Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (32 page)

Reluctantly,
Lucius agreed and they disconnected.

Time
to track Lucius down, which involved calling in a major favor.  Caleb had a
friend who was a former detective, turned private.  As such, he paid for a
service that allowed him to “switch on” the GPS feature of any person's cell
phone, and track their coordinates at a given time.  It was not a service
Michael wanted to get directly involved in—especially because, by default, it
tracked the trackers.  But now he needed it.  This ploy with Lucius could go
one of two ways: either Lucius would come to the diner to meet, or he would run
to his partner with the seeds of doubt Michael had just planted.  It was a good
bet that Lucius trusted that guy, whomever he was, more than he trusted
Michael. 

Michael
waited half an hour before he placed the call. 

After
ten minutes on the line together, Caleb’s friend told him, “He's still on the
corner of
Nevers Road
.  Nevers Road and
Harbor Street
.  No movement
from the spot.”  He didn't bother asking questions or offering more help than
that. 

“Thanks,”
Michael told him.  “You can lose that number, by the way,” he added, referring
to Lucius's cell phone number. 

“I
plan to.”

The
line disconnected. 

Nevers
Road.
..the name was vaguely familiar. 

Quickly,
Michael grabbed one of the tourist maps he'd picked up in town when he'd first
arrived.  He fanned it out and roughly smoothed the creases with a stroke of his
hand.  The map was illustrated and made
Chatham
look like a bubbly, cheery place
of purple houses, white chapels, and trees shaped like clovers.  He scanned the
map for
Nevers
Road
.

Backhanded,
he smacked the map when he finally found the intersection.  It was a narrow,
brief little road, no wonder he'd almost missed it; it was more like a paved
inlet to the sea.  Sharpening his gaze, he noticed the adjacent symbol—a blue
house, which signified an inn or hotel—with the caption: SEA HORSE INN.  Then
Michael recalled a conversation.  Hadn't the Finns once mentioned that the Cape
Town Inn used to be called The Sea Horse?

So
now Michael knew two things: this was an old map and Craig Lucius was
definitely up to something.

***

“What
was so urgent?  You know I don't like impromptu meetings like this,” the man
calling himself 'Alvin' said.  “Especially
here
, by my home.  It is far
too risky considering the lengths I've gone to in order to remain
inconspicuous.”

“I
just talked to Corso,” Lucius blurted.  “He wants to meet later today.  He says
he's got new information—that I'm not being told everything by you.”

Alvin
said nothing. 

“
Well?
”
Lucius demanded. 

In
response,
Alvin
only raised his eyebrows in question, as if to say,
Your
point is?
 

“Well,
is he
right
?  Are you pulling some shit over my eyes here or what?” 

Bizarre
imagery aside,
Alvin
knew it was a reasonable question—and one that would
yield an equivocal answer.  What else?  There was no honor code here.  From his
life before,
Alvin
knew full well that there really was no such thing as
honor among thieves.  And besides, he had so much more at stake here besides
money. 

“Because
if you're keeping me out of some bigger shit here!” Lucius went on.  “If this
is more than just a Demberto and you're fucking holding out on me!” 
Distastefully,
Alvin
noticed the vein in Lucius's neck throbbing
spastically.  He seemed at a loss for how to finish the inarticulate threats. 

Finally
Alvin
spoke.  His
words were measured, even.  “Go to Nina Corday's house today.  During the
Parade.”

At
that, Lucius went from rant-mode to confused-mode.  Scrunching his features, he
said, “But what about discretion, like you've been saying from the beginning? 
What about how there can't be a break-in at that house because it would draw
too much attention?  What about—?”

“Plans
have changed; you need to strike now.  You said that Corso wants to meet.  So
act as though you intend to meet him, and then go to the house instead.  You
know he won't be there.  Do whatever it requires to get the painting and I will
double your percentage on this.”

Lucius's
eyes grew wide at that. 
Alvin
had initially promised him twenty percent of the
Demberto, once it was fenced on the international market.  The notion of forty
percent was obviously sending Lucius into an avaricious tailspin.  “There's
nothing Corso could tell you that's worth more than that,”
Alvin
added. 

Though
he kept his composure,
Alvin
was genuinely nervous now.  If Corso was telling
Lucius that there was more involved here...well, what else could he be
referring to?  He must have discovered the real truth about the painting.

Time
was an enemy now. 
Alvin
was not going to let everything crash around him. 

Stupidly,
he supposed now, he thought he could get the painting out of Nina Corday's
house without much fuss or attention, and even if her niece noticed its
absence, there would never be the slightest link to
him
. 

In
theory, Corso would be long gone, his identity unknown anyway, Lucius would be
eliminated, of course, because he knew
Alvin
's true identity, and then the
painting would be destroyed.  No one would be the wiser. 

Of
course, the plan had spiraled in another direction.  Now
Alvin
had to adjust to
it.  Surely he was smart enough to do that.

“Without
Mr. Corso there, and with the whole town on
Main Street
, enjoying the
Harvest Parade festivities, the woman will be there alone.  Or better yet—she
won't even be there.  She'll be at the parade, herself.  What better time for
you to break in and steal the painting?”

“But
I don't know where the painting even is.”

“Realistically,
if Corso has found it, it would be one of two places now.  His boat or inside
the house.  If
he
could find it, couldn't you?” 

“You
think he has it?  He's lying to me?  Of course!  He's been bullshitting me! 
Okay, so what about the alarm system?” 

