by Sara Rosett
Zoe sidestepped around a room service cart then slipped her keycard in the lock. She grabbed her coat and was buttoning it, when her fingers slowed and she stepped toward her laptop. Why was it open? She’d used it this morning to check email, but had closed it before she went down to breakfast. She always closed it so the battery didn’t run down. The screen was dark, but when she placed a hand on the back of the computer. It was warm.
Zoe whirled around and checked the tiny bath. She’d walked right by it on her way inside the room, but hadn’t glanced inside. It was empty, and the damp towels from her morning shower were still bundled on the rack. The maid hadn’t been in yet. Zoe returned to the main room and scanned it. She was not an extremely neat person, so there were clothes draped over the back of the chair and shoes scattered around the floor…but hadn’t she left her scarf on top of the little safe? It was in the room’s closet, and she walked slowly across the room then opened the door wider.
Yes, her scarf was pushed to the side along with a top she’d worn yesterday. Zoe was pretty sure she hadn’t left it like that. She punched in the code for the safe. The door popped open, revealing the brown-wrapped painting and the envelope containing the remainder of Harrington’s money.
There was a tap at the door to her hotel room. She checked the peephole, expecting to see one of the hotel staff, but it was Jack, looking slightly rumpled.
She opened the door, threw her arms around him, and kissed him. His hair and the shoulders of his black waterproof jacket were splattered with raindrops. “Now that’s a greeting,” Jack said when she stepped back so that he could maneuver his suitcase inside the room and close the door.
“What are you doing here? I was going to meet you at the airport.”
“We got in early.” Jack tossed his overcoat on the bed. “Apparently there’s a great tailwind from the east coast to here.”
“I have a lot to tell you. I’m so glad you’re here,” Zoe said.
A few seconds later, she was still in the process of demonstrating exactly how happy she was to see him when there was another knock at the door.
Jack pulled his lips away from hers. “That’s disappointing. Early meeting?”
“No meetings today.” Zoe checked the peephole again and sighed. Inspector Homes stood on the other side of the door.
13
“IT’S THE POLICE,” ZOE SAID resignedly and opened the door.
“Inspector, you’re out and about, bright and early.” The fabric of his coat had a pattern of raindrops on it.
“Yes, sorry about that.” Despite his apology, he didn’t look sorry at all. He stood solidly in the doorway, his bright eyes sizing up Jack, who Zoe could feel standing behind her. “May I ask you a few more questions?”
Zoe opened the door wider and motioned him to the lone chair, a delicate-looking club chair shaped like a barrel with a section cut out of it for a person’s legs. “Jack, this is Inspector Homes. Inspector, this is my husband, Jack Andrews.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Holmes?”
“Homes, not Holmes,” he said quickly. “No l in my name. No, that is not a joke. Yes, it is my real name.” Homes sat down, his trench coat ruffling up around his legs as he sank into narrow chair. “I did not realize you were scheduled to be here as well, Mr. Andrews.”
Since there was nowhere else to sit, Zoe and Jack sat down side-by-side on the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t,” Jack said.
The silence stretched out as Homes waited for Jack to add more to his explanation, but Zoe knew that when it came to giving information to the police, Jack was like a miser with his words.
“So this is a spur-of-the-minute trip?” Homes finally asked.
“Yes.”
Rain drummed on the window while the two men watched each other. Zoe repressed a sigh. This could go on all day. “I phoned him yesterday after our…chat. He was worried about me.”
Homes’s eyebrows lifted. “A trans-Atlantic flight from Houston to Edinburgh? You must have been very worried indeed.”
So he had checked up on Jack as well, Zoe thought. She knew Jack would have picked up on that bit of info, too, but his voice was calm as he said, “I’m sure any husband would have the same reaction. Now, how can we help you?”
“Just a few more questions.” Homes shifted all his attention to Zoe. “How do you know Theodore Cooke?”
“I don’t.” She recognized the name and felt a little flare of excitement. She and Carla had been on the right track with the information about Theo Cooke, but she didn’t want Homes to know she knew about Theo. He could misinterpret something like that.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, positive.” She tried to keep her expression as neutral and blank as she could. It was true—she didn’t know Theo Cook. She knew of him, but she didn’t know him.
“You’ve never met him?” Homes pressed. “Emailed him? Chatted online?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Zoe said. “Who is he?”
Homes fixed his dark eyes on Zoe for a few seconds, watching her thoughtfully. Zoe knew how to play the quiet game too. Finally, Homes said, “He is responsible for the attack on Justine Price.”
A few hundred questions were bumping around Zoe’s mind, but she forced herself not to think about them and only said, “So that means you’ve sorted out that I didn’t do it.” Zoe squeezed Jack’s hand. “See, I told you it was nothing to worry about.” Jack smiled back at her, his eyes flashing her a warning that she was laying it on too thick.
Jack cut in before Zoe could speak again. “You have evidence linking him to the crime?”
“Yes. And we have him in custody.”
“Oh, well,” Zoe said. “That’s a relief. I mean, I’m sorry for poor Justine, but at least you’ve found the person who did it. Did he say why he attacked her?”
