Ruby Red Herring

by Tracy Gardner

  “Oh, absolutely,” Francesca agreed. “And how’s the progress with the Emperor’s Twins?”

  “Almost there,” she lied. “I’m a little slower with Micah in the hospital. But how wonderful if the dragon could be restored with both his ruby eyes by the gala this Friday! That’s my hope.” She shoved away the pang she had, knowing it wasn’t at all possible.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Francesca clasped her hands in front of her chest.

  “I was asking Sir Robert about some of the minutiae involved in the certification process. One thing I’m a little fuzzy on is the whole reclusive thing Oliver Renell had going on. Did you ever actually get to meet him?”

  She nodded. “I did, surprisingly. Just once, to go over details of him submitting the jewel to MOA.”

  Sir Robert chimed in. “Apparently, Nate made it sound like you rubbed Oliver Renell the wrong way and he refused to work with you after that.”

  Avery gritted her teeth. “I’m not sure he—”

  Francesca waved a hand in the air. “It’s fine. Avery,” she said, reaching one manicured hand across the table and turning it palm up, waiting.

  Avery took Francesca’s hand.

  Francesca squeezed it, patting it with her other one. “I’m going to sound like a horrible person when I say this, so please remember, my heart is in the right place,” she said. “I’m worried about Nate Brennan. I’ve debated saying something to Goldie; maybe I need to. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Nate struggles with a gambling addiction.”

  Avery widened her eyes. “No. Nate Brennan? I had no idea.”

  Francesca nodded sadly. “Yes. He lost a fortune in Monte Carlo, and Goldie took him under her wing when his own parents were too disgusted to deal with him. Goldie trusts him to stay strong and keep working to beat his problem. But what you’re telling me isn’t even the first red flag I’ve seen with him.” She paused. She looked at Sir Robert, then Art, then back at Avery. “This should stay between us until I have a chance to let Goldie get him some help. Honestly, I even wondered if he was attempting to break into the records room below Goldie’s office the day you found him with the broken heating duct, Art. I don’t know what he’s up to, but his addiction seems to be controlling him. It’s all about getting his next high—in his case, money allows him to chase the high.”

  Avery was quiet. Holy hell. This woman was good. If Avery hadn’t seen all the incriminating photos and files, she’d totally have believed that Nate was behind the mayhem and there was no Carlo Rizzolo or Francesca as an accomplice. “Oh my,” she said aloud.

  Francesca nodded. “Yes.”

  Sir Robert spoke. “You see? Always best to be direct. Does that clear things up, Avery?”

  “Completely,” Avery said. “Thank you, Francesca.”

  Francesca picked up her purse. “Would you all excuse me? I’m off to the ladies’ room before we call it a night.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Avery took her purse from the back of her chair, holding it near her lap while she pretended to dig around for something. Art opened his hand and dropped the listening device disguised as a pen into Avery’s purse before she stood.

  Soon she and Francesca were standing at the vanity, Avery washing her hands and Francesca reapplying her lipstick. She just needed an opportunity. Francesca’s large Louis Vuitton purse should make it easy, but so far, she’d have been caught if she tried. Aside from planting the bug, there was one last thing that had been poking at Avery’s thoughts since she and Art had come up with their plan in the lab. What if they gained the ability to eavesdrop on Francesca but she simply went home and went to bed and then went to work the next day, and so on? What if they had to wait weeks or even months before she said or did something incriminating, something that linked her with Carlo Rizzolo?

  Avery missed her dad. And she could hardly imagine how he’d been away from them this long; it must be awful for him to remain in hiding. How much longer could he be expected to stay that way? She hated to push, but she had to.

  She offered Francesca a mint from the tin in her purse. “This has been so much fun. We should do it again.”

  Francesca paused in applying her lipstick. “It’s been lovely. Sir Robert and I need more couples friends to do things with. Will you be bringing Art to the gala on Friday? You two are so cute together.”

