By the look on his face, it was clear that Richard wanted to ask her about Sophie, and where exactly they’d taken her, but he adjusted his cuffs and mumbled, “I’m fine.”
Emma raised her eyebrows at Dalton.
“Come on, boss,” he said. “Let me make you a nice cuppa. We can’t do much here.”
Richard hesitated for a few seconds, then sighed and looked at Emma. “You find anything, tell me.”
Emma watched him go. How long will it take Dad to bounce back to his old self? If he ever did.
Maria walked over to her. “We still can't get hold of Martin or Ruby. I’m worried.”
Emma blew out a puff of air. “Do we really think they had something to do with this?” Even though the robber needed their codes, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that both were missing, that still didn’t explain how someone had broken into the vault without her mother.
“When we’re done here, I’ll send Carlos to check on them,” Maria said. “Meanwhile, we’ll keep trying.”
Emma rested a hand on her arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Sophie and I were friends once,” Maria said in a low voice. “Before she met your father.”
Emma nodded. “She worked for you.”
Maria gave her a sad look. “I liked Sophie. A lot. Your father didn’t want us talking when she left my family. What’s happened to her is terrible. I keep going over whether there was something I could’ve done.”
Emma offered her mother a weak smile. “I feel the same. We’ll find out who did this, I promise.”
Maria glanced at the office door, then walked away.
Nightshade appeared, adjusting her gloves. “Everything go okay?”
“Yeah.” Emma sighed. “You want to tell me what the donuts were about?”
“I figured that whoever killed Sophie would have a strong stomach. We’d start off interviewing everyone who accepted a donut.” Nightshade shrugged. “Do you have the Magic 8-Ball?”
Emma pulled it from her hoodie pocket. “You gonna tell me what this is for?”
“To aid with our interviews,” Nightshade said. “Starting with our friend Jacob.”
Emma stared at her. “I don’t get it.”
Nightshade stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Trust me, darling, if Jacob is lying, which we can pretty much guarantee he will, you’ll know. After all, you have the superior observational skills.” She gestured at the Magic 8-Ball. “That will help you relay your findings to me, and my more analytical brain can take it from there.”
Emma blinked, still not comprehending.
Nightshade marched into the office.
Emma hesitated, and then followed, shaking her head.
Mac and Neil stepped through after her and closed the door.
On one wall stood a glass-fronted cabinet, every shelf taken up with antique weapons: guns from World Wars One and Two, daggers, duelling pistols, an assortment of spearheads, plus several different kinds of hand grenades. In the middle of the uppermost shelf sat a matching pair of ivory-stocked flintlocks.
Nightshade peered into the cabinet, eyes wide. “Your mother’s very own armoury. Remind me never to piss her off.”
At the far end of the room, next to a counter with a fridge below, sat a replica of the Resolute desk. And to the right, on a plinth in the corner, under spotlights, was a life-size bust of Nefertiti.
“And it wouldn’t surprise me if that was the real thing.” Nightshade motioned to Jacob, then gestured to a chair in front of the desk. He dropped into it and she appraised him. “You’ve had a rough night. You look like crap.”
Mac stood guard by the door with Neil, arms folded, narrowed eyes locked onto Jacob, as though he expected the guy to have a psychotic episode at any moment.
Jacob wrung his hands and looked at the floor. He mumbled under his breath and Emma got the distinct impression that he might pass out from anxiety. Jacob didn’t seem like a man who would even think about killing anyone. Then again, in this world, appearances could be deceptive.
Nightshade studied Jacob for some time. “I think he could do with a drink,” she said, finally. “Would you mind, darling?”
Emma opened a cupboard and found a bottle of brandy.
“A shot to steady your nerves, Jacob?” Nightshade asked.
“N-No. Thanks.” His hand shook as he mopped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
Emma returned the brandy to the cupboard and opened the fridge below. She removed a bottle of mineral water, poured some into a glass, and held it out to Jacob.
He hesitated, glanced at her pocket, then took the glass and placed it on the desk.
