by Destiny Ford
Or a convenient store right next door with plenty of space to store them, I thought. I hated that I was even considering Fred as a suspect, but I couldn’t ignore how easy the crime would have been for him, and no one would ever suspect our sweet local antique dealer. I was having a hard time even convincing myself to question him.
“And you didn’t see anyone with a truck or SUV around?” I asked.
“Not that I remember,” he said, thinking back. “I was working on a table restoration in the basement and barely went outside that day. Molly had left to get us dinner so she wasn’t around either.”
I understood getting wrapped up in a project, and restoration of any kind of antique was meticulous work. But I wasn’t sure that was all Fred had been doing. I’d known him my whole life and didn’t think he was the type to steal, but you never really know everything about a person and I felt like I was still missing some information. As an antique dealer, Fred had a decent working knowledge of the art world.
“There’s a lot of art being stolen lately,” I led.
Fred nodded.
“Do you know much about Ron Storm sculptures?” I asked.
Fred stood up straighter, almost like he had something to prove. “Quite a bit, actually. I’ve known Ron for years.”
“You know one of his sculptures was stolen from the Collins’ house during the recent robberies, right?”
Fred’s expression turned somber. “Yes. It’s a shame.”
I agreed. And I wanted to find out who was taking them, and if Fred had any awareness of the theft ring. “I’ve been looking into it and the price of Ron Storm sculptures has gone up a lot recently.”
Fred’s brows shot up at my information. “Sure has. By about forty percent in the past year.”
“Forty percent?” I said, eyes wide. I knew the auction price had been high, but I had no idea the value had increased by that much so quickly. “Is that because of his ailing health?”
“Could be part of it,” Fred said, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, “but that doesn’t totally explain such a drastic jump.”
“What would explain it?”
Fred shrugged. “A lot of interest all at once. Someone fluffing the market.”
“Fluffing?” I said, questioning his verb choice. “As in a porn fluffer?”
“The same idea works here as well,” Fred explained. “Someone keeping the market hot and people interested.”
I tried to reconcile my vision of grandpa Fred the antique store owner and Fred who knew what a porn fluffer was, and couldn’t. “What would—” I tried to think of a word other than fluffing “—stroking the market do?” Stroking wasn’t a much better word choice.
“It creates demand and increases the price for pieces by a specific artist.”
Several things clicked together at once in my head. “So someone who controlled the inventory would be able to accomplish that fairly easily then,” I said, making it more of a statement than a question.
Fred sliced his head down once. “Yes.”
“That helps a lot, Fred. Thanks!”
“No problem,” he said with a wave. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I’d come into the store with a hunch about Fred having something to do with the theft of Axel’s pieces, and maybe even the Ron Storm sculptures. I still wasn’t sure that Fred was uninvolved, but I had a pretty good idea of someone else who might be. I knew exactly who controlled the Ron Storm sculptures inventory. Now, I needed to prove Aaron Storm was somehow involved in robbing people of his dad’s artwork—and I needed to figure out why he was doing it.
Chapter Twenty
I’d tossed and turned all night trying to figure out Aaron Storm’s motives for stealing his dad’s art, and how it was being done. He’d seemed so proud of his dad’s talent, and committed to keeping the Ron Storm legacy pristine. He didn’t seem like he was hurting for money. I remembered he said he managed the pieces and inventory with his brother. Maybe his brother had something to do with the price inflation and robberies? Or maybe they were both working together. The only other reason I could come up with was that Aaron was trying to inflate the prices to make his dad’s pieces, and legacy, seem more valuable. I needed to chat with Aaron and ask some more questions.
As the sun started to rise, I got out of bed and took Gandalf on a brisk early morning walk. The cool air and blood movement helped wake me up, and my morning coffee with milk and lots of creamer didn’t hurt either.
I dropped Gandalf off at my mom and dad’s and then spent the morning working.
Aaron Storm hadn’t emailed me the list of names of his dad’s missing art pieces and I needed to talk to him anyway so I decided I’d drop by his house later today.
I lost track of time editing, but my stomach didn’t. By lunch, I was starving. “I’m going to grab some food at Fry Guy. Do you want anything?” I asked Spence.
“Yeah, a salad would be great.”
I stopped in my tracks. “A salad?” Spence and I had pretty specific food orders that rarely wavered. A salad had never been on his Fry Guy list.
He lifted his shoulders, the movement slight. “I’m trying to be healthier.”
I gave him a knowing look and smiled. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain love interest, would it?”
His cheeks pinked slightly and I chuckled on my way out the door.
I placed my order at Fry Guy and was waiting patiently when I heard the door open, the bell jingling like Thor’s hammer had hit it. Johnny Fern, owner of Tres Tacos, came storming through it like a hurricane. He walked straight to the front counter, pulled the announcement about tater tots and taco salads off, and started ripping it to tiny pieces.
Colby Zimmer, the actual Fry Guy and restaurant owner, rushed out from the food prep area. “What in tarnation are you doin’ to my signs, Johnny?” Colby demanded.
