No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7) (5 page)

Chapter 16

Note-taking & Taking Note

After familiarizing ourselves with the gallery and how it ran with the help of Abby, Clay left me to go up to the loft to input some notes in my laptop. I was the designated note-taker. He was the leg-man, meeting late with another art dealer over in Lambertville across the Delaware in New Jersey to art-network and maybe snag some local gossip
.

That was fine with me. I needed to concentrate without any distractions. A nightlight was on in the gallery below that was closed. Caught up in typing, I found myself now working under the glow of my laptop to keep me focused.

I loved working on such a luxurious antique desk. It was solid cherry and oval shaped all the way around from top to bottom, with intricate wood veneers, marble strips and gold ornamentation. The top of the desk was inlayed with dark green leather: ringed with an edge of gold stenciling.

I loved the artwork up in the loft, too, as well as the camel-backed striped fabric sofa done in coral and pale green. A black-lacquer painted wooden chair with cane backing and matching seat cushion complimented it. A leather suitcase coffee table tied the grouping together.

Next to the desk was a much deeper green and navy fabric-covered wing chair, the same shade as the leather on the desk. Right behind me was an old four-shelf cherry weathered bookcase filled with antique books. If I had a wish-list space to work at, this was definitely it. I sighed.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Staring through the railing, I noticed drizzle falling outside and fog drifting by the streetlights visible through the tall windows below. I jerked when a loud clap of thunder cracked overhead: a perfect murder scene. I shook off that eerie visual and kept on typing until something caught my attention from down below the loft where I sat.

What…was…that?

My fingers stopped typing. A rapid heartbeat kicked in: mine. Without thinking, I was about to grab the chain on the banker’s lamp and ever so gently pull down to turn it on, but then decided to sit there and listen instead. I wasn’t a big fan of being in the dark, especially alone like this in a location that was still unfamiliar to me. So I nearly jumped from my seat when I heard that noise again. There was no mistaking what I heard this time.

Someone was moving around downstairs.

A dim plug-in nightlight aided my slow decent down the closed-bottom wooden staircase. I could only see through the iron railing, but not very much in the darkened gallery. On the fifth step down, I heard the noise again and paused. It sounded like it was coming from the packing and shipping room in the back area. Clay said he would lock the back door.
He did.
I had checked it myself.

Having pretty much pin-pointed the source of the noise, I quickly, but silently, traveled the rest of the staircase. At the bottom I quietly edged along one wall working my way toward the back of the gallery. I wasn’t about to walk directly across the floor and leave myself bare if someone entered the open gallery. Having no desire to be a target, being cloaked in the shadows worked just fine for me. I flinched when I heard more rustling…

Chapter 17

Weighing My Options

…My cell. I could text Clay. I felt in my pocket, but came up empty and cursed. It was back on the desk up in the loft. I eyed the back room. Several minutes passed.

…Silence.

Whoever was in there, had they left out the back door? Or had they come into the darkened gallery while I was still on the staircase? What if they were standing right behind me? I turned quickly, stubbed my toe on the fixed-to-the-floor doorstop and barely stifled a moan.

Nothing: empty shadows.
I had no choice but to go in.

I was about to pull open the door when it swung in my direction. I eased back behind it. Someone carrying a small pocket light emerged. They hesitated then moved forward. I peered out as they first passed an antique armoire then began focusing their light on each painting on one gallery wall, only then to move on to the next painting, and then the next.

What were they searching for?

They weren’t moving the paintings, just shining their light, not directly on them, but behind them. Were they searching for a wall safe? I nixed confrontation. They could be carrying a weapon. Plus, I couldn’t tell gender nor gage their strength in the darkened gallery
.

The intruder was covered from head to toe in black loose-fitting clothing, including a knit hat that hid any hair. At that moment, I was more interested in what they might be after. But I guess that wasn’t meant to be, because after working their way to the front door, they simply unlocked it and silently slipped out into the foggy mist
.

I stood there in the dark. Would they come back? After a few minutes it didn’t appear as if they would. The chance to see what they were up to wasn’t happening either.

