Blood Rubies (21 page)

“Is this silver?” I asked, pointing to the filigreed embellishment near the grip in the first photograph.

She leaned over to look. “Yes, with ebony. That was the first walking stick Walter ever purchased.” She raised her eyes. “I have complete records. All receipts, appraisals, and the catalogue entries Walter wrote.”

I smiled. “That's very good news indeed.” I studied the third photo. “Is this aperture for cigarettes?”

“Yes. It doesn't show in this photo, but there's a second opening on the other side for matches.”

“Fabulous. Which one was Walter's favorite?”

“Ooh, that's a tough one. He loved the violin walking stick made by Augustus Johnson because it was so rare, but I think he was proudest of his binocular cane. It's made of perfectly matched bird's-eye maple, with professional quality, full-sized binoculars tucked in so cleverly you'd never see them if you didn't know they were there.”

My pulse speeded up, a sure sign I had a winner on my hands. “I know you're in a hurry, and I don't need to look in detail to know I want to see the collection. Even at a quick glance, I'm impressed and excited.”

“Wonderful. How's this afternoon?”

My stomach sank as I recalled my noon appointment. Even if Ana didn't intend to sue me, it was certain to be an angst-filled time. Once again, I forced myself to ignore that and concentrate only on what was within my immediate control.

“This afternoon is perfect. Where do you live?”

“In Durham.”

I did some mental calculations on how long it would take to drive to Durham after lunch. “Will three thirty work for you?”

“Perfect,” she said, standing. “I'll make tea.”

*   *   *

Drake Milner didn't show up. He didn't answer his phone. He didn't respond to texts or e-mails.

At ten forty-five, Ellis called Marlborough Antiques and spoke to Julie. He put her on speakerphone so I could listen in.

“He's not there?” Julie asked, surprised.

I could picture her elegant demeanor and her reddish hair.

“Do you know when he left Boston?” Ellis asked.

“He called around eight this morning. His message said that he was en route to New Hampshire and that he expected to be back to the shop after lunch, somewhere around three. He should be there by now.” Julie's surprise changed in a flash to worry. “He should have been there an hour ago.”

“That's true. If you hear from him, ask him to call me right away.”

“All right.”

Ellis tapped the button to end the call and looked at me. “Where is he?”

“Maybe his client got to him and bribed him to keep him quiet.”

Ellis shook his head. “He would have invented facts to avoid talking to us. A variation on ‘the dog ate my paper,' like the records got put through the shredder by mistake or the computer crashed and there was no backup, something like that.”

I gazed out the window. The sky had brightened into a soft dove gray.

“Drake's left town,” I said. “Either his client threatened him or he's been involved in the fraud from the start.”

He raised his brows.

“Yup,” I said. “I betcha—he's on the lam.”

“You seem very positive.”

“What else could it be? If he had a flat tire or something, he would have called. He's at the airport and checked in for his flight, either because he's terrified to talk to you or because he planned it this way all along.”

“Where is he flying to?”

“Somewhere without extradition.” I shook my head as pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place. “He's the scammer, Ellis. I can't believe it didn't occur to us until now, but look at it. Someone delivers the Fabergé Spring Egg snow globe to him for appraisal. He replicates it, gives them an appraisal showing a high value, and hands over the fake egg. Based on the inflated appraisal the person can get a secured loan. He sells the genuine egg to a collector and disappears. It's slick.”

“If he knew we were working on a subpoena, why would he stick around? Why wouldn't he have left the country the minute I filed the paperwork?”

“He didn't think he'd lose. And maybe he didn't call from the highway at eight this morning. Maybe when he agreed to this appointment, he was zipping up his suitcase, eager to make the night flight to Croatia.”

Ellis pursed his lips, thinking. “Croatia has no extradition treaty with the U.S. It has a stable government, cheap prices, and gorgeous scenery. He could do worse.” He paused. “You've almost got me convinced. Is it realistic to think that he sold the egg to a collector? I mean, I know we've talked about it. But if it's black market, would he have those contacts?”

