by Lotta Smith
“I like to watch cop shows on TV, and I always wanted to try my hand at cussing.” Claudia fluffed her hair with her hand.
Rick continued. “The key factor with the whole situation is the confession note from the alleged Mysterious Art Connoisseur. What’s most intriguing about this is that no such thing has ever happened before. On top of him bragging about stealing Beast came his declaration to retire from the world of art heists. The whole thing couldn’t get any more ridiculous.”
“Well, I’m not quite following,” Shannon muttered, knitting her eyebrows.
Nicole snorted. “So, Rick, when are you going to share the juiciest detail about the stolen mask?” she said, her shoulders shaking from laughter.
“What about the stolen mask?” Seyfried raised his head, leaning in. Then he looked at Nicole, who was still giggling like a kid on Christmas morning. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Mrs. Sparks, I can’t help wondering why you look so… happy?” His tone was more questioning than a statement.
“Well, at least I’m not depressed.” Nicole turned to Rick. “Oh my… I can’t hold it anymore. If you don’t spill it, the fact is gonna spill itself.”
“Come on, this part was supposed to be the punchline,” Rick muttered but nodded at his client, gesturing her to go ahead. “Be my guest. Deliver the news in any which way you’d like.”
“Oh, may I? Thank you!” Nicole’s face lit up. Clasping her hands, she took a deep breath and started to talk. “Actually, there was something I’ve been withholding from many of you. The mask stolen from storage wasn’t real. Actually, it was a replica, and the real Beast is safely stored in USCAB’s facility.”
“Are you kidding us?” Shannon’s mouth gaped open.
“No. I’m telling the truth.” Nicole smiled, prompting Seyfried to pump his fists, muttering, “Yay! The real one isn’t stolen!”
Nicole looked at me, wiggling her index finger. “When you mentioned that the mask looked cheap around the eyes, I got slightly panicky. I was tempted to tell you the truth, but I couldn’t risk my conversation being overheard.” Turning back to Rick, she said, “Considering Detective Seagal was that person, my move was really smart, right?”
“Oh yeah. I was impressed by your discretion.” Rick chuckled.
“But… why did he steal a replica?” Shannon asked. “If he’s the Mysterious Art Connoisseur, telling the difference between an authentic Beast and a replica must’ve been a piece of cake for him.”
“If he was the real Mysterious Art Connoisseur—which he isn’t,” Rick wiggled his finger, “the purpose for today’s heist was just to dupe us into believing that the famous serial art thief has committed his latest heist, and he’s quitting his bad habit of stealing.”
“Rick, I’d appreciate it very much if you’d tell us in plain English,” Nicole interjected.
“All right, let’s stop being cryptic.” Rick chuckled lightheartedly. “Here’s the thing. The Mysterious Art Connoisseur is dead, and he doesn’t exist in this world. He was killed by Detective Seagal here, and our detective went through all this trouble to make the dead thief look like he’s still alive.”
“Shut up! You have no idea what happened!” Seagal yelled, jumping up off his seat. “I didn’t kill him! It was just an accident!”
“Oh really?” Rick rubbed his jaw in amusement, and Seagal’s face blanched.
Then the detective collapsed to the floor.
“Did you… really?” Radcliffe muttered, his eyes widening.
“Yes, I did! So what?” Seagal, still slouched, shouted at the marble floor. “I’m responsible for his death… but like I said, that was an accident!”
“I see. Now I know why he’s been acting so rudely to Mandy and Rick.” Jackie crossed her arms, nodding knowingly. “As a criminal, he was intimidated by the crime-solving duo. Though he was acting like he regarded the feds as child’s play, but at the bottom of his heart, he was truly afraid that they were going to reveal his crime. And voilà, they did.”
“I see.” Claudia nodded. “I’d have been more impressed if you shared your theory before he said that.”
“Wh-what happened, Mr. Rowling?” Shannon looked puzzled. She was holding a little notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. “Can you please give me something to fill in between the lines?”