I peeked outside then turned a light on and headed for the packing room in the back of the gallery. I hit that light switch and took visual inventory. Nothing seemed out of order, just the usual half-constructed crates still out on the large counter in the center of the room. I walked to the back door:
locked
. I inspected for possible break-in, both inside then outside, but everything appeared undamaged.

Someone had a key and knew their way around. The big question was how many people had a key to this gallery? Tomorrow I would begin finding out. Knowing I was there, Clay had left the gallery alarm turned off:
made sense
.

My laptop in the loft didn’t give off much light, so it may have appeared from the street that no one was in the gallery, just the normal indirect nightlights that were usually on. They must have known the alarm code and were nonplussed when the alarm appeared off when they entered
figuring Clay, being new, forgot to set it earlier
.
Were they taking advantage of the Worths’ absence?

It sure looked like it, didn’t it? But for what purpose?

Chapter 18

No Sooner Had I…

No sooner had I locked the back door behind me than my eyes latched onto that alarm keypad. My finger hovered over the numbers as I considered setting it. Would they be back? I wasn’t so sure. If they had a key and knew the code, and it appeared they did, the only purpose it would serve was to notify them to reconsider entering. Now, if they didn’t know I was present, I’d have the advantage to watch and observe. I let it go and reentered the gallery.

I looked around, surveying all the art. What were they looking for? Was something supposed to be hidden behind one of the paintings? Then I tried to think not like the thief, but like a person who might want to hide something from a thief. Where would I hide it? I laughed. First I needed to find out what was hidden in the first place, didn’t I? The strange behavior I’d witnessed didn’t make sense.

Why did the intruder abruptly leave? Why hadn’t they looked behind the other paintings in the gallery? Why only the ones on that particular wall? This was truly bizarre.

By edging along the walls, I dodged several pedestals of varying heights supporting expensive vases and statues. Alicia and Chris mentioned on my first day they dealt in antiques as well. But mostly it was the paintings that were their mainstay, while the antiques and the leather furniture merely added to the overall ambience of the gallery, which was as tastefully decorated as their personal residence.

I pivoted in place, staring at the art. Clay mentioned that Alicia and Chris promoted local artists. Did this include some of the art on the pedestals? I considered the contents of the whole gallery. The Worths’ insurance premiums wouldn’t be cheap. And judging by their massive home, that didn’t appear to be a problem.

Or was it? Who was in the gallery?

I worked my way back to the packing room and stopped when I came to Anne’s office, the restorer. As expected, her door was closed.
I tried the handle anyway: locked. I figured that was the case, but had to at least try it. I stood there considering Anne’s significance in this.

She had access, a key, knew the alarm, and had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of an empty gallery, but that angle was just too simplistic. I had to find a way to slip in there when it wasn’t locked, maybe on a day when she simply she forgot to secure it. Was I overlooking the obvious? It could possibly be that simple and obvious might be playing a larger hand in what was going on.

Why lock her door? Was she hiding something?

I shook my head. She was a restorer. She probably had someone else’s art in there that she was working on. Maybe she didn’t trust the so-called clumsy Abby to walk in and cause an accident. This was her livelihood and she had to protect it from theft and damage. So much for that clever scenario…

Chapter 19

Honey, I’m Back

Again I double-checked that back door: locked. Then I slowly made my way back up to the loft, grabbed my cell to call Clay, but then remembered I hadn’t bolted that front door. I was about to turn back when I heard the back door open and close.

A familiar voice jokingly called out, “Honey, I’m back.”

I peered down at a smiling Clay. I was not.

“What’s the matter, see any intruders?” he teased.

I pointed. “How about bolting that front door for me.”

He glanced at it then back at me. “Why?”

“They forgot to lock it on their way out.”

His brow furrowed. “…Who?”

“The intruder who just left.”

Clay eyed me doubtfully. “You’re kidding, right?”

I gave him a level gaze. “Do I look like I am?”

He walked to the door, bolted it then turned to me.

I nodded. “Good, I hope that’s the last of
them
.”

