Devious: Book Five in the On The Run series

by Sara Rosett

  Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Like spying on me. And shooting at me with water guns.”

  “Oh, that was a bad day, Sis. After Mother found out…” Robert pushed off the railing. “Let’s not go there.”

  “I’m sure it was no more than you deserved,” Poppy said. “Half the things you did, you were never caught. And the other half, I got blamed for.”

  Robert disappeared out of sight, but his voice floated down. “Been doing a bit of redecorating? Or packing? There’s a blank spot on the wall.”

  “I knew it.” Poppy marched across the room and up the stairs. “You’re not in town on business. This is about the painting.”

  “What painting?”

  “The one you asked about when you called. The View of Edinburgh.”

  Ivan drifted toward the Chesterfield. Poppy’s mobile phone was on one of the cushions. He picked it up and swished through the screens quickly.

  “Is that the one that’s gone?” Robert asked.

  “Yes. I’m having it cleaned. It’s one of Mother’s favorites. I’m taking it back to her when it’s finished.”

  “I see. You used Blakeson’s, I suppose?” Ivan shook his head at Robert’s tone. He was trying to sound casual, but he couldn’t disguise his eagerness.

  “Of course.”

  Ivan put the phone back exactly where it had been. “Robert, we’ll lose our reservation if we don’t leave soon.”

  “Right.” He trotted down the stairs.

  “So how long are you in town?” Poppy asked, following him more slowly.

  “Ah—only a few days.”

  Poppy crossed her arms. “Sure. I get it. You don’t know because you wanted to look at that painting and since it’s not here…”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Robert shrugged into his coat.

  “You’re not a good liar, Robbie. That’s why your scams never work out.” Robert sputtered, but Poppy cut him off, turning instead to Ivan. “Try to keep him out of trouble.”

  “Sure,” Ivan said. “Good to see you, Poppy.” And this time he did give her a quick kiss on the cheek before he followed a fuming Robert down the stairs.

  Once they were outside and striding across the close, Robert said, “Why did you do that? No need to be so…so courtly with her. It’s just Poppy.”

  “The kiss? It seemed to be the thing that would annoy her the most. And it worked. It surprised her enough that we got out of there without any more questions.”

  “But we didn’t get to see the painting. We’ll have to go to Blackson’s tomorrow and convince them we need to see it.”

  “It’s not at Blackson’s.”

  “What?”

  “I was able to look at Poppy’s phone. She didn’t send the painting out to be cleaned. It’s in Salzburg.”

  14

  ZOE CONSULTED THE MAP SHE’D picked up at the Salzburg airport. “Let’s cut through this park at the next block. We should be able to get to the river.” Zoe and Jack had left the rain behind in Scotland. With their connection in Frankfurt, it had taken all afternoon to get to Salzburg, and after a quick stop at another modern hotel located near the train station to drop their luggage, it was already fully dark as they made their way to Salzburg’s old town to meet Masard. Zoe tucked the map into her messenger bag next to the painting.

  “Here it is,” Jack said as they came to a large paved courtyard area with benches under massive trees. “What is it?” Jack asked, looking back toward Zoe, who was trailing behind him.

  “I don’t know.” She gazed around the street, her forehead wrinkled into a frown. “I’ve got that weird feeling, like someone is watching us.”

  Jack slowed his pace and scanned the street in front and behind them. “I don’t see anyone particularly interested in us.”

  “I know. Hold on. Is that—” Zoe moved to the left a little to get a better look at a woman on the other side of the street. But she turned away, disappearing behind a tour bus that labored to the curb. In a few seconds, the sidewalk was filled with a throng of people. “For a second there, I thought I saw Poppy Foley, but it couldn’t have been her. She’s in Edinburgh. I guess I’m imagining things. First, in the hotel room and now here.”

  “In the hotel room?”

  “Yeah. It was weird. I forgot to tell you about that. I thought someone had been in my room.” She told him about her computer and clothes, then said, “But then you arrived unexpectedly, and then Homes came. I completely forgot about it until now.”

