Alibis and Amethysts (19 page)

Chapter 27

“I guess I never thought it was a real possibility,” Jaye said. She was sitting on
the edge of one of the love seats wearing a dazed, deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“I heard what you said and I read the lab results, but it’s still hard to believe.”

Daniel was sitting beside her holding the envelope that had brought them the extraordinary
and troubling news. “Well, it’s not every day you find out that your new house pet
is not like any known animal on Earth.”

Jaye looked across the room at the other love seat where Raffles had stretched out
for her afternoon nap. “Where could she have come from?” she murmured. “How did she
get here?” She turned to Daniel, anxiety rising in her voice. “Are you sure the guy
who ran the tests won’t talk to anyone about it? I mean, if he’s on the up-and-up,
he’d definitely have to report this to the FBI, CIA, NSA or some other alphabet soup
agency. And if he’s a sleaze, he could make a bundle selling the story to one of the
tabloids.”

Daniel shook his head. “Like I told you, he has friends in low places who can’t afford
to be associated with someone making headlines or consorting with the government.
He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Okay. I guess it’s okay,” Jaye said, taking a deep breath and speaking slowly in
an effort to slow down her heart rate. “Raffles might not be from here, but she’s
certainly not a newcomer. Either she or one of her ancestors was around during your
great-grandmother’s time.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

She glanced again at the lab report in her hand. “No known matches” was typed without
boldface lettering, underscoring or exclamation points, as if it were an everyday
finding. “When you got this, did you call the guy to see if he was absolutely sure
about the results?”

“It’s the first thing I did, and he wasn’t any too happy to hear from me at his place
of work. I apologized and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Then I asked him how confident
he was about the report. He said, ‘One hundred percent,’ and hung up on me.”

“He never showed any interest in finding out more about the animal the sample was
taken from? No curiosity at all?”

“None.”

“Don’t you find that a little peculiar?”

“I find it as disturbing as you do. But my sense of the guy is that money is his only
interest. For now, I think we should be grateful for that. Otherwise, I suspect Miss
Raffles over there wouldn’t be living the good life she’s so thoroughly embraced.”

Jaye was silent for a couple of minutes. “As tough as it is to accept this,” she said
finally, “I think in some little corner of my head I actually expected it. How else
can you explain all the weird stuff about her?”

“Are you worried about having her stay here now that you know?” Daniel asked, adding
a sobering dose of reality to a discussion that more rightly belonged in the pages
of a science fiction novel.

Jaye shook her head. “Nothing’s changed in my relationship with her.” Daniel had no
idea about the cotton swab incident, and this didn’t seem like the best time to bring
it up. Especially since the idea of losing the not-a-cat brought with it a surprisingly
deep wave of sadness. “Do you think I should be concerned?”

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. You’re going to have to depend on your gut
for this one. And if your instincts start sending up flares, don’t hesitate to ask
for help.”

Jaye managed a weak smile. “That should make for one interesting 911 call.”

***

When Sierra heard the news, she grinned. “No way. You’re kidding, right?” She studied
Jaye’s face for signs that it was all a joke.

Jaye shook her head. She’d driven over to her friend’s house after closing the shop
for the night. It was the kind of news she felt she had to deliver in person. When
she arrived, Sierra was in the middle of eating the fried chicken and mashed potatoes
she’d picked up on her way home. Frosty was sitting as close to her chair as he could,
watching each forkful make the journey from the plate to her mouth.

“Come on. Daniel put you up to this, didn’t he?” Sierra asked with somewhat less conviction.

“No.”

Sierra put down her fork. “If it’s true, show me the report.” Frosty issued a frustrated
whimper now that she’d stopped eating. He looked at Jaye and barked sharply, as if
to say, “We were doing fine here until you showed up.”

“I owe you one, pal,” Jaye told him. She pulled the lab report out of her bag and
handed it to Sierra.

“Holy . . .,” she said, her voice trailing off as she read it. They spent the next
hour going back and forth over the same questions that Jaye had already debated with
Daniel. At first Frosty remained at his post, still hoping more chicken would be forthcoming,
but he eventually gave up and ambled over to his bowl to eat kibble.

Sierra was still going hot and heavy with her questions and speculation when Jaye
stood up. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said, her voice edgy with stress and fatigue.
“At least not tonight. We keep going around in circles, getting nowhere. Raffles is
the same animal she was this morning. We just know a little more about her now. And
I’m beginning to wish we’d never had her tested. We can’t afford to be distracted
like this while Peggy’s killer is still on the loose.”

