Stanley Higgins, the Philpont’s director, verified Wainwright’s employment history and thought the young man to be very good at his job. Dan Stevens, assistant to Mr. Higgins, said much the same. Todd Wainwright was his assistant, third in command in the organization. The young man might have his personal quirks but his work was impeccable. Normally, either Higgins or Stevens stayed until the cleaning crew left but there had been a number of times Todd Wainwright did it. There truly was no reason for suspicion, they swore.
Statements from the secretaries, docents and interns all seemed to bear out the same opinion. All in all, it was a very congenial workplace.
The cleaning crew came from a well-regarded agency, licensed and bonded, who normally sent the same trio each week to the Philpont. That week was no exception. According to testimony of the three individuals, they rarely even looked at the old junk in the displays. Their job was to dust the cases, clean grubby-kid fingerprints off the glass, and see that the floors and restrooms were spotless. That particular Sunday evening in no way stood out from any other in their recollection.
And yet, Pen wondered as she wrote her notes, how did the robbery happen without inside help?
Chapter 19
Golden champagne sent trails of delicate bubbles rising to the top of the crystal flute Benton Case handed Penelope. She smiled. They were a handsome couple, she had to admit it. She in her favorite black sheath with a silver guipure lace jacket, Benton in his best designer tuxedo, to which he’d added a silver satin tie and cummerbund. This was one occasion where being silver-haired was an asset, definitely.
She turned to survey the museum’s main exhibit hall, which had been transformed for the evening. Strategically placed lighting glimmered off each gold, silver and copper decoration while leaving the dining tables in enough shadow so the candlelit arrangements glowed.
“Penelope and Benton, welcome!” Stanley Higgins walked toward Pen, arms stretched expansively. “So glad the two of you were able to join us.”
“Thank you, Stan,” Pen said. “One of those things … we were able to get out of our other obligation.” The story she’d concocted when requesting four last-minute tickets.
Benton smiled—that lovely natural smile of his—and shook the other man’s hand. As a former prosecutor, later a successful attorney in private practice, he’d learned the fine art of conversation without really saying anything. Pen had already cautioned him that the entire reason she wanted to be here tonight was to spy on the museum staff, to see if their versions of the robbery all those months ago seemed to hold up.
What she hadn’t confided was the plan devised by the Heist Ladies.
There they were … across the room. Sandy studied the items on the silent auction table, while Gracie mused over a collection of photographs of an 1890s mine camp down near Bisbee in southern Arizona.
Stanley Higgins noticed where Pen was looking. “Ah, Penelope. Be certain to take a look at our lovely collection of auction items. And, Benton, you be certain she bids on them.”
He gave a wink, as if her being here tonight indicated her forgiveness for this organization’s part in the loss of her most valued personal possession. She wanted to send her black Ferragamo-clad toe right into his shin. But she had something better in mind. She merely offered an enigmatic smile.
“Here’s Todd now,” Higgins said.
He beckoned subtly to a short, chubby man in his early forties who straightened his gold bow tie as he approached. Introductions all around. Pen pretended she didn’t know of Todd’s position here or the fact he’d been the one who left the alarm system off for a short time that fateful night.
“Todd can show you around, point out the best of the auction items …” With a hand on Todd’s shoulder, Stan steered the participants together. He excused himself, his eye already on his next target.
Too blatant, Pen thought. But since Wainwright was here … She gave a quick glance toward Sandy Werner, who met her eye and gave an imperceptible nod.
“Benton, could you be a dear and see about refilling my glass?” she said.
He headed toward the bar in the farthest corner, taking the hint, leaving her alone with Wainwright for a few minutes.
Pen stepped to one side, forcing Todd to turn his back to the door that said Staff Only at the far side of the room. Sandy, meanwhile, had her eye on Stanley Higgins. When he became engaged in conversation with a lovely young woman in a very low-cut dress, Gracie neatly glided over beside Sandy and the two slipped through the forbidden doorway to the offices. Pen smiled and turned her attention back to Todd.
“So, let’s see some of those wonderful auction items,” she said.
* * *
Minimal night lighting covered the office section of the museum, Sandy quickly discovered. Amber had graciously located floor plans of the building for them, but they had no way of knowing in advance which office they wanted. All they knew was they had very little time—and no safety—in being here. Almost any employee could walk in at any moment.
We want every document the museum has pertaining to that robbery, Sandy had told the Ladies at their meeting earlier this afternoon. Pen had filled them in on what she’d learned at the police station. Now, if they could only find some type of proof to refute what the police had been told.
“Here!” Sandy murmured. She pointed to the black and white plate beside a closed door. “Stanley Higgins, Director.”
They’d guessed that the safe and the most important files would probably be located here. Slipping inside, Sandy closed the door.
“Lock it,” Gracie whispered.
“But what if he—”
“Better he questions whether he really locked it than to have him popping in here with no warning. At least he has to rattle the doorknob this way.” Gracie switched on a small desk lamp.
With an extra fifteen seconds security, they took opposite sides of the room. Sandy sat in Higgins’ desk chair and pulled open his file drawers. Gracie began looking behind pictures on the walls, hoping to find the safe.
