Watercolor Hearts

by Sutton Shields

  “Okay.” I swallowed hard. “They’re going to hate me.”

  Pulling me onto his lap, Blake said, “I don’t hate you, do I?”

  “No, but you’re getting benefits. Never underestimate the effect sex has on the male propensity to tolerate a waterfall of heavy.”

  Blake chuckled. “Not gonna deny that. But, Maggie, my belief in you hasn’t changed. My gut instinct is the same as it was before I was getting benefits. Have a little faith in this lot of misfits, Maggie. They just might surprise you.”

  And surprise they did. The second the tip of my shoe crossed the threshold of the hub, Ivy launched, wasting no time in pinning me hard against the wall, her hands wrapped around my throat as I sputtered for air.

  “Damn traitor!” she yelled.

  “IVY! Let her go…NOW.” I’d never heard Blake sound so vicious. It was the type of tone and demand one couldn’t ignore, not even Ivy.

  She released me, but stayed menacingly close.

  “Blake, this bitch has been lying to us all,” growled Ivy, before her delivery switched to one of pure dramatic sarcasm. I think it was scarier than her custom growling. “I was doing a little updating of the Shade file earlier. For the life of me I couldn’t remember a couple of search terms I had used a while back. Usually, I can recall the tiniest details. Maybe my memory was shaken after that whole, you know, beating thing.” She paused for effect, staring me down. It worked. “Anyway, I dipped into the log of search terms used in the Shade file.” My face registered a look conveying both momentary surprise and utter idiocy that I hadn’t realized it sooner. “Oh, yes, there is such a log, gnat. While perusing the terms, what should I find? Why, an odd combination of words: talon tattoo. Now, what could that be about, I wondered? Knowing Greg was the only other member with access to the file on that particular day, at that specific time, I asked him what this ‘talon tattoo’ stuff meant.”

  “Ivy,” said Blake in an effort to stop her little soliloquy.

  “Thinking you must have talked to me, Blake, he told me you had him looking into the identity of a man with a talon tattoo ever since Halloween. But Tip-tap was searching for this guy’s mark in the Shade file well before Halloween.” She smiled cunningly. “This is where it gets interesting, see. If there’s one thing Tip-tap can’t hide, it’s the light bulb going off over his little techie head. I knew he realized something, but he refused to cough it up. So, I pulled up the security camera footage from that time. Oddly enough, I couldn’t glean anything from them. In fact, had I not noticed that the cameras somehow failed to pick up Maggie walking into the hub and sitting at her desk, I would’ve pegged Greg as the lying traitor. Fortunately, I know how to thump a melon.”

  “I confessed about erasing and altering the footage,” Greg quickly admitted. “I told her I got drunk and passed out.”

  “Actually,” I started, “I also slipped you half of a sleeping pill, in addition to getting you drunk. Although, if you recall, you did grab the beer from my hand as I was trying to slip in under my desk. I’d had a change of heart in that moment. But when you drank the spiked beer, I knew it was a sign for me to carry on with my original plan.”

  Greg’s eyes reminded me of a sad puppy dog. Pike and Ty moved closer, their muscles flexing. Ivy, on the other hand, had murderous intent written all over her face. Blake moved to stand partially in front of me and stretched his arm around to rest one hand on my hip. The move garnered outraged looks from Pike and Ivy, but Ty backed off.

  “There’s a reason for everything,” I swiftly added. “I never meant to bring you any harm, I promise.”

  “Hear her out,” said Blake.

  Ivy looked to Blake, her eyes narrowing. “None of this is a surprise to you, is it?”

  “No,” Blake said sternly.

  Turning her distrusting eyes upon me, Ivy crossed her arms. “You better start talking. And the story better be a damn good one.”

  “Oh, it’s not only a damn good one…it’s an effing nightmare,” I said.

  Though not softening her gaze, Ivy rolled a chair over to me. It was a gesture letting me know she was at least willing to listen.

  I sat in the chair. Blake stood behind me and placed his comforting hands on my shoulders. Greg scooted his chair around the side of his desk, but moved no farther. Pike and Ty propped themselves on a couple of nearby desks, and Ivy sat in her chair and crossed one long leg over the other. My audience was ready.