“Again—the
town, including the local police force, will be focused on the parade.  It will
buy you a bit more time in all the confusion.  Try his boat first obviously,
but then get in the house and move quickly.”

“And
you're really gonna cut me in for forty now?” Lucius double-checked.  “Even
though that would only leave you with forty?”

“Sixty,”
Alvin corrected.  “We'll just cut Corso out.  It's not like he got the job
done.  Right?”

With
a sly snicker, Lucius agreed.  “Nope, not at all.  He was supposed to get the
thing for us, not find it and try to double-deal.”

“Precisely.”

“So
fuck him,” Lucius added with a brusque laugh.

“Bring
me the painting, whatever it takes, and you are looking at forty percent of five
million dollars—cash.  I think that should be worth a little extra risk, don't
you?”

“Don't
worry,” Lucius said with a feral kind of smile.  “I'll get it, one way or
another.”

“Today,”
Alvin
said, then
reached into his pocket.  He pulled out a quarter-sized pill case and handed it
to Lucius.  “You'll need these.”

“What’s
that?”

“Sleeping
pills,”
Alvin
explained. 
“Somebody got her a dog.”

When
Michael arrived at the Cape Town Inn, he found its shutters drawn and flowery
curtains closed over the bay window. 

He
had cut through the festivities on
Main Street
.  Nevers Road
was away from the center of town and close to the ocean.  This was a woodsier
part of
Chatham
, dense with
trees, banded together like a fortress around the sea, where occasionally a
rustic cottage appeared among the thicket. 

Now
he stood on the front stoop of the inn.  He kept an eye out for Lucius, though
he figured he was probably gone by now.  Still, Michael had hoped to find
Lucius’s partner.  Maybe work something out.  Buy time to get the answer to the
final riddle—“a place for princesses”—and then hand over the Demberto free of
charge.  To hell with the money.  He just wanted them to back off.  But the
weather-beaten building appeared to be deserted. 

Of
course
, Michael realized.  Everyone was in town for the Harvest Parade. 

What
next? 

Somehow
the notion of Vickie Finn masterminding any of this was too far-fetched.  He
supposed she might be shady enough to know someone like Lucius, and she
obviously craved excitement.  But she just seemed too vapid.  Granted, she
could have been acting a part.  And if not Vickie who Lucius had been meeting
twenty minutes ago, then who?  Todd?

No...

Michael
brushed off the thought.  That wimp could barely pull off his socks, much less
pull off something criminal. 

Could
it be someone who was staying at the inn?

He
pulled on the door handle.  Locked.  Definitely closed for business.  Was that
something an innkeeper would do if he had a guest lodging there?  Lock up the
whole building?  Of course not, which led him back to his original question:
were one or both of the Finns in league with Lucius? 

If
you didn't take them at face value, Michael realized, it could make sense.  The
two of them had been together since high school, for chrissake.  Their whole
dysfunctional marriage shtick might be an act.  To make it worse, Nicole
trusted them in a sense.  She might not like them, but she wouldn't think to
have her guard up with them.  Uneasily, Michael eyed the quiet, deserted property
one last time before he left.

***

“Todd,
where the hell are you taking me?” Vickie demanded, her voice, as usual, the
midpoint between a bitch and a moan.  “You said you would give me a lift to the
print shop.  What the hell is going on?”

Calmly,
Todd repeated what he had said to her earlier, when she had first noticed that
they'd passed the print shop.  “In due time.”

Vickie
burst out a frustrated breath.  His wife had always been a spitfire, but she
had turned downright surly in recent years.  Ever since she had lost all that
weight, she'd gained a cruel kind of arrogance in its place.  But Todd knew it
wasn't the real her.  The real Vickie was that chubby-cheeked girl he had first
fallen in love with—the one with the braces and the mouthful of pink rubber
bands, the one who had loved him back.  He remembered the first time they had
made love.  It had been in her bedroom when they were both just seventeen.  It
had been a clunky, awkward mating; Todd had taken pains to be extra doting
toward her, catering to her—damn it, he was always catering to her.  It seemed
a thankless job, especially lately.  Why had she changed?  Why did people have
to change?

After
that first time, Vickie hadn't been all that interested in doing it again.  Of
course Todd had respected her wishes to make love only occasionally, despite
his own desire for more.  What worked sometimes was giving her an hour-long
massage first.  Sometimes that got her supple and interested.  Whatever she'd
needed, he'd tried to give.  He had always tried to support her emotionally,
but she didn't seem to need him anymore.

Once
Vickie had started dropping weight, she had begun craving sex more.  At first,
Todd had been thrilled, anticipating endless lovemaking with the wife he
adored.  But her desire hadn't lasted long.  It seemed that they shared a brief
bout of frequent sex, and then Vickie backed off again.  Telling Todd that she
was tired or that she wasn't in the mood.  She would snap at him when he would
push the issue, so of course, he’d tried to keep the peace. 

Todd
had just assumed that was the way Vickie was.  Not everyone naturally had a
strong sexual appetite.  So his wife didn't.  It didn't change the fact that he
loved her.

It
was only years later that Todd realized his wife...

Unwittingly,
now, Todd tightened his grip on the steering wheel.  Even to him, his long slim
fingers looked like crooked angry bones and furious joints.  Vickie had always
had her way.  Everything done to please Vickie, he thought.  And for what?  

He
squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as fury boiled inside him.  Then he
glanced over at his wife in the passenger seat, sulking, with arms across her
chest.  With barely a side glance, she grimaced at him.  In return, he smiled
mildly; he had become a master at suppressing his anger by now.