by Kate James
Grabbing her sandwich, a bottle of water from the fridge in the lunchroom and one of the fashion magazines Tina habitually left on the counter, she sank down in a chair. She flipped the magazine open to a random page and had barely unwrapped her sandwich when she heard footsteps in the corridor. She glanced up to see Joel lean against the doorjamb. He’d crossed his legs at the ankles and tucked his left hand in his pants pocket.
It was his GQ look, as Chelsea used to think of it. She knew it to be contrived.
“How was the tour?” he asked.
Chelsea smiled. “Great kids. As entertaining as always.”
“Any damage?”
“Oh, Joel! Can’t you forget about that one isolated incident?” She didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “That incident was more than a year ago, and you make it sound as if it was malicious. The poor kid tripped on his shoelace and, thankfully, fell against a promotional banner rather than a display case or stand. There was no harm done. And to answer your question, no, there was no damage today.”
His glower persisted and caused her to look away.
“I’m sorry. That was unwarranted,” he finally conceded, drawing her gaze back to his. “The children’s program is important to my grandmother and therefore the gallery. You’ve always been terrific with the kids. And since you handle it, I don’t have to be involved. So, I’ll apologize again.”
“Apology accepted.” As far as Chelsea was concerned, the discussion was over. She finished unwrapping her sandwich, but she could feel Joel’s eyes on her and looked up again. The expression on his face was inscrutable and made her uncomfortable. Looking down, she took a bite of her sandwich.
“Chels, have dinner with me tonight.”
The invitation, unexpected and spoken so softly, had her glancing at him with astonishment. It reminded her of his odd behavior the evening of the exhibit and auction, and made her wonder what was going through his mind.
Joel was still leaning casually against the doorjamb, his blond hair tousled, a playful smile spread across his face. The dimple she’d once found so sexy flickered on his right cheek.
“C’mon, Chels,” he said when she hesitated. “For old times’ sake. What do you say?”
For a moment—just one moment—she was tempted to say yes. The boyish grin had always drawn her in and she hadn’t been on a date since...well, since she and Joel had stopped seeing each other. But then she thought about some of the reasons she’d broken it off with him.
At first, he’d made her feel special. But by the end of their relationship, she felt he’d lost interest in her. There always seemed to be other priorities, and she’d begun to feel like an obligation.
Chelsea considered herself relatively easygoing and flexible, but she couldn’t be in a relationship in which she wasn’t valued.
Remembering how it had been between them when they’d first started dating, she felt a twinge of sadness over what they’d lost, but was careful not to let it show. She didn’t want to inadvertently encourage him. “Sorry, Joel. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He straightened. “Have it your way.”
She wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or anger that sparked in his eyes before he turned and stalked away.
Well, that was fun. She sighed. This was justification for why she tried to avoid workplace romances. If they didn’t work out—which in her experience was usually the case—it could be awkward. She thought back to the easy friendship she and Joel had shared before they began dating. She wished they could recapture it but suspected that was unlikely, at least in the short-term.
As much as she regretted how everything had turned out between them, she hoped again that her relationship with his grandmother would remain unaffected. Not only did she like Mrs. Sinclair, but ultimately it would be Mrs. Sinclair’s decision whether to give her the curator position once Mr. Hadley retired. Joel had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in running the gallery, so it was either promote her or Mrs. Sinclair would have to go outside the organization to hire someone.
Chelsea didn’t want to lose Mrs. Sinclair’s friendship—or the opportunity to be the next curator.
No dating people in the workplace ever again! she resolved as she took another large bite of her sandwich.
When Tina called her from the lunchroom doorway, she wondered if she’d ever get a chance to finish her lunch.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Anderson is here and would like to talk to you about the Babineux.”
Chelsea put her sandwich down and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smear her lipstick. “He didn’t have an appointment, did he?”
“No,” Tina assured her. “But as you know, he does most of his buying on the spur of the moment.”
“Yes, that’s true. Please tell him I’ll be out in a second.” Chelsea rewrapped the rest of her sandwich and stuck it back in the fridge. Looking in the mirror behind the door, she rubbed off a smudge of lipstick with her index finger.
Mr. Anderson was standing in front of the Babineux when she walked into the showroom. His back was to her, his head slightly tilted. He had a sparse frame, was shorter than average, and was impeccably dressed and groomed, as always. Chelsea had often thought that for the price of one of his elegant suits, she could’ve paid the rent on her apartment for at least a month.
“Mr. Anderson,” she said as she approached. “It’s nice to see you so soon.”
He spun around and smiled. “Chelsea, my dear, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She glanced at the painting. “I thought it would be only a matter of time before the Babineux graced your walls. Is this the day you make it yours?” she asked.
“Yes, I think it might be. I hadn’t planned to stop in today, but I was in the area with a few minutes to spare.” He grinned and spread out his hands. “I couldn’t resist. I suppose it’s meant to be.”
