Ornaments of Death (20 page)

I took stock. The sharp pain of impact had eased, but I felt disoriented and a little woozy, as if I had just awakened from a troubled sleep. I could arch my back and roll my head and lift my arms. I clenched, then spread, my fingers. The heels of my hands were bloodied. Nothing was broken. Lucky for me I'd worn my heavy, puffy coat and my attacker had lousy aim, the blows landing on my shoulder and arm, missing my head and back.

Using my fingertips, I pushed myself to my knees. I took in a deep breath, got myself upright, and stumbled toward my car. I slid behind the wheel and reached for the key—it was missing. I turned on the map light. In the eerie glow cast by the overhead dome, I saw that the passenger seat was empty. My tote bag was gone.

“Oh, no,” I whispered. “God, no.”

I leaned my head against the frozen steering wheel. The police were en route. I could wait and they would help me. I was cold. Too cold to sit. I was wearing a super-warm coat. I got out and started walking. During my slow, painful trek, I realized what must have transpired, and why.

*   *   *

Fred, a night owl who often worked late, was there to let me in.

“I need you to do something for me,” I said, leaning heavily against one of the guest chairs. “Call Ellis, Chief Hunter, and tell him to come here right away, then go to my office and get my spare keys from my desk drawer.”

Fred pushed up his square-framed glasses, his brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

I sat down. “No.” He made a movement, as if he were going to walk toward me. When I shook my head, he stopped. “Please. Make the call. Get the keys.”

“Okay,” he said.

Fred looked up the police station number and dialed. When he told whoever answered that he was calling on my behalf and that he had an urgent message, they patched the call through. I listened in.

“I don't know,” he said after he explained why he was calling. “No … Okay.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “He wants to talk to you.”

I shook my head. “Tell him to come quickly.”

He did so, glancing at me. “Maybe an accident. I don't know.”

He listened for a moment. “I don't think so, but I'm not sure. I'll ask.” He covered the mouthpiece again. “He wants to know if he should send an ambulance.”

“No.”

Fred repeated my answer, listened for a moment, said, “Okay,” and hung up. “He said he was close by. He'll be here in two minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Fred pushed open the heavy door that led to the warehouse, and Hank scooted out.

He mewed.
Hello,
he was saying.
I'm glad you're back.
He pranced toward me and rubbed his jowl against my calf. After a few seconds, he leapt into my lap, allowing me to pet him. My hands throbbed. Scrapes are the worst. Using the tips of my fingers, I stroked his chin and breastbone.

“You're such a good boy, Hank,” I murmured. “Such a good friend.”

He mewled and curled up, resting his head against my tummy.

“The appointment to look at that wrought-iron furniture was a ruse,” I told him, “to lure me, to ensure I would come down this road.”

Hank raised his chin, offering me access to his neck, asking for a nice pettie.

“Good boy, baby.”

He flopped over, wanting a tummy rub.

“Someone knew I found the miniatures,” I said. “Neither Wes nor Ellis would tell anyone, which means someone was watching me. He saw me all happy and proud when I left the apartment and knew what it meant. He followed me to the interstate, so he figured I was heading back to Rocky Point. When I stopped for lunch, he continued on and got his plan organized.”

Hank licked my fingers, a thank-you.

“Oh, Hank … you're such a precious boy.”

He rearranged himself, his thick front paws hanging over my knees. I gently dragged my fingernails along his spine, and his purring machine whirred onto high.

“He had to know that as soon as I reached my office, the paintings would be beyond his reach.”

Fred returned with the key ring in hand. I heard a car engine rev up, then idle, then shut down.

“Is that Ellis?” I asked him. “Chief Hunter?”

Fred leaned over to look out the window. “Yes.”

“Good. A quarter mile from here, toward the interstate, you'll find my car parked on the shoulder. Ellis can drive you there.”

“I can walk it, Josie, no problem—but what's going on?”

Ellis opened the door, setting Gretchen's wind chimes jingling.