He glanced back at the door. “Who?”

“I wish I knew.” I retorted.

“This is scary. I feel like I’m conversing with Martha.”

I took offense at his verbal swipe at Martha, my fellow sleuth and sidekick who wasn’t here yet to defend herself.

“Let’s keep this relative, okay?” I said.

“Relative to what?” he asked, now totally confused.

“To the subject matter.”

“Dare I ask…what it is?”

“We’ve had company. Some person dressed all in black.”

I was about to say more, but then Clay held up his hand.

“What?” I asked.

“This is starting to sound Samantha-complicated. Let’s finish this discussion at Triumph Brewing Company.”

“Sounds good to me. Let me pack up my laptop first.”

“What for?” he asked. “We can pick it up later.”

“My notes.
They
might return and decide to take it.”

“Now who would want your laptop?”

“Whoever was searching the gallery,” I said.

Clay glanced around. “I don’t see anything missing.”

“I know.”

“How are you so sure no one took anything?”

“Because I watched them closely.”

Clay paused. “…The whole time?”

“Yup.”

“And you still couldn’t identify them?”

I sighed loudly. “It was too dark to see or tell gender.”

“You watched them in the gallery and saw them leave.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call 911?”

I held up my cell walking down. “Left this in the loft.”

“So exactly where were you all that time while all this was going on?” he asked.

“I played it safe and remained behind them.”

“You’re joking!”

“I didn’t think they’d appreciate me tapping them on the shoulder to ask who they were or what they were doing.”

He pulled me toward the back door. “I need a drink.”

Chapter 20

So Now What?

After a lengthy Q & A session over two beers above the noisy throng of people in Triumph’s and the live music in the background, I explained what took place in the gallery while he was in Lambertville. We then eagerly dug into our short rib sliders and sweet potato fries, still trying to figure out what it all meant.

Clay’s first fry hardly saw daylight. He scarfed it down and popped another. “What were they looking for?”

“At first I thought they were looking for something hidden on the back of one of the paintings, but they never bothered moving or lifting any of them: not one. They seemed to be concentrating on the wall. Then I thought: maybe a hidden safe?”

“Yes, but why stop after looking at one wall?” he asked.

“Exactly my thought. It didn’t make sense.”

“A real mystery,” mused Clay after seeing me smile.

He knew I’d love this challenge, which made me think of Clay himself, who was mysterious too.
I was up for both.

“You’re chafing at the bit. I know that look,” he said.

I chuckled. “Ah, the man speaks from experience.”

“Yes, but this one might be more difficult for
me
.”

I knew what he meant. “I know. We’ll have to be careful and tread lightly around your friendship concerns.”

“This whole issue with Lenny and her painting could blow up in my face or be much ado about nothing. If it gets out of hand it would not only jeopardize my friendship, but sever any chances of my acquiring this art gallery to boot.”

Clay was in a precarious position. And after these last two episodes, we now both agreed we had no choice but to pursue the matter further. There was no doubt about it.

“If Alicia and Chris are involved, that complicates the issue. Either way something’s definitely going on, Clay.”

We both looked up as a man approached. Being a detail-oriented author,
my
eyes began taking inventory: scuffed boots, well-worn jeans, black leather jacket, two-day beard, brown windswept hair, a faded scar on his chin, and at least six-foot-five or six. Clay and I set our forks down.

Clay’s eyes briefly glanced my way saying,
Now what?

Mine answered back,
Be my guest, detective. You first.

So Clay asked, all friendly-like, “Can I help you?”

“I hear you’re the one helping out Chris Worth.”

“You heard right,” said Clay not adding anything more.

The guy, all muscle, shifted his weight back and forth.

“Then you’re the man to talk to. I’ve got a problem. I’m out some money after buying this painting…”

Clay threw me a brief second look.

I gave an
I-don’t-know
shrug. They were crawling out of the woodwork: malcontents, customers, intruders, you name it. Clay didn’t even own the cursed gallery and was already in someone’s crosshairs. Was this why Chris and Alicia split? Now
that
was food for thought
.