Abstract Aliases (A Bodies of Art Mystery Book 3)

by Ritter Ames

  “Doris went to get Max. He was in a meeting. I thought I was going to avoid talking to him.”

  “Laurel! What’s happening?”

  Even with the device upside down and pressed against my leg, I heard him roar. I held the phone to my ear. “Max, we’re on a bus. Calm down.”

  “Doris said Simon surfaced and broke into the office!”

  “Yes.” I tried to keep my volume lower, fruitlessly hoping he’d follow suit. “He brought some muscle with him. He only had one guard on the back door, which helped us get away.”

  “What did he want? Did you slow him down until the police arrived?”

  “We don’t know what he wanted. He entered by battering down the door. He came with some big helpers. We ran.” In my mind’s eye, I could see the lethal glint of the blade Cassie knocked out of our adversary’s hand. “We called Scotland Yard as soon as we could, and we’re riding around on a double-decker bus until we can figure out where to land next. We aren’t going back to the office.”

  By the way, we’re unhurt, Max. Thanks so much for asking.

  The little girl in the front turned and looked at us with wide eyes. I wondered what she made of the screaming man’s voice coming through my phone.

  “I’ll order up a guard. We can—”

  “Stop, Max, and lower your voice. You’re scaring a child at the front of the bus.”

  His volume went a smidgeon quieter when he asked, “Did you talk to Simon at all? What about the sword? Did you learn if he’s working for Moran like we believe, or is he trying to work undercover?”

  Was the man daft? Or had he been watching too many spy thrillers again? I knew he remained fixated on the sword, but I needed him to focus on the here and now.

  “Simon is not working on behalf of Beacham, undercover or otherwise. Get that idea out of your head this minute. And no, I didn’t offer him tea and conversation. Max, he made an entrance using shock and awe tactics. Not a smile and a handshake, for heaven’s sake.” I heard my boss start to bluster. I charged on, “Granted, I wish I had been able to talk to him, but Cassie and I instinctively ran when we heard the first blow hit the door. The kind of sound to either make you flee or scare you into standing stock still. We ran. I didn’t know it was Simon waving a cricket bat until I saw him on my cell screen via the security feed, and going back in the office then didn’t seem like a prizewinning idea.”

  “No need for sarcasm, Laurel.”

  “You’re right, I apologize. I obviously didn’t make it clear enough how he chose to forgo knocking and assaulted the door instead. Had we stayed in the office, who knows what would have happened to us?”

  Silence told me Max was trying to determine the next best approach. I waited.

  “Why do you think he chose to break down the door? Because the door was locked?”

  He wondered why I resorted to sarcasm.

  “No, he would have knocked if the locked door was a problem for him. He wanted to get something and wanted it fast. Obviously, he also wanted to catch anyone inside unaware until he was physically in the building.” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming, and was surprised it had taken this long. Probably a hangover from all the adrenalin. “I don’t know if he wants data, an art object, or…well, Cassie and me. Whatever it was, he posted a back door guard to keep whatever he wanted from leaving, and tried to use the back door exit after he recognized we had escaped. You can draw your own conclusions.”

  “All your high-tech security—”

  “Quiet down, you’re getting loud again.”

  “What about the cameras?” he said, modulating his tone slightly.

  “I watched Simon break the camera in my office with a cricket bat. I doubt we’ll get much information about their search on video. The silent alarm notified the Met police. We saw a car pull up as we left the area and heard several more police cars seconds later. When I talk to Superintendent Whatley I presume he’ll tell me if they collared any of the gang.”

  “Which means we wait.”

  “You wait.” I didn’t have time to sit quietly until others contacted me. “Simon worked over a decade in our office. He knew precisely how long it takes for police to respond to an alarm call from our system. My assumption is whether he left with anything or not, he was gone before the police got there. We’ll find a place to hide, and Cassie will call and give you the particulars.” My assistant was an unexpected pro at calming the Max-monster. I would have let her handle this mandatory call except it really was my responsibility. “It’s too late for a guard. If there was something in the office, Simon has it. If there wasn’t and he’s after me to try to find it…hiding is a better idea. When we have a plan together, we’ll pass the details along to you through Doris. I’ll check back with Whatley, get his take on the situation, and have him coordinate with you as well.” I sent up a mental apology to the superintendent.

  “Very well.” Max was calmer, but not much quieter. “I’ll be expecting a call this evening as plans and details are better known.”

  “A call or an email. I can’t promise the superintendent has the time or budget to phone you directly. Simon’s reappearance may make this move very quickly.”

  “Oh, yes, right. Exactly right. Let me know how I can help.”

  While I had an opportunity…“I could use some funds. Whatever we do, we’re going to require additional cash outlays.”

  “Laurel—”

  “You asked. What did you expect—I would pay for repairs and a temporary office out of my own bank account?” Like it could happen with my redlined credit. Max’s control issues and my proclivity toward spending money were the reasons I didn’t have a corporate credit card.

  Our bus continued lumbering in a westward direction. I heard him release a long sigh. “Okay. I’ll issue funds to a corporate account and have a credit card overnighted to you.”