Emma frowned at his odd behaviour, then sat down, lowered her hood, and slipped off her sunglasses. She took in Jacob’s dishevelled appearance: pale skin, sweat-stained shirt, frayed cuffs, pastry crumbs on his lapel, mismatched socks, and specks of mud on his boots.
Nightshade gave Emma a meaningful look.
Emma pulled the Magic 8-Ball from her pocket and set it on the desk in front of her. Jacob eyed the toy then lowered his gaze again.
Nightshade clapped her hands together. “Right then, Jacob. Can you please describe what happened? From the very beginning, if you wouldn’t mind. And make sure you don’t leave anything out.”
He stared at the floor. “I sent a text to Sophie,” he said in a monotone voice. “Told her there was an artifact here she might find interesting.”
“Along with a picture of what was inside the crate,” Nightshade said.
Jacob’s head snapped up and he looked shocked, then he glanced over his shoulder at Mac and Neil.
Nightshade waved him on. “Continue.”
Jacob swallowed. “I— I waited for her to arrive. Sophie got here a little before four o’clock this morning, and I let her in.”
“As easy as that?” Nightshade asked. “A warehouse filled with antiquities and there’s no security?”
“The power was out,” Jacob mumbled.
“Don’t the motion sensors have backup power?” Emma asked. “Batteries?”
“Yeah.” Jacob shuffled in his seat. “But I’d already deactivated the alarm.”
Nightshade inclined her head. “Because of Sophie’s visit?”
Jacob nodded. “And the crate was due to be collected.”
Nightshade waved him on again.
Jacob took a breath. “The delivery driver arrived about twenty minutes after Sophie, and that’s . . . That’s when I found her.” He closed his eyes. “I sealed the crate and took it outside so the driver wouldn’t see her like that.”
Nightshade crossed her arms. “Then what happened?”
Jacob’s eyes opened and moved back to the floor. “I called Maria.”
Nightshade pursed her lips and looked at Emma. “Well?” She nodded at the 8-Ball.
Emma let out a breath. She picked up the ball and gave it a shake. A few seconds later, the message ‘Reply hazy, try again,’ appeared. Emma agreed with the response and showed it to Nightshade, hiding the result from Jacob. She only hoped her gut instinct was correct.
Nightshade studied the 8-Ball, giving it exaggerated consideration, then returned her attention to Jacob. “How were you and Sophie acquainted? What’s your history?”
He frowned at the Magic 8-Ball. “She worked for Maria.”
“Sophie was the warehouse manager right after Mum and Dad’s divorce,” Emma said. “Before Ruby. When they split the company Mum got the antiques side, along with some of the employees, but she hired Sophie herself. She wanted someone new. But then Dad met Sophie at Frasier’s fundraiser a year later, they fell in love, and Sophie left the Hernandez family to live with him. Ruby replaced her.”
“And so, you knew Sophie when she worked here?” Nightshade asked Jacob.
“Yes.”
“And stayed in touch all that time?”
“If there were any Chinese artifacts coming in, I’d let Sophie know.”
Nightshade raised her ey
ebrows at Emma.
Emma shook the Magic 8-Ball and ‘Yes—definitely’ appeared in the window. She agreed with the ball’s verdict, so gave a nod.
“She was only interested in Chinese items?” Nightshade asked. “Nothing else? No other reason to be here?”
“No,” Jacob said. “Just those.”
Nightshade paced around the room and muttered under her breath, as if she didn’t believe his answers.
Emma couldn’t understand what her problem was. There had been no sign that Jacob was lying so far, or any apparent reason why he should. Sure, reading body language wasn’t as clear-cut and definitive as popular culture said, but surely Jacob’s nerves could be attributed to stress, not deception.
“What did you do when you heard the gunshot?” Nightshade asked. “Surely that alerted you.”
“I heard nothing,” Jacob said. “If I had, I would have come running.”
Emma blinked at him. Now, he was lying.
“What about a motive, Jacob?” Nightshade asked. “Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill Sophie?”