“It’s not going to be sitting there unlocked,” Sandy said, keeping her voice low. Her fingers played over the tabs on the files but nothing seemed related to the European crown jewels collection or the robbery.
“I know. I just … I don’t know.”
Gracie had peered behind four large paintings, the only ones large enough to conceal much of anything. She stepped to a narrow doorway, assuming it would lead to an executive washroom or such.
“Ha! Look here.” The closet contained a fairly large safe, about three feet wide by five feet tall.
Sandy stood up. “Great, a Lexington Five. Nobody without the combination can get into that thing. Except maybe an expert safecracker who has a couple hours to work on it.”
“The night of the robbery … Pen said …”
“The guy who was supposed to lock up was back within twenty minutes. Not even the best safecracker could get in and out of it that fast.” Sandy stared at the complicated buttons on the front of the safe. “I think this model even has a timer feature. Properly armed, no one would get into this until the museum opened for business on Tuesday.”
“So, we have nothing? There wasn’t exactly anything in the files.”
“Not so,” Sandy said, pointing out a manila folder on the desk. “Look at that.”
Before Gracie could step over to the desk for a peek, the doorknob rattled. On the other side, a mild curse in a male voice.
Chapter 20
Across the room, Penelope spotted a familiar figure. Detective Caplin. Drat—he was walking in her direction. Benton had become involved in conversation near the bar with some men from his club. She was on her own.
“Ms. Fitzpatrick, how are you this evening?”
She wanted to ask how a man of his station came to be at a two-thousand-dollar a plate dinner, but that would be rude and condescending.
“I’m well, detective. And yourself?”
She scanned the roo
m, wondering how Sandy and Gracie were coming along with their mission, but the police officer’s glance began trailing hers. She brought her attention back to his face.
“Sorry I wasn’t there when you came by the station this morning,” he said. “I hope you found what you wanted?”
Hardly. What I want is my necklace returned to me.
“Nice shindig, eh?” He ran his index finger along the inside of his shirt collar, looking ill at ease in a tux. She noticed he didn’t have a drink.
“Is the museum one of your personal causes,” she asked, “or are you here to represent the fine city of Phoenix?”
“Strictly business, I’m afraid. With all the gold and silver floating around here tonight, the directors thought it would be a good idea to have a police presence, even though we are somewhat incognito.” He patted the side of his jacket, just enough to indicate he was armed.
“Ah, I see.” She covered her distress by taking a sip of her champagne.
Where were Sandy and Gracie? She’d seen them slip through that Staff Only door, but no sign of them since. If they happened to set off an alarm, there would be no way to avoid involvement with the police. Their mission would be—as Amber might say—toast.
Above the rim of her glass she caught sight of Stan Higgins walking purposefully toward the offices. Oh, no. Her body tensed.
“Everything all right, Ms. Fitzpatrick?” Caplin asked.
“I, um, just had a bit of a light-headed spell. I should probably switch this champagne for water. Would you be a dear?”
Without waiting for an answer she handed her glass to him. Thank goodness, he walked toward the bar.
Higgins had passed through the Staff Only door. Pen held her breath. All she could do at this point was hope Gracie’s naturally quick thinking would come up with the right excuse at the right moment.
Less than a minute elapsed before Higgins came back. He looked frustrated, striding quickly over to the woman she’d seen him with earlier, most likely his wife. There was a quick exchange between them and the woman reached into her evening bag and pulled out something that looked like a keyring. He took it and headed back toward his office.
Chapter 21
Sandy clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling the tiny shriek that wanted to escape when the doorknob rattled. She felt certain her eyes were every bit as wide as Gracie’s. Both women stood frozen in place.
On the other side of the thin door, the man cursed. After an interminably long fifteen seconds his footsteps sounded crisply in the hall. Walking away. Thank god.
“Do you think he came to this door by mistake?” Gracie said breathlessly.
“We won’t be that lucky.”
“Okay, then. Quick! Let’s get pictures of what we found.” Gracie pulled her phone from her tiny evening bag and snapped a photo of the closet safe and its control panel.
Sandy opened the folder from the tsarist collection exhibit and paged through until she found a contract, an appraisal and a receipt for Pen’s necklace. Gracie quickly snapped photos of each document and dropped the phone back into her purse. Sandy tamped the pages together and jammed the folder back in the drawer.
“Let’s go!” Gracie was at the door.
“Check the hallway first. We can’t let anyone see we were in here.”
Gracie peered out and waved Sandy forward. She pulled the door closed.
“Lock it,” Sandy whispered.
Good thinking. The same man returning would most certainly know something was up if he found the door unlocked now. Gracie twisted the thumb-turn on the knob and prayed they could get out without a sound. They’d nearly made it to the outer door when it began to open.
* * *
Pen edged her way through the crowd, as unobtrusively as possible, toward Stan Higgins, searching for a topic to distract him. But she was still a good ten yards away. Her eyes darted between that Staff Only door and Detective Caplin, who had procured a glass of water for her and was on his way back. No sign yet of Sandy and Gracie, and Higgins had his hand on the doorknob now.