“Hey,” Ellis said, his eyes narrowing when he saw me, his gaze lingering on my face. “What's wrong?”

I raised a hand to my cheek and felt grit. My fingers came away dirty. “It's nothing, only dirt.”

“Your hands are bleeding.”

I looked at them. “It's dried now. I scraped them.”

“Talk to me, Josie. I just asked two police officers why they were standing by your car. They explained they were responding to your call that a car was blocking the road. What gives?”

“I'll explain, but first, will you drive Fred to get my car? It'll only take you a minute.”

“Were you in an accident?”

“No.” The two men stood and waited. “It wasn't an accident—it was an ambush.” I closed my eyes. “I was a complete sucker. It never even occurred to me that it was a trap. Whoever did it stole my tote bag. Oh, Ellis. I'm so upset! The miniatures were in it. So were my keys. My phone. Everything.” Tears escaped and ran down my cheeks. “Everything is gone.”

“Are you hurt besides your hands?” Ellis asked, his tone soft and empathetic, as calm as always.

“A little. Not much.” I opened my eyes and brushed aside the wetness. “I was a patsy. The more I think about it, the angrier I'm getting.”

“Tell me—the short version.”

With Fred listening in, his eyes growing wider as the story went on, I recounted what had transpired.

“My phone has the Find My iPhone app on it.”

“Good,” Ellis said.

“I'm on it,” Fred said, typing at his computer. He asked for my user information. I called it out. Fred tapped it into his computer and rotated his monitor so Ellis and I could see, zooming in on the green dot.

“That's I-95,” Ellis said.

“Near the liquor store, heading south,” Fred said. “It's not moving, though.”

“The thief turned it off,” I said, my eyes on the monitor. “That's the last spot the phone was on. He grabbed my tote bag and headed for the interstate. Once he was under way, he turned off my phone in case I had this app.” I raised my eyes to Fred's face. “Erase the data. I just synched my phone, so I have everything I need.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He tapped the codes. “Done.”

“I'm going to get a team to go over your car,” Ellis said. “I doubt we'll find anything, but you never know. When we're done, we'll drive it back to the police garage for further examination. You'll need to get the dealer to change the locks.” He paused, thinking. “You said you saw the weapon, a tree limb. Probably it just got tossed into the woods.”

“You won't find it,” I said, discouraged. “You won't find the attacker, either. I didn't see much. Just a hint of a tree branch aiming at my head.”

“From what angle?”

My brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”

“Was the person swinging the branch like a baseball bat? Or was it more straight down, as if he were splitting a log?”

“More like a bat, I think. It seemed disorganized to me. The swings were wild, kind of uncontrolled.”

“How about the car? What do you remember about it?”

“It was gray or silver,” I said. “Normal-looking.” I shrugged. “A sedan.”

“How about the caller? Did her voice sound familiar?”

“Not at all.”

“You said she had a husky voice, like a smoker. How certain are you it was a woman? The name Pat can go either way.”

“At the time, I didn't question it. Now, I don't know. I suppose it could have been a man trying to sound like a woman.”

“Or a woman you know trying to disguise her voice?”

“Like who?” I asked.

“Like anyone. Could it have been?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don't know.”

“That about covers it,” Ellis said, half-smiling.

I turned to Fred. “Will you call the security company here and tell them my bag was stolen? And wait for them to get here to change the locks?”

“Of course.” He headed to his desk to make the call.

“Zoë is home,” Ellis told me. “She can take care of the locks at your house.”

“I need to get Ty's changed, too.” I leaned down to kiss Hank, and my muscles let me know they existed. “Ow!” The pain was more a spikey throbbing than a sharp stabbing, but the overall effect was intense. Fred took a step toward me. “I'm okay.” I tried to smile but doubted it looked like much. “My shoulder hurts a little, that's all.” I shook my head, frustrated. “This is such a monumental hassle.”

“In spades,” Ellis said. “You're the victim and you end up being the one who has to deal with the fallout.”

