He led me across the expansive floor to a small door located off to the side. He removed a key chain from his pocket laden with a few different sized keys. Selecting a square, gold key, he put it in the lock above the door handle. The door snapped open. As he stepped inside, a flood of bright fluorescent light filled the small room.
The storage room was covered from floor to ceiling with built-in shelves. Every shelf was filled with a variety of vases, urns, clay tablets, and what appeared to be pottery and sculpture fragments. Placed along the far wall were three easels, standing one next to the other, and covered with one long white sheet.
“My most prized treasures I keep up here in my private storage room. I collect antiquities mostly, but over the past couple of years I have started to delve into fine paintings. More specifically, David Alexander’s paintings.”
“Why David’s paintings? I know there are other artists whose paintings are much more valuable than David’s.”
“The first time I saw one of David’s Jennys was at an art gallery in New York, and it floored me. I was awed by his use of light and distortion to highlight your beauty.” He shrugged slightly. “After he was killed, the few Jennys he had painted were very difficult to acquire.”
He grabbed the white sheet covering all three easels and quickly yanked it away.
I heard my breath catch in my throat as I gazed at the paintings before me. The Jennys were definitely David’s and done in his unique style. In one, Jenny was standing on a porch, looking out over a beautiful sunset. The evening sun had captured her beauty against the magnificence of the red and gold sky. In another, she was sitting in the morning light of a French Quarter courtyard sipping from a blue coffee mug. In the last, she was laughing with a man, his back painted slightly off to the side, but I recognized the individual’s wavy, brown hair.
Greg was almost beaming with pride. “Imagine the reaction when I present these lost works to the art world. I will do for art, what Howard Carter did for Egyptology. Finding an undiscovered masterpiece in this business gains you so much recognition. I will be the envy of every art gallery owner from here to Los Angeles.”
“Where did you get these?” I asked, examining his dark eyes.
He waved my question away with his hand. “How I acquired them does not matter.”
“But these are not David’s,” I asserted, knowing that was not what he wanted to hear.
He laughed at me, looking thoroughly amused. “Of course they’re David’s! No one could capture you in such a way. Look at his use of light, the bold colors, and the way he makes the picture look blurred as if capturing a second in time. These are all his signature trademarks. They’re lost works. I can’t honestly believe that you don’t recognize any of these portraits?”
“I know all of David’s work.” I gestured to the paintings. “I was with him when he painted some of his best portraits and these were not among them.”
Greg’s face fell. His dark eyes took in the paintings. “What would it take to convince you these three portraits are legitimate David Alexander’s?”
“Greg, I just told you—”
“How much, Nicci?” he snapped, cutting me off. “How much to get you to acknowledge that these works are genuine? Name your price.”
I stopped and thought about what he was offering. If I backed the paintings as genuine, then no one would ever question him. If I spoke out against them, his reputation would be destroyed and his credibility in the art world would disappear. That was a blow I was sure Greg Caston would never be able to overcome. I finally saw what Simon had planned for him.
Fighting to keep the flurry of emotions from my face, I turned to Greg. “I’m intrigued. You do realize that it will take a great deal to make me want to accept these as genuine David Alexander’s.”
He nodded his head. “I know that.”
“Can I think about your offer?”
“Of course.” He waved me out of the room.
Once we had stepped out of the storage room, Greg securely locked the door and placed his keys back in his tuxedo jacket. He took my elbow and escorted me to the dining room table.
“I have to admit I find your initial refusal to accept my Jennys as authentic a bit confusing,” he stated as we walked up to the long mahogany table.
“Why?” I inspected the sterling silver chaffing dishes, Baccarat Crystal, and Royal Dalton China before me.
“Because I have had more than one expert go over each of those pieces and they have deemed them credible.” He pulled a bottle of wine wrapped in a white linen napkin from a silver ice bucket set on the table. “However, yours is the authenticity I need. If you say they are legitimate, then no one will doubt they are anything but genuine.” He filled my wine glass.
I smiled at Greg. “I see your point. You would be willing to pay my price. No matter how steep it might be?”
“If you give me what I need, Nicci, you will find me to be a very generous man. I will do whatever it takes for me to be able to reveal this fabulous find to the world.” Greg went around the table and filled his wine glass. He returned the bottle to the ice bucket and then raised his glass to me. “To my Jennys,” he declared.
I lifted my glass, silently cursing him.
Greg glanced down at his expensive wine goblet and his face grew somber. “Nicci, I’ve just entrusted you with a very precious secret. Don’t even think of betraying me,” he warned in a grave tone.
I fought to keep the saccharin smile on my face. “Your secret is safe with me, Greg.”
He waved his hand over the table and his countenance lifted. “Now let’s enjoy this wonderful meal and have no more talk of business. For the rest of our time together I want to hear only about your life with the remarkable David Alexander. Tell me how you became his Jenny and don’t leave out the slightest detail. Start at the beginning. How did you two meet?”
