She strode between the displays, and he followed her to a corner where, behind a sleek desk, a sprightly thirty-five-ish man rose from his chair with a smile. Of course, he was looking at Grace.
“Hello, Lester. Thanks for talking to us. This is David Young. He’s a special consultant to the Boston Police Department,” she said with particular reverence, or so it sounded to David.
Lester shook David’s hand and invited them into his back room to chat, but not before hitting a button behind his desk that caused the pronounced clicking sound of the lock on the gallery doors.
“Lester, I didn’t get your last name,” David said. It couldn’t really be Lump.
Lester made a face. “If you must know. Lester Lump. I don’t go around advertising it. I’m known throughout the art world merely as Lester L.” He gave a knowing nod to Grace.
“I see,” David said and meant it.
“What can I do for you, my lovely? Something to do with an Aquinas vase, you said?” Lester spoke to Grace, but David decided not to let that deter him from asking his questions.
“Yes. I’m investigating the recent murder of Nick Racer, a New York City detective who recently purchased this vase at the New York branch of your gallery. We’d like to know the details of his purchase: cost, date, who sold it to him.”
“All business, I see. Anything for a friend of Gracie’s. Let me log onto the computer.” Lester sat on a curved piece of leather that passed for a stool in front of his computer. “I know we didn’t sell it to him from here because we only have one and it’s still on the floor.” He clicked away at the keys. David couldn’t help admire his keyboard skills, which were completely missing from his own otherwise impressive repertoire of talents.
Grace stepped closer and said for his ears only, “I like how you thought of all those questions and took charge.” She was serious—he thought. He was momentarily stunned into a loss for words.
Then Lester Lump grunted and frowned. That got their attention back.
“Hmmm. This is very strange.”
“What?” David and Grace both said at the same time.
“The record shows that one of the vases was sold, but no price, no invoice. I think this is the one you described to me Gracie. Take a look.”
Grace peeked at the screen and nodded.
“No record of who sold it—or rather, gave it away—or to whom?” David asked.
“Only the date of transfer. Eight days ago. The retail price is ten thousand dollars, but who knows what the actual sales price was—if you know what I mean. Let me call the manager there.” Lester sounded a lot more businesslike himself now, as he tapped out a number on the cell phone he’d retrieved from his jacket pocket—the same pocket that held a spiffy turquoise pocket hanky.
David mused about that while Lester spun around and spoke quietly enough not to be overheard. Grace glanced at David with raised brows. Even she thought this behavior odd.
Then Lester slipped his phone back into his hankied pocket and turned to them with spread hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. The manager there hasn’t a clue what it’s about, but he’ll look into it and get back to us on the price and billing. He said he didn’t sell the vase so he’ll check with his associates. He’s sure it’s just an administrative snafu.” Lester stood and smiled.
“Thanks for trying, Lester,” Grace said and then they all headed back out through the gallery to the main door.
“You mentioned you had another Aquinas vase—forgive my artistic ignorance, but can you tell me which it is?” David asked.
“Why, yes, here it is.” Lester quickly moved toward a strikingly lit display case along the wall with all manner of glass sculptures, vases and dishes. He pointed to a very large red vase with a particularly wide base.
“You have excellent taste. Are you interested in a purchase?” Lester smiled.
“Strictly business. I’ll keep you in mind, though.” David looked at Grace. “I am in the midst of redecorating. But in the meantime, can you do me a favor and let me know if anyone else should want to purchase this vase? Here’s my card. And of course call me when your man in New York gets back to you with those details.” David handed Lester the card and the man nodded.
After he and Grace were back on the street, she blew out a whistle. “I love watching you work, detective,” she said and walked to her door. He followed her and opened it for her. She stopped short where they stood close and gave him another one of those very addictive looks where he felt like he was the savior of the free world. Even back in the day when he could make such a claim, no one had ever looked at him in quite the way she did. He didn’t know whether to be afraid or smitten. He suspected he was both.
They got in the car and she drove him back to his place so he could finally change his clothes.
“You actually work for Scotland Yard?” Grace asked him as they got out of the taxi in front of the O’Keefe’s house in Charlestown.
“Technically, yes. I’m with the Boston Police Department as the director of their exchange program with the Met—Scotland Yard.” He knocked on the door of the clapboard house. It wasn’t far from his Beacon Hill townhouse, but it was a far different kind of neighborhood within sight and sound of the harbor and Old Ironsides.
“Technically speaking, what’s your official Scotland Yard title?” she asked with wide eyes.
“I was Detective Chief Superintendent of the Flying Squad—before my… transfer,” he said, but he thought exile.
He’d called ahead and talked to Esther. She said some day she would appreciate this as a funny episode and retell the story with hysterical laughter. Tonight she was annoyed—concerned for her friend mostly. But Esther was a good egg and she would try to help David finesse the fine line. He had to promise he’d ask her friend out on a date—alone. And he’d had to swear that he was not dating Grace. Then he threw in the promise that he would never date any other Grace-like women in the future either. He was no longer sure exactly what that meant, but he’d promised just the same, knowing deep down that it was all for his own good.