I knew Ellis well enough to know his empathy was genuine, but it didn't make me feel any better. I was annoyed at the hassle I knew I had to face, irritated that I couldn't simply blink and make it go away, angry as all get-out that I'd been caught in such a simple snare, and beyond furious that valuable antiques under my control had been stolen.

“Will you call Ty for me?” I asked. “Tell him I'm okay, just mad enough to spit.”

“Sure.”

Hank didn't like it that I'd slowed down on petting him. He gave a stern kitty-harrumph, jumped off my lap, and sauntered away. At the warehouse door, he mewed imperiously, and Fred, still talking to the security company, opened it for him. Hank had us well trained.

“Do you want us to add alerts that the paintings have been stolen to our call for sightings?” I asked. “If the thief is smart, he'll sell them pronto, before the word is out that they've been stolen.”

“Is there any benefit in keeping the theft under our hat?”

“I can't think,” I said, “so I can't help you decide.”

“You think just fine,” Ellis said. “You've just been battered is all.” He stared into space for several seconds before adding, “I think the more publicity we have on this, the better. Let's make it as hard as possible for the thief to dispose of the paintings.”

“Wes can publish an article about the theft and tweet about it and so on,” I said. “I sent him the photos, too.”

“You sent Wes photos?” Ellis asked, his tone suddenly icy.

“With the promise he wouldn't use them until I said it was okay.”

He gave me a long disapproving look. I didn't flinch. Instead, I said, “Will you explain our ideas to Wes or do you want me to?”

“I will,” he said, and from his tone, I got the impression that Wes was in for it.

I wasn't concerned; Wes could take care of himself. I looked at Fred, just off the phone.

“They'll be here in ten minutes,” Fred said.

Ellis laughed, a quick ha. “Ten minutes? That's pretty incredible service.”

“I buy the Platinum Plan for just that reason.” I turned toward Fred. “I need you to work with the police to get the stolen art protocols going.”

“Sure,” he said.

I thanked him, then sat quietly while the two men worked, each on the phone, issuing instructions, setting various protocols in motion.

Three conversations later, Ellis handed me his phone. “Ty wants to talk to you.”

“Hey,” I said.

“Ellis says you're pretty banged up.”

“Not really. A few bruised muscles, scraped hands, and seriously wounded pride.”

“There's a late flight I can make, which means I could be home by midnight.”

“Thanks, but there's no point. The way I feel, I'll be long asleep by midnight.”

“Ellis told me your keys were stolen. You shouldn't be in the house alone, even after they change the lock, not until we know what's going on.”

“The thief has what he was after, so I don't think there's any risk … but I was thinking of staying in Zoë's guest room anyway. She'll make me tea and soup and martinis, not necessarily in that order.”

“That'll work.” He paused. “You know if you want me to come home, all you have to do is say the word.”

“Thank you. Yes, I know. You're wonderful. At this point, there's nothing you can do and nothing I need, so while you know I'd love to have you with me, there's no reason to mess up your schedule and find an emergency replacement and all.”

He said he understood but was glad to mess up his schedule any time I said the word. We agreed to talk later, once I was in for the night, and I handed the phone back to Ellis.

“Ty is so great,” I said.

“So are you. He's a lucky man.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

I heard a car and shifted my position enough to glance out the window. Ellis walked closer so he could look, too.

A black SUV, a match for the one Ellis drove, rolled to a stop close to the front. When the driver's door opened and the overhead light came on, I saw Detective Claire Brownley.

“Once I get Claire up to speed,” he said, “I'm taking you to the hospital for a once-over.”

“I'm fine. All I want is a hot bath, some Tylenol, a martini, food, and a bed. And maybe tea.”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I don't think that's smart.”

“I just can't face the prospect of an examination right now.” I pressed my fingers against my temples. “I'm getting a headache. I need to lie down.”

“Did you lose consciousness at all, even for a second or two?”

“No.”

“Still. It's better to be safe than sorry. Think about it for a minute.”