  Jack didn’t say anything else, but Zoe noticed that as they paced on, he used the glass walls of a large building to check behind them.

  They crossed the courtyard and took one of the paths that cut diagonally through a green lawn dotted with trees and hedges, passing a series of shallow steps to a raised flowerbed, then stopped because a closed wrought iron gate blocked their path. “It probably closes at dusk,” Jack said, studying the gates that enclosed a spacious stretch of gardens. “No shortcut for us tonight.” The air was crisp and cold, and they’d planned to use the gardens to cut a little time off their walk. He turned toward the main street.

  “Wait, Jack.” Zoe stepped closer to the iron gates. A pair of unicorn statues flanked another series of steps that dropped down into gardens laid out with strict geometric precision. Curving lines of blooms swooped and looped across the rectangles of green around a central fountain. In the distance, Zoe could make out baroque cathedral domes and the more sedate white walls of Salzburg’s castle, the Hohensalzburg Fortress. “This looks familiar…somehow.” Zoe was puzzled. Jack took another look at the garden through the iron bars then a smile spread slowly across his face. “You don’t recognize the Pegasus statue?”

  Zoe shook her head. “Maybe it was in the one of the guidebooks I edited? It has to be something like that. I’ve never been to Salzburg.”

  “What if you added a bunch of kids dancing and singing around it?”

  It took her a second, then she had it. “Of course. The Sound of Music. This is where they sang the Do-Re-Mi song. I can’t believe I haven’t even thought about that movie once.”

  “You’ve had other things occupying your mind.”

  They looked through the bars for a moment longer. “I wish it was open,” Zoe said as they returned to the busy street that they had been walking along before their detour. “It’s gorgeous. It’s coming back to me, the guidebook tidbits. This was once a royal garden. Mirabell Gardens, I think it’s called. How did you recognize it?”

  “You sound surprised that I recognized it. I have a memory like a steel trap, you know.”

  “Oh, I know you have a great memory. It’s the fact that you even knew about The Sound of Music in the first place that surprises me.”

  “Maybe I have a secret passion for musicals.”

  Zoe snorted. “Right. You’re not exactly a show tunes kind of guy. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you even mention a song title from a musical, much less sing one.”

  “I sing.”

  “Yes, but not show tunes. So come on, tell me. How is it that a serious guy like you recognized the Mirabell Gardens?”

  “Because of my mom,” Jack said simply. “She loved musicals. She knew the words to every song from every musical ever made, I think. Every year at Christmas, we watched The Sound of Music. It was a family tradition.”

  “That’s sweet,” Zoe said. Both of Jack’s parents had passed away before Zoe met him. He rarely talked about them. “Thanks for telling me.” They had reached the end of the street and rounded the corner, skirting around an ornate building, a theater. After a few seconds Zoe asked. “Does it make you sad to talk about them?”

  It took Jack a moment to answer. “Sometimes, but not when I think of Mom and her musicals. Those are good memories.”

  They’d reached the pedestrian bridge over the Salzach River, the boundary that separated Salzburg’s Old Town from the “newer” area across the river, which to Zoe, seemed a rather funny design
ation since the Mirabell Gardens and nearby Palace were located in the New Town area, but were built sometime in the Renaissance, if she remembered her dates correctly.

  “What’s up with the locks?” Jack asked as they crossed the bridge. The chain-link lining under the handrails on each side of the bridge were covered with thousands of padlocks.

  “I can’t remember the name of the bridge,” Zoe said, “but I do remember the part about the locks. The locks are symbols of love.”

  Jack eyed a few of the locks. Some of them had names printed on them. “Let me guess. The lock symbolizes the love between the couple. They hook it here and throw the key in the water.”

  “Symbolizing their eternal love,” Zoe said.

  “What do you think?” She was curious to hear Jack’s opinion. Romantic gestures and symbols of love weren’t his thing, which had bothered her a bit in the beginning of their relationship. It had taken her a couple of years to figure it out, but she now knew that Jack loved her deeply, even if he didn’t always express it with flowery words or grand gestures. A few years ago she would have longed for a guy who would be into the symbolism of the padlock on the bridge. Now, she’d rather have Jack’s steady, unchanging love. Reality over the dream.