“I’m talking about that night you mentioned, Ms. Tate, the night Detective Seagal went after the Mysterious Art Connoisseur, running like hell and trying to get away from his crime,” Rick said matter-of-factly. “As he went after the running thief, Detective Seagal ended up killing him—by accident.” A corner of his lips twitched like he was tempted to add “allegedly” before “by accident” but he omitted that word. I supported his decision 100 percent, because provoking an apparently guilty and mentally unstable killer didn’t sound like a good idea.
“Yeah,” Seagal groaned, then started talking. “That night, I was running after him. I caught up with him at the riverside. I was craving the accomplishment, and I was determined to catch the notorious thief. He was getting out of breath, and I wasn’t. So I decided to get the vase back before arresting him. I grabbed the wooden box he was clinging to, and he resisted. It was dark, and I was completely focused on the box, and for a moment, I’d forgotten about the fact that we were fighting at the stairs. When I pulled the box, he tried to get away but didn’t let go of the box. I was stronger, and he went off balance. The next thing I knew, he was rolling off the stairs, literally cracking his head on the hard concrete. He was dead.”
“But that was an accident, right?” Nicole tilted her head. “Isn’t that different from first-degree murder?”
“I know that.” Seagal raised his face, grimacing. “Then again, I’d be scrutinized, and I could imagine my photos and name in all the papers and even on the evening news. His death might not do any damage to my career, but I… I just couldn’t tolerate risking it! Look, my work history has been spotless so far, and I was just a step away from a promotion! Besides that, why should I bother with a criminal getting in my way? So I had to get rid of his body, and I had to get it done quick.”
“Considering his occupation, he must’ve excelled at covering up.” Claudia rolled her eyes.
“Sometimes perfectionism can be your biggest flaw.” Jackie shrugged.
“So, you dumped the body into the river, right? I mean, after removing anything that could give away his identity and stuffing stones in his clothes?” Rick said. Then he turned to me. “Remember Detective Strout investigating the body floating in the river on our way? That dead guy is the Mysterious Art Connoisseur.”
“Yeah, right,” Detective Seagal grunted without even looking at Rick.
Rick cleared his throat. “To cover up accidentally killing the serial thief, Detective Seagal came up with a plan. He sank the body into the water, but it was going to float up eventually and be discovered, with the risk of him being ID’d as the Mysterious Art Connoisseur he was running after. Besides that, with the culprit dead, there would be no new cases.”
“That’s why he went to all the trouble of sending the heist threat before stealing it,” I muttered.
“Exactly.” Rick nodded. “By sending the threat, anyone could expect this home’s security level to be upped and the number of suspects would be limited. Then again, giving the impression that the dead thief is still alive was much more important for him. Also, the note saying, ‘I’ve got Beast. Thanks!’ was to let the police know that the Mysterious Art Connoisseur has quit stealing, but it had another purpose as well.”
“Other purpose? What’s that?” Nicole leaned in.
“To make the locked storage complete,” he said. “That memo said something like, ‘This mask is so overwhelming, and I’m sure I can’t find anything better than this.’ By saying that, he tried to give us the impression that the retired thief lives a quiet life in the country, admiring the monkey mask all day long. Except the stolen mask is already cut into pieces and perhaps sunk in one of the ponds
in the garden.”
“Good thing it was just a replica.” Nicole sighed. “Thank you so much, Rick!”
“My pleasure. Protecting our clients and their assets is our number-one priority at USCAB.”
As he said that, the buzzer beeped, prompting Heidi to jump up and go running to answer the intercom.
“The police have come,” she announced and went to invite the detectives in. The detectives were supposed to back Seagal up, but they were going to end up arresting him.
“So, the Mysterious Art Connoisseur was a man,” Shannon muttered, furrowing her eyebrows. “I think I might’ve figured out his identity. Mr. Rowling, you know who he was, don’t you? The real Mysterious Art Connoisseur—I mean, the deceased guy’s identity.”