Johnny looked up at him, pure rage in his eyes. I’d never seen someone so mad over modified potatoes and lettuce. “I’m fixin’ them, that’s what!”
Colby came over and tried to take the next sign away from Johnny and it wasn’t long before they were both on the ground and a full-fledged brawl was taking place. A few patrons tried to stop them, others called the police, and I mostly tried to stay out of the way. Since I happened to be at the location of a breaking news story, I took some photos. Police sirens wailed and pretty soon, Officer Bob and his partner were there, breaking things up.
After they got things settled, Bobby came over and asked me what had happened, which was new since I was usually the one getting an event summary. I told him and he wrote it down for his report, shaking his head while he muttered about stupid people, emotions, and dummies who made him do paperwork.
The commotion meant my lunch was delayed since most of the food that had been cooking was now burned. I texted Spence to let him know what was happening. When I looked up, Nut Man was standing in front of me. I jumped back, startled. “Hey,” I said, always a little thrown to see him at a police scene and six inches from my face. “Did you come to try and help with the fight?”
He nodded, then said, “I saw you though and wanted to follow up on something you asked me about before.”
“Okay,” I said, listening.
“You were asking about the person who paid our Speedy Superheroes application fee.”
“Yeah,” I answered. “But you said they haven’t been around for a while.”
Nut Man nodded. “They haven’t, but yesterday they started signing up for watches again. We haven’t heard from Speckles for a while and it seemed sudden and kind of strange. I wanted to let you know.”
My eyes got bigger. “The person’s superhero alter ego is named Speckles?”
“Yeah. Their costume is all black, almost like a leotard, and it masks Speckles from head to toe. It’s covered in various shades of paint splatters all over it. That’s why Speckles is named Speckles.”
Drake had told me the Popes’ son
had an imaginary friend named Speckles. Was it possible they were the same? The person couldn’t be dumb enough to use the same name for the Speedy Superheroes and robbing people, could they?
“That helps me out a lot,” I said. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem. We’re here to help.”
I tried to hide my opinion and not let it leak out onto my expression—which unfortunately, happened often. I felt like the majority of the Vendetta League members were probably there to help, but maybe not all of them, and Speckles was now on the top of my nefarious deeds list.
If the robber was using the Speedy Superheroes as a cover, the thief should have been on watch with the Vendetta League during the times the robberies happened. But maybe they just knew where watches would be taking place, so they were able to plan the robberies around those areas. I needed to ask Drake some more questions about Speckles. I jotted some notes down on my pad and made a reminder to call Drake after lunch.
I filled Spence in on everything that had happened and was about to call Drake when he walked through the front door.
“Well, this is handy timing,” I said, finishing the last bite of my lunch. “I was about to call you.”
Drake waved to Spence in his office before coming over to my desk and resting his hip against the side of it. “Couldn’t wait to see me again?” The corners of his lips turned up in a flirty grin.
I rolled my eyes. “You already have a big enough ego; I don’t need to add to it.”
“What were you going to call me for then?”
I ran my tongue over my lips while I grabbed my notebook. Drake’s eyes snagged on my mouth and his gaze did funny things to my stomach. I immediately directed my attention to my notes instead. “You mentioned that the Popes’ son had an imaginary friend, Speckles. He said Speckles looked like he was covered in paint. Did he ever give more details about Speckles’s appearance?”
Drake thought about it for a beat. “Not really, only that Speckles glowed like stars.”
I tilted my head. If any of the paint on the costume was glow in the dark, it would probably look like stars.
“Why,” Drake asked.
I shrugged. “Following a lead. It’s probably nothing.” I moved some flowers on my desk that I’d picked from my garden. Drake noticed them and his expression hardened for a moment before he got control of it. I tried to hide my smile. I was certain he thought Hawke had given them to me but I didn’t need someone else to get me flowers; I was perfectly capable of acquiring my own—though I didn’t mind when they were gifted either. “What are you doing here?” I asked. He’d gone out of his way to find me at the Tribune so I assumed he needed something.
He leaned more heavily on my desk, his eyes sparkling in a way that was both alluring and slightly worrisome. “There’s a community Halloween party next week,” he said, watching my reaction. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this so my reaction was pretty neutral as he continued, “Costumes are encouraged. I’m hoping you’ll accompany me.”
And there went my neutrality. It seemed Drake was determined to ask me to every possible Branson Falls town event—as if The Ladies didn’t have enough to talk about already. Drake wasn’t the first to invite me to the Halloween party, however. “Annie already invited me, so I’ll be there.”
He bit the corner of his lip. I could practically see how hard he was straining to not press me into going with him as his date instead of going as an independent party with friends. “I’m glad I’ll get to see you there then.”
“Me too,” I said, and meant it. Just because I wasn’t going as his date didn’t mean that I wasn’t interested in seeing him—or the costume he decided on. “Hopefully it will be less eventful than our Halloween carnival adventures.”
“I don’t think they’re serving Rice Krispies on a stick, so you should be fine,” Drake said with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “I have no regrets.”