  Jack shook his head. “If only I’d known.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know how much I spent on flowers and chocolate when I was dating? If only I’d known about this padlock thing. I could have saved so much money. This is great, though. I never know what to get you for Valentine’s Day. Now I know—a good, solid padlock.”

  “Sounds great,” Zoe said with a laugh. “But we have to come back here to attach it. Or Paris. I think there is a bridge in Paris like this.”

  “Either place sounds good to me.” They’d reached the end of the bridge and crossed into the narrow streets lined with tall buildings. “Oh, here we are, the Getreidegasse,” Zoe said, taking a stab at the pronunciation of the word. “I’m probably saying it wrong, but I do remember that this street has been around since Roman times and it was the medieval Rodeo Drive.”

  Five- and six-story buildings packed side by side lined the narrow street, which curved gently so that you couldn’t see all the way from one end of it to the other. Wrought iron signs filled the air above the strolling pedestrians. Each sign had its own unique design. Some signs were traditional. Zoe spotted an eagle head, a star, and a horn, but she recognized many designer brand shops, each with its logo fashioned into a medieval-style hanging sign. “Look, there’s a sign for sushi,” Zoe said. “And, I think…yes, those are the golden arches,” Zoe said. “Fast food is everywhere.”

  “So is Starbucks,” Jack said with a nod of his head at the famous sign, which was located off the main drag in a little courtyard. “But I’m sure Masard isn’t waiting in any of those places.”

  “No, not his style at all.” Zoe checked her phone for the directions. “We’re to pass Mozart’s birthplace.” Zoe paused and scanned the street as they walked.

  “That must be it,” Jack said, eyeing a narrow building painted a bright gold. A banner with two red stripes on either side of a single white stripe flowed down the length of the building from the wide windows above street level to the top floor. The windows became progressively smaller the higher the floor. The words Mozart Geburtshaus were centered up on the building and a thick line of people waited, spilling out the door and edging the street.

  “We’re to pass a couple more buildings, then look for the sign with a wheel—ah, here it is.” With Jack following her, Zoe turned and went up a staircase so narrow that no one else could have passed her. They emerged onto a small landing with an open door. The sounds of silverware clattering against plates and the low murmur of conversation came from the doorway along with delicious aromas. Jack mentioned Masard’s name, and they were whisked through a dining room paneled in wood and dotted with chandeliers. Masard was seated at a table situated in an alcove between two rough stone columns that showed the age of the building.

  Masard was a rotund little man with black hair slicked straight back from his forehead above his round glasses. He loved his food, and they focused on the meal and bringing each other up to date until the waiter asked if they’d like dessert.

  Zoe put a hand on her stomach. “Not for me. I shouldn’t have eaten all of the schnitzel.”

  “Then only mokka for me,” Masard told the waiter. Jack ordered the same, but Zoe passed. Jack looked like he needed the caffeine. His eyelids were droopy, and Zoe could see that the time change was catching up with him, despite his time snoozing on the flights earlier in the day. When the coffees arrived the drinks looked more espresso than mocha to Zoe, but both Masard and Jack sipped appreciatively then switched to the glasses of water that were also served with the coffees.

  Masard put down his cup. “Now, about this painting. You brought it with you, no?”

  “Yes.” Zoe reached for her messenger bag, which was in her lap, but then looked around the restaurant. It was an odd thing to bring out in public. Most people didn’t pass a painting around the table as they sipped their after dinner coffee.

  “It is fine,” Masard said, and Jack nodded.

  They were in a relatively sheltered corner of the restaurant, hemmed in with the stone columns on each side of their table. Zoe flicked back the flap and pulled out the painting. She’d had the statement from Poppy ready when she and Jack had moved through security at the airport, but no one had even looked at it twice. Of course, they’d had a girl on their flight with a long board and a man with a huge guitar, so maybe a painting wasn’t that unusual. It was certainly something that a person would want to carry on the plane instead of checking it through to Salzburg, so that didn’t raise any eyebrows either.