  “Thank you.” I tried to put as much humility in my voice as I dared. This was a huge move for him. “Please have it sent to the U.S. Embassy and I’ll pick it up there. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying tonight.”

  “I understand,” he said. Then he couldn’t help himself and added, “You know, it’s your job as management to be fiscally responsible. The London office’s budget must be safeguarded.”

  “You do recall the reason I have to make repairs is the last office head you appointed tore up the place today. This following the fact he absconded with the historic item you asked me to bring back in September. You also remember I not only missed out on my vacation due to that job, but I was injured—shot at, choked, and almost shot again when I finally found Simon.” Cassie sent me a warning look. After one long breath, I continued, calmer and quieter, “I’m being displaced personally and professionally due to the actions of the same former office head. Did you have this identical conversation with him, Max, when he was in charge of the London branch? Perhaps he forgot your mentoring pep talk.”

  “Laurel, I mean—”

  “I think we need to stop talking so you can get back to your meeting. Maybe you could spend a few moments remembering which current employees you should be backing up. Afterward you might want to carefully consider what you want to say to me once you’ve fully comprehended the kind of day I’ve had.”

  “Oh, the meeting, yes—” the cowardly bastard said.

  “Talk to you later. Don’t forget to send the credit card with a decent balance.”

  I heard him hollering for Doris as I ended the call. I turned and saw Cassie wore her worried face again. “What?” I asked.

  “You were kind of hard on him.”

  My jaw dropped. I couldn’t help it. The bus slowed to make a stop. I rose from my seat and said, “I think we need to walk awhile.”

  When we were safely on the sidewalk, Cassie suddenly shrieked. “Laurel! The package
!”

  “What?”

  People stared at us. I pulled her along to a small park area down the block.

  “What if it was from Simon?” she asked, after we were a reasonable distance from anyone.

  I shook my head. “There’s no point, and Simon is always logical. If he sent the package to see if I was in the office, he would have known I wasn’t when you sent the deliveryman away. If he did it to see if the office was open, he wouldn’t have brought the battering ram and all the assembled muscle along when he came to call unless he had a man stationed outside to hear me throw the deadbolt.”

  “I gave the deliveryman your address. Told him the name of the hotel where you’re staying.”

  “If he wanted to know how to find me off-site, he would have planted a bug or found a way to hack into my phone or Max’s. He could not have known you’d send the delivery guy to my hotel. However—”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Cassie finished for me.

  “Yeah.” I dialed the number for the concierge in my boutique hotel. Within a few minutes, I had him briefed on my security problems—the sanitized PR version—and he promised to have my things packed and sent to a similar hotel with which they shared a reciprocal relationship. It was farther from the Beacham Ltd. location, but no matter. I didn’t intend to work in the office for a while. If ever again.

  “One more thing,” I added before ending the call. “There should have been a package delivery for me today at the front desk.” I looked at Cassie. “Maybe a few hours ago.” She nodded.

  I heard the clicking of a keyboard, and the concierge spoke again. “A suite of rooms is reserved for you at the hotel on Manchester. I will text the address and confirmation number to your mobile. One moment while I check for the package.” More clicking. “Ah, yes. Something came addressed to you this afternoon. I’ll make sure it is put with any mail and sent with your property.”

  “No. I want the package left at your hotel.” I didn’t have the time or inclination to apprise him of my concerns about the package. Despite my assurances to Cassie it hadn’t likely been used by Simon for clandestine purposes, we didn’t have the luxury of taking chances. “I’ll have the package picked up at the front desk tonight or tomorrow. I’ll call and give the front desk the name of the party doing the retrieval. They can check ID.”

  “Very good, Miss Beacham. As you prefer.” I knew he was probably curious, but like a consummate hotel professional, he let it go.

  “It is. You’ve been a tremendous help. Thank you.”

  When we disconnected, Cassie pounced. “We need to find out what’s in the package. It might be important.”

  “It might be a bomb.”

  Her eyes grew huge, and I laughed. “Seriously, Cassie, don’t worry. I’m kidding. It’s probably some piece of art someone wants my opinion on, or something needing a restoration and the owner is looking for a recommendation.”

  “You never know—”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll contact Superintendent Whatley later, give him the details and see if he’ll retrieve it.”

  I contemplated the busy city around us. I adored London. Knew a lot of its secrets. Loved to watch its people move around on the crowded streets. However, at that moment I wished I knew if we were being watched. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, I whispered, “Regardless of what we think, I can’t be sure the package doesn’t contain some kind of tracking device. Letting it stay in the hotel I’m leaving—even for a night—is a good precautionary measure until it can be checked.”

  Another deep breath and I was ready to move again. “So much for melodrama.” I looked around to get my bearings. “I haven’t had anything since breakfast but a flute of champagne,” I made a circle with my index finger and thumb, “and a couple of rounds of toast with something creamy on top.”

  Cassie grinned and looked at her watch. “No wonder you’re cranky.”

  “Yep, time flies when you’re running for your life.”

  “You don’t have to be at the television thing for a while—”

  “I’m not going.” I used a finger to swipe my screen and locate Megan’s number. “Granted, the television station has security. However, until we know who is in Simon’s pocket we have to assume he could have contacts at the BBC.”