Sierra stood and caught her up in a hug. “I’m sorry; you’re right. Go home and get
some rest.” Jaye pulled her keys from the pocket of her Windbreaker and headed for
the door. “No, wait!” Sierra called after her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay
here tonight?”

***

Jaye was at the little table in her kitchen drinking her morning coffee and staring
at the photo of Adam Grayson. Although she’d fallen asleep easily enough, her eyes
had popped open at four
A.M.
with every intention of staying that way. At five she gave up and crawled out of
bed, leaving Raffles asleep in a muddle of sheets and blankets. When Jaye had told
Sierra they needed to tighten their focus on the murder investigation, she’d realized
it was time to heed her own advice. So after she’d set the coffee to brew, she’d pulled
the picture out of the drawer in her nightstand where she’d been keeping it. Peggy
had gone to a lot of trouble to stash the evidence in a safe place, and having found
it, they owed it to her to spend more time and energy trying to decipher it.

Jaye ticked off what she already knew about Adam. He owned an art gallery that was
netting him a good-sized profit, given the quality of his clothing, the silver BMW
convertible that matched his hair and the size of his house, which she’d driven by
one day purely as research. She’d never heard anyone speak poorly of him, and she
herself could attest to the fact that he could be charming and witty, not to mention
crazy cute in spite of the age difference between them. She gave herself a mental
slap. Focus. She and her friends had already agreed that the picture showed him working
at home. But what had Peggy been trying to capture when she’d snapped the image? It
had to be something big, something that would ruin his reputation, maybe even send
him off to prison. There could only be a finite number of activities that fit that
description. She just had to figure out which one it was. Could he be using the gallery
as a front for drug trafficking? Was he keeping double records to cheat on his taxes
or . . . or . . .? That’s when it hit her. She studied the photo again. Yes, there
was Adam surrounded by rolls of unframed art, so absorbed in what he was doing that
he didn’t seem to realize that Peggy had crept into the doorway of the room. Jaye
was willing to bet the farm, even though she never bet and didn’t own a farm, that
Adam was hard at work forging signatures on unsigned prints, which he could then sell
for a lot more money. The answer was suddenly so clear and simple that she couldn’t
understand why no one in her merry band of amateur detectives had come up with it
before now. She set down her coffee mug and reached for the phone. Her first call
was to Sierra, the second to Daniel. She was going to have to wait a few hours to
place a third call to the Phoenix Art Museum. She needed them to recommend an art
expert.

Chapter 28

Spencer Arthur was punctual to the minute. Jaye had asked him to meet her at Crystal
Clear at nine o’clock on Tuesday morning. She was running downstairs from her apartment
as the doorbell rang. She consulted her watch and saw that it was precisely nine.
For some reason, she’d fully expected him to be on time. Maybe it was his English
accent. He’d sounded so cultured on the phone that she couldn’t imagine him being
lackadaisical about any aspect of his life.

She turned off the alarm and unlocked the door. The man standing outside was average
in nearly every way. The one striking aspect about him was the ring of snow-white
hair that encircled his tonsure, then went on to encircle his face and upper lip in
one unbroken line. With each and every hair meticulously clipped to the same length,
he reminded Jaye of a neatly pruned topiary.

When they’d talked on the phone, she’d pictured him in a business suit, so she was
surprised to see him wearing a blue polo shirt and beige chinos. He could easily have
passed for any tourist on vacation, which was most likely his intention. Had she given
it any thought, she would have realized how counterproductive it would have been for
him to visit the gallery advertising the fact that he had an art expert’s pedigree
and that he was there on business.

“Mr. Spencer, so pleased to meet you,” she said, holding the door open for him.

“It’s actually Mr. Arthur,” he said pleasantly. “Good to meet you too.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“Hardly, my dear. You wouldn’t believe how many people make the same mistake. That’s
what comes of having a backward name. The blame lies squarely on my parents’ shoulders,
rest their souls, not on yours.” While he spoke, he glanced around the shop with an
expression of polite curiosity. If he found the business of crystals wanting, he didn’t
let it show.

“Can I offer you anything—coffee, tea, juice?”

“No, no, thank you,” he said patting his abdomen, which was still surprisingly flat
for a man of his age. “I’m properly stuffed from too large a breakfast. It’s taken
my digestion a good decade to accommodate to the American way of eating. Even so,
I often can’t manage more than two meals a day.”

