On the Hook (7 page)

As she poised a finger over the first digit in Sam’s private number, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number on the Caller ID. Probably it was Limp Cliff phoning to torture her some more. KJ let the call go to voicemail and listened as a male voice—suddenly familiar—began to leave a message.

She clicked the On button. “Theo!”

“Hi KJ. How’s tricks?”

She gave a sharp laugh. “They’ve definitely been better.”

“I’m a little miffed that you stood me up last night.”

This time her laughter was a bit more relaxed. “Really rude of me, wasn’t it? It seems Sergeant Bartowski had dibs on my time.”

“Cheating on me already, huh?”

“The sergeant is a woman.”

“I was kidding. Look, I have a flight out in a few hours, do you feel like meeting for a drink?”

There was nothing she’d like more. They agreed to meet in a half hour at a sports bar three blocks away. KJ walked in that direction, dialing Sam’s number as she dodged people hurrying on their lunch breaks. Convincing Sam, as expected, was no problem. He was happy to have two more pairs of eyes searching for the painting.

KJ entered the bar and found a seat at a table near the door. The bartender called across right away. She ordered a whiskey sour and settled back to wait for Theo. She’d spent a total of seventeen hours with the man in that car. They’d talked about dozens of topics. Though they didn’t have a lot in common, KJ had liked the gentle man. She wished he lived in New Hampshire. Now that Brett was a relationship of the past, it might be nice getting to know him. To test the adage that opposites attract.

KJ leaned back to make room for her drink and its coaster.

“Anything to eat?”

“In a while, I’m waiting for someone.”

Theo arrived within fifteen minutes and slid into the chair beside her. He looked great in freshly pressed jeans—she loved a person who ironed creases into their jeans—and a light blue button down shirt. His hair was tousled as if a slick breeze had hit him on the way into the building. He smiled and she felt glad to be here.

He ordered a gin and tonic. “I didn’t think you’d agree to see me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

“Considering you’d said you were moving in with somebody, and considering you had time to regret saying you’d go…”

“You thought I’d
come to my senses
.”

“Right.”

“Well, I find myself in the unique position of having broken up with him.”

“That happened fast.” Theo thanked the bartender for his drink. “Let’s order then you can tell me all about it.”

“I hear they serve the juiciest roast beef sandwiches in town,” KJ said.

“With horseradish sauce?” Theo asked, looking from her to the bartender.

“The best,” they both replied.

“We’ll have two. With an order of onion rings.” Theo took a sip of his drink and sighed approval. “So, tell me what happened with this boyfriend. Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Actually, it’s kind of painful. Long story short—he accused me of taking the painting. He wanted in on the deal.”

Theo was quiet for a half-beat too long. During that moment of dead silence, she wondered if he had been thinking the same thing. Maybe that’s why he’d asked her out—to see if she’d spill the beans.

No, wait. He’d asked her before they’d discovered it missing. Then again, maybe the cops asked him to talk to her. She managed to resist the temptation to check him for a wire. She peered closely, trying to see something under the pale blue material of his shirt. They taped it to the chest, didn’t they? KJ must’ve stared too long because he lowered his head till they were eye to eye.

“Did the police question you for a long time?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I didn’t see you there.”

“Ditto,” he said.

“When did you say you’re headed back home? Where is home by the way?”

“I live in the suburbs outside of Chicago.”

“Alone?”

Theo laughed. “Yes. If I was attached, I never would’ve hit on you.” They were quiet a moment sipping their drinks.

He would if the cops asked him to. He would if, like Brett, he was hoping for a piece of the pie. He would if—

Why did she have to look at everything on the dark side? Maybe he was just a guy who wanted to spend time with her. Theo Tuttle was good looking. Great looking, actually. Dark hair and br—no, his eyes were navy blue. She hadn’t seen anyone with navy blue eyes before. The best thing though was that he liked to laugh. People who laughed a lot couldn’t be bad, could they?