“Yes. When you deal in high-end antiques, you meet lots of people with lots of money. Not all of them acquired their money legally. He could have sold it for several million dollars, which has already been deposited in a Croatian bank account.”

“I need to check it out.”

“We've been snookered.”

“Why would he call you and offer his services?”

“Greed. He thought that if he could pull off a switcheroonie once, he could do it twice.”

Ellis grinned. “He didn't know you.”

“He still doesn't. I don't like being snookered.”

“Leave it to me, Josie.”

I stood up, anger that had been simmering just below the surface beginning to boil. I marched to the window, spun around, stomped back to the table, then repeated the trek. Ellis watched me silently.

“I'm mad,” I said.

“Yeah.” He reached for the phone. “Pace if you want to, but stay quiet. I need to make some calls.”

I paced, half-listening as Ellis called the FBI, Interpol, and someone called Rocco. I kept my smart phone in my hand, waiting for Drake's callback or text. I felt foolish, like a mark choused out of her life savings by a fast-talking con man.

At eleven forty-five, Ellis got a call, listened for a full minute, then thanked the caller and hung up.

He looked at me. “Drake Milner didn't fly out of the country under his own name.”

“If I were him, I wouldn't either. I'd pick an all-new name, one no one knew about.” I glanced at my smart phone. “I have to go. I have an appointment at noon.”

“Who brought him that egg?”

“Ana. She wanted it appraised, maybe for insurance like she said, or maybe so she'd have collateral for a loan, like we've been speculating. She hired Drake because her father thought anyone who wasn't a Russian artifacts expert was Mickey Mouse. She was going to let me appraise it, too, because she'd already signed a deal with me. Ana and her father have a complicated relationship. They had a falling-out because he didn't approve of her choice of career. You were there when she saw her dad round the corner of her house—she looked at him like he was her total hope and comfort, her rock. No way would she risk his disapproval, not at this stage of their relationship. He tells her to go to Drake, she goes. What does she care? So she double pays. If she can win back a little more of her dad's love, I bet she'd count it cheap at double the price.”

“You're making this up.”

“Yes, but not on impulse. Something Drake said—that maybe the owner and the thief were the same person—stayed with me. At first I couldn't see how the scam could work. Now I can.” I held up a palm. “There's still too much we don't know. I don't know who replicated the Fabergé egg and snow globe. I haven't got a clue who killed Jason, or why. I don't know whether the egg is related to the murder or not—but I know it's possible that I'm right because I know a lot about how women interact with their dads.”

“If you were me, what would you do next?”

I glanced at my phone again. I was going to be late. “I'd ask me to call you after my lunch with Ana.”

Ellis leaned back in his chair. “Will you call me after you have lunch with Ana?”

“Sure.”

He stood up and walked toward me until he was standing only inches away. He looked down at me.

“I have a better idea … May I join you?”

I gazed into his eyes but learned nothing. “How come?”

“Curiosity.”

I met his eyes. They didn't look intrigued. They looked worried. “You think I might be in danger.”

“In a public place? Unlikely.”

“Yet you want to join me.”

“Excess of caution.”

“I'll learn more if I'm alone.”

Ellis shook his head. “Don't question her, Josie. Your job isn't to learn anything. Chat about the weather.”

“The situation is bound to come up.”

“Don't let it.” He raised a hand to stop me from replying. “Ana might be a killer.”

I paused, trying to picture Ana bashing Jason's head against the fieldstone hearth. The image did not compute. Ana was reserved, pleasant, polished, elegant, and calm. I'd seen her sad and anxious and angry, but I'd never seen her lose control. No matter how bad her financial situation was, I couldn't envision Ana as a murderer. A thief, possibly. A killer, no.

“Do you suspect her more than anyone else?” I asked.

“No.”

