by Julie Hyzy
I kept my voice low but found it impossible to keep my anticipation level down. “What was up with that Picasso skull?”
Bennett glanced around the plane’s cabin. Though luxurious and comfortably sized, it was still close quarters. He inched forward in his seat, then leaned toward me, elbows on his knees, drink in both hands. “It’s a fake.”
I’d expected him to tell me he had doubts about the piece’s authenticity. I hadn’t expected an unequivocal declaration. “Are you sure?”
He swirled his drink, sending a nonchalant glance around to ensure no one was listening. “Right here”—he tapped a spot just behind his right ear, where he’d indicated for me to look when I’d held it—“the real skull has a scratch.” He took a deep sip of his drink, then amended, “More like a chink, actually. A deep one, roughly in the shape of a P. When Nico first acquired it, we discussed—at length—whether it had been left there intentionally or if the skull had suffered some damage in its travels. I’m sure you noticed that the skull at Nico’s home had no such mark.”
“Could it have—?”
Bennett anticipated my question. “The indentation was too deep to have been buffed out.” He gave a vehement head shake. “That’s beside the point, though. Nico would never have changed it. Never.”
The enormity of what he was saying took a moment to sink in. “Have you said anything to Nico?”
“How could I? We were never alone long enough for me to bring up the subject. And when I asked to visit the gallery again, I was accompanied by Gianfranco and Cesare. I couldn’t spend any additional time with the skull because I thought my curiosity might look suspicious and I didn’t know who to trust. I used my time there to take a closer look at some of the other pieces on display.”
“And?” I was afraid of what he might say next.
The ice in Bennett’s drink made soft clinking sounds against the glass as he swirled it again. “There is at least one more counterfeit piece in there. I’m sure of it. My guess is that there are more that have been replaced by forgeries. More than can be identified via my quick cursory examination. If it hadn’t been for the skull—an item with which I’m intimately familiar—I never would have even thought to look.”
“This is terrible news for Nico,” I said. “Someone close to him is stealing.”
Bennett gave a solemn nod. “Whoever switched it took great pains to make a copy—a too-perfect copy. It’s a huge endeavor and I would bet my entire fortune that whoever did this didn’t act alone and didn’t act without power. You saw Angelo. He could snap either one of us in half if he had a mind to it.”
“You think Angelo’s behind it?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Bennett set his drink down, staring at me with intense concentration. “All I can say for certain is that Nico trusts too blithely. There are far too many individuals with access to his treasures. Cesare could easily have made the substitution during one of his visits. There’s too much to consider.”
“What should we do?”
He lowered his voice even further, despite the fact that no one paid us any attention. “We,” he said, emphasizing the word, “aren’t going to do anything. You have a knack for getting into dangerous situations. I don’t intend to let anything happen to you this time. I’ll handle it.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Bennett, please. We’ll be home soon and far away from scary Angelo or slimy Cesare. I can help without endangering myself.”
“I’ve had time to think about this. I can’t move forward, can’t make any allegations without proof to back them up.”
“Do you have proof?”
Matthew and Millie returned, interrupting us. Matthew took in a deep, appreciative breath. “Smell that, girl,” he said to Millie, who stared up at him, pink tongue hanging out, and dark eyes full of love. “Dinner smells like it’s almost ready.”
Millie scooted around Matthew’s legs just as Pinky grabbed her purse and got to her feet, apparently deciding to use the facilities after all. Despite the plane’s extra personal width, the quarters were compact. As Matthew reclaimed his seat, we hit an unexpected moment of turbulence. Millie let out a high-pitched yelp of pain. Pinky jumped back.
Millie lifted one white paw and whimpered.
“Watch out,” Matthew said, bending down to check her.
Pinky blinked. “Not my fault. What do you expect on a plane like this? It’s built for people, not animals.”
As though she understood, Millie whimpered again, nuzzling Matthew’s hand.