“Neither do I,” he said, his gaze heating. We sat there staring at each other with scandalous promises playing across our irises for approximately one year, before Drake changed the subject, “I was able to get Axel and Sasha hooked up with the comic convention. I think it will help their business a lot.”
I snapped out of Drake’s dark magic eye trance. “I think so too. That was really nice of you. They still don’t know who vandalized Inked AF. And I saw one of Axel’s stolen pieces listed on an auction site.”
Drake’s eyes went wide at that. “Did you look up the seller?”
“I have someone on it.” Drake didn’t need to know that someone was Hawke, but judging by his clenched jaw, I was pretty sure he suspected it.
“I still think there’s something off about the whole thing,” Drake said, his brows narrowing in thought. “It doesn’t feel like the other robberies.”
I leaned back in my chair, mostly to get some more distance between us because I didn’t trust my own two hands. “I agree. I had some questions about Axel’s art pieces and stopped to ask Fred about them. They were huge pieces and wouldn’t have been easy to transport. I feel like someone would have seen the thief moving them.”
Drake’s expression turned skeptical. “Or the person who stole the art was someone close by who had access to an entire store with a basement that they could have easily moved the pieces into.”
I stared at him, surprised his thought process had gone the same direction as mine. Talking to Fred hadn’t convinced me of his involvement one way or another, so I wanted more detail about why Drake thought Fred might be the culprit. “You think Fred stole Axel’s art and vandalized the store?”
Drake shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s a possibility.”
Despite my own suspicions, my mind was still having a hard time wrapping itself around the idea of Fred being a thief, but there were a lot of things pointing in that direction. He knew art, and knew the value of various pieces—whether they be art canvases by a tattoo shop owner or renowned sculptures. He would also know where to find a market for them and get a solid return. And he’d have a good idea of where to find Ron Storm pieces around Branson Falls to steal as well. As much as I wanted to rule him out as a suspect, I couldn’t. But since Drake had come up with the same suspect, I wanted to know his take. “Why would Fred steal Axel’s art?”
Drake shifted against my desk, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle. “Any number of reasons. Maybe Fred and Molly really aren’t that happy to have a tattoo shop next to their store, despite what they say. Maybe he saw value in Axel’s work and thought he could sell it. Maybe it’s another reason entirely. I’m saying it’s a bad idea to rule suspects out unless you’re one-hundred percent certain they didn’t do anything wrong.”
Okay, I’d give Drake that, but I still wasn’t sure. If Fred was involved, I didn’t think he was working alone, and it didn’t explain why Axel’s art was being sold on an auction site. Fred was smarter than to sell a stolen item in a public setting so soon after the crime.
Drake stood. “I have to go get some things done before tonight.”
I gave him an interested look. “What’s going on tonight?”
“I have an event to go to,” he said.
“Work stuff?” I asked, internally wondering why I was suddenly so curious about his evening plans, and kicking myself because it probably came off like I was fishing for information.
He moved his head back and forth in a non-committal way. “Kind of.”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was going on a date. And then realized I had no claim on the man, and it really wasn’t my business even if he was. But I was bothered by the thought, and the fact that I was bothered, bothered me even more. “I bet it won’t come with Rice Krispies on a stick,” I said, trying to push aside my impending jealousy, “so my work is more fun than yours.”
He lifted a brow. “It certainly won’t come with you doing a search and rescue mission for chocolate in your cleavage, and that’s a damn shame.”
&n
bsp; I rolled my eyes, secretly happy that he was thinking about my boobs. “Well, have fun at work tonight,” I said, putting the emphasis on work since it didn’t sound like that’s really what he’d be doing.
“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time,” Drake teased as he walked out the door.
I sat there for a minute stewing in my thoughts until I heard Spence make a tsk, tsk, tsk noise from the other room. “You’re in trouble with that one,” he said.
“I’m in trouble with a lot of ones,” I answered, thinking of Drake, Hawke and the epidemic of feelings I seemed to have caught.
“No kidding,” Spence said with a laugh. “You need to figure out your boyfriend situation.”
“They’re not my boyfriends.” I tried to say it convincingly. I failed.
My phone rang, the seductive melody of “Play Me” dancing through my speakers. I picked it up. “Hey,” I said, wondering if he could hear the smile in my voice.
“There’s my favorite person,” Hawke answered.
I smiled even wider. “That’s quite a compliment.”
“I mean it.” He paused momentarily. “I found the person who was selling Axel’s art. His name is Jordan Sider. He lives here in town.”
Holy crap! “Did you talk to him?”
“I did. And I’m confident he didn’t take the pieces or rob Inked AF.”
I slitted my eyes. Jordan lived in Branson and was selling Axel’s pieces on an auction site that a lot of Branson Falls residents were using. It felt like there was a good chance he was our guy. “How confident?”
“One thousand percent.”
Wow. “Why?”
“Because he’s fourteen and has had a broken leg for a month.”
I shook my head. Evidently, Not Just Junk didn’t enforce an age limit on sellers. “Then how did he get Axel’s art pieces?”
“He said he and some friends were going to a party. They had to park a couple of blocks away on a side street and they passed a dumpster. Axel’s pieces were resting on top of the trash.”