KJ let her thoughts run wild as the bartender strode to the jukebox at the back of the room. He dropped in a few coins and punched two buttons. A country ballad, the male singer crooning about the loss of a long-time love twanged into the room. Theo laughed. “Must be in the same boat as you.”

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you notice, he pushed the buttons without looking up the numbers of the song? I suspect he plays this one a lot.”

“Sad.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. When I’m through being angry with Brett, I might be. For now I’m happy being pissed off.”

“Better than being pissed on.”

“You got that right.” KJ leaned away so the bartender could set their meals on the table. KJ ordered another drink.

Theo tried one of the onion rings right off. “You have any theories about the theft?”

KJ couldn’t help spearing him with a look that outright wondered whether he’d been sent to gather information. He must’ve read the expression because he laughed.

“That didn’t come out right. I can’t stop thinking about that painting. It’s gone but yet it couldn’t be.”

“Those are exactly my thoughts lately. It can’t be but it is. I can’t for the life of me figure out what happened. I keep wracking my brain trying to figure if the painting I saw in the museum as we were getting ready to load it for the trip here, somehow—oh, it sounds dumb but what if the painting was never there in the first place? What if what I thought I saw wasn’t the painting but a replica…”

“A replica that disappeared.” He snapped his fingers. “Like this and it’s gone from that crate.”

“Told you it sounded stupid. It’s just that, on television when stuff like this happens, the detectives often think it happened one way and they spend most of the program investigating but right near the end of the show something happens and they find out it happened another way altogether.” She waved an onion ring at him. “I know, you’re going to say ‘that’s television’ but it’s also the way magicians work. While you’re busy watching them do something with their right hand, they’re tricking you with their left.”

“I see what you’re thinking and it makes sense.”

“Trouble is, I can’t think of a single way that painting could’ve gotten out of the trailer.”

He lifted the top of the bun, checked for horseradish sauce, dolloped more on, then bit, chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a swig of his drink. “If I was going to steal the painting, here’s what I’d do.” He set the dew-coated glass on the coaster. “I’d make sure it was never in the crate at all. Magicians, like you said, perform sleight of hand all the time. Maybe whoever stowed the painting in the container in the first place—”

“It doesn’t matter whether it was a real Picasso or not. Don’t you see? I
saw
the painting in the velvet package in the crate in Buffalo. I SAW it—forgery or not, something was in there when I sealed it. When we opened the crate it wasn’t there. The crate was empty.”

“Maybe we need to look at the theft in another way.”

We? Did he say we? KJ smiled to let him know she caught the comment.

“Do you have any ideas who might’ve taken it?”

“All I know is it wasn’t me. And I resent the people who keep inferring I’m guilty.” Knowing he had to leave soon, she changed to a new topic. “So, where are you from originally?”

“Anchorage.”

KJ hadn’t ever met anyone from Alaska. “What brought you to the security business in Chicago?”

“My parents work at the tuna canning factory. My Dad got me a security job there. I couldn’t stand the winters.”

“Don’t think I could either.”

“Long story short, I got a recommendation to the museum in Chicago. Someday I’ll tell you about it.”

Someday. That meant he wanted to see her again. Right. Probably just wanted a quickie before he shucked his way out of town. Probably for the best. Brett was still a painful memory. Wouldn’t be wise to jump into a relationship again. She had a habit of doing that.

The biggest surprise of the evening came when Theo announced he had to catch his flight. What! No offer to go to her place first? How refreshing.

After that, KJ didn’t want him to leave. She considered going to sit with him at the airport. Brett’s awful insinuation kept poking her in the back of the head and the words wouldn’t come out. KJ thanked him for the company and said good-bye. Nothing was mentioned about seeing each other again. Oh well. Probably for the best.

She sat a while longer, nursing her drink. Though they’d talked about the case, neither of them had come up with a single answer. The world was closing in, tighter and tighter, like a garrote. At times, she was literally unable to breathe. Like now. She held her head high, her neck totally straight so the air could flow more easily down her throat. It helped a little.

Her apartment was six blocks away. She opted to walk—she usually walked and saved gas money. The air was cold and blustery and for a moment, KJ considered taking a cab. Maybe the wind could blow away some of her doldrums. In the end, she raised the collar on her jacket and plodded on.