  “It all started one summer when I was seven-years-old. It was the night my parents were murdered…”

  And so I told my all-too-true tale, from the murders of my parents and the talon tattooed man to my time in foster care, including that bastard uncle. Every now and then, I’d hear Pike release an expletive or Greg’s chair squeak. Ty remained stoic, though talk of early abuse garnered a noticeable rumble from him. Ivy, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, made a peep, or changed expression since sitting down.

  “That’s when life with Grady began,” I said, carrying on. “He was a good man who had also suffered loss. I guess you could say we were an imperfectly perfect match—I was the granddaughter he missed so much and he was the grandfather I never had.”

  After I told them all about life with Grady and how he showed me the way to the Manx, I finished with my intent in getting here, how I was only trying to hunt down my parents’ killer. When I was done, you could hear a pin drop in the hub.

  “Greg, I’m so sorry I tricked you. I’m sorry I had an ulterior motive, but I’m not sorry I got you drunk. You needed that. Plus, I had fun with you,” I said. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I never expected things to come to this. Ivy, I’m so—”

  Ivy held up a hand, issuing silence. After a long moment, she said, “If you say you’re sorry, I will lose my sanity.” Then, a tiny, compassionate smile actually appeared on her face. I smiled and nodded appreciatively. “What progress has been made on the talon tattooed effer?”

  And that was that. Ivy’s inquiry tacitly implied that all was understood and forgiven. Part of me felt their forgiveness was too quick; that perhaps they needed to grill me more, put me on some kind of probation, or ice me out, at least for awhile. Perhaps it was my own guilt needing, if not requiring, punishment. Their complete understanding made me realize one thing: maybe, at some point, I had to learn to forgive myself, rather than seek punishment from others.

  “Greg?” said Blake. “Anything on the tattooed man?”

  Greg scooted back behind his computer. “Not much. He clearly knew where all the cameras were in the place. Didn’t find a single shot of his full face. Only profiles and a couple of the tattoo.”

  “Anything on the tattoo?” asked Pike.

  “How about our dead John Doe?” Blake added.

  “Nothing yet on the tattoo itself, but I did get some interesting information on the man who attacked you last night, Maggie,” said Greg. “His name was Toby Proller, former soldier, dishonorably discharged a year ago. Been working in some of the Black Ops groups we’re familiar with…Vogkler and Frenwierd, specifically. However, he up and left Frenwierd back in August and, until last night, had disappeared off the map. And…”

  “And what?” Blake inquired.

  “Well, some of Proller’s military records had been—”

  “Don’t tell me you found wiped military records, Greggy,” said Pike.

  Greg glared at Pike. “Chew on crap, choke, and die. And, yes, they were wiped. It was minor stuff, too, like where he did his basic training, who he trained with, who his bunkmate was…”

  Blake paced back and forth. “Why the hell would someone erase basic facts?”

  “Timing is suspect,” said Ty.

  “Maggie comes on board this summer and the guy who attacked her goes below ground shortly after? Yeah, I’d say that’s suspect,” said Ivy. “I’ll ask around about the tattoo. I have a nice little collection of scum balls who owe me.”

  “Something’s not adding up,” said Blake, scowli
ng. “Something about the attacks, Maggie’s past, and the convenience of this heist isn’t making sense.”

  “Which part is making sense?” Pike half-joked.

  “You can’t possibly think these attacks aren’t connected,” said Ivy.

  Blake frowned. “There’s a missing piece.”

  “Like what?” I asked. “Whoever hired the tattooed man obviously found me and had me followed. From there, his cronies must have followed the rest of us around.”

  Greg quickly chimed in. “No, no, I would’ve noticed something on the cameras outside our buildings before now—maybe lurkers or parked cars, something. The cameras weren’t tampered with until the night of Ivy and Pike’s attacks. They should’ve revealed something before now. I never noticed anything suspicious. I’ve scoured them again…nothing.”

  “Where are we with the diamond’s arrival time and location in the mansion?” When Blake redirected a conversation, you didn’t ask questions; you simply followed along.