“I’m afraid so,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “He’s been missing since six days ago. Meanwhile, Detective Seagal chased after him a week ago. He joined the publisher you work with in the same month as you, and you two were close in age. Also, he had access to the targets’ homes for research and interviews for the articles, and by that, he was able to note each home’s floor plan and each item’s whereabouts—enabling him to steal pricey art pieces when they least expected. Yes, the deceased Mysterious Art Connoisseur was your colleague, Patrick Harlan.”
EPILOGUE
Three days after closing the serial heist case, I was cooking breakfast for us. Thanks to Shannon publishing an online article about the case, putting all her focus on Rick’s and USCAB’s roles in preventing the heist and destruction of the priceless mask Beast, the company was booming with even more business than usual.
Under normal circumstances, she and the publisher would’ve waited till the monthly magazine was ready to go out. But with the detective handling the case himself getting arrested for the murder of the real culprit, posing as the thief, and stealing a replica instead of the real one, the piece was a huge magnet for readers, and no one in the media industry ever missed such an opportunity.
Rick was leaving earlier than usual for a morning conference, and I woke up when he got out of bed. I was on maternity leave, and I didn’t have to go downtown with him, but I didn’t want him to leave with an empty stomach. Not to mention I was hungry too.
That time, I was working my magic on Japanese cuisine, which wasn’t sushi or ramen. It was called omurice, aka Japanese rice omelet. Basically, it’s rice fried with chicken, chopped onion and bell pepper, and seasoned with ketchup, stuffed in a thinly fried omelet. Just like the recipe video instructed, I started with frying the stuffing except for the steamed rice. Instead of chicken, I used bacon for the morning.
Seven minutes later, the rice was perfectly done, covered in thin omelet. I was about to add the finishing touches by drawing a big red heart with ketchup. I knew this dish was heavy on ketchup, but according to the recipe author, many Japanese people were deeply in love with the red, sweet, sticky condiment.
I was holding the squeeze bottle, ready to start my drawing. But suddenly, the baby made a really big movement like I’d never felt before, and the next thing I knew, I felt warm liquid running down my thighs.
“Oops!” I gasped. Not that it hurt or I felt light-headed, but I ended up spilling the ketchup on the floor.
“Are you okay, Mandy? Ooh, look at the pooling ketchup,” Jackie commented, popping up from out of nowhere. “I wish I could help with cleaning up.” She shook her head, but then she snapped her fingers. “Maybe I can try.” She stared at the ketchup.
Amazingly, as she kept staring at the red mess, the ketchup started moving… and began to mix with the liquid coming from me.
I was watching the liquid mixture, wondering if it was urine or my water had broken. I used my fingers to count. It might’ve been too early for me to start labor. Besides, I wasn’t having labor pains, nor was I supposed to have labor at all—because I’d been scheduled for a C-section.
“Jackie, do you think it’s urine or my water broke?” I asked, hoping she’d share her insight with me.
“I have no idea.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “How would I know? I wasn’t equipped with a uterus even when I was alive.”
“Maybe you can go down and sniff it?” I suggested. “If I kneel, I’ll have a hard time getting up, and I might feel light-headed and collapse. Also, I don’t want to sit in my pee if that’s what it is.”
“Ewww.” Jackie covered her face in her hands. “Should I really?”
“Is everything okay?” Rick popped in, saw the pool of ketchup, and blanched. “Oh my God! Mandy, you’re bleeding!”
Before I had a chance to say, “Actually, it’s ketchup,” he gently escorted me out of the wet zone, scooped me up, and literally hauled me into the back seat of his Lamborghini SUV. Then he sped to the hospital while frantically making calls to my doctor using his Bluetooth device. We were stopped by a police cruiser on the way, but when he breathlessly explained the situation, the officer volunteered to lead us to the hospital, siren blasting.
Another seven minutes later, I was on the examination table, wired with the machine for a fetal non-stress test.
With Rick nervously pacing around the room, I said, “Hey, did you call the company? You’re late for the meeting.”
“I did.” He nodded curtly, still pacing and staring at the nurse who was looking at the machine as it spilled out a chart.
“How about the concierge at the condo? Did you call them?” I went on questioning Rick, recalling the mess on our kitchen floor. I wasn’t very keen on coming home with the floor sticky and stinky with dried ketchup mixed with God-only-knows-what.
