“Camping?”
“Living, camping, spying. Who knows? There’s a sleeping bag and other stuff out there.”
Her eyes shutter, and she nods. “I’ll deal with it. First, though, we have a bit of a situation. The Nashville police want to speak with Claire again.” I must have leaned forward because she puts up a finger. “Don’t worry, it’s routine for them to follow up, especially when a suspect is killed. They’re just looking for confirmation of your story.”
Jack squeezes my hand in reassurance, or to warn me not to speak again, I’m not sure which. “Did they talk to Malcolm? He was the one who shot the intruder.”
“They have. Like I said, this is routine, so long as everything shakes out the same.”
It is hard for me to explain the flush of panic that surges through my body. It’s as if I’ve grasped a live wire. Before she can explain further, Jack’s phone rings, the 615 area code flashing on the screen.
“Put it on speaker,” Karmen says with a reassuring nod. “It’s all going to be fine. I’ll explain what they don’t afterward.”
Jack gives me a sharp look, his brows furrowed, and presses the speaker button. “This is Jack Compton.”
A sharp male voice speaks. “Mr. Compton. This is Lieutenant O’Donnell, Metro Nashville Police. I’m joined by Officer Cooper—you met him on Monday, he was the responding officer to the break-in.”
We did? I don’t remember.
“We wanted to follow up, and discuss our findings.”
“I appreciate that. My fiancée is here with me, Claire Hunter, and our head of security, Karmen Harris. What can you tell us? Who is he?” Jack asks.
“We’re having some trouble with a formal identification,” O’Donnell says. “He didn’t have any ID on him. We did find a car down the street from your house. It was rented in California by a man named Francis Wold. Does that name ring a bell?”
I shake my head. “No. Not at all. Jack?”
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“We’re running the prints, too. We’re thinking that Wold ID may be fake. In the trunk, there was a duffle bag. The items inside were...disturbing. Rope, duct tape, entry tools, flashlight, another gun. All items that tell us the suspect was planning to hurt someone. We’re not sure whether he was getting up his nerve, or casing your house, or stealing your underwear, ma’am—we just don’t know. But there’s more. There were also packages of wires and cameras.”
“Cameras? What kind of cameras?” I ask, confused. Lightning quick, Jack’s face shifts from concern to realization to outright terror.
“The kind used to watch you without you knowing,” O’Donnell says. “Very small. Easily hidden.”
“Where did you find these cameras, if I may ask?” Jack asks tightly. “Just in his car?”
“No, sir.” This is Cooper, I think, his voice is rougher, meaner, than the lieutenant. “When we swept the house, looking for them, this time, we found multiple hidden cameras. Obviously, there are currently security cameras in your house, Mr. Compton, but these—they are very small. They were well hidden. We found drill marks in the rafters, empty shafts. Looks like they were installed in the mechanism of the fans, in the lights.”
“How many cameras did you find?”
“At last count, there were at least twenty. They were spread through the house—the master, the living room, and the studio. One of them seems to have shorted out, there were burn marks in the rafter in your studio, ma’am. Lucky we found them, it could have burned down the house.”
Jack looks ready to explode. I put my hand on his. He needs to keep his composure.
“Why would someone want to spy on us?” My own voice is shaking, both with anger and fear. Someone’s been watching me. Watching me with Jack. Watching us together. And whoever it is must have had a front row view to the events of Monday. This is bad. This is very, very bad.
“I have no idea, Ms. Hunter. Do you?” O’Donnell doesn’t seem worried about assuaging me at all. I’m surprised Jack doesn’t scold him for being so short with me.
“No. Of course not. This is terribly disturbing, Lieutenant.”
“Understandable. It’s quite an invasion of privacy. From what we can tell, the cameras aren’t recording on site, they’re transmitting to another location. Ms. Harris, I was hoping you could provide your footage from the security cameras that were supposed to be recording. Can you send that along?”
Jack leans forward, but Karmen shakes her head. “We have a problem there, Lieutenant. I’ve been working on this all day. It seems the tapes for the past week were written over. An internal review is underway. Trust me when I say this won’t happen again.”
Jack tenses, staring at Karmen in fury. She writes quickly on the notepad in her lap: I’ll explain later roll with it.
O’Donnell’s voice gets more curious now. Even I find this awfully convenient, though I am so, so grateful. I hope Karmen knows what she’s doing.
“What do you mean, they were written over? Is this something that happens regularly?”
She answers smoothly. “As I’m sure you know, for most offsite security systems, it’s typical to recycle the tapes on the first of the month. Assuming there’s nothing suspicious on them, naturally. In this case, there was a screwup. It is my understanding that our regular technician was in a car accident and ended up in the hospital, and while he’s been out this week, his replacement recycled all the tapes every night at midnight, as was done in his previous employ. I interrogated them both thoroughly, and am certain this was an oversight, not a nefarious act on the part of the substitute. Regardless, both have been fired with cause, as well as their immediate supervisor.”
“A shame we don’t have the video of the break-in from your side. Especially of your man shooting the suspect. It would have helped to have the whole picture, to see exactly what he was up to inside the house.” O’Donnell is polite, courteous to a fault. “If you do find something, please let us know. In the meantime, we’ll keep things running on this end.”