“That’s what I thought, too! Shall I get the paperwork?”
He stroked his chin as he considered the painting. “Why not? Let’s do it!”
Chelsea felt like doing a fist pump, but knew it would be unseemly. The commission on the sale would cover a brake job and new tires for her car. Both were very close to becoming a necessity. “Please have a seat in the sales office. Would you like a cup of coffee? A glass of champagne, perhaps?”
“As delightful as champagne sounds, it’s too early in the day for me. Let’s make it a coffee, and we’ll both have a glass of champagne when I come to pick up the painting.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll be right back.”
With the folder in one hand and a cup in the other, Chelsea rejoined Mr. Anderson a few minutes later. “Here you go,” she said, placing the cup and a napkin in front of him before sitting down in the opposite chair. She reviewed the documentation with him. Once he was satisfied that all seemed to be in order, he handed her his credit card for the deposit. While Tina ran the card, she made copies of the appraisal and authentication documents for Mr. Anderson’s insurance company.
“I’ll call you if my schedule changes,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll see you on Friday to pick up the painting.”
“We’ll have it packed and ready for you, Mr. Anderson.” She held out her hand. “Congratulations on adding another magnificent piece to your collection.”
He took her hand in his. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Chelsea.”
As soon as he was out the door, not only did Chelsea do that fist pump, she did a little dance. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks when she turned around and noticed Joel watching her. “I sold the Babineux,” she said, to explain her behavior.
“Good for you,” he responded, but his tone was incongruous with the congratulatory words.
* * *
“DO YOU HAVE a minute?” Sam asked Colin from th
e doorway to his captain’s office.
Colin dropped the report he’d been reading on his desk. “Sure. What’s up?”
Sam took a seat on the other side of Colin’s desk. “We still don’t have anything on the jewelry store robbery.”
“You’re not bringing me a problem without a solution, are you?”
Sam knew his boss was half joking. He was always on them not to just come forward with a problem but to bring the options to solve it. “I’m working out the alternatives. First of all, if we go with the theory that the break-in was to test our response time because there’s another target in the area, my bet would be the Sinclair Gallery.”
“Why?
“The value of some of the pieces in there could pay for a small house.”
Colin leaned back and crossed his arms. “No kidding?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t see how there’d be a market for that kind of art in Camden Falls.”
“Good point. What I learned is that the gallery’s clientele is from a much larger catchment area. It’s international, in fact. When you’re dealing with rare works and there’s only a limited number of people with deep enough pockets and a desire to spend that much money on art, it doesn’t matter where the gallery is situated. There isn’t a critical mass of potential clients in any one location. They go where the art is.”
Colin nodded thoughtfully. “Regardless of what we find on the jewelry store break-in, I’ll have to think about increasing patrols in the area on a permanent basis.”
“Not a bad idea. Now here’s another long shot. I discovered that the jewelry store owners’ sister-in-law is estranged from her kid, who’s been raised mostly by them, his aunt and uncle. She has addiction issues, and was recently released from a mental health institution. You’d mentioned the possibility of an addict looking for easy money. Her last known address was Springfield, but she hasn’t been there for a while. There’s no record of employment. What if she resents the Rochesters for what might, in her eyes, amount to taking her only child away from her? And what if she’s desperate for a quick fix? Would she consider the jewelry store as a means to an end?”
Colin was silent for a moment. “I agree it’s a long shot, but I have to say that between the two alternatives, I’d consider the sister-in-law breaking in more probable. Where do you go from here?”
Sam shrugged. “I’ll try to determine the sister-in-law’s whereabouts. Continue to pursue the other avenues of investigation and so on.”
“What about the young woman who showed up at the store? We know the stats on how often perps return to the scene of the crime.”
“Not possible.” Sam was startled by the vehemence of his response. Colin was, too, if the look on his face was any indication. “What I mean is that she was too caring about Rochester. I don’t believe she’d hurt him.” Or anyone.
“Okay. Keep me informed.”
“Will do,” Sam said and rose to go.
CHAPTER SIX
THURSDAY THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Chelsea was discussing the merits of a Keith Hamilton sculpture with a couple when she heard the gallery’s front door chime. Turning, she saw Mr. Anderson hurrying through the front foyer.
“Chelsea! This is outrageous!” he called to her the minute he stepped into the showroom.
Excusing herself, she left the couple she’d been with and hurried to Mr. Anderson. He hastened toward her, too, waving a document.
“This has never happened to me in all the years I’ve been collecting!” His face was flushed, and his nostrils flared with each rapid breath he took. “As soon as I got this, I drove straight here from Boston.”
Worried more about the fact that he seemed to be hyperventilating than what her potential new clients might think, Chelsea touched his arm placatingly. “Please calm down, Mr. Anderson. Why don’t we go into the office? You can explain to me what happened. Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to fix it.”