  Masard moved his coffee cup out of the way and set the painting down on the cleared white tablecloth before he peeled back the brown paper. “Ah, yes, it is beautiful,” he said as he lifted it clear of the paper. “Not a stunning painting like her later work, but beautiful in its own right.” He tilted it this way and that, examined the frame, then carefully turned it over to inspect the back. He lingered over the sticker with the faded writing.

  “A cataloging mark, right?” Zoe asked.

  “Yes. The light is not good here. It looks as if some of it has worn away.” He eased the painting back into the brown paper nest. “We will be able to see it better tomorrow. Would you like me to take it now? Felix arrives tomorrow morning. If I have it, he may be able to get to it before lunch.”

  “So you were able to arrange for tests to be done here?” Zoe asked.

  “Yes, a friend of mine, who lives in Vienna, arrives here tomorrow to look at some of the works of art I am considering purchasing. He can analyze this painting, if you wish.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. But are you sure he will have the right equipment? Does he have a portable x-ray machine?” Zoe exchanged a smile with Jack.

  “As a matter of fact, he does. He works as a…ah,” he paused, searching for the correct word, “…liaison for a dealer and appraiser from the States. If they get a request from someone in Europe for their services, or if one of their clients is considering purchasing a work of art in Europe, he travels to where the artwork is located and does the analysis.” He shrugged. “Everything is through the Internet, no?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Zoe said, thinking of Harrington. He had told her that the number of clients who contacted him through his website grew every month.

  Jack rubbed his eyes then determinedly raised his eyebrows. “Henri, this has been a great dinner, but I have to call it a night.”

  “He flew in this morning from the States,” Zoe explained.

  “Ah, you should have told me. We could have met earlier.” He pulled a business card from the interior pocket of his suit jacket and wrote an address on the back. “Felix and I will be here. Come any time after noon, and Felix should be finished with your painting.” Harrington slipped the wrapped painting into a
large shopping bag, which was positioned beside his chair. Masard caught Zoe eyeing the bag doubtfully. “It is the safest way to transport things, you know, in a nondescript container.”

  Jack nodded, “He’s right. Anyone who saw him would think he was carrying around a new shirt or coat, not a Victorian painting.”

  “I suppose so,” Zoe said, but at the last minute, scribbled a handwritten receipt, noting that Masard received “one Victorian landscape in wooden frame, A View of Edinburgh by Annabel Foley” on a page torn from her notebook. Masard signed it with a scribble that looked more like a straight line than a signature then picked up the shopping bag by the handles and waddled off, the bag bumping against his leg as he descended the stairs.

  Without the painting weighing it down, Zoe’s messenger bag felt extremely light as they left the restaurant. She’d even left her laptop back at the hotel because the painting took up so much room in the bag. Zoe and Jack made their way, hands linked, along the cobblestoned street, stopping occasionally to look at shop windows. It wasn’t as crowded as it had been earlier, and the shops glowed in the growing darkness.

  “Zoe, what’s wrong?” Jack asked.

  “Hmm?” Zoe said as she dusted some lint from Jack’s shoulder while she looked behind them.

  “That’s the third time you’ve looked behind us—good technique by the way. Very subtle, but what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see anyone following us…I just feel like someone is.”

  “Okay,” Jack said and tucked her arm closer to his side. “Let’s have some fun.” They wove in and out of the shops and courtyards, meandering seemingly aimlessly, but both of them were more focused on catching glimpses of the people around them than they were on strolling. They crossed the pedestrian bridge with the locks, and Zoe stopped to lean on the railing, using the opportunity to look behind them. “Nothing. I must have imagined it. That’s the second time I thought we were being followed, but we weren’t.”

  She pushed off, and they resumed walking. Jack put his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe. Don’t doubt your gut. You do have pretty good instincts.” He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “You did pick me.”