“No,” he said. “Everyone liked her.”
Jacob’s hands trembled, and as Emma looked up at his face, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Nightshade had glided behind Jacob’s chair and her hand had passed over his glass of water, paused a fraction of a second, then whisked away.
Nightshade returned to Emma’s side, smiled at Jacob, and nodded at the glass. “Have some water. You’ll feel better.”
Emma glared at her.
Jacob didn’t move.
Nightshade’s expression hardened. “I said drink, Jacob.”
15
Emma fought an urge to leap over the desk and snatch the glass of whatever-the-hell-it-now-was from Jacob’s hand, but before she had a chance, he took a sip, and another, then drank down two-thirds of the glass and set it back on the table.
Sixty seconds later, he stopped wringing his hands and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Nightshade had clearly slipped him the contents of one of her blue, fast-acting capsules—the ones she called relaxatives.
After another minute, Nightshade’s smile returned. “Feeling better, Jacob?”
Emma scowled at her. Drugging people was not fair.
“So, where were we?” Nightshade paced back and forth by the desk. “Ah yes, Sophie’s outings. Were they always at night? Did she frequently come to the warehouse when no one else was around?”
Jacob sighed. “Yes.”
Emma studied his reactions, on the lookout for anything that would give away his true thoughts and feelings.
“And who else knew about Sophie’s clandestine visits?” Nightshade asked him.
Jacob’s lips tightened. “Since the divorce, no one in the Greco family is supposed to come here.”
Emma cringed inside as she pictured her father finding out about Sophie’s repeated visits. One strict stipulation of her parents’ divorce was that there be no communication between the two families. With the antiquities side of the business no longer under his control, Richard was paranoid about moles and information leaks.
Nightshade nodded at Emma.
She shook the Magic 8-Ball and the answer read, ‘Very doubtful.’ Again, Emma agreed. Jacob was lying. She showed Nightshade the result and backed it up with a small bob of her head.
Nightshade raised an eyebrow. “Nobody else was aware of Sophie’s trips to the warehouse?” She rounded on Jacob. “Not at all? Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He lifted his chin. “I always kept her safe.”
“No, you didn’t,” Mac growled from the door.
Jacob opened his mouth to retort, but Nightshade cut in.
“What about the CCTV recordings—anyone look at those? Could someone else have seen Sophie’s other visits? Perhaps they picked up a pattern and predicted when she’d come back.”
Emma leaned across the desk and watched Jacob.
He sat bolt upright, hands clasped in his lap. “I’m in charge of the cameras,” he said. “No one else bothers with them.” He looked away.
Emma shook the ball—‘My sources say no.’—and showed Nightshade.
Jacob looked back and his brow furrowed. “What are you doing with that thing?”
Nightshade waved his question away. “How often did Sophie come to the warehouse? How many times did a Chinese artifact show up that might interest her?”
“It varied.” Jacob glanced up at the ceiling. “Sometimes two visits in a month. Other times it would be six months before we got anything she’d like to see.” His gaze dropped again, and he took a sip of water. Jacob looked far more relaxed now. His trembling had stopped, and his hands were rock steady.
“How do you know what artifacts come in at any given moment?” Nightshade continued. “I don’t imagine it’s part of your job description to keep up to date with that level of detail.”
He chewed the inside of his lip.
Nightshade took a deep breath. “Can I please remind you, Jacob, that if we don’t get to the bottom of this and find Sophie’s killer, you will be the one feeling the full force of Richard Greco’s anger.”
His eyes widened. “He can’t—”
“He most definitely will,” Mac said.
Nightshade spread her arms wide. “That’s why I’m here, attempting to keep the peace. I am trying to help you, Jacob. I want to help you. Let me do that. If there’s a war over this, you’ll be the first casualty.” She perched on the edge of the desk and lowered her voice. “We are all that stands between Richard Greco and your immediate demise. Please help us make sense of what happened.”
Jacob slumped in his chair and muttered something under his breath.