Propelled by anger, embarrassment, and probably one too many Death in the Afternoons, Pinky slung her purse over an indignant shoulder. “Stupid dog. She should be riding in the cargo hold.”
“What is wrong with you?” Matthew asked.
Evelyn came by at that moment with a treat for Millie. “Here you go, girl,” she said before turning to Pinky. “We do have a few extra seats in back, if you’d prefer to sit there.”
Pinky turned her back to Matthew, Millie, and the rest of us and marched to one of the open seats. Evelyn leaned forward to pet Millie, making eye contact with Matthew as she did so. “Where did you pick that one up?” she asked quietly.
Matthew scowled. “I’m too old to be falling for this sort of thing, but . . .” He sent a venomous glare toward the back of the plane. “She latched on to me last night and made me feel like I was being some knight in shining armor by getting her back to the States. I’m an idiot.”
I dropped my voice. “You don’t think she’s on the run? I mean, from the authorities?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Nah. The attendant back at the airport ran a quick check on her. Adam insisted on it.” He jerked a thumb toward his reading friend. “When Pinky’s in a good mood, she seems okay. Too bad she hasn’t been in a good mood since she came on board.”
Bennett asked a question about Millie’s lineage and the two men began discussing dogs they’d had as pets. Evelyn took her leave, explaining that she needed to get back to preparing dinner. I participated in the conversation for a while then excused myself as a thought took hold. Evelyn had been incredible thus far. It couldn’t be easy to keep a drunk man, two indifferent women, a dog owner and his dog-hating girlfriend, two eye-rolling friends, and two strangers happy. But from the moment we’d arrived, she’d worked tirelessly to ensure everyone’s comfort, even that of her unwelcome assistant.
I thought about how much Antoinette, Nico Pezzati’s chef, had appreciated our kind words about breakfast, and I decided to make an effort to thank Evelyn when I had a chance to catch her alone.
Rudy had taken a position in the business area at the front of the plane, but I’d lost sight of Evelyn. I assumed she was at work in the other galley. This was as good a time as any, I thought and started back. I passed the two chattering women, who didn’t pay any attention, and Jeff, who had turned on his side and was again fast asleep. Across the aisle from him, the man who had helped him aboard, whose name I’d discovered was Carl, wore headphones. He kept up a beat with those never-ceasing drumsticks and didn’t look up as I passed.
Adam did, glancing up from his book to make eye contact. His dark brows raised and he smiled slightly. I nodded a return greeting.
A set of cubicle-type walls separated the cabin of the plane from the rear area, with the side of the lavatory on my right and a floor-to-ceiling storage cabinet configuration on my left. They served as a clear separation between the two sections. I made a sharp right into the galley area, which was a lot more spacious than I’d expected. There wasn’t a door, or any other sort of barrier to stop me from entering the work space, but as I drew closer, I could see that the lighting was different, as was the floor. No soft carpeting, no fancy fixtures; this section was purely utilitarian.
The smell of dinner was strong here. Garlic, tomatoes, and a hint of basil floated aro
und the L-shaped space. I moved along next to the stainless steel countertop and heard Evelyn working around the tight corner to the left.
“Evelyn—” I began as I reached far side, then: “You’re not Evelyn.”
My brain took a full three seconds to process what was going on.
Pinky stood in front of four dinner plates, all of them heaped with steaming pasta primavera. I noticed several things at once. Her eyes were wide, her hands were filled, and all the color slid from her face as her bottom lip dropped open.
I took a step closer. “What are you doing?”
Evelyn came up behind me. There wasn’t enough room for her to navigate around us, but she was close enough for me to feel her breath when she demanded answers of her own. “What are you two doing back here? I looked up and saw Grace wander in. And you’re here, too?” she said to Pinky. Then to both of us: “This area is off-limits to passengers.”