“I did that, too. Don’t worry. Marcus sent a housekeeper to our unit as we talked over the phone.” He stopped and talked to the nurse. “Is everything all right? How’s the baby doing?”
The nurse chuckled as her tablet pinged and she looked at it. “Mr. Rowling, the baby is doing great. Mandy, your water didn’t break, and you’re not bleeding. It was urine.”
“Oh, good. Thank you!” I cooed. “I told you the red liquid was ketchup.”
“Well….” He mumbled something under his breath.
“Phew… what a relief,” Jackie sighed. “Both you and your baby are fine, and your condo is being cleaned up. How cool is that?”
“Let’s see your daughter again,” the nurse said, pulling the ultrasound machine toward me.
“Sounds nice!” Jackie hooted, and I couldn’t agree more.
“That’ll be great,” I said, holding on to Rick’s hand. “Isn’t it?”
“It is,” he agreed, finally sitting, looking exhausted. “You know what? The two of you worried me sick.”
“That’s just a start, Mr. Rowling,” said the nurse.
“Oh yeah. I can’t wait.” He let out a dry chuckle.
“I can imagine.” The nurse ran the ultrasound probe across my belly and suddenly sucked in air. “Oh my word.”
“Is that bad? What is it?” Rick peppered her with questions, leaping to his feet.
“It’s not bad.” The nurse shook her head. “Actually, it’s good. The baby used to be in breech position but has flipped back to the normal position. Perhaps that’s what caused the leakage.”
“Does that mean I could go with a vaginal delivery?” I asked.
“That’s possible.” She nodded. “I’ll call Dr. Bergman.”
When she was out, Rick clasped my hands in his. “The mode of delivery doesn’t really matter much. What matters is that both the baby and you stay healthy, and I love you no matter what.”
As he kissed me, Jackie fanned herself, talking to the baby. “You hear that, little lady? You and your mommy are sooo loved!”
* * *
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Sne
ak Peek: Wicked or Treat!
PROLOGUE
Humming to herself, Christina Hepburn smiled as she took in the sunshine and lukewarm breeze caressing all over her.
It was a clear morning in late August. The sun was bright but seemed to have lost its menacing, blazing attitude it used to sport earlier in the month. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew into her face, prompting her to shut her eyes and chuckle. For kids, it was the saddest time of the year with their precious summer break was about to end, forcing them to go back to school. Then again, they’d have some fun when they reunite with the friends at school.
For Christina, just like many other moms, the end of summer meant having a little more alone time after the months of having the kids at home. No more working her behind off with prepping meals, keeping up with laundry, and sending the little ones to smorgasbord of summer camps. Of course, even with the kids back in school, that didn’t change the fact Christina was doing all the household chores. Still, having some space and alone time felt really good. Without the kids complaining her about his/her sibling’s meanness and interrupting her while she was in the middle of cooking, her chore routine went more smoothly.
When she was watering her plants, her phone beeped in the pocket of her summer dress with large floral prints. Assuming from the ringtone, it was Matt, her husband.
“Come on, what’s this about? Don’t tell me you forgot something again,” she muttered to herself before she took the call. Matt was a caring husband, but he had a bad habit of constantly misplacing and forgetting his stuffs. Last week, he left his wallet with his driving license at home, and she had to deliver that to his dry cleaning factory. Considering that he was behind the wheel on the way to his workplace, it was like a blessed miracle that he wasn’t stopped by a cops. She didn’t know if it was Murphy’s Law or the universe’s sarcasm, but cops tended to question those who weren’t carrying their driver’s license and rain was meant to drizzle whenever you weren’t carrying an umbrella.
When she answered the phone, Matt’s voice echoed breathlessly. “Hey Christina, this is so huge! I’m driving by our apartment, and your favorite actor—what was his name?—is shooting something with the TV crew and everything. I’m sure it’s for his TV show about the rogue lawyer and newbie psychic. Anyway, you’ve got to see that! I’m sure you can see him from the balcony.”