Nightshade leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
Jacob hesitated, glanced over his shoulder at Mac and Neil again—perhaps wondering if he could escape—then returned his attention to Emma and Nightshade with a defeated look. “Ruby would tell me what artifacts were coming in and when.”
Nightshade’s eyebrows lifted. “Just so we’re clear: Ruby, the current manager of this warehouse, a person in a position of trust, and one of two people currently missing”—she gave Emma a meaningful look—“would tell you when artifacts came to the warehouse?”
“She’d tell me everything,” Jacob said. “I didn’t see the harm in it,” he added. “We both work here. Not as if we told anyone else.” He took a juddering breath.
“You told Sophie,” Nightshade said.
“I only let her know about the Chinese ones,” Jacob murmured.
Emma eyed him. Jacob seemed determined to drive that point home. Why hasn’t Ruby shown up yet? For a split second, Emma considered if Uncle Martin was having an affair with her; that would go some way to explaining both of their absences. But one thing was for sure: something wasn’t right. When Maria discovered Ruby had leaked information about artifacts, even if only to Jacob, there’d be hell to pay. Emma sat back. “This keeps getting worse.”
Nightshade looked thoughtful for a minute, then focused on Jacob again. “I’m still fuzzy. Why does Ruby tell you about the artifacts? Why bother?”
“We’ve been friends for years,” Jacob said. “Just talking.”
Emma shook the Magic 8-Ball and it displayed the message ‘Ask again later.’ She half smiled at the fortuitous response, showed Nightshade, and gave a small shrug.
“Where is Ruby right now?” Nightshade asked Jacob. “Why isn’t she here?”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t know,” he said. “She isn’t answering her phone.”
“You tried calling her too?” When all she got was silence, Nightshade leaned toward him. “Were you attracted to Sophie?”
“Of course.” Jacob looked surprised by the question. “Who wouldn’t be? But we’re only friends.”
Ah, Emma thought. Now she understood why Jacob would risk his job and life letting Sophie into the warehouse.
“I know who her fiancé is,” Jacob added. “I’m not stup
id.”
“Debatable.” Nightshade crossed her arms. “You found Sophie murdered, but didn’t look for the killer?”
Jacob shook his head. “I locked up and called Maria.”
“After you sealed the crate and took it outside for the driver.” Nightshade snorted. “Ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes at Emma, and before Jacob could respond she said, “Did you ever come on to Sophie? Flirt with her?”
He looked taken aback. “I don’t see what that has to do—”
“Answer the question.”
Jacob looked away. “No.”
Emma wasn’t sure she believed him, but didn’t bother to shake the Magic 8-Ball.
Nightshade ran a hand through her tousled hair and paced again. “Did Sophie reject you, Jacob?”
“What?”
“Did she spurn your affections? Tell you to get lost?”
If Nightshade’s goal was to make him uncomfortable, it worked; Jacob squirmed in his seat.
“Let’s talk about the crate,” Nightshade said, changing tack.
Beads of sweat glistened on Jacob’s forehead.
Nightshade stopped in front of him. “You knew the terracotta warrior was a fake, didn’t you?”
“No. How could I?”
Nightshade let out a dramatic huff of air. “That’s a blatant lie, Jacob.”
Emma agreed with her. Jacob held something back, and the faux warrior seemed the most obvious thing. Had he spotted it was fake when he opened the crate? Had it been too late to call Sophie and tell her not to bother coming? After all, he’d clearly wanted her there. But why? Did he follow her to the warehouse? Was he hoping for more than a flirtatious exchange?
As if reading Emma’s mind, Nightshade waved a finger at Jacob. “The only question is, did you realise the warrior was a fake before or after you opened the crate?”
“I didn’t—”
Someone knocked at the door. Neil answered it, and Nash, the day-shift security guard, stepped into the room. He looked at Jacob for an awkward beat, then addressed Emma. “Your mum wants to see you.”
Nightshade didn’t take her eyes off Jacob. “Maria will have to wait. We’re busy.”
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