Eugenie peered over Zeke’s shoulder as he tapped some keys and a message appeared on the screen. She scanned the words displayed, then gave a soft gasp. Right there in front of her was a description of the bust and its dimensions. There was also a note that it was made of wood and could be easily hollowed out.
“Ben’s sculpture is mentioned!”
“Hmm...” He read the complete document and then stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The original message appears to be instructions outlining what Ms. Standish needs to be looking for; various types of art work, the dimensions required and the date they have to be delivered by.”
“For collectors?”
“Perhaps...” He tapped some keys, read a bit more and then leaned back grinning. “Good work, Eugenie. You found exactly what we were looking for.”
“I did?” She smiled, pleased to have helped but not sure exactly what she’d done.
“Yep. Based on what I just read and what I overheard during the show earlier, I suspect Ms. Standish is a bona fide art dealer, but she does a little business on the side, helping to find artwork in which stolen items or contraband can be hidden.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Consider this; when an item is stolen, the thief needs to find a buyer, right? Or someone might want to acquire some contraband, drugs, a precious piece of antiquity or art. It seems there’s an organization that facilitates that. They put buyers and sellers together. Then they ship the item to the purchaser.”
“How do they get the shipments past customs? I’m sure I’ve read about sniffer dogs and parcels being inspected.”
“They hide the items in artwork. A famous painting can be hidden behind the canvas of a local artist. Jewels or drugs with scented herbs to confuse the dogs can be secreted inside sculptures...or perhaps inside a wooden carving of a woman’s head.
Eugenie let out a soft gasp. “So that’s why Ms. Standish is so anxious to keep Ben’s work. It’s going to be used to smuggle something!”
“Yep. According to some of these emails it seems there’s a network of small art galleries around the country that receive lists of requirements each month. They then know what sizes and types of artwork to look out for. When they find one that is suitable, they contact the facilitating organization and the piece is bought. Up to that point, it’s legitimate. The galleries aren’t breaking any laws, but perhaps a good lawyer could make a case for abetting in a crime.”
“I have to tell Ben. He’ll be horrified.” She turned to leave.
“Wait a minute there, Eugenie. It’s the middle of the night and besides that, how are you going to explain to your man how you know all this?”
“Oh. I didn’t think.”
“I don’t see a way you could tell him what’s going on without explaining how you found out.” Zeke drummed his fingers on the desk.
After a few minutes of silence, he looked up with a smile on his face. “I think I know how we can sort this out. I’ll have to get permission from Michael but I don’t see him objecting.”
“What are you going to do?” Eugenie looked at him expectantly.
“Best you don’t know so you can react naturally when the information is relayed to Ben. Tomorrow, I think you should go over to his place and try to apologise. Whatever you do, don’t let on you know anything about Ms. Standish’s side business. Okay?”
Chapter 16
Ben sat on his sofa, a shot of whiskey in his hand. Unlike recent evenings, there was no warmth from a fire, no friendly crackle of burning logs or flickering light casting interesting shadows on the wall. The room was cold and dark which matched his mood perfectly.
The entire evening had been a disaster. From the moment he’d put on that stupid suit and tie he’d felt uncomfortable, memories of his failed marriage plaguing him. His ex had bought it for him to wear to one of her ridiculous parties. It had cost an arm and a leg, money he’d begun to realize he no longer had. The business had been bleeding money for some reason though he hadn’t yet discovered why. Then, at the party he’d stepped outside to get some air only to find his wife and his supposed friend and business partner locked in a very intimate embrace in the gazebo. That had been the end of it; he’d moved out that night, filed for divorce the next day.
So yeah, putting on the suit had started the night on a downward spiral. He’d tried to pull out of it for Eugenie’s sake, knowing she was excited about the evening but the minute he’d stepped into the gallery everything had crashed and burned. The one carving he’d said should never be displayed was sitting there prominently for everyone to see.
It was a betrayal of his trust, almost like reliving the end of his marriage all over again. Except this was worse. His love—no, make that infatuation—for his wife had died long before that last night, but Eugenie... He’d thought she was different. He should have known better.
“How many times do I have to be kicked in the teeth before I learn my lesson?” He took another mouthful of whisky and then focused his gaze on the portrait hanging over the mantle. He and Eugenie had spent so many evenings in this very spot and he’d always felt the portrait had watched over them, giving them its blessing so to speak. What a fool he’d been. She was no better than the rest, saying one thing while meaning another, going behind his back, out for his money. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn Standish was giving her a cut of the proceeds from the sale of the carvings.
Realizing his glass was empty, he picked up the bottle and poured out more, carelessly slopping the booze over the edge. Damn. He stumbled to the kitchen to get a dishrag to clean up the spill. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have bothered, but Eugenie had worked so hard to tidy up the place, he was...
He paused, frowning. Why had she done all that cleaning for him? He ran his hand through his hair as he looked around. The whole house sparkled and had a warm, cared for vibe that had been missing for ages. There were even homemade cookies in a tin on the counter; she’d found an old recipe book of his mother’s, and when he’d mentioned his mother’s oatmeal cookies, Eugenie had made some for him as a surprise.