  “No, Micah and I . . .” Avery’s voice trailed off. “Oh. I can’t believe I hadn’t even thought of that. Micah and I were going together, since neither of us had a plus-one when I bought the tickets. I guess I could ask Art now.”

  “Poor, dear Micah. Such a sweet man. Any news on him?”

  Now they were getting into dicey territory. If Francesca’s connection Carlo truly had been the one to shoot Micah, Avery couldn’t share anything. Carlo probably wanted him dead, like Renell. She shook her head. “No, no updates yet. It seemed bad.” And then she saw her chance—not to plant the bug, but to plant a seed she hoped would grow. “It’s awful, too, because Micah was shot right before we were set to talk about some concerns he had about the Emperor’s Twins medallion. He had a few files he wanted to give me, and he said he’d found a letter my dad had left in his desk. It must have been from a year ago.”

  Francesca finished her lipstick and put it away. “What do you mean?” She didn’t look at Avery.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but he seemed really worked up about whatever was in the letter. I mean, you’ve seen Micah’s desk; I’m not even surprised it took him a year to come across it. I can’t imagine what my dad would have needed to tell him. He said he was keeping it locked up in his desk at the shop and he’d show me when we met yesterday. But he never came to work. And now, with him in the hospital, who knows when I’ll find out what it was about.”

  “Oh my.” Francesca’s complexion had definitely gone paler. “That’s horrible. All of it—Micah being shot, and now this mysterious letter. God willing he’ll recover and you’ll get to the bottom of things.”

  Avery nodded. “As soon as I hear anything, I’ll make sure to update you and Sir Robert. As you said, he’s such a sweet man.”

  Francesca threw her bag onto her shoulder, and Avery held the door for her as they left the powder room, slipping the small, unassuming-looking blue pen into the woman’s purse as she followed her down the hall toward their table.

  Sir Robert and Art stood as they approached.

  “The check’s taken care of. This fellow’s got to get to work,” Sir Robert said of Art.

  Outside on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, the foursome exchanged quick hugs and kisses on cheeks in parting. “Definitely doing this again,” Sir Robert said, nodding at Art.

  “Call us,” Art said. He held out an arm for Avery, putting it around her shoulders. They were parked in the opposite direction.

  In Art’s truck, Avery spun in her seat to face him. “Turn it on!”

  He grinned. “I believe Detective Graham and the federal field agents are probably already listening. Excellent teamwork, partner. No trouble getting the pen into her bag?”

  “Easy peasy. Can we listen too?”

  Art pulled his phone out and opened a secure, restricted site, typing in some information. A map appeared on his screen, with a little blinking dot that wasn’t moving. He put the phone in its cradle on the dashboard. “We can listen, but you might want to lower your expectations. It could be a while before we hear anything of value.”

  “I think we’ll hear something very, very soon. Like, now. Or as soon as Francesca and Sir Robert part ways for the night.” She filled Art in on the seed she’d planted, expecting him to be thrilled that she’d sped up the process.

  “You realize that was not part of our plan, right?” He looked the opposite of happy.

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  He grabbed his phone from the holder on the dash and dialed, giving the address for Artifacts and Antiquities Appraised to his contact at the Thirtieth Precinct. “I realize it’s not your—yes, I’ll h
old.” He groaned. He turned and spoke to Avery while he waited. “If your plan works, Francesca’s going to show up at the shop and break into Micah’s desk, which isn’t going to help at all in connecting her to Rizzolo.”

  “Art, she won’t—”

  “Graham? Listen.” Art barked orders into the phone, the gist of which was that a car was being sent to keep an eye on the shop. He ended the call and switched back to the secure channel they’d be able to monitor Francesca on.

  Art put the truck in gear and pulled out into traffic, keeping an eye on the flashing dot on the screen. Through the speaker, Francesca and Sir Robert chatted about whether to get a town car or a limo for transport to Friday’s gala.

  “Art. She’s not going to the shop,” Avery said quietly.

