She led him to her workstation, putting her cotton gloves back on, and carefully lifted the medallion. “The current eye in the dragon is a spinel. My father’s calculations were accurate. This area around the perimeter of the eye socket”—she pointed—“was one of the giveaways. Watch how the real Burmese ruby seats into the empty socket.” She set the medallion down, picked up Renell’s ruby with her jeweler’s tweezers, and angled it into the void.
“Oh,” Art said. “The upper edge has a bit of an overhang, doesn’t it?”
“Just enough. And you can see here, on the upper lid of the other eye, the spinel is nearly flush. The ruby is safer, more protected, in its original position, the way the creator probably intended. It’s not meant to be level with the surface of the dragon’s face. Whoever made the spinel did a good job with the jewel, honestly. The quality and clarity are striking, but the chemical composition and refractive index of the spinel are indisputable. It’s impossible to know the exact specific gravity without taking the spinel out of its setting, and I think that’ll probably have to be done by some kind of specialist the FBI decides on. It’d be easy to damage this fellow in the process of trying to restore him. But the spinel will have to come out. It’s a fake. And I’ll tell you something else, Art.”
His gaze was glued to her. “Tell me.”
“My parents would never have certified this medallion. Never. My dad had figured it out. He was obviously wary of who he could trust, which must be why he began looking into how the genuine Emperor’s Twins medallion—and the medallion is genuine, I’ve verified it—was submitted to MOA with a fake ruby.”
“Which explains him connecting Francesca to Rizzolo’s and snapping those photos.”
“And if Renell had gone along with Francesca’s recommendation, we’d likely be looking at two fakes right now. His genuine dragon-eye ruby wouldn’t have made it to MOA.”
“All right. Check this out; come here.” They returned to the computer Art had been working on. “First, those numbers on your mother’s stationery paper? They’re routing numbers for two offshore bank accounts my team traced to the Cayman Islands. We’re working on identifying who owns them. My money’s on Francesca Giolitti.”
“Oh wow,” Avery said. “So she sent Edward Johnstone, the collector, to Rizzolo’s for an appraisal before he submitted the medallion to MOA. Francesca’s contact at Rizzolo’s, the man on the flash drive, replaced the existing ruby with the fake and probably planned on it slipping by my parents. And when it started to look like it wouldn’t, they made sure my parents weren’t a problem. Francesca had to have forged my mother’s signature on the certificate. It’s the only explanation. I couldn’t tell from our fuzzy yellow copy, but I’m sure I would have caught it if I’d been able to see the original.”
“Which was pretty easy for her to get rid of,” Art said.
“Not necessarily,” Avery argued. “She doesn’t have access to those records here. Only Goldie does.”
“Or possibly Goldie’s grandson? He was down there when I made my rounds. Maybe I caught him right after he’d taken the original? He said he was passing through and spotted the heating duct cover on the ground. He could have done it and lied to cover his tracks.”
“I guess.” Avery frowned. “I mean, it makes sense, but those two . . . I’m not sure Francesca would bring Nate in on something like this. He is Goldie’s grandson. He seems to care what his grandmother thinks of him.”
“We can feel things out tonight at dinner.” Art glanced at her. “I’m your new boyfriend and we already had plans tonight, so you’re bringing me along for Taco Tuesday with your friends.”
She smiled at him. “I am? They’re both going to recognize you, you know. Not just from the museum but from the party last weekend.”
He shrugged. “Can’t see how that’ll hurt. And it cements the boyfriend cover story, right? Besides, even as a museum guard, I’d have no reason to know anything about fake jewels and murdered collectors. Listen, I got a couple updates from Springfield County Evidence. The DNA results of the blood sample we took from your hallway floor came back without a match in the system. But I requested the final composite sketch our artist made from the description your aunt and sister gave. Look.” He tapped a key, and the sketch appeared on the screen.
“Oh wow,” Avery said again. “Just a sec.” She fetched her phone from her purse. “I saved the photos in my Drive; I can access them on my phone.” She pulled up the picture of Francesca and the man outside the High Line shop and held her phone up next to the composite sketch.
