by Sara Rosett
“Let’s just take a quick peek,” Zoe murmured. She went to the bathroom, got one of the large white towels, and spread it on the desk. She flipped the painting over and carefully removed the clips that held the metal frame in place. Zoe had only looked at the edge of the painting briefly when Gloria examined it, but now she figured she had time. She could go over the whole canvas millimeter by millimeter.
The metal frame separated into four pieces. Three of the pieces came away easily, but one stuck. Zoe frowned. She had watched Gloria take the frame apart, and she hadn’t had any trouble with it.
Zoe took a deep breath—the last thing she wanted was to damage the painting—and carefully applied more force as she pulled. As the frame piece came away in her hand, a small plastic tube tumbled out of the hollow space in the frame. It bounced onto the white towel. It was a tube of lip balm.
“Well no wonder it was stuck,” Zoe said, as she examined the thick piece of tape that had held the lip balm in place. An edge of the tape must have folded back and been caught on the canvas, which made it hard to remove the metal frame.
She picked up the lip balm and removed the cap. Instead of a waxy column of ointment, a rectangular piece of metal protruded from the tube. Zoe twisted it around. It looked like the exterior portion of a flash drive, the part that plugs into a computer port. The inside of the tube had been filled with some sort of substance that held the rest of the flash drive securely in place.
As she pulled the tape off the outside of the tube, she kicked herself for not bringing her laptop. She only had her phone and a small computer tablet that didn’t have any ports for a flash drive, so she had no way to see what was on the device, unless she went down to the business center—and she wasn’t leaving her hotel room right now. Jug Ears might have returned. He could be camped out in the lobby, waiting for her. Jack would have his laptop. He usually traveled with it, when he went to a business meeting, so she was almost sure he would have his computer.
She checked her watch. Jack’s flight should have landed, so it wouldn’t be that long before he arrived. She’d texted him her hotel information, and he’d said he would meet her here.
She felt like a kid looking at wrapped Christmas presents weeks before the holiday. She hated waiting to open gifts, and she had that same itch to know what was on the flash drive. Reluctantly, she recapped the lip balm and put it down on the towel then returned her attention to the painting.
She examined every section of the canvas where it had been pulled around the wooden stretcher. She went slowly and methodically, but she didn’t see a trace of a paint color that wasn’t on the surface of the canvas.
A sharp knock at her door startled Zoe, and she nearly dropped the painting.
“Room service,” a voice called in English, but with a Spanish accent.
A flare of guilt traced through her as she looked at the dismantled frame scattered over the towel. She put the painting down and flipped the edge of the towel up to cover the painting and the tube of lip balm.
“There must be a mistake,” she called as she went to the door. “I didn’t order anything.” She looked through the peephole and sucked in a breath. It was Jug Ears. The glass in the peephole distorted his face, enlarging the dome of his head and one ear to Dumbo-like proportions. He held a silver ice bucket containing a green bottle pressed against the burgundy blazer he wore. It looked similar to the blazer uniform that the desk clerks wore, but instead of a white shirt, he had on the blue shirt she’d seen him wearing earlier.
He glanced at the elevator. “It’s complimentary. A bottle of champagne for you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t want it. You must have the wrong room.”
He leaned close to the peephole, which magnified one eye and his nose like a fun house mirror. “No, it is for you…because of the inconvenience of the room change.”
“Thanks, but no.”
He stepped back, and Zoe got a glimpse of a white key card that dangled from a cord around his neck. Did he have a passkey to the room? Zoe knew she’d put on the safety lock, but she felt it again, making sure it was pushed into place.
“We insist. It is our gift.”
“But…I…” Zoe reached for an explanation of why she wouldn’t accept free champagne. “I…uh…I don’t drink.”
That stopped him. “You don’t drink?” His tone said that was an incomprehensible concept.
“Yes,” Zoe said firmly. “No alcohol. Just give it to someone else.”
They were dancing back and forth. He was pretending to be a hotel employee, and she was pretending to not recognize him. If she could convince him to go away that would be best. Once they shifted away from the pretense, things could go downhill quickly.
He shook his head. “I’m required to deliver it to you.” He removed the cord with the key card from around his neck.
No more pretending. He was coming in the room. “I’m calling the front desk right now,” Zoe said, “and telling them that you’re harassing me.”
The faint ding of the elevator arriving on the floor sounded. He darted a quick glance over his shoulder. Zoe raised her voice. “And that a man is impersonating a hotel employee and trying to get into my room.”
Jug Ears stepped hurriedly away from her door. Zoe shifted to the side and caught a glimpse of him as he gave a nod to a group of people coming down the hall. A bellboy trudged by first, pushing a luggage trolley loaded with suitcases and tote bags with the distinctive yellow logo of the tour group Zoe had seen in the lobby. A middle-aged couple followed on the bellboy’s heels.
She waited, leaning against the door, her eye to the peephole until the group passed. The elevator chimed again and another luggage cart with more yellow tags lumbered into view. Jug Ears eased his way toward the elevator, nodding and smiling as people passed him. The distant metallic whir of doors unlocking, and the chatter of couples as they walked down the hall, sounded wonderful to Zoe.