It didn’t make sense. He’d not paid her for any of the work, hadn’t even asked her to do it. She’d taken it upon herself, seeming to go out of her way to make him happy. And last night... He groaned thinking of how they’d had sex. No, it hadn’t been sex; they’d made love. He’d had meaningless sex before, scratching the itch, but last night had been so much more. He’d felt a connection to her that went way beyond the physical.
Feeling tired beyond words, he sank down into a chair at the kitchen table and propped his head in his hands. Had he messed up? He’d been incensed when he’d seen that sculpture, assuming Eugenie had been in collusion with Daphne Standish. So caught up in his own feelings, he hadn’t really listened to her explanation.
“Oh hell, what have I done?”
His alarm clock was ringing, the sound oddly distant but still loud enough it was pounding into his brain. Ben reached out his hand to turn it off but couldn’t locate it. Groaning, he opened his eyes and realized he was in the kitchen, sleeping with his head on the table.
He sat up, cursing as his neck and back protested the position he’d been in. Sunlight was streaming through the window, and he squinted as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled down the hall to his bedroom. After shutting off the alarm, he went to the bathroom and paused when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, his hair standing up on end and he was still wearing that damned suit.
Once the shower was running, he ditched the suit leaving it crumpled on the floor and stepped under the pounding water, hoping it would help him wake up. He hadn’t been hung over since the second time Eugenie appeared on his doorstep and, speaking of her, he needed to apologize for his behaviour last night. Hopefully, if he grovelled enough, he’d be able to get her to listen. Damn, he’d really screwed up, big time!
He was on his second cup of coffee when he glanced out the window and saw Eugenie walking up the d
riveway. His mug halfway to his mouth, he froze not believing she was actually here. Given the way he’d treated her both at the gallery and afterwards on the way back to her apartment, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d refused to set foot in his place ever again. He’d thought he would have to drive into town and then hope she wouldn’t slam her door in his face.
She tapped on the door. His feet dragged as he went to let her in, anticipating a barrage of well-deserved condemnations.
“Good morning, Ben.” She looked up at him tentatively.
“Eugenie, I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I said I’d be here at the usual time but if you don’t want me—”
“No!” He almost shouted the word and when she took a step back, he reached out and took her arm, guiding her inside. “I want you here. I mean, I know I was a complete bastard last night and I can’t believe you’d even want to breathe the same air as me.”
She shrugged and looked away. He could tell her feelings were still hurt but at least she hadn’t completely shut him out. There was still a chance.
“Eugenie, I’m sorry about last night.” He took her hands in his. “I was way out of line. Baggage from the past messed with my thinking and I reacted instinctively rather than listening to your explanation.”
“I...” She looked down at the ground, hesitated as if considering what to say and then peered up at him, emotion evident in her eyes. “You really hurt me last night, Ben.”
“I know. I’m a total ass.” He took a deep breath. “I was going to drive into town to see you this morning, beg you to forgive me. I know that Daphne woman is pushy and she probably steamrolled right over you.”
She nodded. “That’s pretty much what happened.”
“When I saw that image of you, I felt betrayed. The whole scenario was so reminiscent of the kinds of things that used to happen with my ex-wife. I was taking it all out on you. I should have realized you’d never do something like that.”
“You can’t let the past shape your future.”
“I know.” He made a self-deprecating face. “It won’t happen again, I promise. Will you give me a second chance?”
She nodded. “I’ll give you another chance, but I think I need some time before I can be as close to you as I have been.” She pulled her hands from his and he winced, already missing the connection they’d had before.
“Thanks. From now on, I’ll try and leave my past where it belongs…in the past.”
She gave a half-smile and turned to look out the window. “It’s really gloomy out today.”
“Yep.” He followed her lead. “It will probably snow again later.”
“Good thing the show was last night then. If the weather was bad, there might not have been such a good turn out.”
“There were a lot of people there, weren’t there?”
“Did you notice some of your smaller carvings had sold stickers on them?”
“Really? No, I didn’t. I was too riled up about that sculpture being there to notice anything else,” he slid a glance her way wondering how she’d react to him mentioning his bad behaviour. Her expression remained calm and he let out a silent breath, relieved they seemed to have moved past any recriminations. “That’s great, though. About the sales, I mean. I didn’t think anyone would want them.”
She smiled and shook her head at him. “Ben, you really are talented. When are you going to believe that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it will take a while to sink in.”
“Well, in the meantime, remember that I believe in you.” She pressed her hand to his chest and he covered it with his, holding it in place.
“You really are amazing, Eugenie. Most women would have yelled or thrown something at me or refused to talk.”
“I think you’ve been associating with the wrong sort of women.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re unique, my own special gift from God.”
For some reason, she stiffened at his words but before he could ask why, there was a knock on the door.