Karmen spins a finger, signaling Jack to wrap it up.
“We’re just grateful no one else was hurt,” Jack says. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing the information you get on the remote feed, that would be a great help. You’re sure all of the cameras were retrieved?”
“We think so. And of course, we’ll share what we find. Just one more question. Ms. Hunter, we’re all assuming this break-in is related to Mr. Compton, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you if anything strange has happened to you lately? Have you noticed anyone lurking around? Were you receiving threats?”
“No. I haven’t. There’s just...”
Jack turns his gaze on me, full of warning. His voice is solicitous, though. “Claire? Do you know something?”
Karmen is slashing her hand across her throat. Shit. Shit!
“No. There’s nothing. I wanted to say thank you. I so appreciate everything you’re doing to help, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant waits a moment, then says his goodbyes. Jack carefully ends the call, then turns off his phone completely. I sit up. He’s about to lose his composure entirely—I can feel the wave coming.
“That went as well as can be expected,” Karmen says.
“Cameras? There were cameras in the house? Fuck!” Jack screams the curse and is out of his chair and pacing. “Is it true? The security tapes were overwritten?”
“Yes. I’m still investigating what happened, but what I told the police was the truth. We have no footage of the incident. Obviously, that was an important factor in keeping this situation from getting out of hand.”
“Who the fuck was able to put cameras in our house? My God, Karmen. Do you know what this means? How compromised we might be?”
I read between the lines. They erased the tapes so no one could see what I’ve done. That I, not Malcolm, killed the intruder. I feel a b
it faint. Someone has been watching me. Watching us. They have violated my sanctum, my home, physically and emotionally. And what I’ve done is on camera somewhere.
What Karmen’s done to hide my sins, it’s risky. So risky. I suppose we’re about to see just how much power the Comptons have.
“Jack, we should just tell the truth,” I say. “I don’t remember what happened, not exactly, but there’s no way anyone would prosecute me. It was self-defense. If there are cameras out of the family’s control, lying to the police will get us all in trouble. I think we should come clean, right now, before this gets out of hand. Self-defense is one thing. Perjury is something very different.”
They both glance my way. I have the sudden urge to run from the room. I’ve never seen Jack this mad. He’s almost scary. My fiancé has always been in turns funny, sweet, solicitous, passionate, and kind. But roaring with fury? Not a look I’m excited about.
Karmen raises a brow. “Is that what you were about to tell them, Claire? The ‘truth?’ After everything that’s been done to protect you, you want to expose everyone as liars?”
Jack is by my side in an instant. “Hey. Go easy.”
“It’s okay, Jack. No, Karmen, I’m not stupid. I would hardly volunteer information that might hurt Jack, or the family. I would take full responsibility.”
Karmen spits out a laugh, and even Jack sighs.
“You don’t understand,” he says. “What happens to you happens to us all. Malcolm is licensed to carry, he’s responsible for our safety. His job is to protect us at all costs. That he wrestled the gun away from the intruder and shot him...it’s the logical story. The police aren’t going to push the narrative any further. Trust me. They don’t want this hassle, either. A break-in occurred. Clearly the guy was up to no good. He had a murder kit in his car, for God’s sake. We’ve done the world a favor. I’m sure when they figure out who he is, he will have had a long, bloody history with law enforcement. Stay the course with me, darling.”
“Jack is right,” Karmen says. “The family can easily weather the storm of our security doing their job.”
“We will figure out who’s behind this well before the police, Claire. Won’t we, Karmen?”
The threat is implicit. Fix this, or else.
“Of course. My people are already on it.” Karmen assesses me. “What were you going to tell them?”
“That something odd did happen, though I doubt that it’s related.”
“What is it, Claire?” Jack asks. He’s gotten himself back under control, sounds calm and assured again, but I can tell he’s at his wits end. How many times has he told me to be open and honest with him? But this...this I’ve kept secret for a reason. A good reason. I’ve screwed up, opened my big mouth, so now I have to ruin the surprise.
“A few weeks ago, a woman came to see me.”
24
A Stranger in Our Midst
The muscle in Jack’s square jaw is ticking. “A woman? Who?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” I say, hoping to see something other than anger in Jack’s eyes. “I’ve sold another painting. At least, I think I have. A client’s representative came to the studio a few weeks ago. She was interested in Jolina.”
This does get Jack’s attention; he lights up.
“Who is Jolina?” Karmen asks.
“Not who. What. Jolina is the name of a painting I’ve been working on. It’s a massive undertaking, a twenty-by-forty-foot canvas. A magazine asked me what I was working on and I mentioned a megalith, and apparently the woman’s client read the piece and wanted a preview.
“It was strange because she walked in off the street. Normally, a buyer’s agent would make arrangements, an appointment, but she was very casual about it all. She wouldn’t tell me her client’s name, but that’s not unusual. The agent’s name is Ami Eister. But I’m not going to let Jolina go somewhere random. And no one knows about her. I’m not explaining this well. Jack?”
He covers my hand with his. He’s relaxed now that he realizes I’m not offering up the family to the wolves.