She had a few seconds before the hallway cleared. Zoe spun away from the door and reassembled the frame around the painting with shaking fingers. She felt like a sitting duck in the hotel room. If Jug Ears had some sort of passkey, could he get into the hotel room, even if she had the safety lock on? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to wait around to find out. She didn’t doubt that he would be back after the tour group were in their rooms. He obviously had some sort of connection at the hotel. He’d known her new room number and seemed to have a passkey.
Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Jack. I’m off the plane. Should arrive at the hotel in 30 minutes.
Zoe paused, her breathing coming quickly from the stress of thinking Jug Ears was about to come into her room. She thought for a moment, then texted back. Change of plan. Meet me at the Mercado De San Miguel.
Zoe wrapped the packing paper with its layers of padding in place around the painting, then she covered the whole thing in the hotel towel and shoved it in the bottom of the large shopping bag that she had gotten earlier in the day when she bought her hat.
Her instincts told her to get out of the hotel, and she was going to do it as stealthily as possible. She took a change of clothes and added them to the shopping bag. She put the lip balm tube in the bag with her makeup. She zipped the flowered bag closed and tucked it into the shopping bag.
She changed into a pair of jeans and a black shirt with a scoop neck. Her last maneuver was to scrape her hair into a tight bun on top of her head. She positioned the hat over her hair, tilting the brim down so that it covered most of her face. She slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder and picked up the shopping bag. The brim of her hat bumped against the door as she checked the peephole, but she was able to get close enough to see that there was still one luggage cart parked outside a door on her side of the hall. Another trundled by and she slipped out, following a pair of tourists as they trailed behind a bellboy.
She took the stairs down and emerged into the lobby near the front desk. The open lobby area stretched betwe
en her and the central fountain. The bank of elevators stood on the other side of the fountain. The splash of the fountain, the chime of the elevators, and the murmur of conversation—all so normal—steadied Zoe.
She surveyed the lobby as she walked briskly to the main door. Her steps faltered when she saw Jug Ears sitting in one of the oversized club chairs turned three-quarters away from her. He’d removed the hotel blazer. He had a view of both the elevators and the front doors. An elevator chimed. He looked up from his phone, studied the family that poured out, then went back to his phone.
Zoe reversed course and went into the hotel’s restaurant, which kept her from crossing Jug Ear’s line of sight. When the maître d’ greeted her, she motioned to the patio. “I’m meeting someone.”
She breezed by him, striding through the tables to the far side of the restaurant, which had outdoor dining on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. She stepped out into the warm night. The patio was alive with the chatter of conversation, clinks of silverware, and the movement of waiters.
She darted through the tables until she reached the edge of the patio, where a row of topiaries in stone urns shielded tables from the foot traffic on the street. “So sorry,” Zoe said to the startled couple dining near the edge of the patio as she squeezed between two of the potted plants. She glanced back once and saw their startled faces staring after her.
26
The mercado glowed, lighting up the cobblestoned street as crowds bustled in and out of the wrought-iron and glass building. Zoe squeezed inside, but it was so packed that she had to take off her hat because she kept bumping into people with the brim. She paused to stuff it in the shopping bag then continued to work her way through the press of people. She’d asked Jack to meet her at the market because she thought it would be an ideal place to lose Jug Ears, if he managed to follow her from the hotel. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen him as she made her way to the market, but she was still glad that it was so incredibly jam-packed. She inched her way around a group of boisterous men that she thought must be out for a bachelor party celebration. One of the guys was wearing a dress over his shirt and slacks and had a short veil hanging from the back of his head.
If anything, the press of people around her made her feel more secure. She’d much rather be in the overcrowded market than on a deserted street. She moved with baby steps to the café where Jack was waiting. She’d received a text from him a few minutes ago telling her where he was in the market.
When she reached the café area, she spotted Jack’s broad shoulders and dark hair. He was at one of the standing tables, his rolling suitcase parked beside him, and he had two plates on the table in front of him. He saw Zoe and stepped away from the table. She kissed him, and then pressed her face into his shoulder, giving him a tight hug and breathing in the scent of laundry soap and his citrus shaving cream.
He asked, “Are you okay?”
She leaned against his solid chest a moment more, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her. “No, but things are better now that you’re here.” She stepped back. “I have so much to tell you.”
Zoe tucked her shopping bag next to his suitcase, and he pushed a plate with olives, cheese, and croquettes so that it was positioned between them. “So, bring me up-to-date. How did it go with the police?”
“Before I start, first check and see if there’s a man with a Brutus haircut—short with the hair combed down onto the forehead—anywhere in the crowd behind me. He’s wearing a blue shirt and has jug ears.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change, but Zoe could sense a seriousness settle over him. He was always an observant person, but he had switched to his hyper-aware mode. She popped an olive in her mouth while Jack discreetly surveyed the crowd behind her.
“No, I don’t see anyone like that, but it’s pretty crowded in here. He could be lingering at one of the exits.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were followed?”