“No, he’s not speaking to us at all. Very uncooperative, in fact.”
“That is troublesome,” Jack said. “But it seems to me that my wife has answered all the questions she can for you.” Jack shifted his weight, preparing to stand.
Homes only tilted his head in a side-to-side motion, indicating that what Jack said might be true, but it might not. “There is still the painting.”
It seemed as if the room safe where the painting rested was exerting a physical, magnetic pull on Zoe’s gaze. She made herself fix her attention on Homes. She studied his thinning hair and ruddy complexion. “Yes. There is that. Poppy Foley is curious about that as well. She has hired me to find out why it was stolen.”
Zoe could feel Jack’s gaze on her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t happy. He was masking it pretty well, but she quickly focused on Homes. “I have a signed statement of work from her. She wants no expense spared to find out why the painting was stolen.” Zoe took a deep breath and decided she might as well get it all out right now. “I’m traveling to Salzburg later today, in fact. To consult an expert.”
“An expert?” Jack asked faintly.
“Masard,” Zoe said to him, then turned back to Homes. “Jack just landed, so I haven’t had time to bring him up-to-date on everything. The travel won’t be a problem, will it? Not now that you have…this guy…Cooke. There’s no reason Jack and I can’t pursue our investigation.”
“Investigation?” Homes asked.
“Into the painting.”
“There’s no need for that,” Homes said, leaning forward. “We’re looking into the painting as well.”
“Yes, but how many resources can you dedicate to it?” Zoe asked. “Art crime gets short-shifted so often. That’s why Throckmorton Enquiries exists. You were able to get in touch with Harrington? He verified what I told you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, good. So no issues there.” Zoe stood. “I think I’ve told you everything that I can. I’ll let you know what we find out about the painting.”
Homes stared at Zoe, locking onto her gaze, and for a second she felt like she was back
in elementary school having a stare-off on the playground, but then Homes looked toward a corner of the ceiling and let out a sigh. He struggled out of the chair’s narrow opening. “Thank you for your help.” He moved toward the door.
Zoe closed the door behind him and flicked the bolt into place. “Funny. He sounded exactly the opposite of thankful. He sounded down-right grudging.”
Jack moved to check the peephole then turned back to Zoe and asked in a low voice as if he was afraid Homes was lingering in the hall, “How do you know Theo, Zoe?”
“I don’t know him,” Zoe said in the same quiet tone.
“Then why did you react when Homes said his name?”
“You caught that, did you? Do you think Homes picked up on it?”
“Maybe not, although he seems astute. He did press you on it, so maybe he sensed it as well.”
“What did I do?”
Jack frowned at her. “I think it was because you went completely still. Not like your normal fidgety self.”
“Fidgety. Hmm…I don’t love that description. I’d like to argue with you and say that’s not me at all, but you’re right. I can’t keep still.” Zoe moved away from the door farther into the room.
Jack followed her. “Getting back to the main point…Theo Cooke?”
Zoe went to the door and checked the peephole. “The hallway is empty.” She came back into the room, but still spoke softly. “What I told Homes is true. I don’t know Theo Cooke, but I know his name. Carla found out about him. He’s connected to Justine and the painting.”
“Carla?”
“After my first interview with Homes, I called Carla. I asked her to work her magic and see if she could find out anything about Justine.” Zoe dropped down onto the club chair and described what Carla had discovered.
Jack came over and sat on the edge of the bed near her. “So he went through all that trouble to get the painting then dumped it at an antique store a few days later for a couple hundred pounds.” Jack ran his hand around his jaw, something he did when he was thinking. “He would have taken it to his contact, his fence, first.”
“Who must not have wanted it—otherwise, why would Theo still have the painting days later? He’d want to get rid of it fast, right?”
“Usually, yes. I’m sure it would work that way with electronics or laptops, but with art, I’m not so sure. That might take longer to find a fence or a buyer.”
Zoe leaned forward and put her hand on his leg. Their knees were pressed up against each other. “So Theo must have taken a few days and hit up his contacts, but I bet their assessments of the painting were the same as Violet’s. Nice, but not worth a lot.”
Jack nodded. “And since his contacts would only give him a fraction of what it was worth because art on the black market goes for less than it would through a legitimate dealer, he must have decided he’d spin a story about it being in his family and sell it to a dealer who was on the up-and-up. That way he could get as much for it as possible.”
“But it wasn’t anywhere near the fortune that Justine had heard Poppy’s father talk about. Theo was angry and went after Justine,” Zoe said quietly.
Jack placed his hand on top of hers. “So there is no need to pursue this.”
“Yes, there is. I have a new job, remember?”
“Zoe, Harrington’s local expert looked at the painting and said it’s not valuable.”
“But she wasn’t looking at it the way Masard and his experts will. The value could be in what is under Annabel’s painting, or maybe it’s something to do with the frame, I don’t know, but I have to pursue it. Poppy and I have an agreement.”
Jack sighed. “Agreements can always be broken.”
