Marked Masters (25 page)

The main salon looked basically the same.
Hamish's voice became an inconsequential murmur as I lost myself in
thoughts of the last time I'd been here fifteen years ago.

As far as current events ran, I had not
really kept up with what was happening in Florence except in a very
superficial way. I hadn't heard the gallery reopened under another
name or knew of Flavia's connection to it. I did find it strange
she hadn't said anything in her e-mail. She knew all about what had
happened here those many years ago with the theft of
The
Portrait of Three
, not just from a newsstand point of view, but
from a shared emotional viewpoint with my own. She and her family
attended the gallery event that fateful night as well.

"Ready?" Jack's voice was as clipped and
steady as his hand on my arm and refocused my attention. I realized
Hamish had moved away.

"Yes?" My mind continued operating on two
levels—past and present, but I needed to focus on the here and now.
I sternly reminded myself this night had nothing to do with what
happened so long ago and pushed those thoughts out of my head as we
moved from the salon into the main hallway. Various rooms branched
out to other rooms.

I didn't know what Jack had in mind, but I
was having a hard time keeping my time frames straight. Surreal.
Forget the art, the hordes of people, the food, and the drinks. The
halls were exactly as I remembered them. Like my child's brain had
somehow taken an adult video. Was this what the owners planned, or
something else I needed to figure out in this mess?

No! I'm looking for connections where none
exist. Stop it, stop it, stop it!

It was a historic building. Of course when
they remodeled, they returned it to its former appearance as much
as possible.

As we strolled through, admiring the art, I
did what I do best and put aside my personal issues while admiring
the exhibits of women's artistry and their roles as subjects from
the Renaissance to the present. Too much to do, talking, laughing,
drinking, and looking to make connections. I couldn't choke down a
thing to eat, however, and apparently neither could Jack. As we
lingered and moved on, more and more people joined the masses, and
many familiar faces showed up.

See and be seen would sum it up well. Jack
and I momentarily split up, came back together, and kept tabs on
one another throughout the evening.

On my way back to Jack, after a short
departure to visit with an old donor of Beacham's, someone grabbed
me by the waist and whirled me around, briefly hugging me.
"Laurel!"

Rollie. Dressed to the nines in a navy
velvet suit with silk lapels. His hair, longer than the last time
I'd seen him in person, fell over his shoulder until he flipped it
back.

"Nice to see you," I said, giving him a warm
smile, playing the game.

"Is that all you have to say? It is nice to
see me?" He reached out and straightened a lock of my hair. His
smiling eyes were just as I remembered them. "I've missed you,
Laurel Beacham. I thought we had something good between us, and
poof
! Nothing. Please explain." His teeth were straight and
white and shone like the sun. Such a gorgeous man with such dubious
family connections and an utterly horrific taste in
friends—maybe.

"I don't remember receiving a call from
you." I looked at him questioningly.

"I did not want to intrude. But say the
word, and I shall be available night or day."

I laughed at his obvious reference. "I have
no doubt of that. No doubt at all." I held out my hand. "Now, I
really must be off. I'm here with a friend."

"Oh, is that the way it is blowing? I get
the photograph now."

"Picture, Rollie. You get the picture."
After all I'd learned about him, I wondered if his struggle with
English was fake or real.

"Of course, of course. Picture." He held my
shoulders and kissed me in continental fashion. "As always, a
pleasure to see you. You are such a beautiful woman. You remind me
of someone—did I ever tell you that?" He shook his head. "No, I
don't think I did.
À bientôt
, Laurel."

He'd see me soon? Not if I had anything to
do with it. I watched him walk away, greeting an older woman
affectionately. What did he mean I reminded him of someone?

I ran Jack down as he laughed with another
man, and I indicated we needed to talk. He introduced us and
quickly made excuses so we could break away. "What's up?"

"Rollie."

"Here?"