Art nodded. “That sure looks like the same guy.”
“Oh! I know. Hold on, I’ve got to text Tilly.” She zoomed in on the man and sent a screen shot to her sister, then realized too late she probably should have told her what she was sending. “Oh jeez.” She called her.
Tilly picked up on the first ring. “Dude! Warn me first before you send a creepy pic to me—what the heck! How do you have his photo?”
“You recognize him?”
“Of course I recognize him. He was a super pushy jerk. This is the guy who broke into the house later when Aunt Midge and I were gone, right?”
Avery glanced at Art, who looked triumphant. “Yep. Definitely.”
“Um.” Tilly quieted her voice. “You promised Auntie you weren’t going to be putting yourself in any more dangerous situations, remember? What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Really. Art and the people he works with are closing in on catching the guy, that’s all. I’ll be home late tonight, okay? Let Auntie know I’m with Art and everything’s fine. I promise.”
“So now what?” Art asked when she’d hung up. “As far as your assignment, I mean. Are you able to wait until tomorrow to tell Goldie about the fake ruby in the dragon?”
“I can do that. Are you going to have your NYPD friends stake out Rizzolo Fine Jewelry to get this guy?” She nodded at the sketch on the computer screen.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. We know who he is. Sometimes Google is a great tool in police work.” He bent over the keys, typing, and the website for Rizzolo Fine Jewelry opened. He chose the tab that read About.
Avery gasped, leaning in to read. “ ‘The Rizzolo family owns and operates seven fine jewelry stores worldwide, each personally managed by a family member. Meet your region’s store owner below.’ ” She pointed to the black-and-white thumbnail photo beside the New York location. “Carlo Rizzolo. That’s him.”
Art nodded. “Now we just need to prove Francesca’s connection to him.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
With a couple hours left to kill before meeting Sir Robert and Francesca for dinner, Avery decided Aunt Midge’s Fifth Avenue apartment would be the best place to wait. They left Avery’s Prius in MOA parking and made a brief detour to the Thirtieth Precinct, where Art was able to pick up the equipment they’d need later. When he came back out to his truck, he informed Avery that forensics was working on a few sets of fingerprints from Micah’s place that didn’t match Micah’s or Noah’s. “I’m betting they’re a match for the prints that were lifted from Renell’s hotel room. Probably the same weapon too.”
“Every little piece brings us closer to getting my dad back,” Avery said.
At Midge’s building, Art followed her through the door and paused, looking around and whistling.
“This is your aunt’s place? And it just stands empty?”
“Not really,” she said. “We use it quite a bit. To spend the night in the city after dinner or a play, to host get-togethers with friends, and I use it at least a few times a month when I’m too tired to drive back to Lilac Grove after work.”
Art moved the massive windows in the living room. “Incredible.” He turned around, looking up at the enormous chandelier. “Your aunt has a very . . . unique style. I really like it. Bold but elegant.”
“Yes!” Avery exclaimed. “I’ve never heard her taste put that way, but yes. You’re righ
t. How about something to eat? I’m not sure we’ll actually get to eat tacos later, depending on how things go.” She moved to the kitchen.
The refrigerator held a few stray beers, a bottle of Pellegrino, a six-pack of Coke, and one petrified bagel that had been there God knew how long. Avery cooked the only thing in the freezer, a boxed pepperoni pizza. They sat at a corner of the extravagantly long dining table, sharing cardboard-flavored pizza. “We should have gotten takeout,” she apologized.
“Hey, I’m impressed you even found food in there. Besides, if you’re hungry enough, it doesn’t taste half bad.”
She shook her head. “I’m definitely not hungry enough. Want to sit outside?” She grabbed them both a Coke and led the way out onto the terrace.
Looking out over Central Park from the seventeenth floor, Art asked, “Is there any news on Micah?”
“Only that the bullet missed his heart, which I sort of figured. Noah said he’ll have to have reconstructive surgery for his shoulder, but they need to make sure he’s stable first.”
“That makes sense. I’m sorry that happened. He’s a great guy.”
