No Hope In New Hope (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 7)

by Peggy A. Edelheit

  Chapter 41

  Startled & Bewildered

  Clay was waiting for another text from Alicia in reply to him asking where their monitor was located. I didn’t think Clay felt comfortable snooping around the Worths’ gallery, specifically in their home, searching inside cabinets and closets. That text: brown, troubled him too.

  Being a friend, maybe Clay was leery of what he’d find.

  Not being their friend, I had no qualms whatsoever. I wouldn’t touch, but I didn’t promise not to look. First thing I did was to walk through that long art hallway, craning my neck to see behind the paintings: the ones I thought weren’t reproductions. Who would I ask to verify, Anne? …Uh-uh.

  Even though it was still daylight, I whipped out my iPhone and hit the flashlight. Some frames were bulky, old and a little warped. So I was having a difficult time spotting any attachment on the back of the frame. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for, but kept at it. Several times I swore I thought I saw something, but unless I lifted the painting off the wall I couldn’t be positive.

  Frustrated at not seeing anything to write home about, I headed for the Jeep and Worth Gallery. Maybe I’d have better luck down in New Hope. Five minutes later, I swung into the gallery’s parking lot.

  Empty… Where was everybody?

  At least one car should be there during hours. I picked up my pace, turned the backdoor knob, but then paused.

  Locked… Had something happened?

  I fished in my purse for the key, entered, then thought to glance at the keypad. Good thing I did. It was armed.

  Who set it? What was going on?

  After disarming it, I ventured a few steps further. That’s when I heard it: someone inside.

  An employee wouldn’t have set the alarm during regular working hours. It was only after hours they were told to lock the door or set the alarm. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.

  Something was wrong.

  I waited a moment. Hearing nothing more, I took a few more cautious steps. The packing room looked in order: nothing out of place. I kept going, approaching the door to the open gallery. Hesitating, I listened intently.

  My wrist was grabbed from behind. I let out a yelp of surprise, wrenched free and turned to see who it was.

  Abby, looking frightened.

  “Abby! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she choked out.

  I looked around then back at her. “Why’s the alarm on?”

  “Someone called for…” she sobbed and couldn’t finish.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Called for who?”

  “Anne, but she’s not here. Then they threatened me.”

  “Who did?”

  It was obvious she was upset, and now so was I.

  She was sobbing too hard to respond.

  “Where’s Anne?” I demanded. “Where’s your car?”

  Who was making these threats?

  Chapter 42

  Mystified By The Some Truths

  I felt a knot forming in my stomach. It seemed to show up when things weren’t going well and this felt like one of those times: when I questioned what I was doing, sleuthing around where I shouldn’t. My agent, Sandra, who always stressed safety, would agree.

  But then it’d be a lot duller for my readers, wouldn’t it?

  “Let’s go into the kitchen for some coffee,” I suggested.

  Abby then mumbled she’d moved her car. Why?

  I guided her to a chair while I poured us each a mug. She was hunched over, teary-eyed and jittery and couldn’t keep her hands in one place, brushing at non-existent lint from her slacks.

  I sat down opposite her. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

  Abby took a sip and set the mug down. “I was finishing up going through the packing slips, cross-matching them to the boxes going out to make sure there were no mistakes this time. One didn’t match up with its invoice number.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Not lately, especially after Anne flipped out that day.”

  “Did you get a chance to check it against the files?”

  “That’s what I was doing when Anne’s phone rang.”

  “When was this?”

  “About thirty minutes ago. I answered, using the gallery name. A man asked if Anne was there. I told him she’d stepped out in a hurry and that’s when he went ballistic.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That if Anne knew what was good for her, she’d better get her act together. Big bucks were involved.”

  “Think he was referring to a painting he bought?”

  Abby shook her head. “I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he began yelling obscenities and threatened me.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “For everyone at the gallery to watch their backs.”

  “Us too?”

  Abby nodded.

  “Why would he attach us to Anne and her actions?”

  “Maybe she cheated a customer?”

  “Do you think she did?” I asked.

  “I heard she’s interested in buying this gallery. Maybe if its reputation isn’t so sterling and is somewhat tainted…”

  I nodded. “A bad rep means a low-ball offer…”

  “If she cheated someone on purpose…”

  Just then the phone rang and we both jumped.

  Abby reached for it. “…Hello?” she said guardedly.

  I walked over to Abby, who stood there, pale-faced.

  “Who is it? What?” I silently mouthed to her.

  She hung up. “Another gallery. Our UPS guy is dead!”

  I was dumbstruck.

  Could it be that guy from Triumph’s?

  “I can’t believe this. Now what do we do?” Abby asked.

  I tried to keep my hands from shaking. This was now escalating beyond anything I was prepared for with bad implications branching out toward several people. I was now truly fearful for those I loved and felt I had to protect them if possible. I couldn’t let my fear get the better of me. I had to do something to turn this around.

  “Abby, I need you to make up a list for me: everyone who regularly interacts with this gallery.”

  Chapter 43

  Laptop Time Out

  I called everyone to explain what happened with Abby receiving the threatening call and the UPS driver’s death. This string of events was setting off internal alarms. Was the dead guy the same good-looking guy Clay and I met at Triumph’s that first evening? Was that the truth about a painting he purchased or was he fishing for info about what we knew? Had he delivered switched paintings?