"Yes." A passing waiter swanned by with a
tray of full glasses, and I accepted one to keep my hands busy.

"He talked with you?"

I briefly described the conversation,
leaving out the "remind me of someone" part.

"Did you—"

"I played the game like you said to do.
Acted like nothing was wrong, didn't object when he hugged me. So
on and so forth." Jack's eyes narrowed. "I did not make a date,
however. I told him I was here with someone else."

"You didn't mention my name?"

I shook my head. "No. It literally didn't
occur to me to do so. I think he approached me only because you
weren't around." I walked away. Of course he caught up with me, and
the game continued.

When I'd had enough, I extricated myself
delicately by mentioning the ladies' room, and Jack politely,
albeit reluctantly, let me go with a promise to have a fresh drink
for me upon my return. White-knight, control-freak syndrome
style.

He was nowhere in sight when I returned to
the spot where I'd left him, so I drifted and smiled and became
generally bored with our great idea.

The crowd was getting heavier than I'd
expected, and the jostling became more full-bodied than I liked.
When my clutch was knocked from under my arm and skittered on the
floor under the Giorgio and Valentino gowns, I called the game and
decided to make it an evening.

It took some time for my bag to finish its
football scrimmage and get returned to me. I didn't want to appear
gauche and look then to see if anything was missing. I did the
mental weighing bit however, also giving the bag a thoughtful
squeeze before determining the clutch felt as if everything was
accounted for.

I raised up on my toes, trying to spot Jack
to give him the "let's leave" signal. But when I did see him, it
was because he appeared at my elbow and pulled me back down to
normal height before whispering, "Quick! Look over there."

He inclined his head, and I gazed toward the
north end of the room. I didn't recognize anyone or see anything
amiss, so I whispered back, "What do you mean?"

"The blonde with the short hair and the
killer black dress. It's your friend Tina."

I laughed and patted his arm. "Oh, Jack, I
have to learn when to cut you off. How many drinks have you had
tonight?"

"I'm serious, Laurel."

Suddenly, I saw that he was. The laughter
died in my throat, and I looked again at the blonde across the
room. "Tina's dead. The homicide detective confirmed it."

"Did you see the body?"

"The homicide d—"

"Did you see the body?" His gaze bore into
mine, and suddenly those lovely teal eyes gave a hint of
menace.

I swallowed hard. "Thankfully, no."

"Then I guarantee you the woman over there
is Tina Schroeder. And since I don't believe in reanimation or
reincarnation, I'd say something more sinister is going on."

As Jack talked, he'd been pulling me closer
toward the north end of the room. "Look past the makeup. It's quite
different, I know. An expert job, just like the hair. But bone
structure never lies."

"What are you?" I twisted to face him. "Some
kind of human face-recognition software?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I am." His voice
held a tinge of steel. "No joking here, look closely. Don't let the
professional camouflage fool you."

I did as he asked, attempted a mental strip
of the carefully applied makeup—managed by a professional or
über-practiced hand. And like dawn breaking, I suddenly saw exactly
what Jack had been saying. My hand shot to my mouth to hide my
shocked words as I whispered, "Ohmigod, you're right. I would never
have seen it if you hadn't pointed her out to me."

At that same moment, her gaze locked on
mine, and she straightened a bit taller. Her look said it all—she
knew that I knew.

In the next second, a waiter passed between
her and us, and she deposited her glass on the departing tray. I
watched Jack break away and head in the same direction as the
waiter, and I knew he was going to grab the glass for a fingerprint
comparison. Time to confront Tina. I turned to again face her
direction and realized she was gone.

Unfortunately, I had a new problem. A smarmy
voice spoke from behind me. "I didn't think he was ever going to
leave."

I whirled. "Tony B—"

"Miss me, Laurel?" He reached for my arm,
but I sidestepped him, staying just a bit out of range.

"No, there are so many old friends here
tonight, I hadn't even had a chance to think about you," I said,
opening my clutch and letting my fingers search for one of my
picks, never taking my eyes off the snake.