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Because Francesca doesn’t get her hands dirty. She’s going to get Carlo Rizzolo. We know they’re in this together. I’m telling you, that’s where she’s headed, and from the sound of it, Sir Robert isn’t part of this at all.”

  Art was quiet, listening again. Francesca was describing her gown to Sir Robert. She sounded completely unflustered. If she was concerned at all about a mysterious letter a dead man had left for Micah Abbott, it wasn’t discernible from her tone.

  “You’re right about Sir Robert,” Art conceded. “He’s in the dark.”

  “What do we do now?” Avery asked.

  “We follow them. If you’re right about Francesca, we’ll be headed to the High Line once she’s on her own.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Three

  “Okay, Sir Robert’s building is coming up on the right,” Avery said, pointing. The cab a ways in front of them had its blinker on to pull over.

  Art moved over into the right lane, slowing as much as he could as Sir Robert exited the cab.

  Avery and Art listened in uncomfortable silence as the couple said good-night, Sir Robert trying to convince Francesca to come up with him for a cocktail and Francesca saying she was exhausted and couldn’t wait to have a bath. That led to Sir Robert offering to help. Art’s hand shot out and he hit the mute icon, making Avery giggle.

  “Gross. It’s like listening to your parents’ pillow talk,” she said.

  Art cocked an eyebrow at her. “Ahem. I’m about seven years younger than your friend Sir Robert. Hardly old enough to be your parent.”

  “No! That’s not what I meant at all.” Avery laughed. “We’re just not meant to hear that. Besides, you’re about seventeen years younger than Francesca. She’s technically old enough to be both our parents.”

  Now Art chuckled. The dot on the map began to move, and he tapped the screen to unmute.

  Rustling noises came through the speaker, and Avery imagined Francesca changing position in the back of the cab, perhaps setting her purse beside her. “Could you please drop me at Twenty-Fourth near Tenth? The Getty Building would be fine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The cabby’s voice came through, and then a sliding sound followed by a click. Francesca or the cab driver had closed the partition.

  And then pure gold came through Art’s phone. Francesca’s voice was low, probably in case the cab driver might still overhear, but it was clear enough in Art’s truck for them to catch Francesca’s side of a phone conversation. Avery wished they could hear the person on the other end of the line.

  “We have a problem. I’m coming to you,” Francesca said. There was a pause as she listened.

  “I’ve got a new find.” Francesca spoke again. “I planned to bring you the details this week, but we’ve got something to take care of first.” Another pause. “Look, this has to be handled tonight. We’ve got to get something from Micah Abbott’s desk that William Ayers left him last year. Something to do with the medallion.”

  A moment of silence passed. “He’s still alive, Carlo; I don’t know any more than that.” Francesca’s tone betrayed her frustration with the person on the other end, who Avery assumed must be Carlo Rizzolo. “I wouldn’t do that,” she snapped. “It’s only going to stir up more suspicion. He may never even wake up; just leave it alone.”

  After a beat, her voice rose in anger. “For Christ’s sake, Carlo, he’s got a kid!” More silence. “No, you’re not.” Her voice became abruptly calmer. “Oh, this one’s a small job, a five-carat perfect-cut diamond. He’ll probably contact you in the next day or two.”

  There was a longer pause. “I realize that,” she said. “God, you’re such an ass. They can’t all be the Hope diamond.” Another lull, and then Francesca ended her call with Carlo. “About five minutes; almost there.”

  Silence filled Art’s truck. Avery began to speak but stopped; she didn’t know where to start.

  “Give me your phone, please,” Art said, holding out a hand.

  She did.

  He quickly dialed, keeping his eyes on the road and checking the GPS tracker now and then. “Graham, you heard that? Can you beef up security at the hospital for Micah Abbott? And send someone to his house too. I think his kid might be there.”

  “Noah’s staying there?” Avery’s eyes were wide.

  Art glanced at her and nodded. He hung up and gave her phone back. “Don’t worry. They’ve already got officers in the area in Hamilton Heights; Noah will be fine. Graham said they’ll assign one to stay at the house.”