  “It’s set to arrive at the mansion at 5 p.m. on New Year’s Eve,” said Greg. “Unless something changes, it will be kept under glass in a small room directly behind the ballroom. So far, no indication of lasers or motion sensors.”

  “Good old-fashioned glass cutter time,” said Ty.

  Ivy cooed. “I like when they get nostalgic on us, which is even more evidence that this is a trap for one tailless cat burglar.”

  “If they want the Manx, they’ll get him,” said Blake strongly. “And by that I mean they’ll get the best of me without ever catching me.”

  “Who would want to go to the extremes to set a trap for you?” asked Pike. “Since it’s all about Maggie, why go to the trouble of bagging the Manx? Unless someone wants to bring you down a notch, knock you off that golden pedestal.”

  Blake’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white. Evidently Pike’s words ignited some train of thought in his mind. He shot Ivy a quick glance, one she seemed to translate relatively quickly.

  “Remember, Maggie had a point about Blair orchestrating this whole thing to own the bragging rights of catching me. I think that’s as likely a scenario as any, frankly,” said Blake, but something told me he was holding back information. “Pike, pull up a schematic of the mansion. Gather around, everyone. I’ve got some changes in assignments for New Year’s Eve.”

  “Someone care to roll me over there? I pushed my damn foot too far assaulting Maggie,” said Ivy, her foot still in a boot.

  Smiling, I said, “I’ve got you.” I rolled Ivy in her chair to the back table.

  “All guests enter through the main hall, here, as we know,” said Blake, enlarging the picture to focus on the hallway right off the main entrance running alongside ballroom. “The room Greg’s talking about—where the diamond will be—is straight back, on the right, behind the ballroom. As we enter the ballroom, we should get a glimpse of any guards in front of the door. Note visible weapons, assume some are hidden, like a knife or handgun, sometimes a grenade or tear gas.”

  Okay, this was real. Too real. I was scared…and strangely exhilarated, which scared me even more.

  Pulling up the ballroom on the table, Blake pointed to an area just off the stage. “Pike, I want you stationed there. You’ll cover the back entrance to the room with the diamond.”

  “Pike and I aren’t covering together?” asked Ty.

  “Unless I change my mind, no, not this time,” said Blake.

  Ty’s temper began to flare; I could see his heart pounding through his shirt.

  “I thought you usually stay split up,” I said, not seeing the big deal.

  “Not on a heist,” said Ty. “Ivy, or in this case, you, Maggie, will work the room, while Pike and I would normally fulfill the acquiring portion of the heist. Greg alerts us to any interruptions or possible thwarts. Since Blake insists on acquiring the diamond himself, I figured Pike and I would be the combined muscle, have Blake’s back together.”

  “I need someone watching the main entrance. Ty, that’ll be you,” said Blake.

  Ty braced himself against the back of a chair, his muscles tensing. “Blake, any thwarts will attack from that back entrance, you know that. The front is too visible. You need me back there with Pike.”

  “You’ll do as I’ve instructed,” Blake said flatly.

  “This is foolish,” Ty replied, livid.

  “Don’t think I’ve seen you this angry, buddy,” quipped Pike. “Something you’re not telling us, Ty?”

  Ty’s face hardened drastically.

  “Ty, if you wish to voice your concerns about this further, I’ll be happy to discuss it with you later on in my office.” Ty took Blake up on his offer. “Maggie, you’ll work the floor, keeping tabs on Blair and her father. Ivy will be guiding you.”

  “You’ll have me in your ear all night. Aren’t you lucky?” said Ivy.

  “Oh, yeah, that horseshoe I shoved up my ass is working like a tarnished charm,” I quipped to several laughs.

  After a moment, Blake carried on with some last minute instructions. “Greg, of course, will be the eyes in the backs of our heads. Now, Blair is set to show the diamond to her guests at precisely eleven forty-five, fifteen minutes to the New Year. We’ll make our move at eleven-fifteen.”

  “Is that enough time?” I asked.

  Patting my hip, Ivy said, “Ignore her. It’s her first heist, after all.”

  “I’ll get the backup plans ready and distributed within the next week,” Blake added.