“Not from the hotel, I don’t think, but I was earlier. It was when I left the interview with Chief Inspector Munez this afternoon.” Zoe described how she had lost the man in the Plaza Mayor. “He might have been following me all day—I’m not sure. I didn’t notice anyone. I’m not quite as good at picking up on things like that as you are. I thought it might be a coincidence or,” she lifted a shoulder, “maybe I was imagining things. But then I could tell someone had been in my hotel room, and I immediately thought of the guy who was following me—Jug Ears, as I’ve been thinking of him. I had to switch rooms because the electricity went out, which made me feel better. I thought whoever had been in my room wouldn’t know I’d moved—but Jug Ears showed up later at my new room and tried to talk his way in.”
“So it definitely wasn’t your imagination.” Jack ran his gaze over the crowd again. “Do you think he took the paintings?”
“Possibly, but there’s more to that story, too.” Zoe recapped her meeting with Munez, describing how it had only been the Dalí sketch that had been recovered with the frame destroyed, and then she told him about the package waiting for her at the reception desk. “So I took the package upstairs.” Zoe speared a square of cheese. “It was the blue butterfly painting.”
Jack smiled. “I know that was a relief for you.”
“Yes, I was thrilled to see it. I know Thacker will be as well. I haven’t called him, though. And I haven’t contacted Munez either.” Zoe described the phone message from Luis about sending the painting to the hotel and the delay with the sketch while he repackaged it. “I think whoever took the sketch didn’t realize the painting was already gone and stole the sketch, thinking it was the blue butterfly painting.”
“Could be,” Jack said.
“I thought that there might be something about the painting that was…off, so I took apart the metal frame to examine the sides of the canvas, but when I did that, I found a flash drive inside a modified tube of lip balm.”
Jack paused, olive half way to his mouth, and gave her a long look.
Zoe shook her head. “No, it wasn’t there when Gloria examined the painting at the gallery—at least, it wasn’t there when she took the frame apart to examine the sides of the painting. I was with her when she did that.”
“What about when she reassembled it?”
“I didn’t see her do that. But I can’t imagine why she would hide something in the frame.”
“Money or blackmail, to name just two reasons.”
“You have such faith in humanity.”
Jack shrugged. “It’s true.”
“I know, but…” Zoe shook her head, thinking of the glamorous, confident image Gloria projected. “She just doesn’t seem the sort to be involved in something underhanded like that. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m letting the fact that she came to my rescue and interpreted for me with the police color my view of her. But she did take the time to walk around Madrid and give me a tour. She seemed to enjoy showing off the city to me.”
“I’m not saying she put the flash drive in the frame.” Jack leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table. Zoe could tell he was already ticking through possible scenarios. “But she is a possibility,” he said. “It sounds like the flash drive had to have been placed in the frame between when Gloria examined the painting and when it was sent to the hotel the next morning—unless someone at the hotel tampered with it.”
“Let’s not go there.” Zoe grimaced. “Do you know how many unknown variables that adds to the equation? The whole front desk staff to begin with, and I have no idea how big a group of people that is. Let’s take that option off the table, for now.”
“Okay. Since it sounds like Luis’s decision to send the painting by messenger to the front desk was a last-minute thing, let’s go first with the assumption that the person who could have tampered with it was someone who had access to it in the gallery. That must be a shorter list.”
Zoe put a piece of croquette back on the plate, her appetite fading. “Besides Gloria, there’s only Luis and Pilar. Gloria and I ate lunch tog
ether after she interpreted for me with the police. Gloria said the police officer questioned Pilar about who had keys to the gallery. Pilar works there part-time and doesn’t have a key. Luis is the only one with a key.”
“Pilar could have gotten Luis’s key and made a copy,” Jack said as his gaze swept around the market then came back to Zoe. “Unless someone got in. Was there any evidence of a break-in?”
“No, and the police checked the place over pretty thoroughly after they took Luis away in the ambulance. The door hadn’t been forced or broken open, and nothing else had been disturbed in the gallery. They had Pilar check everything. The only thing that she could find that was missing was the artwork—the sketch and the painting.”
“So what do you think is on the flash drive?” Jack asked Zoe.
“I have no idea.” Zoe glanced down at the shopping bag. “I brought it with me along with a couple of extra things. I didn’t feel comfortable staying at the hotel.”
Jack nodded. “Good call.”
“I hope you brought your laptop.”
“Never leave home without it.”
“Good. Then let’s see what’s on the flash drive.”
27
The stairs creaked under their footsteps as Zoe and Jack climbed to the top floor of the small hotel where they’d taken a room. Jack used an old-fashioned key with a huge tassel attached to it to unlock the door, and Zoe followed him into the no-frills room. It was quite a step down from the luxury of the Hotel Premier.
No thousand-count sheets on the bed here. Two single beds had been pushed together to form a make-shift queen-size bed, but from the divot in the covering, it was clear the bed sagged in the middle. A dresser filled the wall opposite the bed. The only other piece of furniture was a battered desk that sat under a television mounted on the wall. The room did have a connecting bathroom with two thin towels about the size of Zoe’s kitchen towels.