“I wonder who that could be? Chip didn’t bark.” He opened the door to see a tall young man standing on the porch with his back to the door. “Can I help you?” The man turned around and Ben thought he looked familiar.
“Benjamin Davis?”
“Yes.” He answered cautiously.
The man took a badge out of his pocket. “Detective-Constable Ezekiel Andrews, RCMP. You might have noticed me at the gallery last evening.”
“No, I didn’t.” He frowned and checked Andrews’ identification. It seemed real enough. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here about the art show.”
Eugenie came to the door and touched Ben’s arm. “You’re letting all the heat out. Why don’t you come inside and explain.”
Ben raised his brows at her. He wasn’t keen on letting the man in the house, his instincts telling him something was off though he wasn’t sure what. However, he opened the door wider to allow Andrews to enter and gestured towards the kitchen.
“Now, what’s all this about the art show?” Ben leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded.
“We’ve been following several lines of investigation concerning the sale of various stolen property and one of those lines has led us to the Maple Leaf Gallery.” The detective placed his badge back in his pocket as he spoke.
He shook his head. “None of my work has been stolen; it was all on show quite legitimately. Apart from one piece which I hadn’t given permission to be displayed, but I still wouldn’t deem that stolen.”
“Which piece would that be, sir?” The officer pulled out a notepad and pen.
“A bust, a carved wooden head and shoulders of a woman.”
“Ah.” He wrote something down, nodding, then flipped the notebook shut. “That’s the exact piece we’re interested in.”
Out of Ben’s line of sight, Eugenie rolled her eyes at Zeke. Firstly, she couldn’t believe he had the nerve to impersonate a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Secondly, his performance made her think of a show she’d seen while flipping through television channels a few nights back. Hoping Ben hadn’t watched the same show, she took a seat at the table so she could hear Zeke’s explanation.
“Let me give you a brief overview so you have a sense of what we’re dealing with.” Zeke pulled out a chair, turned it to face backwards and sat down, hands clasped on the back of it. “When a thief steals something he needs to find a buyer, right? Now, sometimes he’ll go to a well-known fence. Occasionally that fence is a pawnbroker or...an art dealer.”
“An art dealer?” Ben frowned.
Zeke nodded. “Yes. Someone at the Maple Art Gallery to be exact.”
Eugenie felt her lips twitching at Zeke’s expression. He was trying so hard to be serious, like one of those police officers she’d seen on TV. She needed to get away before she burst out laughing. “Excuse me for interrupting, but would you like a hot drink, Detective?”
“That’s okay, ma’am, I’m fine.” Zeke shot her a faintly annoyed look. “As I was saying, we’ve been investigating the sale of stolen property. What we know so far is that there is a network of legitimate small galleries and art dealers around the world who receive requests for certain types of artwork with specific dimensions. When such a piece is found by a dealer it’s bought legally by an organization for a large sum, often more than it’s worth. It is then taken to a clearing house somewhere in Canada where a stolen item is hidden within the artwork and then shipped across borders to a buyer.”
“I don’t see how I can be of use.” Ben pushed off from where he was leaning on the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “None of my carvings are big enough to hide much of anything.”
“Except the sculpture, Ben.” Eugenie corrected him from where she stood at the sink, supposedly filling the kettle for tea.
“That’s correct.” Zeke nodded. “I was at the gallery last night and saw the piece in question. We think it
fits the requirements on a recent list that has come into our hands.”
“Damn.” Ben’s hand tightened around the cup he was holding. “That would explain why Ms. Standish was so fired up to have that damned carving in her gallery even though I repeatedly told her it was not for sale.”
Zeke cleared his throat. "Yes, I managed to overhear some of that conversation. However, we strongly suspect you will be contacted by the gallery today with the news it has been sold."
"What?" Ben slammed his mug down on the counter. "I'll be damned if I'll let a bunch of criminals use my art work—"
Zeke interrupted. "Actually, the RCMP would like you to do just that. We'd like you to inform Daphne Standish that you've changed your mind about selling the piece, with one proviso."
"Which is?" Ben folded his arms across his chest.
"That you get to meet the buyer in person first."
"How will that help?"
"We can tail him when he leaves the gallery, track the carving and with luck shut down this branch of the operation.”
Ben grunted, his brows lowered as considered the proposal. "They'd better not damage it.”
“We will make every effort to return the carving back to you in one piece.” Zeke stood up. “Can we count on you?”
Ben sighed. “Yeah, all right. I’ll do it.”
Zeke held out his hand for Ben to shake. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. We will be in touch once we have news.”
Chapter 17
After Zeke left, they fell back into their usual routine, heading out to the barn to work. Snow was falling gently, creating a fresh white blanket over the farm.
“It looks like a Christmas card outside,” Eugenie decided as she peered out the window.
Ben looked up from the table he was working on. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“How do you celebrate Christmas in Canada, Ben?”
He shrugged. “Probably the same as most other places. Although, to tell you the truth, I haven’t celebrated it in quite a while.”
Untried Heart Page 15