He let out a loud harrumphing sound.
Chelsea apologized to the couple she’d been with as she led Mr. Anderson past them, and signaled to Deborah to take over.
She got him seated in the sales office, but he declined refreshments.
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Chelsea said.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He flapped the papers at her. “You sold me a forgery!”
Chelsea was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”
“Here,” he said and thrust the papers at her. “Have a look at that. I had the Babineux authenticated myself, as I always do, and as my insurance company requires. And that!” he said, motioning at the document. “That’s what I got back. You tell me how this could’ve happened!”
Chelsea quickly scanned the document and felt the blood drain from her face. “This...this can’t be right. There has to be a mistake.”
Mr. Anderson’s jaw jutted out. “Murphy & McGuire is one of the most reputable art authentication and valuation companies in the nation. Their people have never been wrong for me before. If there’s a mistake, it’s on your end.”
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. “I’d like to get Mr. Hadley.”
“Go on. Go get him.”
She left the document on the table and rushed out. As she reached Mr. Hadley’s office, Joel grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I have to get Mr. Hadley.”
Joel’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” She shrugged out of his grasp. “I’ll tell you later.”
Fortunately, Mr. Hadley was in his office. She explained what had happened and remembered to pull the file with their copies of the authentication and appraisal reports. When they entered the sales office, Chelsea let Mr. Hadley take the lead.
“I’m terribly sorry about this,” he said, his British accent more distinct than usual. “I can’t imagine how it might have happened, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, please bring the painting back. We’ll have it reauthenticated and I will in good faith refund the full purchase price until we sort everything out.”
Mr. Anderson’s color was returning to normal and his voice didn’t sound quite as shrill. “That’ll be fine. I’ll have the painting brought in tomorrow. I’ve spent enough of my time traveling back and forth from Boston.”
“I understand. Why don’t I make it easier for you and arrange to have it picked up?”
“That would be appreciated.”
Mr. Hadley’s solicitousness and offer of transport seemed to appease Mr. Anderson, at least temporarily. The two men shook hands, neither paying much attention to Chelsea. She felt it was deliberate and wondered why this had become her fault, when she didn’t have any responsibility for acquisition, valuation or authentication.
She stayed back and waited until Mr. Hadley had seen Mr. Anderson out. When he came back, Joel and Tina were both with him. Mr. Hadley’s brow was furrowed, his mouth a thin, straight line.
“Can anyone venture a guess as to how this could’ve happened?” he demanded.
Joel seemed to know what he was talking about, but Tina looked perplexed. Chelsea gave a brief overview of the situation. Tina grabbed the file folder from the table and leafed through it. “Ridley’s did the authentication. They’re one of the most respected houses in the state. They wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”
“Well, someone did. Anderson used Murphy & McGuire. It’s equally unlikely that they’d make such an enormous error. If this leaks out, especially before we get to the bottom of it, our reputation will take a huge hit.” Mr. Hadley turned to Joel. “I’ll need you to prepare for a media onslaught.” At Joel’s nod, he continued. “I’m going to have to tell your grandmother about this. I’d much rather she hears it from me than other sources—
like the press.”
Joel raised his hands. “I have to agree. She won’t be pleased, I can tell you that. You know as well as I do that the gallery is her passion, and she cares deeply about it. This gallery is everything to her.”
“Other than you,” Chelsea added softly.
Joel shifted his gaze to her. “Yes. Thank you.”
* * *
MR. HADLEY DECIDED it would be best to deliver news of this import to Mrs. Sinclair in person. Joel went off somewhere shortly after their meeting, and Tina was arranging for the top authentication expert in New York State to have a look at the Babineux.
Chelsea and Deborah were covering the showroom. Not that there was a lot of walk-in traffic. Frankly, Chelsea wanted to go home. A headache was beginning to pound behind her temples and she was facing the possibility of losing a substantial commission. A commission she’d already spent on her car for the much-needed maintenance work.
As the front-door chime sounded, she sincerely hoped Deborah would take the customer. With the mood she was in, it was highly unlikely she’d be able to make a sale, anyway. When she saw Detective Sam Eldridge, her heart did a little skip. She glanced at Deborah, who was already sashaying over to greet Sam.
Chelsea felt an unexpected and unreasonable pang of jealousy as she watched Deborah turn on the charm for Sam. She really couldn’t blame Deborah, since a man’s looks were a priority for her, and Sam had them in spades. But she didn’t have to hang around and watch this, she thought, and turned to go.
“Chelsea!” She heard Sam call her name. “Do you have a minute?”
She swung around and saw the mildly annoyed expression Deborah gave her. “Yes. Certainly.” She walked back toward Sam.
“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”
“Sure. The sales office.”
Sam glanced over at it. “Somewhere without glass walls?” he asked.
