“My name is Avery Ayers, and I’m contracted with MOA. My company certifies and appraises pieces before the museum acquires them. I think I’ve seen you upstairs at the lab.” She pulled the note from her purse. “I have a question for you . . . It’s probably easier to explain with this. I received this last night.”
The man read the brief message—Find Art at MOA. He’s an ally—and stared at her. He looked shocked. “Did you see who sent this to you?”
Avery was taken aback. This had to be the Art she was looking for. “Um, the note was in my car when I came out after work yesterday. I don’t know who put it there. As a matter of fact, it was in my locked car, and I’m the only one with a key.”
Strangely, that added information didn’t seem to surprise him further; his expression didn’t change. He looked down at the note again and then back up at Avery. “I know who you are. You need to drop your current assignment. Tell the curator to find someone else.” He handed the slip of paper back to her.
She stood looking up—way up—at him with her mouth hanging open. Literally. She finally shook her head, trying to make some sense of this, and pushed him for more information. “I can’t do that. Who are you, Art? How do you know anything about my assignment?” All she could think of was the first note that had come through the mail slot in Lilac Grove. This guard had just much too closely mirrored the sentiment in that first warning.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. But I know what it’s going to take for you to be safe.”
“Art. Officer Smith.” Avery crossed her arms and moved a step closer to the guard. “Tell me what’s going on. Who are you working with? What do you know about this note? Who sent it to me?” She waved it in the air, frustrated.
The man took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I know you want answers. But I’m telling you, the best thing you can do at this point is drop the ruby assignment. Seriously, Ms. Ayers.”
Avery could feel her temper simmering. She didn’t have the time or patience for this. She stepped back, looking at his name tag, which read only Art Smith, MOA security officer. “I’m not dropping it. But maybe I will talk to the curator about why an MOA guard is warning me off certifying the ruby that she hired me to evaluate. John Arthur Smith.” She turned to go back inside. She wasn’t bluffing; Goldie should know exactly who this man was, or at least why he was advising her on her job.
“All right!” He spoke sharply, and Avery whipped her head around at him. “Okay,” he said, scowling. “Listen. I’m aware of the potential surrounding your assignment. That it could turn out to be the missing Emperor’s Twins dragon eye. I have good reason to believe you’ll be at risk of being harmed or worse if you continue your authentication.”
“How—what makes you say that? What do you know? Do you know Oliver Renell? William Ayers? Do those names mean anything to you?” she demanded, openly angry now at this cloak-and-dagger ruse. “Who are you, really?” She repeated the question, her volume louder now as she ignored a family of museum patrons brushing past her, exiting the building.
“You need to calm down,” Art said, challenging her intently with his dark-eyed gaze and making her even angrier. “Avery. I’m someone who can help. As your note says.” He pointed. “Please, consider getting the case reassigned. Surely there are other companies who do what you do.”
“Tell me how you’re involved in this and I’ll consider it.”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I can’t do that.”
“Then I guess the note is wrong,” she said, shoving it back into her purse. “You’re not an ally.” She turned to go, and this time he didn’t stop her.
Avery didn’t remember her trek back through the museum to the front entrance; she was fuming. Art, the completely unhelpful security guard, had just highlighted how in the dark she felt about too many things. By the time she passed Emily’s desk and was nearing the front exit, her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and she wanted to yell at someone.
“Have a great day, Avery.” Emily’s voice broke through her fog of rage.
Avery slowed her pace and took a deep breath. Orange sherbet. Chocolate chip cookie dough. Superman. Birthday cake. Pumpkin spice cheesecake. Her heartbeat was slowing; she could feel it in the pulse at the side of her neck. She produced a small smile for the docent. “Thanks, Emily, you too. I appreciate your help.” Her voice sounded pinched and quiet to her own ears.