“I know what you mean,” Jaye said with a laugh. As formal as he’d sounded on the phone,
he actually had a comfortable way about him. “Please, won’t you have a seat?” She
indicated the alcove, where she’d set up two folding chairs the previous night for
just that purpose. She’d considered inviting him upstairs, but Raffles made that option
too unpredictable. When she’d realized that the two chairs would fit nicely in the
alcove without having to rearrange the display racks, it had seemed like the best
solution.

“I want you to know how grateful I am that you were willing to come up from Phoenix
on such short notice,” she went on once they were settled.

“Not at all,” he said. “I love my job, and it’s never work to spend the day surrounded
by fine art. Sadly enough, I myself don’t possess a single microgram of artistic talent.
But one makes do. Now, my dear, from our telephone conversation I take it that there
might be an unscrupulous art dealer operating in your midst?”

“Yes, but I need an expert’s opinion before I can take my suspicions to the police.”

“I understand. If I remember correctly, you said this individual might be forging
artists’ signatures on unsigned prints in order to sell them for more.”

“Precisely.”

Spencer Arthur shook his head and clucked with disgust. “What is the man’s name, and
at what time does his gallery open?”

“His name is Adam Grayson, and he opens his gallery at ten.”

Spencer stood. “I’ll stop back here on my way out of town to let you know my initial
findings,” he said. Since they’d already discussed his fee over the phone, he extended
his hand to Jaye and was on his way.

***

Jaye had trouble concentrating for the rest of the morning. Her thoughts kept straying
to what might be happening at the gallery. Whenever she looked at her watch, she was
struck by how slowly the time was passing. Spencer certainly wasn’t in any hurry.
Cut the man some slack, she told herself. There had to be more to it than just glancing
at the signature on a piece of framed art. If Adam was good at the forging, Spencer
might really have his work cut out for him. Plus, he had to be careful not to raise
Adam’s suspicions.

“Is something wrong?” Bryn asked, snapping Jaye out of her thoughts.

“Huh? No, no. Why?” she asked, realizing she must sound like a sleepwalker awakened
during a midnight stroll.

Bryn was studying her with worried eyes. “You’ve kind of been in a coma since I got
here this morning. Customers come up to you with questions, but it’s like you don’t
even hear them. They finally give up and settle for me.”

“I’m sorry; I do have something on my mind,” she admitted. There was no point in trying
to fool Bryn. She was far too astute to believe any excuse Jaye could ad-lib on a
moment’s notice. She produced a smile and hoped it looked more natural than it felt.
“I’m fine. Really. It’s business stuff.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Her inattention
was
due to business; it just wasn’t crystal shop business.

By noon Jaye was debating whether to call the police and the closest hospitals. What
if Adam realized what Spencer was up to and decided to buy himself a little insurance
by adding a second murder to his résumé? Of course, she didn’t know for a fact that
he’d killed Peggy, but that possibility was looming larger every minute Spencer was
gone. And she hadn’t even warned the poor man that he might be dealing with a killer.
What on earth had she been thinking? If he was hurt or, worse yet, killed, it would
be her fault. She couldn’t wait another second. She found Bryn at the register and
whispered that she was running upstairs to make an important call. The words were
barely out of her mouth when Spencer walked in, every hair still pristinely in place
and a satisfied smile on his face. Jaye was so relieved she could have run over and
kissed him.

“I was starting to worry,” she said as sedately as she could. Not an easy task given
that her body had been primed for disaster and there was no way to recall the adrenalin
already surging through her veins. “How did it go?”

“Quite well, all things considered. Perhaps we can talk somewhere more private?”

Jaye glanced around the shop and realized there wasn’t a nook or cranny that wasn’t
currently occupied by a customer. Great for business, not so great for a confidential
conversation. She beckoned Spencer to follow her outside and across the parking lot
to a gray, weathered bench that had been left behind by one of the previous owners.
She waited until her guest was seated before gingerly lowering herself down beside
him. The old wooden slats creaked in protest but managed to hold their combined weight.

Spencer cleared his throat for several seconds as if he were preparing to address
an auditorium full of people. “Excuse me,” he said finally. “The gallery was so close
to my favorite Mexican restaurant, I simply had to stop for fish tacos. I’m afraid
I was a bit reckless with the hot salsa.”