I didn’t wait for Pinky to reply. I stepped forward and grabbed what was clearly a bubble sheet of medicine from her hand. The almost empty ten-tablet foiled blister pack reminded me of the dispenser for the medication I occasionally used when my cat allergies kicked up. But these weren’t tiny antihistamine tablets. These were bigger, and orange. “What is this?” I asked, shaking the packet in her face, noticing at the same moment that she had crushed several of the tablets and sprinkled them into the food on one of the dinner plates. She hadn’t, however, crushed them well enough—I could still see tiny flecks of bright orange coating that hadn’t yet been mixed into the sauced entrée.
“What are you putting into the food?” My pitch rose with biting anger. “Are you drugging all of us?”
It took only a moment for me to comprehend the scene more clearly. She’d targeted only one entrée. When I realized whose, my knees went weak.
She’d added the drug to the only plate that didn’t have asparagus.
Bennett’s meal.
My entire body reacted. Adrenaline and fury narrowed my field of vision. I saw her as though through a telescope. Her face was pale, her eyes panicked and wide. Sweat bubbled through her thick makeup.
I stepped in, closing off any chance for her to escape. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
Behind me, Evelyn’s voice rose in her own version of alarm. “What is that? Poison?” Her voice grew ever more panicked as she cried, “Who are you?”
Face flushed, Pinky tried to shove past me. Where she thought she’d be able to go on a plane this size, I had no idea. I was taller and younger, and I hadn’t had four heavy-duty drinks to weigh down my brain. I spun her around, banging her against the plane’s fiberglass wall as I did so. Holding her arms shoved against her squirming back, I called for help.
There was no need. By this time, just about everyone had made their way into the cramped galley. I heard Bennett’s voice above the others’ exclamations. “Gracie, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I managed through clenched teeth. Pinky was trying to fight her way out of my grasp. “I need someone to hold this woman down. She’s got some serious explaining to do.”
Chapter 10
PINKY FOUGHT, BUT WITH ADAM’S AND RUDY’S assistance, we managed to get her back into the passenger cabin, where the two men pushed her into a seat. I’d kept the blister pack tight in my hand and had the presence of mind to grab the tainted food as well. I studied the serving platter: Rectangular-shaped and as delicate as fine china, it nonetheless bore tall edges to prevent spillage. High-end airplane dinnerware. Who knew there was such a thing?
For her part, Pinky looked ready to leap out the nearest door, parachute or no. Rudy held her in place with a grip on her bare upper arm, squeezing so tightly it looked as though he might break the skin. She winced as she wriggled against his grasp. Tiny tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Stop,” she said, “you’re hurting me.”
He pulled her upward, making her cry out. “Why were you attempting to harm these passengers? What is your reasoning?” Rudy’s free arm came up as though he planned to backhand her across her jaw. Without thinking, I dropped the blister pack and grabbed his hand.
“Easy,” I said. “We don’t want to knock her unconscious.”
Reluctantly, Rudy lowered his arm and released his hold on her bare skin. His fingernails had left deep indentations in her soft flesh. Balancing the dinner plate, I bent down to retrieve the blister pack, ignoring the chatter going on around me. The band members and the two girls had turned on Matthew, chastising him for bringing her on board.
Evelyn was beside herself. “I should never have left the food unattended. I didn’t expect to be gone more than a minute.” She sat, fingers massaging her temples. “My fault. My fault. But no one ever goes back there. I never thought . . .”
I tuned them out. All I cared about was why Pinky had targeted Bennett and exactly what it was she’d been attempting to do. I read the foil covering over the medication, my anger at a new high. “Thorazine?” I exclaimed.
Pinky looked away.
The noisy conversation around me stopped dead. “Thorazine?” Adam repeated, taking the blister pack from my hand. “That’s an anti-psychotic medication.” He sent Matthew another disdainful glare. “Did you know anything about this woman before you decided to invite her along?”
Matthew worked his jaw. “She said she needed my help.”