As we dined on our lavish late night dinner, and drank his expensive chardonnay, I reminisced about my time with David, while Greg Caston listened, attentively, to every last detail.
***
When I arrived at Val’s front door, Greg stood patiently by as I fiddled with my keys, making sure I made extra noise to alert Dallas of my return. Once I had opened the door, I faced Greg.
“Thank you for this evening.”
Greg glanced from me to the door and realized he was not being invited inside.
A disappointed frown tugged at his lips. “I look forward to seeing you again.” He leaned in closer to me. “Perhaps you will allow me to paint you one day,” he whispered.
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I only paint when I am inspired. You inspire me, Nicci. Like no other woman I have ever known.”
“You must know you don’t stand a chance with me, Greg. My heart belongs to another.” I laughed playfully. “Are you a masochist Gregory Caston or just a fool?”
His eyes filled with an intense heat. “Oh, I’m no fool, Nicci. I want to find out more about you. What makes you tick?”
“I’m a woman, Greg, not a timepiece.” I made an attempt to step inside the door, but his arm came up and barred my way.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I took in a breath and tried to read his face. Unfortunately, it has been my experience that sincerity is never revealed by the eyes but by the deeds.
He lowered his arm. “I will be expecting your answer about our little business arrangement in the next few days.” He took out a card from his tuxedo jacket pocket and handed it to me. “My private cell number is on the back. Don’t take too long to make up your mind, Nicci. The sooner we reach an arrangement, the happier we both will be. Good night,” he said as he leaned toward me.
“Good night,” I returned and then hurried inside.
I quietly shut the door behind me and drove the dead bolt home. I had not even moved from the entrance when a man’s hand grabbed my arm.
“I’m glad you didn’t let that fool kiss you goo
d night,” Dallas’s deep voice rang in my ears.
“Were you watching us?”
He let go of my arm. “Damned right I was. I expected you over an hour ago.”
“He showed me David’s paintings. There were three of them. I told him I knew they were all forgeries because I had never seen David paint them during our time together.”
“What did he think of that little revelation?”
“He seemed surprised to hear it. He told me he had more than one expert go over the paintings and they were deemed to be credible.”
He smirked. “That’s because they are, but he can’t know that. What does he want?”
“He wants me to endorse the paintings as genuine. He seems to think no one will question my approval. He offered to buy my silence. Anything I want.”
“What did you say?”
I held up the white card Greg had given me. “I told him I would think about it. I’m supposed to call him in the next few days with my decision.” I placed the card in my purse.
“That does not give us much time. You do realize that we have been given a golden opportunity, don’t you?”
“For what?”
“Exposing Simon.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “You’re adding in a lot of variables here, Nicci.”
“Uncontrollable variables?” I questioned, using a term he had once used to describe my unpredictable nature.
“Very funny.” Dallas took my arm and led me deeper into the living room. “Check your phone.” He nodded to the table next to the front door where I had left my phone. “Your father called three times while you were gone to remind you of your appointment with Dr. Appell in the morning.”
I let my shoulders sag. “I can’t deal with my father right now.” I shook my head, remembering the party. “I can’t believe Sammy Fallon showed up tonight.”
“What did she say to you?”
I threw my purse on a nearby chair. “She wanted an apology for my behavior at Val’s party last year. She was shocked you and I suspected her of being involved in David’s murder. Fortunately, Greg sent her on her way before we started throwing punches.”
“We can’t have you trying to dodge people like Sammy Fallon every time he takes you out. We need to move this job along as quickly as we can.” Dallas paused. “Perhaps the time has come for you to set Caston against Simon.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you can tell him that your price for going along with the forgeries is getting rid of Simon. If Caston does not go for it, then tell him Simon is using these new David Alexander paintings to trap him.”
“So I expose Simon to Greg instead of David doing it?”
He nodded. “You tell him Simon forced you to do it. Once he knows Simon is out to get him…”
“You think that will make Greg want to go after Simon?” I pressed, trying to read his thoughts. “I mean I know he hates Simon, but will that be enough to push him over the edge.”
“From what I know about Caston…probably. That way we can make sure David never has to appear. We’ve got to try and keep David’s resurrection a secret for as long as we can. We don’t need the added headache of trying to explain where he has been for the past three years to anyone.” Dallas moved back to the entrance of the living room. “In the meantime, I suggest that you pack up a few things. In case you and David need to quickly disappear.”
“What do you mean me and David? What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” He took a breath. “Look, no matter what happens, you and David will probably have to get out of the city until everything calms down. If David’s existence were discovered, Simon’s organization would be exposed. Then a lot of innocent people associated with that organization could be hurt or even killed.”
My heart sank. “So David has to stay dead?”
“David Alexander does, but not Dan Goldvarg.” Dallas paused while the lights from a passing car danced in the front street window. “He knows that, Nicci, and he’s prepared to live his life as someone else.” Dallas turned to me. “Are you willing to accept that fact?”
“Do I have a choice?”
