Ruthless Cross

by Barbara Freethy

  "What is all this?" he asked in surprise. "You have the Beatles' White Album? My mother must have played that a million times."

  "My dad did, too. That's my father's collection. He was a huge Beatles fan. All their records are there."

  "And you can still play them. Amazing." He moved over to the record player on the adjacent table. "I haven't seen one of these in fifteen years."

  "It was also my dad's, but it still works. You can play something if you want."

  He took a record out of its sleeve and put it on the player. After fiddling around with the buttons, the song Revolution blared across the small speakers attached to the player.

  "It sounds great," Flynn said, as he came over to the island. "Old school."

  She smiled. "Yes. It's a different experience to play a record than to stream music over headphones, which is usually how I listen. But the records always take me back to the past, to the music of my parents, and it's nice. Sometimes, it's a little sad, too, but not in a bad way. That probably doesn't make sense."

  "It makes perfect sense. This takes me back, too, and not in a bad way." He paused. "It actually surprises me to say that, but this song makes me remember my mom dancing around the house as she picked up clutter and dusted off the furniture. She made cleaning look fun. I'm sure it was a ruse to get me to help, and it worked."

  "My father used to play his records when he was making dinner. It was a happy time for us. We were usually cooking together. Sometimes, in between taking something in and out of the oven, he'd grab my hands and spin me around like we were dancing." A wave of sadness followed her words. "It's funny how some moments in our lives stand out forever, while others disappear so quickly."

  Flynn nodded in agreement. "You never know what will stick."

  "Do you have a favorite memory with one or both of your parents?"

  "My mom was a puzzle fiend. She liked the gigantic 2,000-piece puzzles. She always said it wasn't fun if it wasn't a challenge. My father would say get something easier, something you can finish faster. But she liked the battle."

  "I have a suspicion that you might take after her."

  "I do like a good puzzle. Mine just aren't jigsaws anymore. The stakes are much higher."

  "Like Arthur's puzzling death."

  "Yes. I wish there was a box with a picture on it so I would know where I'm heading. Right now, all I see are random pieces that don't go together."

  "Speaking of random pieces…how long do you think it will take to figure out whether those pictures of paintings we found in Olivia's room are important?"

  "Probably not long. I can check the FBI database of stolen art. In fact, I can get that going now." He pulled out his phone and spread the pictures across the island counter, then snapped a photo of each one of them. "I'll upload these to the database when I get back to my computer."

  "It's Saturday night. Don't you ever take a minute off?" She had to admit she was impressed with his devotion to duty.

  "Not in the middle of a case." He looked back at the photos. "I do know that this painting was stolen four years ago from a museum in Madrid. I was involved with art crimes at the time. It's an abstract by Miguel DeRosa, a Spanish painter. This piece is entitled A Winter Garden. It was originally purchased for over five million dollars and then donated to the museum after the owner passed away."

  "That's a garden?" she asked, moving to the island to take a closer look. She squinted at the blobs of dark green mixed with white and gray. "It doesn't look like anything to me."

  He smiled. "Abstract art is not my favorite, either, but to some it's the ultimate form of expression. The painting can be seen in an infinite number of ways by whoever is looking at it."

  "I guess," she said doubtfully. "If this painting was stolen, and this picture was sent to Arthur, what do you take away from that?"

  "I'm not sure. The fact that he hid the pictures in the floorboard tells me that they're important and probably not in a good way."

  "I know you don't want to believe Arthur is a criminal."

  "I don't. Arthur spent so much of his life discharging justice to criminals. It seems unimaginable that he could be one himself. But then, I've been fooled before."

  She was sorry to have reminded him of that fact. She suspected Flynn had kicked himself around the block a million times for not seeing his father for who he was.

  Flynn's gaze moved to the other photos spread across the counter. "I don't recognize these paintings, but I suspect they're stolen, too."

  "What would they be worth?"

  "Millions of dollars. Someone spent twenty-seven million dollars last year for a painting by Stanley Warinsky, a Russian painter."

  She shook her head in amazement. "That's a lot of cash. I know Arthur is rich, but is he that wealthy?"

  "His current net worth is about sixty million dollars."

  "Seriously?" She was shocked at that figure.

  "Arthur inherited money from his parents and also from Francine's estate. He might not spend twenty-seven million for a painting, but he has enough to play on the black market."

  "Now I know why he had my mother sign a prenup."

  "How did that go over?"

  "She didn't like it at first, but she was madly in love. And she's never been about money. She was lucky enough to have inherited enough money and real estate from my dad's estate that she has been able to either not work or just work part-time for most of her life. She's not rich, but she's okay." She paused. "You probably already knew that."

  "I did. Have you ever asked your mother to invest in your dream restaurant?"

  "No. My mother needs to keep her money. These hospital stays are not cheap, and insurance doesn't cover everything. I would never risk her nest egg on my dream."

  "I'm sure she'll inherit something from Arthur."

  Her gaze drifted to the large binder she'd set on the counter. "I need to go through that tomorrow. I also need to go through my mom's phone and listen to her voicemails and read her messages. There could be something urgent I have to deal with." She moved back to the coffeemaker, filling two mugs with coffee. She had a feeling she was going to need it.