“Your help to kill one of us, that is.” Adam examined the blister pack. Eight tablets were missing. “All of us have been drinking. You mix alcohol with this much Thorazine and it’s good night, sleep tight. Permanently.”
“It was Bennett’s dinner,” I said. “She’d broken up the tablets into his food.”
Evelyn gasped. Bennett met my eyes. His gaze was alarmed, but steady.
“How do you know?” Adam asked.
“Asparagus.” I offered the savory dish for examination. “There’s none on this plate, the one she was working on when I caught her. And Bennett was the only one of us—that I know of—who requested no asparagus.”
Adam turned to Pinky. “What were you doing?” he asked. “Spit it out. Or I swear even though we’re miles above the ocean we’ll toss you out of the plane right now.”
He was bluffing and Pinky knew it. She made eye contact long enough for me to see contempt simmering there, then squared her shoulders and looked away.
Adam tried again. “What’s your real name?”
She didn’t acknowledge him.
“How do you know Bennett?” I asked.
That got her attention. She glared up at me. “I don’t.”
“Then why—”
Matthew interrupted. “Millie,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Millie won’t eat asparagus either and you knew it.” He shook a finger at Pinky. “You don’t like her. Admit it.”
He faced the group to explain, “Thorazine is sometimes used to sedate dogs for air travel. I wouldn’t ever let anyone give that stuff to Millie, but it’s clear Pinky was jealous.”
Next to him, as always, Millie nuzzled Matthew’s leg.
But I’d been watching Pinky as he talked. Her demeanor had shifted the minute Matthew mentioned sedating the dog. Though it was subtle, I caught the change in her expression. Relief. Matthew had just given her an out. She jumped on it.
“Okay, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re right. I was upset that you spent more time with your dog than you wanted to with me. I didn’t think a little sedation would hurt her, though.” She lifted a shoulder as though absolving herself. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
“No,” I insisted, my words coming out fast and hot. “Those drugs were meant for Bennett. If he would have eaten what was on the plate, he wouldn’t have made it home. I want to know why you want him dead.”
“I told you,” she said, gripping her armrests with both hands, “I
meant it for the dog. Can I get up now?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, pushing her back when she’d almost risen to her feet. “I don’t believe you.”
Adam crossed his arms. “I’m inclined to not believe you, either. Last night at the club, you wouldn’t have known that the dog was coming with us. Yet you brought the drugs. Why?”
Her mouth opened, bottom lip quivering. I’d put money on it being an act. “But . . . I did know. He . . . he talked about the dog. That’s all he talks about, right?”
Adam turned to Matthew. “Well?”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t remember if I mentioned Millie. Last night’s kind of a blur. I don’t even remember inviting Pinky. Not specifically. She sort of invited herself along.”
Adam looked to me, but I didn’t know where else to take this until we landed. “Should we notify the pilot?” I asked. “Aren’t there protocols for this sort of thing?”
Rudy cleared his throat. “She is American. As is everyone here, I believe, except for me. I do not think that becoming involved in foreign politics is a good maneuver. Especially,” he added, “if all she had hoped was to quiet the dog.”
“Fine,” Adam said, as though we’d come to a consensus. “We’ll wait until we’re in US airspace then ask the pilot to radio ahead. We’ll turn her over to the authorities then.”
“No!” Pinky shouted. “You can’t. Seriously. Please. I didn’t mean anything. I can’t be arrested. Please.”
The sullen, angry woman was gone. Perched at the edge of her seat now, she stared up at us with pleading eyes. “Listen, you can’t do that. I’m not going to cause any more trouble. I swear.”
Adam turned to me again. “What do you think?”
Bennett and I exchanged a glance and I knew we were both in agreement. “There’s no way for us to know what she had planned, but it’s entirely possible she was trying to harm Bennett,” I said. “We can’t discount that. We can’t pretend that isn’t a possibility. I say we turn her over to the police the minute we touch down.”