On the front steps of MOA, she abruptly sat down and took her pink-and-black running shoes from their compartment in her bag; days like today were the exact reason she always kept them with her. She swapped her heels for the runners and stood, pulling her hair into a high ponytail with an elastic from her wrist. She looked down. The shoes looked ridiculous with her nice cropped slim pants and brown plaid blazer. She folded the blazer, stuffed it into the mesh bag, and hit the pavement. Running was the only thing that was going to snap her out of this dark mood. But she’d made it only as far as the corner—the end of the MOA compound—when she spotted Francesca on the side of the wide concrete steps into the south wing talking with someone. Avery slowed her pace. The man had his back to Avery, but from here she was able to pick out the artfully highlighted blond streaks in his hair. As she passed, the man turned slightly, confirming for her that it was Tyler Chadwick. He and Francesca appeared to be immersed in an intimate conversation, their heads close together and Francesca’s hand resting on Tyler’s upper arm.
Avery picked up speed, facing forward. She should mind her own business. Perhaps Tyler was chatting Francesca up for details about the ruby just as he’d pushed her. Judging from their body language, though, Avery suspected it was something a little more personal. She couldn’t really blame Tyler if it was. Francesca was gorgeous and intriguing; it’d be tough to ignore her attentions. But for Sir Robert’s sake, she hoped it wasn’t what it looked like.
It took Avery two blocks to decide not to mention what she’d seen to her partner. She didn’t know what she’d witnessed, and it would only upset Sir Robert.
By the time she’d completed the six-block run to Antiquities and Artifacts Appraised, she’d come up with a plan. She’d promised Tilly she’d be home early today, but she was going to put her wild theory about Renell being William Ayers to rest before she left the city. She’d stop at Beckworth Suites and refuse to leave until the collector came down to meet her, even if only for a minute. She’d tell him why if she had to. If he truly was Oliver Renell, he’d have to come down and prove her wrong.
The bell over the door jingled, and Avery was surprised to see that the little shop was crowded. Normally it was a rotating combination of the three of them, Sir Robert, Micah, and her, but Micah was just sitting down with Mrs. Weber and her daughter in the reception area to discuss the woman’s antique watches she’d hired them to appraise.
Avery said hello to Sir Robert, who was engrossed in something on his tablet, and carried her fresh, steaming coffee over to join Micah and their client. “We were so impressed with this collection, Mrs. Weber. My colleague,” she said, glancing at Micah, “and I rarely see so many family generations of an item. The fact that you’ve been able to gather seven generations of your ancestors’ watches is pretty amazing in itself, no matter their value.” She and Micah had mixed news for the woman, and she always tried to tamp expectations when that happened.
Micah took his cue from Avery. “You do have one quite valuable timepiece here. Your great-great-grandfather’s watch from his boyhood appraised higher than any of the others.” He opened a file folder with printed results of their findings and turned it around on the table to face their client.
When they’d finished, Avery moved to her desk to wrap up a few tasks before heading out. Sir Robert stopped beside her and stuck a yellow sticky note to her computer. “A call came in for you. I’m off; I’ve got a lunch date with Francesca. And I wanted to let you know, something’s fishy with your collector Renell.”
“What?” Avery stared at him. “H
ow do you mean?”
“My contact at Barnaby’s has never heard of him. You must have had an inkling something’s not quite right there. Is that why you asked to me to see if he’s on the books with the auction house?”
Avery nodded. “Who’s your contact? Barnaby’s is the largest auction house outside LA. How’s it possible they have no record of Oliver Renell? This can’t be the first item he’s submitted.”
“Well, I didn’t say all of Barnaby’s has never heard of him,” Sir Robert hedged. “But my contact handles a lot of the incoming pieces. Shouldn’t he know of him?”
Avery frowned, thinking. “Renell doesn’t have a physical address in the States, at least not that Goldie was aware of. She sent Nate to his hotel to drop off paperwork last week. And Nate wasn’t able to actually see the man.” She looked at the note on her desk, not really seeing it. Should she say something about her suspicions? She’d hoped to run things by Micah alone. Though both men had been part of her parents’ business since the beginning, she’d never really gotten to know Sir Robert as well as she had Micah. Where Sir Robert tended to rub elbows with Manhattan’s social set, intent on widening his circle of important friends and acquaintances, Micah and his wife and son had never missed an Ayers family barbecue or event. Micah’s having a child close to Tilly’s age had also helped cement that bond.