She nodded. “He is. He and my dad were—are—a lot alike. Oh, that’s such a strange feeling. If the police can make arrests and be positive my dad is safe, how soon could we see him?”
“I don’t know. Really. I’ve not been privy to his whereabouts. But I’d think relatively soon.”
“Art. I’ve never asked you this, and I should have. Do you have someone at home, worrying about you, when you’re doing all this work, running back and forth between Springfield County PD and working at MOA?”
“No one.”
“No one? Do you have family in Lilac Grove? Or did you just choose it for the lilacs?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “I’ve got three sisters in Springfield County. I chose Lilac Grove because it’s pretty much in the middle of them all.”
“Oh!” She laughed at herself. She didn’t know why she’d thought of Art as an island, a loner. “Three sisters! My goodness. And no brothers? You’re the only boy?”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Where are you in the lineup? I’m curious. No, wait.” She changed her mind, scrutinizing him. “Don’t tell me. John Arthur Smith, you are the baby of your family. You have three older sisters.”
He stared at her. “How did you know that?”
She shrugged. “Anthropology major, remember? It’s not a key focus, but I definitely was fascinated when we covered birth order and psychological traits.”
“I don’t believe that’s how you knew I’m the youngest. It was a good guess.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I bet I can guess your sign too.”
Art laughed, making her smile. He rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t even know my sign.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“December twenty-second.”
“Oooh, right before Christmas. That . . . makes . . . you . . .” She tapped his arm with her fingertip three times, once for each word. Who was she kidding? “Nope. I’ve got nothing, sorry.”
He leaned toward her, grinning. “I knew you were bluffing.”
“Yeah, Aunt Midge is our family zodiac expert. We’ll have to ask her.”
Art stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “Or not. I don’t think I’m her favorite person. You know, we could skip this dinner with Sir Robert and Francesca. Between what we know and whatever else the feds have gathered, there may be enough to get a warrant for Rizzolo Jewelry.”
“But what if there’s not? And what about Francesca’s role in all of it?”
He sighed. “That’s tough. I’m still waiting on updates from Detective Graham on the fingerprints, though I doubt that’ll give us anything concrete on Francesca. From a sheer size-and-trajectory standpoint, we know she wasn’t the shooter.”
“We need to do this,” Avery said firmly. “Even if Francesca doesn’t slip and say something during dinner, it’s still the chance we need to carry out the rest of your plan.”
“All right. I should go change.” Art had fortunately been able to scrape together something that wasn’t a uniform from the dry cleaning he’d never brought into his house after his last pickup.
“Follow me.” Avery led Art up the wide, curving staircase and sent him down the hall to the room Tilly used when they stayed. “There’s a connected bath through the closet in case you want to shower. We have time.”
He gave her a funny look. “Do I smell?”
She stepped as close to him as she’d allow herself. She sniffed near his neck, meeting his eyes. “Not at all.” He smelled like soap, a clean scent with an undertone of mint or pine.
Art’s gaze dropped to Avery’s lips, and her breath caught in her throat. Then he abruptly stepped back and turned away from her, heading down the hall. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She exhaled, her heart racing for a moment. For Pete’s sake. What was the man’s issue? She’d never been a natural flirt. But she and Art had such an easy rapport, and to her, it felt obvious that she really liked him. Was it not mutual? Or was he just oblivious to her signals?
Trying to shake her disappointment, Avery pinned her hair up and took a steaming-hot shower. She dried off and liberally used one of Aunt Midge’s many delectable scented lotions. She closed her eyes and inhaled, then tossed the bottle in her purse to take home with her. Midge wouldn’t mind. She believed nice things were to be enjoyed, not coveted and preserved.
Avery pulled her slim, curve-hugging black pants back on but chose a filmy black-and-red blouse with a wide neckline that bared her collarbones and enough decolletage to be sensual rather than sexual. She hoped. She finger-combed her long brown hair, sweeping it forward over one shoulder, and touched up her lipstick.