Jaye offered him a sympathetic smile. She’d certainly overindulged enough times at
Finnegan’s herself. But while she was trying to be polite and patient, she could hear
the little gremlins in her brain screaming at him to get on with it. “So, how did
it go?” she asked to appease them. “Is Grayson guilty of forgery or not?”

“I believe he is,” Spencer said, his mouth tightening into a grim line as if he himself
had been hoodwinked by the man. “I purchased one of the framed, signed prints that
appeared suspicious to me, but I won’t be certain until I get it home and study it
properly. Unfortunately there was only one other person in the gallery when I was
there, and although Mr. Grayson was as gracious and solicitous as possible, he kept
quite an eagle eye on both of us. That’s about all I can tell you for now.” Spencer
stood and held out his hand to Jaye. “A pleasure meeting you, my dear. I’ll be sending
you a written report of my findings, but please don’t hesitate to call or e-mail me
with any questions you might have.”

***

Daniel was MIA. Jaye and Sierra had been sipping their coffee at Café Olé for twenty
minutes waiting for their third musketeer to join them. He’d agreed to the breakfast
update meeting, but so far he was a no-show. Stuck at the intersection of “Where the
Hell Is He?” and “I Hope He’s Okay,” Jaye kept trying his number.

“His cell is still off,” she said when her call immediately went to voice mail.

“Maybe the battery’s dead,” Sierra suggested. “Or he could have forgotten about meeting
us here. We’re all so busy these days.”

“He’s always got one of those extra battery packs with him so he doesn’t miss business
calls, and he usually doesn’t forget stuff.”

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days, have you?”

Jaye shook her head. She’d been so busy in the shop lately that she’d had to take
care of paying bills, doing inventory and reordering merchandise in the evenings.
She’d meant to call him a dozen times, but was always distracted by one thing or another.
For that matter, last night she’d even forgotten to give Raffles dinner. Luckily,
the not-a-cat wasn’t shy about bringing the oversight to her attention. She’d jumped
onto the computer desk where Jaye had been working and plunked herself down on the
keyboard. In spite of the animal’s persistent whining and refusal to move, it had
still taken Jaye another five minutes to realize what was amiss.

“I have to go,” Sierra said, consulting her watch. “Ruth can’t manage the morning
rush by herself anymore. I’m afraid she’s thinking of abandoning ship.”

“No problem. I’ll stop by Daniel’s office before I head out of town. Maybe George
knows what’s up with him.”

Premier Navajo Tours was located in a tiny storefront at the far end of town. When
Jaye arrived, both of the tourist Jeeps were parked directly outside. With any luck,
that meant both Daniel and his cousin were inside. The office was barely large enough
for two desks, one filing cabinet and several chairs. A small hallway in the rear
led to a bathroom and the back exit. As long as the vehicles were in working order,
it was a low-overhead kind of business. Jaye parked and walked in to find George sitting
at his desk. Unless Daniel was occupying the bathroom, he wasn’t there.

George looked up. “Hey, how are you?” he greeted her with a broad smile. He was shorter
than his cousin and rounder of face and body, with a gregarious personality that made
you feel as if you’d known him forever five minutes after you met him.

“I’m good,” Jaye replied. “How about you?”

“Never better.”

“I haven’t been able to reach Daniel, and he blew off our breakfast this morning.
Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah—he’s fine. Doli Joe summoned him. And when she summons, he goes. I’m glad
I’m related through his father’s side.”

“But he’s not answering his phone,” Jaye said, wondering what kind of problem would
necessitate his running up to Tuba City on such short notice and whether it would
be too nosy of her to ask.

“His grandmother doesn’t allow cell phones or any modern stuff in her hogan. She confiscates
it all as soon as he gets there.”

Jaye nodded, remembering that Kyah had taken to calling her mother Amish over her
refusal to join the twenty-first century. “Was there an emergency?” she asked.

“Probably not,” George said with a shrug. “Doli Joe’s idea of an emergency isn’t necessarily
the same as yours or mine.”

The more questions Jaye asked, the more baffled she was getting. Pushy or not, she
wanted a clear answer. “So you don’t actually know why he went up there?”

“Not a clue,” George said with a grin, “and that’s the way I like it.”

Frustrated, she tried a different tack. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be back?”

“We’re slammed here tomorrow, and he swore he’d be back in time.”

Finally, something of substance. Jaye thanked him and headed back to her shop, wishing
she could turn off her curiosity and concern with the same ease George apparently
could.