  Megan answered and I explained I had to bail on the interview. When she asked about a reschedule, I hedged and said I’d have to get back to her. I needed to talk to the Scotland Yard superintendent before I moved forward on the interview, but I didn’t want Megan to know all my reasons. “I’ll try to call you in the coming days and let you know if my schedule changes. Feel free to replace me with someone else from the museum.”

  Her flat tone told me she wasn’t satisfied, but she thanked me and I ended the call.

  Cassie had apparently been in a holding pattern for the previous few minutes and immediately reminded me, “We have less than an hour and a half before your deadline at Nelly’s.”

  “Damn. The day’s almost gone.”

  I looked at my watch, then turned to look down the cross streets and between buildings. The dark tips of wintering trees in Hyde Park appeared close by. I loved the park and the very English names and types of trees found there, like the sweet chestnut and horse chestnut, the Queen Elizabeth oak, and something like two hundred and fifty other varieties carefully architected into the landscape. Even better, this sighting meant we weren’t far from Harrods. They were on shorter hours for the holiday but should be open for business. And for eating. As good a spot as any to find food and a place to hide in a crowd. “Follow me. I hear a food hall calling my name.”

  Six

  To put it simply, it’s true the Harrods Food Hall is expensive and expansive. Beyond a place to hide, Cassie and I needed a way to soothe our souls and restore a little sugar in our systems to replace what we’d burned during our flight. “Good food in the current situation is a necessity. Not simply because I’m starving,” I said. “Before you chew me out for strong-arming Max, remember we’ve both had massive shocks today.”

  “No, I’ve decided you were right.” Cassie shook her head, her pink spiky cut looking normal again after a side trip to the amazing store’s restroom—a surprisingly understated powder room for such a unique retailer. “Max should have made security a priority weeks ago. He didn’t, which was bad enough, but he also didn’t acknowledge right away the threat we’d experienced when he got on the call. He was too busy trying to minimize losses and find a better outcome for his purposes. He’s clueless, and you called him on it.”

  Yikes. I hoped I hadn’t lost the Max Whisperer to whatever personality Cassie currently channeled. I considered rethinking which of us would communicate updates to our boss.

  At the moment, however, almost indescribably beautiful food, all freshly prepared and as tasty to the eye as the palate, beckoned us from nearly endless display cases positioned under fabulous custom ceilings and specialty lighting. The large rectangular rooms with their elegant grid pattern allowed us to easily zero in on our favorites. Even more enticing than magazine food porn and available right in front of us. We contemplated one of the restaurants, but decided to build our own smorgasbord instead. The noodle bar came first and neither of us hesitated.

  “Carbs are good food for shock,” Cassie said.

  “Save room for truffles from the candy room. Also good for shock,” I replied.

  We cruised the glass cases like connoisseurs. The delicacies were presented in exactly that kind of spectacular manner. Pricey, sure, but it was “food art” after all. And Cassie and I recognized the price of admission. We pointed to salmon pinwheels, followed by a small crate of raspberries, washed and ready for devouring. An avocado salad for me, and a chicken salad for my friend, along with several kinds of cheese to share. We both ordered Harrods Moroccan Mint tea. Sure our meal was
eclectic, but it was the best way to forget about an awful afternoon.

  Everything was savory and fabulous on the tongue. I couldn’t wait to add the receipt to my expense report. Max might blow another fuse.

  A couple of empty chairs along a wall beckoned us, and we pulled them closer together. Anything we said would be lost in the steady hum of conversations and exclamations around us. Nothing like fabulous food to keep attention off the quiet folks who prefer a little privacy within the public. I people-watched and bit into my first pinwheel, marveling at the different tastes bursting into my mouth with the seasoned salmon. The food was tempting, but it didn’t stop me from keeping an eye out for faces in the crowd who seemed to have more than cuisine on their minds.

  Much as I wanted to be lost in the food, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened—and most importantly, why.

  “He posted a rear guard,” I mused, sipping my tea and letting the lovely mint taste settle over my tongue. “If he was only coming to do a smash and grab for something he’d left behind and needed, why leave the knife-wielding bully guarding the back hall? Did he even know if we were in the place? From where we sat in my office, a recon through the windows in the reception area wouldn’t have shown us at all.”

  “They could have seen you briefly in the window.”

  “Except they came equipped with the battering ram, and the man in the hall would already be stationed at his post.” I knew she meant well, reminding me to be careful, but I had to show her there wasn’t a bogeyman around every corner. Attacks required pre-planning. “Besides, you had your laptop. If they looked in the windows there weren’t even signs on your desk of someone in the office and working. This is a holiday, after all.”

  “Why the dramatics of the battering ram and phalanx of thugs?” Cassie added. “Though I guess phalanx might be over the top when talking about three or four guys.”

  I smiled at her words. “Your point meshes with my own thoughts. He had guys with him we didn’t know and wouldn’t have recognized. I totally get the idea of trying to move in quickly to snatch what he needed before we had a chance to stop him or call the police. Why not send his crew to knock on the door and muscle in if we said no entry?”