Art was waiting for her when she came downstairs. He sat on the oversized round peacock-patterned ottoman near the foyer, looking dapper and out of place. His crisp white dress shirt and gray plaid Ralph Lauren pants made him look like neither the detective nor the security guard she was used to. She saw from the damp edges of his hair that he had showered after all. Avery swallowed hard, trying not to think of him as handsome. Art was functional. An ally. Here to help her get her father back. That was all.
He stood. “Avery, you look . . .”
She raised her eyebrows, resisting the urge to glance down at herself.
He cleared his throat and left the thought unfinished. “Are we ready?”
She moved through the apartment turning off lights, and they headed downstairs to Art’s truck.
Sir Robert and Francesca already had a table when they arrived at Mexicana Villa. The couple stood, and they exchanged greetings all around.
“I hope it’s all right that I brought a date. We’d already made plans for tonight, but this sounded like so much fun,” Avery told Sir Robert and Francesca. Putting a hand on Art’s arm, she said, “I’m not sure you’ve all officially met? Sir Robert, I think you and Art may have played a mean game of croquet at my party the other day. Art Smith, Francesca Giolitti and Sir Robert Lane.”
“Of course,” Francesca said. “You’re the MOA security guard who helped my colleague Nate Brennan last week when he discovered the heating duct issue.”
“That was me,” Art confirmed. He shrugged. “Not sure it was worth shutting the whole place down for that. Did they even find anything had actually been stolen?”
Avery could have kissed him. Smart, to play clueless and gain Francesca’s trust. He wasn’t an eagle-eyed security guard intent on raising alarms; he was just there to do his job and assume all was well.
“No. It turned out to be a waste of time for the NYPD and a loss of two days’ revenue for MOA.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and sipped her red wine. “C’est la vie. You two need a drink—where is our server?”
Sir Robert flagged down one of the staff and Avery and Art put their drink order in, Avery requesting exactly what Francesca was drinking an
d Art getting a coffee. Francesca frowned at him. “That’s no fun. Coffee with tacos?”
Art smiled, and it looked completely forced and fake to Avery. Francesca seemed to buy it, though. “Night shift,” he said. “I’m working later; I moonlight over at the Met. Crazy hours lately.”
“Ugh,” Sir Robert said. “That’s brutal. I’m completely useless if I don’t get nine full hours of sleep at night.”
“I can confirm that’s true,” Avery said. “You’re unbearable to be around in the mornings if you haven’t slept.”
Francesca was nodding too. “Too true. Everyone pays for it if Sir here doesn’t get his beauty sleep.” She slipped her arm through his and gave him a peck on his cheek.
Avery was surprised to find that the conversation flowed smoothly through dinner. She made a mental note to remember the restaurant. The food was delicious, and the combination of little twinkle lights everywhere and authentic music gave the place a warm, inviting ambience. She’d need to come back another time when she wasn’t stressed and playing a part.
After dinner, when they’d ordered three more coffees to join Art with his, Sir Robert broke the illusion of an easy, amicable evening out with friends.
“So, Avery was asking me a few things this morning that I just don’t have answers to. I suggested she go straight to you, darling,” he said, addressing Francesca.
Avery’s cheeks burned. She should have known that Sir Robert and his love for drama wouldn’t make this easy. She’d hoped he’d be discreet and just let her work her way around to her queries naturally. She smiled at Francesca, knowing she couldn’t conceal the worry she felt. She’d have to use it. “I hate to talk business. This is all so nice. Honestly, I can catch up with you at the museum tomorrow, Francesca.”
The woman returned Avery’s smile minus the worry. “Oh poo. Don’t worry about it. I never let business ruin a nice evening; nothing you can ask me would do that. What’s on your mind?”
Avery’s thoughts raced as she tried to assemble an inquisitive but inoffensive sentence. Under the table, Art’s warm hand covered hers, folding it into his much larger one and giving it an encouraging squeeze. She felt instantly calmer. “You know Micah and I were finally able to verify for certain that Oliver Renell’s jewel is indeed real, a sixteen-carat natural Burmese ruby. Quite amazing in itself.”
Ruby Red Herring Page 26