Avery kept her mouth shut; Sir Robert would think she was crazy.
“A reclusive collector,” Sir Robert scoffed. “You’d think he’d want to reap the rewards of submitting such a valuable item. Or, uh, potentially valuable. Is it?” He tipped his head and raised one eyebrow at her. “What are you thinking about the ruby?”
Avery shook her head, glancing at Micah, who was still on the phone. “We aren’t quite at that point yet.”
“Oh.” Sir Robert’s voice betrayed disappointment. “Well, I don’t know about that collector. Something’s off; we’ll have to keep that in mind as you move forward, in case you run into any issues.”
“Right.” She leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. What on earth did that mean?
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He checked the antique clock on the wall in the reception area. “It’s never good to keep a beautiful woman waiting!”
He’d never said who his Barnaby’s contact was, she realized, watching him hail a cab out front. How odd that the auction house—or at least Sir Robert’s acquaintance there—had never heard of Oliver Renell. Renell himself wasn’t making any of this easier, if he really was Renell. He still hadn’t answered her last email, asking him what exact matter needed to be discussed after the appraisal was finished. She picked up the sticky note Sir Robert had left. Edward Johnstone 212–555–7289. It would have helped to know what the call was about; she’d take care of it later. She hoped to spend most of her afternoon basking in Tilly’s excitement over her Wednesday voice audition in LA, helping her pack and figure out what she’d wear. For now, she turned to some business housekeeping items on her computer.
An hour later, Micah walked back to MOA parking with her, and she summoned her courage and shared what she was thinking about the collector. To her relief, he didn’t think she was crazy. Or at least he entertained the idea that Renell might be William Ayers. But he strongly discouraged her from following through on her plan to visit the hotel and demand that the collector see her.
“Avery,” Micah said sensibly, “if you’re right and by some miracle your father is masquerading as Renell, then there’s got to be a very good reason he needs the world to believe he’s gone. You could end up endangering him or yourself. If you’re wrong and the collector is agoraphobic or eccentric, you’re going to alienate him and invade his privacy. There’s no reason you can’t simply wait a few more days until we have our findings on the ruby, and then we can go through proper channels via Goldie. You see?”
She no longer had time to execute her plan of trying to see Renell by the time she pulled out of the parking garage. Her therapy appointment was at noon. Dr. Singh was midway between the shop and Lilac Grove, in Roseville. The therapist worked out of her home in a beautiful home office decorated in whites, ivories, and pale rose tones. Avery always chose one of the big overstuffed armchairs, though she imagined Dr. Singh had clients who stretched out on the comfy-looking couch.
When the appointment began, Avery tattled on herself, bringing up her irrational anger at the Springfield police desk sergeant and then mentioning that she’d actually gone on a date.
“Let’s talk about that” was Dr. Singh’s way of pushing Avery to explore her feelings. When Avery admitted that she’d been surprised and disappointed at not connecting well with Tyler Chadwick, the therapist made an observation that forced her to look at her own participation in her life since coming home last year.
“Have you considered that you were disappointed in the lack of connection for other reasons?”
Avery frowned. “What other reasons?” Sometimes she wished Dr. Singh would just say what she meant.
“Maybe your disappointment has nothing to do with your date.”
Avery always left therapy feeling like she understood so much and yet not enough about how her own mind worked. Dr. Singh was the best.
Her sense of calm was shattered minutes later. Tilly’s voice was frantic over the car’s Bluetooth as she demanded that Avery come home immediately.
Chapter Nine
Tilly was nearly yelling and difficult to understand. Midge took the phone from her. “Tilly would like to know when you’ll be home, but we both want you to know that everything’s fine.” Avery heard Tilly in the background, but Midge spoke over her. “A man came to the door claiming you’d sent him to collect some files for the museum. But—”
Avery interrupted at that point, alarmed. “What? I did not! You didn’t let him in, did you?” She turned toward the expressway, her only focus now being getting home to Lilac Grove.