He shifted to outflank me, keeping an eye on
Jack's progress. "Looks like you have a new friend. First at the
Browning. Now here. Interesting."

I slipped around an older couple, both short
enough that I could still see Tony B. They were carrying on a
spirited conversation in Italian and didn't seem to realize they
were the net in our game of verbal badminton. I risked a step back,
throwing out a quick volley to keep his mind occupied. "Did you
know Tina Schroeder is still alive?"

He offered one of his nonchalant shrugs. "I
never said she wasn't."

And he hadn't. That was true. I'd assumed he
was keeping the information from me. He was using it to his
advantage, to let me be part of the ruse.

"So who really died, Tony B?"

He tsked. "Is this really the kind of
conversation we need to be having in such an opulent setting?"

I thought about
The Portrait of
Three
, their theft from this very place on a night just like
this one, and the fact that the current… No, not owner. I couldn't
even pretend to go so far… Curator. Yes, that worked. The fact the
current curator was on the premises, in a building I'd already
noted was eerily restored to exactly the appearance of the previous
time. Well, I wasn't born yesterday.

"You're here to return the paintings."

"The new owner wants to be able to see the
beauties every morning."

The new owner. Ermo Colle. Who was that
really? But then I thought about how Tony B worded his remark. He
hadn't said he was returning the originals. I figured I'd better
keep my epiphany to myself.

I saw Jack looking for me, Tina's glass
safely tucked into the pocket of his jacket. "Over here," I called
gaily, forcing a smile. "Look, Jack, it's Tony B."

"
Touché
," Tony B said, taking a step
back and to the side as Jack began shoving his way through the
crowd. "But I leave you with one last bit of advice."

"Why would I ever want advice from you?"

"Because we go way back. And this advice is
very important. That man is not who he says he is. You're headed
for a huge disappointment. But don't worry. I'm doing you a big
favor. Just wait."

"Well, the joke is on you, Tony B. He won't
tell me who he is, so how can I be disappointed?"

In that instant, the crowd did its conjuring
trick, and Tony B disappeared just like Tina had. A moment later,
Jack was again at my side.

"Are you okay?"

"I want to leave, Jack. This isn't fun
anymore."

The party was over as far as
either of us was concerned, but we stayed alert and made the
circuit to get out of the building, just on the off chance we saw
either of our unwelcome fellow attendees. We'd made headway, sure,
but the emotional toll was more than I anticipated. As we finally
exited, Jack pulled out his phone and sent a couple of texts. I
tried to wait patiently in the overly lit area, but when I could no
longer ignore the feeling of being watched from every direction, I
said, "I feel like a target here."

"Sorry. Let's go." Jack tucked my
free hand back under his arm and held tight, just like he'd done
ever since he came up on me with Tony B. For once, I didn't feel
controlled as much as grateful. I wanted him close.

When we got a good distance from
the building, he explained. "My text let people know we were
leaving and who we discovered at the event. They'll check out the
rest of the gallery opening, but I don't think they'll find
anything. I also think we can safely assume we made an impression
tonight."

I started trembling and pulled the
shawl tight. He removed his jacket to place it around my shoulders.
I wasn't cold, and both of us knew it, but I appreciated the
gesture and said so. "Thank you, Jack."

He nodded and pulled me down onto
a short wall that ran along the street. Then he asked a bit
hesitantly, "I did get back in time, didn't I?"

I took a deep breath and tried to
smile. "Don't worry. He just played mind games with me."

"Those can often be more serious
than physical torture."

No kidding. "It's just been too
many unknowns. He was counting on that."

He turned brusque. "You need to
eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're always hungry." He opened
the coat I wore and pulled a flask from an inside pocket. "Here,
drink this."

"What is it?"

"Brandy. A couple of swallows will
take care of the sick feeling, and then you'll be
ravenous."