Zoe sent him a look as she pulled her hand out from under his and stood, which involved a lot of maneuvering to get around his long legs. She flicked back the lid of her suitcase. “I’m not going back on my word, Jack. I told Poppy I’d check out the painting. I’m going to do that. You can come with me, or not.” Zoe picked up a pair of shoes from the floor and shoved them into the suitcase. “I’d rather you came with me,” she paused for a second, then said, “but only if you’re not going to drag your heels all the way. Either you’re in and you support me, or you’re not.” She marched into the bathroom and gathered up her makeup and hairbrush. She called out, “Besides, I have a feeling about that painting. An instinct. It may not be valuable in the classic sense, but there is something going on with it. Too many people are interested in it. I’m going to find out what it is.” She whirled around to leave the bathroom but stopped short. “Oh.” Jack was leaning against the doorframe.
“So you’ve got a gut feeling on this one, do you?”
“Yes. So, in or out? Which is it?”
Jack sighed and shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face. “Oh, I’m in. Definitely in. Who am I to argue with your instincts?”
“Good.” Zoe said in the same sharp rather militant tone she’d been using as she packed, but then her face and tone softened. “I already bought you an airline ticket.”
“We can’t let that go to waste.” Jack drew her into his arms. “Shouldn’t let anything else go to waste either…like time. I don’t want to spend it arguing with you. How long until the flight?”
“It’s not until one.”
“Excellent. We’ll just have to find a way to pass the time.”
“I’m sure we can think of something. There’s the castle that I told you about.”
Jack leaned back so that he could see around the wall of the bathroom to the window. “Nope. Pouring rain. Got any indoor activities?”
Still holding her makeup and hairbrush, Zoe wound her arms around his neck and pulled him back toward her. “As matter of fact, I do have something in mind.”
Robert inserted a key into the lock on the heavy wooden door at Staircase House. “Let me do the talking.”
“Don’t worry. Talking to Poppy is the last thing I want to do. It never works out well.”
Robert pushed open the door. “With any luck, she’ll be out,” he said over his shoulder as Ivan followed him inside. “Poppy? Are you here, Sis?” Robert called as he climbed the steps.
“Robbie?” A voice called sharply.
“No such luck,” Ivan murmured.
Poppy met them as they entered the large living area. She wore yoga pants, a thick sweater, and held a book, her finger marking her place. “What are you doing here?”
“Bit of business brought me north.” Robert caught Poppy to him in a quick hug. She managed a reciprocal pat on the back with the hand that held the book but she didn’t really return the embrace. “Thought I’d stop in and say hello.”
“But you never stop by. You’re always too busy with your projects.” Poppy nodded suddenly and stepped back a bit. “Oh, I get it. You need money. Well, you’ll get none from me. And don’t go to Mother, either. Hearing about your latest scam is the last thing she needs right now.”
Robert had taken off his coat. He flung it down on the back of the Chesterfield. “Investment opportunities. They’re investments.”
Poppy crossed her arms, tucking the book under her elbow. “Really? I thought the definition of an investment was that it paid some sort of return.”
“Children, children,” Ivan said, stepping out of the dimness of the landing and entering the room. “Let’s not fight.”
Poppy’s lips compressed. “And you brought Ivan, too. The evening just gets better and better.”
“Always delightful to see you, too, Poppy.” Ivan made a move to step forward, intending to lean in and brush Poppy’s cheek with a kiss, but the expression on her face, which was definitely not welcoming, made him think better of it. He settled for a nod instead.
“Since I’m in town, I rang Ivan,” Robert said. “We’re on our way to dinner. Would you care to join us?” As he spoke, Robert strolled farther into the room, his gaze roving around the walls.
“No. I’ve already eaten.”
> “Working hard to get this place ready to go on the market, I see,” Robert said, his glance settling on a stack of new, flattened cardboard boxes that were propped against the wall by the fireplace.
Poppy picked up a bookmark from the sofa, marked her place, and then put her book down reluctantly. “The estate agent came by today. He said the listing would create quite a stir. Now, if I can just get the legal issues worked out.”
“Legal issues?” Robert asked.
Poppy waved her hand. “Something to do with the trust that holds the property. I’m sure we can work out something with the trustees.”
“You’re selling the old place?” Ivan asked. “That’s a shame. It’s a great old house.”
“Mother wants to sell.” Poppy turned to him. “Are you in the market?”
“On my salary? Not by a long shot.” Ivan noticed that while Poppy’s attention was on him, Robert used the opportunity to head up the stairs that came out at the minstrel’s gallery.
“But don’t I remember hearing about a promotion?” Poppy asked. “You’re head of some department at the university, aren’t you?”
“Special collections. But we’re talking academia, remember? No money there.”
Robert’s voice floated down from the gallery. “Been ages since I’ve been up here.”
Poppy tilted her head back. “Robert, really. Why are you wandering about? I thought you and Ivan were on your way to dinner.”
“Just wanted to have a peek. I may not see the place again, you know.” He came into sight then crossed his arms and leaned on the bannister. He looked toward Ivan. “We had some fun up here, didn’t we?”
Ivan laughed quietly. “Yes, that was a prime spot for so many things.”