  "Let's go through the phone now," he suggested, as she handed him a mug. "Do you have her password?"

  "I do." She grabbed her mom's phone, put in the code, and then hesitated. "I probably should look at them myself first."

  "In case she has said something incriminating?" he asked. "I can get a warrant for her phone, Callie. Even if you erased the messages or voicemails, my tech would be able to retrieve them."

  "You're saying you'll know everything eventually anyway."

  "Yes," he said, meeting her gaze.

  As she stared down at the large number by the message icon, she realized she just wasn't up to going through them all. She handed the phone to Flynn, silently praying that there wouldn't be anything damning on the phone. She didn't believe her mother was guilty. She really hoped she was right.

  "She has about twenty messages," Flynn muttered. "And eight voicemails."

  "Start with the messages. You can read them aloud if they're important."

  Flynn skimmed for a minute. "There are a lot of one liners—hope you're okay, thinking of you kind of stuff—from Elaine, Shari, and Rose Baker, and some phone numbers that don't have names attached."

  "Elaine and Shari work at the museum. Rose is her hair stylist."

  "Here's one that's a little longer and much more intriguing. It's from Moira Shanahan."

  "That's Arthur's administrative assistant. What does she say?" she asked curiously.

  "Juliette, I can't believe what's happened," he read aloud. "I keep thinking it's a nightmare, and I'll wake up. You must feel the same way. I know how much you loved Arthur. I feel so terrible. I want to help in any way I can. Please call me or text me and let me know what I can do."

  "Moira must be devastated. She's been with Arthur for almost ten years."

  Flynn frowned as he looked down at the phone once
more. "This message is odd."

  "What does it say?"

  "I think you should know your husband was cheating on you," he read. "He was in love with me. And he was going to leave you. I have this terrible feeling you already know that, and that's why you killed him. Arthur said you would go crazy if you knew. But I think you're already crazy. Arthur was too good for you and now he's dead. You should be careful you don't end up the same way."

  Her stomach tightened and her pulse began to race. "Can you trace that phone number? This woman is threatening to hurt my mother."

  "She's also suggesting your mom killed Arthur because she found out about the affair."

  "But that didn't happen. And I don't like that she says my mother might end up dead, too."

  "No one can get to your mom right now. She's safe."

  "I hope so."

  "There's a chance this text is also not true," he said.

  She was surprised by his words. "Why wouldn't it be?"

  "Any number of reasons. Someone could be trying to set your mother up, but we'll know more when we trace the number."

  "How long will that take?"

  "At least until tomorrow."

  She knew that Flynn and his team were working around the clock, but it still didn't seem fast enough. "I have to know who sent that text."

  "We'll figure it out."

  "I wonder if Moira would know about an affair. She handled his work schedule, which sometimes overlapped with his personal schedule. Hand me my mom's phone. I want to call Moira."

  He hesitated.

  "What?" she demanded.

  "I don't want you in the middle of this investigation, Callie. I'll talk to Moira."

  "She's much more likely to tell me the truth than to tell you. She was fiercely loyal to Arthur. She will want to protect his reputation."

  "She might not want you or your mother to know about an affair."

  "I still think I'll get further than you," she argued.

  His lips tightened, and he didn't look happy with her suggestion, but he did hand her the phone.

  "All right," he said. "Just remember to ask more questions than you answer. We want to find out what Moira knows without telling her what we know."

  "Got it."

  "And put the call on speaker."

  "I will." She punched in Moira's number, which was already programmed into her mother's phone. It rang twice and then Moira picked up.

  "Juliette? Are you all right?"

  "It's actually Callie, Moira."

  "Oh, Callie, I'm so sorry. I can't believe this. I've been crying all day. I just don't want it to be true."

  "I know. I feel the same way."

  "How is your mother?"

  "She's resting. I didn't want you to think she didn't appreciate your text. She just can't talk to anyone right now."

  "Oh, I wasn't expecting an answer. I'm sure she's very upset." Moira paused. "I know a little about her problems, Callie, so if I can help, please ask."

  "Actually, you can help. I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. My mom is getting a lot of questions about Arthur and other women. I know you want to protect his reputation, and so do I, but I need to know the truth so that I can also protect my mother. I think, together, we can figure out a way to keep private what needs to be private."

  "Oh, Callie. I'm not sure what to tell you."

  "Was Arthur having an affair, Moira?"

  There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. Then Moira said, "I never thought he would cheat on your mom. He was madly in love with her. But the last two months, he was different. He was tense and out of sorts. He didn't want to take the call sometimes when your mom was on the phone. And about three weeks ago, he asked me to make him a dinner reservation for two in Palm Springs. When I asked him if he was taking Juliette, he said that she was busy and that he'd be going with a friend."

  "Do you know who he took?"

  "I'm assuming it was someone named Layana, because he got on the phone with her right after I told him the details of the reservation. I just heard him say her name. I didn't hear anything else. That's all I know, Callie. It could have been innocent. She could have been a colleague, although I hadn't heard the name before."