  “Backup plans?” I inquired.

  Blake looked over his shoulder at me, his eyes severe. “Should things go badly, we have a selection of plans we will enforce.”

  “Don’t worry, Mags. We haven’t had to employ one yet,” said Pike.

  “That’s right,” Blake confirmed. “Not yet.”

  Not yet. My stomach dropped at those two words. I hoped to God they would still be applicable after the upcoming heist. Without warning, my inner eye painted the picture of a countdown clock. Just over one month left and counting, and then, we would find out if one of those backup plans needed enacting.

  Chapter Eighteen

  December 15th, Chattingham Clubhouse, 3:00 p.m. Exactly eight days after Thanksgiving’s day of joy and night of hell, my ‘Charlotte’ phone jingled with a cordial, yet detailed call from Lydia Traverz. When she mentioned getting together for lunch on Thanksgiving, I never expected a full-blown luncheon ‘event’ featuring the snobbiest of New York women. Of course, news of the reclusive Mrs. Traverz throwing a luncheon tipped the socialites into a frenzy; discovering I was her guest of honor elevated the frenzy to something more akin to a vast demonic possession. This gathering became the social event of the holiday season almost overnight. In the week leading up to today, my phone had never beeped so much. Women who ordinarily wouldn’t give me the time of day called to invite me on shopping trips and brunches with ‘the girls’. By the time Lydia’s luncheon rolled around, the frenzy had peaked into all-out hysteria.

  Granted, these women knew how to hide their crazy, drooling, gossip-hungry selves beneath a calm, composed, plastic outer shell. However, if you looked very closely, the hunger in their eyes and the particular inflections dancing like devils in their words betrayed their true nature. If Lydia hadn’t had me by the arm, fielding the swarming pastel suits, I might well have told the lot to eff off. Not the most gracious gut instinct, but I tire of the fake stuff. Then it struck me: Maybe Lydia purposely went into hiding just to avoid mouthing off to these women because, honestly, after five minutes you’d want to vomit…ten minutes, unleash a profanity-laden tongue lashing…and by twenty minutes, forget it—just hand over a grenade.

  We were currently at the thirty minute mark. Kaboom.

  The dining room of Chattingham Country Club, with all its Christmas charm, would never be the same after today. Lydia encapsulated both the elegance of the club and the whimsy of Christmas that would make Mrs. Claus envious. Centerpieces of poinsettias and white roses adorne
d tables while strands of gold and silver ornaments sparkled on thick garland overhead. My absolute favorite part of the décor circled the centerpieces: little toy trains painted to look like they were bound for the North Pole. Some of the trains were even filled with candy canes and tiny gift boxes. It was a sweet, innocent touch that made me like Blake’s mom even more. I doubted many of the guests had taken a moment to appreciate the effort Lydia invested in the décor for this holiday luncheon; they were far too busy digging for gossip.

  About the only thing keeping me sane was the underlying amusement of it all. Watching the women fluttering around Lydia was undeniably comical. You’d think we were royalty. The only thing missing was the kissing of the ring. Lydia certainly looked the part in her evergreen skirt suit and emerald jewelry. She even swapped her pearl choker for a spectacular diamond one with a large, square emerald sitting front and center. I didn’t have a suit of any kind—Ivy wouldn’t permit something so stuffy. But my winter-white silk dress fit the bill for this group.

  A woman, maybe mid-forties, with strawberry blond hair and freckled skin that she sadly tried to cover with mounds of makeup approached us. “Lydia, so good to see you again.”

  Lydia, oozing royalty, extended her hand. “Topeka.” Topeka? Interesting name. “Have you met Charlotte Canteberry?” She gestured me with a delicate wave of the hand.

  Topeka turned to me, her smile frozen. “So nice to meet you, Charlotte. I saw you at the charity Brie for Mice Rights.”

  “Ah, yes. Did any of that cheese ever make it to the mice?” I quipped.

  Topeka stared blankly at me, while Lydia permitted a small half-chuckle before expertly excusing Topeka without her even realizing she’d been dismissed.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “Sometimes I can’t stop the sarcasm.”