The weight of the unfolding events was beginning to make my body feel like a heavy anchor at the bottom of a vast dark ocean.
“I’m juggling so many dangerous secrets. I don’t know how much more I can take before everything comes falling down around me.” I glanced over at Dallas. “Was it like this for you when you worked for Simon?”
“Sometimes. The position that we are in now is much more difficult because we have to deal with Simon La Roy and Greg Caston.”
“What if Greg doesn’t go for it?” I reflected back to the time I had spent in New York with Dallas several months before. “You once told me the affluent and powerful who seek out Simon’s services are only interested in money and not revenge. What if Greg only wants money? Then what do we do?”
“I believe Caston will want to eliminate Simon for both revenge and money. With Simon out of the way, Caston’s organization will be the biggest on the East Coast, making him a very powerful man. His hatred for Simon is well known and has been growing stronger throughout the years. I think the time is right to use that hatred to our advantage.” He watched me fidgeting nervously in front of him, “You’ll have to go to Caston and inform him of your decision. You’ll have to tell him you will agree to anything to be free of Simon. You’re going to have to be very convincing otherwise this could all blow up in our faces.”
“I don’t know if I can go to another person and ask them to kill someone for me, Dallas. That’s almost like pulling the trigger myself,” I said, wrapping my arms around my body.
“Just close your eyes and think of all the things Simon has done to you and David,” Dallas suggested. “Better yet, think of Simon and how nice he will look with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.”
Chapter Sixteen
As I lay in my bed, images of David, Dallas, and Greg Caston kept swirling around in my mind. I threw off the covers and blew out an exasperated sigh. I debated the prospect of getting out of bed and making myself a drink, but I knew that was a poor substitute for what I really wanted. Ever since I had run out on him earlier in the day, my thoughts had kept returning to David. I climbed out of the four-poster bed and let my feet settle on the cool oak hardwood floor. I looked over at the clock on the bedside table. There was only one place I wanted to be right now. But two o’clock in the morning wasn’t exactly the best time to go knocking on doors.
I dressed quickly and picked up the silver key David had given me from the top of my bedside table. I shoved the key in the pocket of my jeans then slipped out my bedroom and down the back stairs to the kitchen. I snuck out the back door and ran across the courtyard to the gate facing the street. As I looked up and down a darkened Royal Street, I could not spot a single soul traveling along the sidewalk. The porch lights from the adjacent residences cast eerie shadows all around me. Only the occasional sound of footsteps filled the night and the unsettling quiet of the usually busy street unnerved me. I knew the French Quarter streets were dangerous to navigate alone at night, but with my good judgment being blinded by desperate need, I decided to run to David’s. At least then, I reasoned, anyone wanting to mug me would have to really work for it.
Less than ten minutes later, I stood gasping for breath as I used my key to open the gate to George’s courtyard entrance. Checking both sides of the street, I entered the wrought iron gate. When I stepped out into the courtyard, strips of bright moonlight were shimmering down from between the rooftops on either side of the garden walls. I dashed across the courtyard and soon found myself standing in front of David’s carriage house door.
I was about to begin lightly rapping on the front door when I realized I had placed myself in a rather precarious position. David’s hearing loss, combined with what I remembered about his ability to sleep deeply, could soon make my banging on the door to his little c
ottage an event loud enough to awaken the entire neighborhood.
I went to one of the windows and peeked inside, hoping to find some way to get in without being detected. I was about to turn away from the window, when I saw a figure walk by.
I was gently tapping on the window when the front door opened and David came rushing outside. He was wearing a blue robe over his jeans and holding a mug in his hand. Flecks of paint were in his hair and on his face.
“Nicci? What are you doing out here?”
Peering into his eyes, a swarm of butterflies took to flight in my gut. “I wanted to see you,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“At two in the morning? How in the hell did you get here? Did Dallas drive you?”
“Dallas is probably still asleep in his bed. I ran from Val’s. It’s only a few blocks.”
“You did what?” he shouted and the sound reverberated throughout the patio. He quickly lowered the volume of his voice. “Are you insane? Do you know what could have happened to you?” He paused and raised one eyebrow at me. “What do you mean asleep in his bed? You and Dallas aren’t sleeping together?”
I shook my head. “He moved into another bedroom after he returned from your meeting yesterday morning. He also told me of your plans for him to go back to Simon’s organization in New York and abandon his work at his family’s boatyard in Connecticut. He made it very clear that he has pretty much tossed our relationship to the side, as well. When were you going to clue me in on any of this?”
“I have my own plans for you, which you’re already bloody well clued in on,” he griped, sounding more than a bit annoyed. “I swear you’re going to be the death of me.”
I folded my arms. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
He smiled at me. It was the same warm, wonderful smile that I had carried with me since that tragic day three years ago.
“Why are you here, Nicci?”
I took a step closer to him. “I needed to talk to someone. I tried to sleep and I kept thinking about you, Dallas, and Greg Caston.”
The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series Page 75