  "Have you given the FBI this information?"

  "Not yet. I don't know for sure that there was anything going on romantically. I would hate to say Arthur was having an affair when I'm not certain. Your mother would be devastated. And Arthur's reputation would be damaged. But if you or your mother knows who this Layana is, you might want to get in front of this."

  "I definitely want to do that. Thanks for telling me."

  "Do you know if there are any suspects?"

  "I don't."

  "Is there anything I can do to help you and your mom with funeral arrangements?"

  "We're talking about all that. I'll let you know when we know."

  "All right. Take care."

  "You, too."

  She ended the call and looked at Flynn, feeling unsettled by Moira's words. "She tried really hard not to say Arthur was having an affair, but she obviously thought that he was."

  "I would agree."

  "My mother's instincts were right. Arthur was having an affair. And the woman who sent my mother that threatening message is probably his lover."

  "Possibly."

  "She wants to make it look like my mom found out about them and killed Arthur. But maybe that's to hide the fact that she killed Arthur. What if he wasn't going to leave my mom? What if his lover thought she was losing him to his wife?"

  "It's a theory," he said carefully. "But you're making a lot of leaps."

  "We need to figure out who Layana is. Can you run that name through some FBI database?"

  "Yes, although, it would be helpful to have a last name. But it is an unusual first name, so we might get lucky. I'm also wondering about Palm Springs. This is the second time it has come up. You said Arthur and your mother were fighting about going down there this week."

  "That's true. Maybe that's where he had his affair."

  "Where did Arthur and your mother stay when they went down there?"

  "At the house Arthur bought last year."

  His gaze narrowed. "I have a list of Arthur's assets, which includes his real estate holdings, and I didn't see a house in the desert. There's a condo in Maui but nothing in Palm Springs."

  "I don't know why it wouldn't be on there; he bought it about six months ago."

  "Have you been there?"

  "Once for the weekend. It's a beautiful place, like everything else Arthur owns."

  "Do you have a key?"

  "I know the code. Unless Arthur changed it."

  "I'm going to need the address and the code. I'll head down there tomorrow."

  "Why don't I go with you?" she suggested.

  "I don't think so."

  "Why not?"

  "Because this is an FBI investigation and you're not an agent."

  "But I'm helping you. You wouldn't even know about Palm Springs if it wasn't for me," she argued. "And I want to be there if you find any clues. Also, the property technically belongs to my mom, so I feel a need to protect her interests. If you want the code, you have to take me with you."

  "I can find the house without you."

  "As fast as you want to find it?" she challenged. "Wouldn't it be easier if I went along for the ride? Or, I could just go on my own."

  He gave her an annoyed look. "Fine, you can come."

  "Good. What time?"

  "I'll be free around noon. I have a brunch in the morning."

  "That's perfect. I'll want to check on my mom in the morning." She sipped her coffee. "What else should we be doing?"

  The smile returned to his lips. "You should probably be thinking about getting some sleep. I'm sure you didn't get much rest last night."

  "Only a few hours, but I don't feel sleepy. I'm too wired. There are so many questions running around my head. Was Arthur having an affair
? Was he buying stolen artwork? And who is Layana?"

  "All good questions. Unfortunately, we don't have any answers. And it's been a long day. I should probably get going."

  "Right now?" she asked, realizing she sounded a little desperate, but the thought of being by herself made her uncomfortable.

  "Do you want me to stay longer?" he asked, a gleam in his eyes.

  "Yes. But you don't have to. I'm just a little spooked. I keep thinking about someone going through Arthur's house. It feels like something more is coming. Or maybe that's just my imagination. It can get the better of me. You know what? You should go. I'm fine on my own. And I'm sure you're tired, too. You haven't had much of a weekend."

  "I'm not in a hurry to leave."

  Relief flooded through her. "We could go out on the deck. I have a heat lamp. The waves are always calming."

  "Sold."

  She felt a rush of warmth as his smile washed over her. She had a feeling she probably wouldn't need a heat lamp with Flynn around. She also had the feeling she was probably making a big mistake by inviting him to stay. But it was too late now.

  Chapter Ten

  Hanging out with Callie might not be the best decision Flynn had ever made, but he was enjoying her company too much to care. "I'm extremely jealous of your deck," he said, as Callie switched on the heat lamp, and they settled on a loveseat overlooking the water.

  It was cold, but he didn't give a damn. The crashing waves, the starry sky, and the beautiful woman next to him were an irresistible combination.

  Callie pulled a blanket off the back of the couch. "Do you want to share?"

  "I'm okay." He needed to use a little restraint when it came to Callie and snuggling under a blanket with her might be a bridge too far. There was a small, cynical voice in his head that kept popping up with reminders that while he didn't believe Callie had anything to do with Arthur's death, she could be trying to get close to him to protect her mother.

  Frowning at that thought, he sipped his coffee and looked out at the water. There was a full moon tonight, illuminating the crashing white water.

  "You're quiet," Callie commented.

  He gazed back at her. "Just enjoying the endless and relentless pounding of the waves on the beach. It's like a heartbeat. It keeps going no matter what else is happening."