“Me either. I was just talking.”

“Don't do anything stupid, Josie.”

“Me? Never.” When he didn't respond right away, I touched his upper arm. “Really, Ellis, I'm a scaredy cat. I'd never do anything stupid.”

Outside, streaks of pale blue sky showed through the dense gray cloud cover. The storm had passed. I walked across crunchy snow to my car.
Ana,
I thought.

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Max Bixby's small law firm was housed in a big white house on Brook Street, just outside Rocky Point's main shopping area. He owned the building, which used to be a private residence, and rented out suites to other professionals. His current tenants included an independent insurance agent, two psychotherapists, a title company, and a nutritionist. Max kept the sprawling ground floor for his company.

Max was just what a lawyer should be: smart and knowledgeable, objective and fair, protective and flexible. Today he wore a blue and brown tweed jacket with brown slacks and shoes, a yellow shirt, and a blue bow tie with brown polka dots. He was tall and thin, and his eyes twinkled when he said something he thought was funny, which happened a lot.

He opened his office door in response to his secretary's buzz. I didn't recognize her. I wondered what happened to his longtime assistant, Gloria.

“Josie!” Max said.

He extended a hand. We shook. He stepped back and waved me in.

His office was as modern as I recalled, an odd variance to his courtly old-world appearance and manners. His desk had been created from a slab of black granite. Smallish diamond-shaped glass-topped tables were positioned on either side of the black leather and chrome sofa. A glass-topped conference table stood near the windows. The iron gray curtains had gold and silver threads running vertically through the fabric. The rug was charcoal gray. The walls were light gray, a sort of pale blueberry color. Abstract paintings, mostly geometric shapes, hung on every wall. Some contained slashes of red or purple.

Max led the way to the conference table. The glass top sparkled under the overhead recessed lights. A phone console sat at the head of the table next to a black leather portfolio. A Polycom voice station was positioned in the center, its cords running through a black flexible plastic tube that disappeared under the carpet. Next to it, a tray held a cut-crystal carafe of water and four matching glasses.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” I said.

“No problem, Josie. Ana arrived a few minutes ago. I have her parked in an empty office. I wanted to talk to you first, see if there's anything new about Peter's threats I should be aware of.”

“No. I just hope she isn't mad at me.”

“Let's find out.”

He pushed a button on the phone console, and his secretary opened the door and looked at him.

“Please bring Ms. Yartsin in, Marian.”

She said she would and shut the door as she left.

“What happened to Gloria?” I asked.

“She took a four-month leave to go help her daughter Danni in Texas. Danni had a baby.”

“Oh! That's wonderful. Wonderful for her, not so great for you. So Marian is a temp?”

“No, she's an admin shared by two of the firm's associates. She's terrific.” He grinned. “They got the temp. I poached.”

I laughed. “You devil, you.”

He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “The guilt weighs on me.”

“I can tell.”

He sat up straight, pressed his palm against his chest, and in an orator's voice said, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

I felt my brow furrow. “King Henry?”

“The Fourth. Shakespeare sure could write, couldn't he?”

“Like nobody's business.”

Marian opened the door, and Ana stepped in. Max and I both stood up.

“Would either of you like some coffee or tea?” Marian asked.

We declined, and she backed out of the room. I introduced Ana, and Max pulled out a chair across from me. Max sat at the head of the table.

“I hope you haven't been waiting long,” I said as they got settled.

Ana placed her purse on the chair next to her. Max slipped a yellow legal pad from the portfolio and took a fountain pen from his shirt pocket.

“Not at all.” She looked at Max, then back at me.

I turned to Max, silently asking him to jump in.

“Josie was concerned that your brother was speaking on your behalf when he threatened to sue.”

Ana's eyes flew open. “What are you talking about?”

“He called Wes Smith, the
Seacoast Star
reporter, early this morning.”

She shifted her gaze to the wall, to a painting. “That must be why…” Her voice trailed off.