At home she laid the cell phone on the table and made herself a drink. The landline phone rang. The Caller ID said it was Brett. If she didn’t answer, he’d come over, so she punched the On button. “Hello.”

“Are you calm now?”

“I wasn’t un-calm earlier.”

“You definitely were.”

“Brett. What do you want?”

“I thought I’d come over.”

“What part of
I don’t want to see you again
did you have trouble understanding?”

“There you go, getting riled again.”

“You’ve got the definition of the word wrong. Riled means upset. I am not upset, I am stating a fact: I don’t want to see or hear from you again. I’m going to hang up now. Don’t come over because I’ve changed the locks and—”

“Like hell you changed the locks. You never lift a finger to do anything.”

KJ continued as if his words hadn’t cut to the bone, “I have 911 on speed dial.” She set the phone gently in the base—so there’d be no question that peace and serenity had flooded her entire being—and turned from the table, brushing her hands together in a job well done gesture.

By now his phone would have shot through his living room window. He’d done that numerous times before. Usually she was the witness, not the source of his temper.

KJ made sure her cell was within reach because one thing she knew as well as the microwave had just beeped…Brett would show up here. Then an idea popped into her head. She raced around gathering clothes and toiletries, jamming things in a suitcase without folding them. She snatched up the cell phone and work-related papers and crammed them in the briefcase. Jacket over her arms, she was out the door in six minutes. Since Brett lived twenty minutes away and had called from his home phone, she felt safe leaving through the front door.

She walked two blocks and phoned for a cab. As another break from normal routine, KJ chose a hotel she’d never even been inside. How she’d pay when the credit card bill came, she would think about later. If they somehow pinned this on her, the worry would be off her mind—let the state of New Hampshire take care of things.

KJ registered using her grandmother’s first name, Sonja. She asked the concierge to send up a bottle of pinot noir and bowl of chips and dip.

By now, Smith and Westen must’ve landed in Chicago. She wondered how they’d liked Ryan Ames, the driver. Seemed like a good idea to spring for his services. She couldn’t imagine Smith or Westen, both small town girls, ignorant of city life, trying to get around the city. Taxicab fees would eat up a chunk of the ten thousand.

Later, lying in the king-sized bed, cuddled under a most luxurious duvet, she finished the snack and felt physically ready for sleep—heaven knew she’d had very little lately. Was she ready mentally? Could her mind relax enough to push all the crap away for a few hours? KJ sipped a second glass of wine and spent a moment wishing Theo hadn’t left town…

She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper. And almost didn’t hear the phone ring. After five ring/vibrations, KJ flew out of the bed and snatched the cell phone from the table. No number showed in the Caller ID. That meant it wasn’t Smith, Westen, or Ryan Ames. It was probably Brett calling from outside her apartment door—his cell number never showed on the display. Surprisingly, she didn’t care one bit that he’d called.

KJ cared so little, felt so unaffected by him, that she ignored the phone. It rang quite a long time. Then he finally gave up. Whether he called back during the night, she had no idea.

Chapter Nine

Westen tried to sit up. The motion was halted by a strong arm taking hold—she wished people would stop manhandling her—and hauling her into the room. The door shut with a thud. The light flicked on. There, wearing pink baby doll pajamas, hairdryer still in-hand, stood Phoebe Smith.

“What the hell are you doing scaring me to death?”

“What the hell are you doing sneaking into my room?”

“Your room?” Westen shook the keycard in the air. “This is—”

Realization hit them at the same time. They were sharing the room. So much for privacy, Westen thought, but great that she had a built-in person to bounce ideas against. She dropped on the nearest bed, which was probably hers since the other was messed up—Smith had been asleep. Which explained the unprovoked attack at the door.

“Can you put the weapon down, please?”

Smith disappeared into the bathroom. She returned without the hairdryer, and sat on the bed across from Westen.

“What are you doing here?” Westen asked.

“KJ called and asked. I got on a morning flight.”