She couldn’t think what to do. A glance in her purse revealed few choices. Her fingertips touched a tube of lipstick. With a flick of her wrist she flipped it out and sent it rolling along the floor.
“Watch out for that!” she called out to Higgins, rushing toward him at the same time.
The tube rolled into his path. Pen followed.
“Oh, heavens,” she gasped. “It just got away from me. Wouldn’t want you to step on that thing and take a tumble.”
Higgins bent to pick it up.
The Staff door opened and Sandy peered out. Quick assessment, seeing Higgins handing something to Pen. She grabbed Gracie’s elbow and steered her toward the busy roomful of people.
“Ladies?” Higgins gave them an intense stare.
“Oh, sorry. We thought this might be the way to the ladies room,” Sandy said.
He pointed to the sign on the door. “You’re mistaken.”
Gracie came up with a high-pitched giggle. “Silly me. I could have sworn—”
“Go back to the vestibule and you’ll see the sign on your right,” he said
“Sorry,” Sandy said. “She’s had a little too much …”
His head dipped politely but there was a twitch beside his eye. “No problem.”
Diplomacy of the non-profit director, Pen thought. She wanted to feel sorry for his having to cater to this crowd, but truthfully she found his position at the moment a little humorous. She stood still while Sandy steered Gracie toward the lobby and Higgins proceeded toward the offices. Detective Caplin arrived at her side, extending a glass of water to her, his sharp eyes taking in everything.
As much as Pen was dying to know what the other Ladies had discovered, she knew they dare not talk until later. She thanked Caplin for the water and drank it down. He excused himself, murmuring something about his duties.
She meandered toward the vestibule on the pretense of wanting to check out the items in the silent auction. Sandy emerged first from the ladies room and headed toward the same table Pen was browsing.
“We can’t be seen in conversation,” Pen said, not taking her eyes from the auction sheets on the table. “Ladies room, right before the dessert course?”
Sandy nodded, pointing at a copper vase with an intricate inlay as if she were interested in bidding on it.
Pen moved on. It was going to be a very long dinner.
Chapter 22
Todd Wainwright strode toward the kitchen where the caterer’s staff was busily assembling salads in preparation for serving the first course. He had no interest in the food—basically, he was only working off some of his pent-up energy.
Hobnobbing with this class of people left him nervous, afraid he would say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Thank goodness Stan would act as master of ceremonies and would give the after-dinner speech with the usual money-beg for generous auction bids and open wallets when it came to donations. A local celebrity, one of the television morning show hosts, would act as auctioneer. The man was known for his flirtatious personality and winning ways at these charity events. So, really, Todd told himself, I have nothing to be nervous about.
Yeah, right. Tell yourself that. The old lady whose necklace had consumed so much of his attention in recent months was here. He felt as if her eagle eye watched his every move in the main hall, one reason he’d escaped temporarily to the kitchen.
“May I help you, sir?” It was the caterer. “Something we’ve forgotten?”
“Uh … no. Just taking a peek to see how things are coming along,” he said.
“We can start with the salads any time now.”
“Let me check with Mr. Higgins. I believe he’ll want to make an announcement.”
The woman nodded, her hands clasped properly at her waist.
He turned away before she could come up with some other question. He paused in the corridor leading back to the exhibit hall, trying to slow his racing thoughts.
What this was really all about was his nagging feeling that he’d been screwed royally by his two partners. He’d had no word from either of them in days—well, no word from Dick Stone in a couple of weeks. Todd reached into his pocket for another antacid, took two from the packet and chewed them, letting the soothing cherry flavor trickle down his throat. He pushed through the swinging doors where the chatter of the crowd had risen above the volume of the background music.
Across the room he saw Stan Higgins emerge from the wing where the offices were, the pages of his speech in hand. The boss headed for the dais where a small podium and microphone waited. At the edge of the crowd, Todd spotted a familiar figure, one he’d never seen in formal dress clothing before. Just the man he wanted to see. He pushed through.
His quarry spun, startled, when Todd touched his arm. “Oh, hello, Todd. Nice party you guys have thrown here.”
“We need to talk. What have you heard from Stone?”
“Not here. Too many eyes and ears. Just smile and assure me that I’m having a great time. When everyone else is eating, meet me outside by the fountain.” He turned and left Todd standing there, feeling foolish.
“Todd, there you are.” It was one of the interns. She’d surely seen who he was talking to just now. “Mr. Higgins wants us to get the guests to take their seats. He says there’s a gong or a chime or something around here.”
“Yes, right there.” He pointed to an antique Chinese gong, a gaudy round thing with the tone rivaling a cathedral bell. “Go easy with it.”
She hurried away. A few seconds later a soft, musical bom sounded. Conversation lagged. Another tone from the gong, and a third. The museum staff began passing the word, “Please take your seats.”
Todd ushered a couple of ladies who seemed a bit lost, pulling out their chairs for them. The entire room filled with the swish of fabric and the soft scuff of dress shoes on the marble floor. Conversation dwindled as the guests settled, made introductions among tablemates amid the flutter of printed folders describing the auction items.
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