He had to get serious about life again. Or was it that he had to get real? Now he was sounding like Grace.
“Chief of the Scotland Yard Flying Squad.” Grace licked her lips and aimed her soul-melting brown eyes at him. “That’s as good as Batman for me.”
“Pardon?” Could he possibly have heard her correctly? He did a double-take to check and the look on her face was genuine.
“No, you’re much better because you’re real,” she said a little breathlessly. She stared at him with her signature look of intense adoration. He stared back and wondered how he was going to manage to give this up—to give her up.
They were standing in front of the door that way, staring and leaning close, their eyes shuttering to that special hazy state. He was about to kiss her inadvisably yet again when the door flung open.
“Welcome, David. It’s about time…” Esther stopped abruptly. He turned to face her, clearing his throat.
He put an arm protectively around Grace, without thinking why, just knowing he should. “Good evening, Esther. This is Grace Rogers, my decorator.” He smiled, regaining his poise in a hurry.
‘Yes. Well…hello. You two…” Esther gestured for them to come in.
Luckily David knew his way. He ushered the two ladies, both sleepwalking through their haze of confusion for two very different reasons.
Everyone else was there in the living room. It was the perfect tableau. He felt like he stepped into the denouement of a Miss Marple novel. Dan struck a Dick Tracy pose by the fireplace, sipping his martini. A demure, understated woman dressed in navy blue sat with her ankles crossed on a small chair and held an untouched glass of white wine. A silver tray of crackers topped with various food items sat on a glass table. The chief’s teenaged son, Jason, had been sitting on the sofa. He popped up with that energy and awkwardness peculiar to his age group and came forward, zeroing in on David to shake his hand. No do
ubt the poor boy thought he’d brought Grace along to be his date and round out the coupling at this soiree.
“Hey whot, Chief Detective!” Jason said. The boy pumped his hand and looked meaningfully toward Grace, waiting for the introduction. Jason’s refreshing demeanor was a relief from the tension in the rest of the room.
“Now, Jason,” Esther scolded. She did the introductions. “This is Grace, er, David’s decorator, who he invited along…very kindly.” Then Esther introduced the demure woman as Maria. David instantly thought of her as Demure Maria.
Grace stepped forward into the room and looked around.
“This is a beautiful room, Esther. It has balance. There’s warmth with personal touches, and yet it’s not cluttered.” She turned toward Esther. “Very well done.”
She was, as usual, very genuine. And her comments had the effect of dispelling some of the tension and putting Esther at ease. Of course, it was odd that she would come in to a dinner and be introduced as a decorator, but she played the role, and beautifully.
“Thank you. Let me get you a drink. What would you like? We have everything,” Esther said.
“In that case, I’ll have a purple hooter.”
Esther stopped short and Dick Tracy raised his brows.
“Oh, those are supposed to be awesome. I mean, that’s what I’ve heard,” Jason said.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Where would you go to get one?” Demure Maria asked. Grace went over and sat down on the couch nearest the woman’s chair. She looked Maria in the eye and smiled. She all but patted the woman’s hand as if she were feeble.
“At a bar.”
Jason laughed but quickly stifled himself after the glares from his parents hit him. But Miss Demure was a good enough sport to give a shy little self-deprecating laugh before she went silent.
“Let me get the drinks, Esther,” David said. I’ll make one for myself too.” He decided to make his a double. Dick Tracy joined him at the small bar in the corner of the room. The three women were left to sit and make nice. The tension had returned.
“I see we’re in for a turbulent evening.” Dick Tracy grinned with mischief. “Thanks to your brilliant invitation this will not be a tedious dinner, but I will be in deep trouble the minute it’s over.”
“Nah, I already smoothed it over with Esther. I owe her a date with the demure lady.”
That made Dick Tracy laugh quite loudly. David had finished mixing Grace’s drink and dumped some Scotch into an old-fashioned glass for himself, then dumped it down his throat and poured another.
“A bracer,” he said to his friend’s raised brows. “To the mischief to come.” He raised his glass and they toasted the evening. He and Dan reluctantly returned to where the women were seated and stood with their glasses in hand.
“I’m a French teacher. High school. We’ll be going to France this spring. Paris is becoming like a second home—I’ve been there the last fifteen years in a row now,” Maria said.
Maybe he ought to think of her as French Maria instead, David thought.
“Paris is wonderful! You’re so lucky. They have the most vibrant fashion and art communities. Of course I haven’t been there fifteen years in a row,” Grace said.
He knew she had no idea she was obviating her relative youth.
“Of course you haven’t. You’re too young. How long have you been decorating?” Maria wasn’t being so demure any more. Frenchie definitely fit her better.
“Let me think…”
“Oh, look, Grace, here’s your drink. It’s very colorful isn’t it?” Esther said.
David handed Grace her glass and gave her a wink. They all watched her as she took a sip.
“Delicious! If the crime-fighting business ever goes dry you could be a bartender,” Grace told him with her disarming smile in place.
“That’s sounds like a very attractive possibility,” David said.
“How’s the latest case going, Chief?” Jason asked.
