placed silverware and water glasses on the table in front of us and spread napkins on our laps. Then she poured coffee and served us each a platter containing a frittata with a fruit salad on the side.

“Gracias, Carmesina.”

I waited while Elaine took a few bites of her frittata and a sip of coffee before she finally answered my question. Her voice grew hard and tight. “Because Michael Naiman is an abusive monster.” Her right hand absently traveled to her throat. That’s when I noticed the finger-sized bruises, fading but still visible, on either side of her neck. The diamond choker she’d worn last night had concealed them.

“Why not divorce him?”

Elaine sighed. “There’s no way he’d ever let me leave him. Trust me. I’ve tried. The man is ruthless. This was my only option. I now have a hundred million Euros which will enable me to disappear. A bit of plastic surgery, a new identity, and Michael will never find me.”

“Don’t forget a Picasso worth millions.”

She took another sip of her coffee and spoke over the rim of the cup. “The painting was an afterthought. A brilliant one, though, don’t you think?”

“If you wanted to fake a kidnapping to disappear, why involve me? You obviously know Laporta quite well. How come he didn’t realize his thug had snatched the wrong person?”

“I first met Se
ñ
or Laporta last night. He was following orders from his employer. He had no idea we staged the kidnapping.”

“We? You and Carlos Perella?”

“Me and Rafael Perella, Carlos’s son. Rafael is my lover.”

The plot thickened, but I still had many unanswered questions. “Were you really at
Parc Güell yesterday?”

“Yes. I saw you wandering around the grounds and realized immediately that we might have a problem. Balaguer only had a headshot of me, and from the neck up, we look very similar.”

A diplomatic way of saying that from the neck down no one could possibly mistake my pear-shaped excess booty for her size two figure.

 
“I saw
Balaguer walk out with you,” she continued, “but I couldn’t exactly stop him to say he had the wrong victim.
”

“He might have killed me.”

“He was instructed not to harm you.”

“Your husband claimed you were in the room with him when he received Laporta’s call.”

Elaine scowled. “The bastard lied.”

“Didn’t he run a risk of the kidnappers harming you?”

“Michael is all about having the upper hand in negotiations. He wouldn’t care that he risked my life by hanging up on
Se
ñ
or Laporta. It’s all about winning with him. That’s when I decided to up the ransom demand to include his precious painting.”

There was still more that made no sense. “The police know Balaguer and Laporta abducted me.
I picked them both out from mug shots. They’ll go after them for kidnapping you. Aren’t you worried your plan will backfire?
”

“Your case has been dropped because you won’t be around to testify.”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled. “Do you think police corruption is something only found in the States?”

“That still doesn’t absolve them of your kidnapping.”

“Both have ironclad alibis for last night.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “And by now Se
ñ
or Perella has made a very generous contribution to the Barcelona police pension fund.”

“That won’t stop your husband from going after them.”

“No, but this will.” She withdrew a white business envelope from one of her jacket pockets and handed it to me. “This is what you will give my husband when you return without me.”

The sealed envelope was devoid of any markings. I placed it on the table next to my coffee cup. “What does it say?”

“That I know where the bodies are buried, should he dare come after me or the people who helped me.”

“
Literal
bodies?”

Instead of answering my question, she graced me with a Mona Lisa smile, then said, “You should finish your frittata while it’s still hot.”

Having lost my appetite, I placed my fork on the plate and grabbed my glass of sangria, polishing off the wine in an attempt to stave off the rage building within me. Instead of calming me, the sweet fruity alcohol fueled my anger. “You used me,” I said. Worst of all, by drawing me into her scheme to defraud her husband, she’d ruined my Barcelona getaway.

“Not intentionally. It’s not my fault Balaguer grabbed you instead of me, and I had no idea you’d show up at the museum last night. I merely took advantage of an opportunity that presented itself.”

I slammed my empty glass onto the table. “I was tear gassed! Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the tear gas. What can I do to make it up to you?”

I pushed back my chair and stood. “Look, I’m really sorry you’re married to an abusive control freak. I know what it’s like to discover your husband isn’t the man you thought you’d married. But you had no right to draw me into your drama. What if something had gone wrong? Those men had guns.”

“They were instructed not to harm anyone. They fired into the ceiling.”

“Thugs don’t always follow orders. Besides, bullets can ricochet. You have no idea what it was like in there with the room filling with tear gas and not even the emergency lights to guide us to safety. People panicked. Some were trampled in the dark and injured. Someone could have died. You risked my life and the lives of everyone else at that museum last night.”

To my surprise her eyes filled with tears. “None of that was supposed to happen. I just wanted to get away from Michael and make him pay for the way he’s treated me.”

I picked up the envelope and dropped it into my purse. “I’ll deliver the letter for you because I really have no other choice. Your husband is expecting me to secure your release. I need some explanation as to why that’s not happening, and I doubt he’d believe me. He already thinks I’m somehow involved in your
kidnapping
.”

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Unless you have a way of turning back time, that’s not going to happen. Just get someone to bring me back to my hotel.”

Elaine picked up her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “Of course.”

At that moment I heard what sounded like a helicopter off in the distance and approaching fast. The noise grew to deafening proportions as it hovered overhead. Had Michael Naiman planted another bug that Laporta overlooked? How far would Naiman go to drag his wife back? Would his men in black drop down on us, guns blazing? I looked up and held my breath.

Elaine stood. “That’s my ride.” Se
ñ
or Laporta will return you to Barcelona.” As if on cue, Laporta arrived, carrying two large suitcases that I assumed contained her clothes and all those diamonds from last night, perhaps much more. Someone probably entered her home and packed for her while we were all at the museum.

Elaine grabbed hold of the portfolio. I followed them both out to the back of the house where the helicopter landed in the middle of an expansive lawn. The pilot stepped out, grabbed the luggage and portfolio, and stored them inside the chopper.

Elaine took both my hands in hers and kissed me on both cheeks, European style. “Once again, thank you,” she shouted into my ear over the roar of the rotors. “I hope at some point you can find it in your heart to forgive me for dragging you into this mess.”

She stood back and our eyes locked. It might take awhile, but I probably would forgive her. Her bruises spoke volumes as to the hell she’d lived through with Michael Naiman. I nodded. She smiled, turned, and headed for the chopper.

SIX

Laporta and I watched as the helicopter carrying Elaine rose into the air, then headed east. “Come, Se
ñ
ora Pollack, I will return you to Barcelona.”

He led me back through the house and out the front door to his waiting Mercedes. As we got underway, I took out my phone. By now Zack would be frantic. Laporta reached across the seat, grabbed the phone from my hand, and slipped it into his breast pocket. “Not until I drop you off,
por favor
.”

We drove in silence for most of the return trip, one that took far less time than the drive to the villa. Within an hour we arrived in the center of Barcelona. “If you don’t mind, Se
ñ
ora, I will drop you off at
Plaça de Catalunya.”