“Of course we didn’t let him in.”
“We’re not stupid!” Tilly shouted from a few feet away.
“What did he do? Did he argue, or just leave?”
“When I told him he’d have to wait until you were here, he tried saying he knew you through work. He did finally leave without much protest when I insisted he leave a card. Which he didn’t,” Midge said. “And as you know, dear, I wasn’t born yesterday. Halston and I followed his car out to the road and watched him go.”
“We got photos of his—” Tilly took the phone back from Aunt Midge, her voice becoming clearer. “We got photos of his car and his license plate.”
“I’m hanging up. Call the police right now and tell them what you told me.” Avery waited five minutes and then called Tilly back, but the phone only rang and rang. She tried Aunt Midge’s phone, and it didn’t even ring but went straight to voice mail. She spent the remainder of the drive worrying and calling and getting no one.
Halston greeted her at the front door, full of wags and kisses. He pawed at the door to go out, but she kept him in, calling out for her aunt and sister. Nothing. Tilly’s suitcase was open in the middle of the tiled foyer, clothing spilling out of it, and a few other items lay on the stairs as if waiting to be packed. The house was too quiet. She climbed the stairway to the bedrooms, telling herself that if something was horribly wrong, Halston wouldn’t be his usual excessively happy self. “Hello?” she called again. She followed the dog down the hall and was flooded with relief when she heard her sister and aunt in Midge’s room. She opened the door and gasped.
Tilly was standing on the hope chest at the end of Midge’s king-size bed wearing an elegant black floor-length gown with tiny flutter sleeves, her blond waves pinned up off her face and cascading down her back. “Oh my,” Avery whispered. How could she be mad? Aunt Midge was kneeling on one of her plush red-and-gold throw pillows on the floor, sewing the hem. “Tilly. Mom would cry if she could see you. Wow.”
Her sister turned glistening eyes toward her. “Thank you. Auntie did it.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phones?” Avery had an odd sense of whiplash with the abrupt switch from being anxious and worried to sentimental. “When we hung up, you were about to call the police. What did they say? They didn’t come? Where are your phones?”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” Tilly said.
Aunt Midge chimed in at the same time. “We must have left them in the kitchen after we called the police station.”
“So you did call?” Avery sat down in the center of Midge’s high bed and admired her sister. Tilly was growing up. Suddenly it didn’t seem as if there were seven years between them, seeing her in this beautiful evening gown.
“They said they’d send someone if we thought we were in danger. As it was, they just had Tilly email the photos we took to the precinct, and they said if there was any sign of the man returning or any other odd happenings, we should call again,” Aunt Midge finished.
“I told Auntie about your note, A. We told the police about it too.” Tilly’s tone lacked the singsong lilt it usually held when she had exclusive information on Avery. “I don’t know anymore if it’s Dad. Not after that man came to the door. Someone is messing with us.”
Avery sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Aunt Midge continued her stitching without comment, but Avery knew the older woman was taking in every word. “You’re right,” Avery said. “And I think it’s related to this ruby we’re working on. I think it’s connected to the Xiang era medallion, and maybe also to Mom and Dad’s death. I just don’t know how.”
Avery told Tilly she’d found the Art from the note, though he certainly didn’t seem to be an ally. She filled Aunt Midge in on her less-than-stellar date with movie star Tyler Chadwick, including the fact that, besides being rude to waitstaff, he’d seemed just as intrigued with her current assignment as everyone else was right now. She mentioned that Sir Robert’s connection at Barnaby’s had never heard of Oliver Renell and finished with the news that, the night of the car accident, Micah had merely given the police a copy of the intake form for each active case they’d been working on. “And Micah promised to check and see if he can find his old answering machine. He remembered Dad calling and leaving a message on his house phone Friday before the accident. But he said it hadn’t seemed urgent; he recalls thinking he’d talk to Dad Monday if he didn’t get him by phone.”
Ruby Red Herring Page 11