“You know Claire is poised to break out massively on the art scene, so we’ve been very careful about who gets to see her work. It’s part of growing her as an artist, as a brand, but also to keep her focused. We don’t need her distracted by the business side of things.”
“Yes, I do know,” Karmen says. “It’s very exciting. Was there something the woman said that made you feel uncomfortable, Claire?”
“She was very intense, asked me a number of questions about my work, and my inspirations. Normal stuff. But she knew the painting was called Jolina. That’s what was so weird. When she came in, she introduced herself, gave me a card, and said her client was interested in a preview. I’ve never, ever said the painting’s name to anyone but Jack. I have no idea how she would know. Except...”
“The cameras in the house,” Jack and Karmen say at the same time.
“Well, this proves it,” Jack says. “Someone has been spying on us. And whoever is behind it, they’re related to this Ami Eister woman.”
I’m feeling more secure that I’ve shared this news now. This wasn’t supposed to be an awful surprise, but a wonderful one. I was going to tell him after the rehearsal dinner. Jack, the Comptons, have been so instrumental in my recent success that when Ami Eister came to visit, I felt like I’d conquered a hill of my own. Brought more to the table, an unseen, unqualified dowry of sorts. Jolina will go for six figures, easily, possibly even seven, to the right buyer. She is my best work.
Karmen has been making notes. “Claire, did you save the business card?”
“I did, it’s in my studio in Nashville. She was based out of New York, that I do remember.”
“We should have the studio swept immediately,” Jack says. “If there were cameras in the house, chances are they’re elsewhere. This is unbelievable.” He mutters the last, and I can only imagine the shitstorm that’s about to be unleashed inside the Compton Security division. It’s an invasion of our privacy, absolutely, but clearly it’s something more. I know exactly what Jack is thinking—how could they let this happen? Especially with the end result of the break-in. Everything I’ve just said is true, and he knows it. Despite his assurances, it can hurt us if our narrative is challenged. If someone has it on tape? We’re screwed.
“You’re sure you haven’t mentioned the piece—Jolina—to anyone?” Karmen asks.
“I’m 100 percent sure. It’s a superstition of mine. I’ve only told Jack.”
“Okay. Other than an overly familiar interest in your art, any idea why someone would want to spy on you?”
“Goodness, no.”
“This woman did come to see you though, Claire. The break-in was at your primary residence. We can’t discount that this is about you.”
“Stop it, Karmen. You’re scaring her.”
She’s not scaring me, she’s pissing me off, royally, but I keep my mouth shut. I am a good soldier. I’m going to follow Jack’s lead, especially within the family.
“All right. I appreciate this information. I will follow up, have a conversation with Ami Eister, see how she came to know the name of your painting. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more. Try to enjoy yourselves, though I know it might be hard. I have this under control. No one will hurt you. Not on my watch.”
Karmen leaves, and Jack takes her seat opposite me.
Without the buffer of the strangers across the sea and the diminutive head of security, I wilt under his keen attention. Jack clears his throat. Here we go.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Claire? Jolina is a big deal.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I wanted to surprise you with a sale I’d brokered on my own.”
“But that’s why Mom hooked you up with Anton Bowmore. He’s supposed to handle the business so you can focus exclusive
ly on the creation. All of the press we’ve been doing lists him as the contact, and everyone knows he’s representing you. Why didn’t Eister go to him? And why didn’t you tell her to speak with him immediately? Did you call him, let him know?”
“That’s a lot of questions, Jack.”
“I’m sorry. One at a time, then.”
“I didn’t think to send her to Anton right away. I guess I got caught up in the idea of handling it myself. I was flattered that she sought me out. You don’t realize, Jack, that sometimes, all of this—” I wave my hand, gesturing vaguely toward the exquisite library and meaning so much more “—I’m not used to it. I’m not used to being the center of attention, and I’m not used to the press, the scrutiny. I’m certainly not used to my art being of worth to strangers. It’s wonderful, and an ego stroke like nobody’s business, but emotionally I’m still the struggling artist you met the night of the art crawl.”
“You will never have to struggle again, Claire. Never.”
I run my fingers along his hairline, from his forehead to ear, touched by his sincerity. “Struggle is good for art, Jack. It’s part of the process. Just don’t be mad at me, okay? I know I screwed up, but I wanted to surprise you. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not mad, darling. And you’ve hardly caused a mess. But going forward you really do need to remember who you are. You’re about to be Claire Compton, and that comes with certain responsibilities. Let Mom and Anton handle the business. You create. You are the most talented painter I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re just being nice now. Buttering me up isn’t going to fix this. If the police figure out who planted the cameras, and see the footage, they will know we’re lying. With the servers being hacked, and the note Elliot received... Jack, we’re vulnerable here. I know you see that.”
“Not if we get to the truth first. And we will. Karmen is very good at her job. She will find the answers. Out of curiosity,” he asks, “did you look her up? Ami Eister?”
“Well, yes, I did, but there wasn’t much to see. She has a website, and an Instagram, though it’s private. Check her out, you’ll see.”
Her Dark Lies Page 12