  “This guy—Francesca’s guy—is going to try to finish the job of killing Micah. And you think he’d go for Noah too? Oh my God.” She shook her head. “I mean, we’ve been talking this all through all day, but I guess some part of me didn’t want to think Francesca could be part of this. Until now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh! Jeez.” Avery cringed. “I’m sorry for Sir Robert.”

  “There is one thing,” Art said. “Not that I’m defending any of her actions, but she did try to call Carlo off. She told him to leave Micah alone.”

  Avery sighed. She knew there were countless ripple effects that would come from blowing this whole thing wide open, but for the moment, all she could think of was poor Sir Robert.

  Art parked so they could see into Rizzolo Fine Jewelry and turned off his lights. Francesca had already paid the cab and was waiting on the sidewalk as Carlo Rizzolo came through the shop to let her in.

  Avery narrowed her eyes, trying for a better look, then thought to use her phone. She set her camera to the video setting and zoomed in, sucking in her breath. “That’s him. From the pictures and the sketch.” As she watched, Carlo grabbed Francesca by the waist and pulled her into an embrace.

  His voice was a low growl. “How are you even more gorgeous now than when you divorced me? That’s what I want to know.”

  Francesca put both hands on his chest and shoved him, hard. “It’s been years, Carlo. Knock it off.”

  Carlo put his hands up. “Whatever. So tell me how you’ve managed to screw this whole job up. I did my part. I even made sure the Ayers’ car was basically ash by the time the explosions finished. There was no way to trace any of it back to us.”

  Avery clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes huge. Francesca had even been involved in her parents’ murder!

  Francesca jabbed a finger into Carlo’s chest. “And I told you that was a mistake! Your little fireworks stunt launched an investigation instead of it being written off as a car veering off the road. Their girls were with them! Do you know how many other opportunities you had to take them out? Your recklessness is going to be our downfall, Carlo.”

  “I’m going to throw up.” Avery bent at the waist, putting her head between her knees.

  “Deep breaths,” Art said. He put a hand out and lightly stroked her back. “Slow, deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

  Avery did as he said, breathing through it. She forced her head up. She couldn’t miss what was happening, as awful as it was.

  Carlo’s size and body language looked menacing, even from across the street in the safety of Art’s truck. “The deal was,
you get Renell to bring the ruby here before submitting it, so we’d finally have both. Did you do that? Let me think. No, you didn’t. Did you get your movie-star boyfriend to fly under the radar and make the medallion certification disappear without a fuss or actually get the new ruby out of the museum for us? Oh wait. Also no. Now you’re telling me that a guy who’s been dead for a year left a note for Micah Abbott about the medallion and I’m supposed to rush over and break in to steal it. Do I have that all right?” He’d paced back and forth as he raged, and now Carlo stood over small, slight Francesca, daring her to argue. For a fraction of a second, Avery was frightened for her.

  Francesca didn’t move, didn’t step back. She remained in Carlo’s space, looking up at him. “Renell was intractable. It was almost like he had been warned somehow. And Chadwick did get rid of the original. Tell me how it affects you that the museum closed for a couple days. Oh wait,” she said, clearly mocking Carlo’s rant, “it doesn’t. Your idea of having him wine and dine the appraiser so she’d sneak him in to see the ruby and take it was idiotic to begin with; it was never going to work. I told you Avery would see through him. And yes. Unless you want police to find out from Micah or Avery Ayers or whoever the hell else knows about this letter that we swapped out the medallion’s ruby for a fake, you’ll go over to their shop and take everything from his desk. That’s literally all. You have. To do.”

  “Dang,” Avery whispered, glancing at Art. “She’s terrifying.”

  Carlo moved through the shop, turning out display case lights. “This had better be worth it. All you have to do is keep your promise. I’ll have the spinel ready for you tomorrow. Get us the ruby before the gala.”

  “Not a problem. And this time, make sure your spinel is actually good enough to pass off as the real thing. I still think if you’d done a better job with the last one, none of that mess last year would’ve happened.”