“Oh don’t be so formal, just call me Detective—wouldn’t want to get confused with the real chief.” David gave Dan a nod.
“I was under the impression you were no longer—” French Maria started to say.
“He’s on loan from Scotland Yard. Isn’t that fascinating?” Grace said.
“Yes, quite so. I’m on special assignment directing the exchange program with the Boston Police Department—helping out my old friend Dick Tracy.”
“Yeah, I always wanted a sidekick from Scotland Yard to liven up the murder investigations. Otherwise it gets boring,” Dan said.
“I think dinner is ready.” Esther stood with her hands clasped and a squinty smile.
They filed into the dining room and David moved close to Grace. He felt compelled to touch her, to reassure her. He knew he was going to have to sit next to Frenchie and pay her some attention once dinner began. Forget a new career as a bartender—he had a real future as a juggler.
“I think your goose is overcooked. I think they wanted to fix you up with French Maria,” Grace whispered to him, with a small note of amusement in her voice.
“French Maria?”
“I always think of something to keep names straight in my head,” Grace said with a shake of said pretty head.
“I know exactly what you mean.” David winked and squeezed her arm. They all sat and he was lucky enough to have Grace at his side and Frenchie across from him.
“I wish I could have a decorator do my place. What a luxury that would be,” Frenchie said to Grace.
“Oh, it’s not all that expensive. If you’re doing your place over anyway, you should consider it.” Grace pulled out a card and handed it to the woman. At that Frenchie became flustered, taking the card as if it were an exotic object.
“So let’s have some war stories!” Jason hefted a piece of beef onto his plate. The boy had an appetite to match his enthusiasm.
“Oh, yes, David. You must have a million stories.” Grace turned to the rest of the table. “Can you imagine—a Flying Squad Detective from Scotland Yard?” She beamed her smile around.
“So why did Scotland Yard let an important man such as yourself come to Boston in an exchange program?” Frenchie asked as if she were getting to the difficult question in her personal vetting process.
Everyone else at the table was silent, even Jason. David paused and considered his answer. The silence around the table grew more uncomfortable. Jason watched his meat as he sliced it.
Grace turned to him with a puzzled expression and waited for him to clear up her puzzlement. Why not? he thought.
“Since not everyone at the table knows, I may as well explain.” He put his fork aside and took a deep, resigned breath. “The exchange program assignment is in lieu of gardening leave,” he said.
Grace looked even more puzzled and was about to speak when he put up his hand to stop her. Maria pinched her brows together and watched him.
“I’m on assignment here until the political turmoil settles. The internal affairs committee is investigating me,” he said in a quiet voice. “You see, I killed the man who murdered my wife.”
He picked up his old-fashioned glass then, without looking at Grace, thinking it was a good time to take a fortifying sip. When he looked back at her she couldn’t have looked more shocked. He looked around. They all looked shocked, except Dan. He looked annoyed.
“I was working on a case—I took charge of an investigation into a financier of terrorist cells and we were getting close. The man in question thought we’d back off if he kidnapped my wife. We didn’t back off. He killed her. I tracked him down and shot him—in self-defense. He died. That was a year and a half ago.
“There remains a question about whether it was appropriate for me to go out on my own and track him down. The committee already decided in my favor on the matter of self-defense, but the issue of my status at the Yard remains…controversial.” This time he took more than a sip of his Scotch. “So I—with the Commissioner’s encouragement�
��decided it was the perfect time to return to Boston.”
“That’s so sad. How long has your wife been…gone?” Grace spoke in a near whisper.
“She’s been dead two years now. My wife’s estate is being held up as well. Her various relatives who have an interest in it have thrown a stick in the works.” David looked at Dan, who was shaking his head. No one but Jason had resumed eating.
“That’s the biggest sin of it all,” Dan said.
“But my barrister—or lawyer—tells me everything should be over soon.”
“How many times has he said that? I hope you’re not paying him too much.” Dan finally dug into his meat with gusto.
“This time it’s real. There’s a court appearance scheduled this week. It’s in all the London papers,” David told him.
“Oh, how wonderful.” Esther clasped her hands. “Then you can put all that behind you.”
“Will all that notoriety affect your work with the Boston police?” Frenchie asked with concern.
“Dan and the mayor know all about it. The story should die out soon,” he said.
“Once you crack your first case here in Boston, the press will report you as the hero again,” Dan said.
Jason pumped his fist and everyone smiled at that.
“Will you go back to Scotland Yard then?” Grace asked, and he could swear she looked dejected at the prospect.
“I’m on assignment here for two years with the exchange program. But I grew up in Boston, so I may consider staying,” he told her. He was starting to feel that he might be at home for good in Boston. She looked pleased by his response.
“That’s wonderful. Then I’ll have to do some extra special decorating to make your home a place to stay forever,” Grace said.
Before David could lose himself in her gaze, he tore his eyes away to smile at everyone. “When my fate at the Yard is decided and the estate is settled, we should celebrate—I’ll take us all out to dinner.” Everyone nodded wholeheartedly in approval of the plan.
The Throwbacks Page 6