  Was it an accident or was he murdered?

  This art set-up was more complex than I imagined. The Worth Gallery was a perfect place to move paintings in and out of, especially if high-priced forged paintings and cash were exchanged. Who’d pay attention to deliveries of large crates and boxes going into and out of an art gallery?

  So who was getting their hands dirty?

  Was it Alicia and Chris, Anne, the UPS guy, Tony? My thoughts went straight to the most obvious one on my list: the one whose motives were making her actions suspect.

  Why was Anne interested in a buyout? It made sense if she were partnering with Tony. Had he offered her a cash payoff one she’d risk her reputation on or was something else going on? Organized crime wasn’t above extortion to get what they wanted. A legitimate individual would turn on a dime with a large enough incentive and/or if a specific threat was made: one they couldn’t possibly refuse.

  I had to find Anne. She might be more talkative once she found out about this UPS driver’s death. But then on the other hand, maybe she’d remain silent for that very same reason. There were too many unknowns going on.

  I looked up from my desk in the gallery loft where I had been typing info and opinions into my laptop when Abby approached, holding out a piece of paper.

  “I did the best I could.
I haven’t been here very long so I may not have everybody who interacts with the gallery.”

  I glanced at the list. “Seven names…”

  “If Anne ever shows up,” Abby said sarcastically, “she might give you more. Just do me one favor, okay? Please don’t tell her everything I confided earlier. If she knew I picked up her personal desk phone, she’d have a fit. Her office has a private land line: off limits to everyone.”

  Abby didn’t want Anne to know she was in her office. Okay, so what was Abby doing in there in the first place? She was clearly fearful of Anne. That was obvious. Why? Had Abby recognized the voice on Anne’s phone and make the connection and was now anxious for her own safety?

  I know I’m going on and on, but this was bugging me. While Abby stood there, I checked the list again, perplexed.

  Some of those names…

  Chapter 44

  The List

  The first four names on Abby’s list were expected: Anne, Alicia, Chris and, of course, Abby herself. The next name was their UPS delivery driver: the dead one.

  I glanced up. “There’s no name next to the UPS driver.”

  “I haven’t been here long and don’t know it. Ask Anne.” The next one threw me: Helen. She was the woman Clay and I met at lunch that day, telling us to call her Lenny.

  “Anne told me Helen is an art appraiser,” offered Abby.

  What? Helen had conveniently left that out of our conversation, hadn’t she?

  I read on: A Lambertville gallery owner, named Jeffrey Price: the one Martha, Hazel and Betty met and relayed the rumor about the Worth Gallery’s discounted paintings.

  Last was a Mrs. Walters. “Who’s she?”

  “Part-timer who helps pack paintings. …Can I go now?”

  Abby excused herself to finish packing some paintings for customers “before Attila The Hun returned,” she said. I watched her descend the stairway. I had much to mull over.

  I was about to call my crew when Anne burst through the front door. I stood to call out to her, but she flew toward the packing area below. I scrambled down the stairs to catch up with her before she disappeared again. Entering the back room, I stopped.

  Gone…

  I turned when I heard someone cough. It was Abby. She was packing a painting into a box. Without saying a single word, she motioned with her eyes toward Anne’s door, which was closed. I nodded and silently walked over to it.

  The sleuth in me listened, but really wanted to barge in, catching her at something illegal. The writer in me knocked gently and waited. Silence. Good. She wasn’t on the phone.

  I expected her to yell, but Anne said softly, “Come in.”

  I stopped cold when she looked up. Her eyes were red-rimmed: crying. Had she heard about the UPS death? Had she known the driver personally?

  “Anne, is everything alright?” I asked, shutting the door.

  She noticed my maneuver with the door and stiffened.

  “Yes, I’m fine. My allergies are killing me.”

  I pushed her. “It’s just that you rushed in through the front door so suddenly and you’d missed that threatening call earlier…”

  She had been shuffling some papers on her desk, but then looked up sharply. “What threatening call?”

  I took the blame and kept Abby out of this.

  “I was in the gallery alone and your phone rang. Your office door was open and I took the liberty of answering…”

  She stood up, cutting me off midsentence. “You what?”

  I kept talking. “Some nut called, making threats to you, me and this gallery. Would you know why he’d do that?”

  She glared.

  “Everyone knows not to answer my personal phone.”

  Then a tear slipped out. I took a long shot on Mr. UPS.

  “I guess you already heard about his death then.”

  She dropped to her chair. “You knew about my ex?”

  UPS was her ex?

  I dropped to a chair myself and bluffed. “Yes.”

  Chapter 45

  Wow & More

  Anne sniffed. “I figured your blonde-hair-thing was a contradiction. You’re smarter than you look. I get the same thing because of my looks too. It drives me crazy.”

  Did she just dis me or compliment me?

  “I try to use it to my advantage,” I replied, then smiled.

  Anne half-smiled, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I guess you have some questions, right?”

  I nodded. “A slew of them. I hope you’ll be honest.”

  If she answered one truthfully, I’d be lucky.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  I nodded again. She called Abby, who brought me a mug of coffee, then arched her brow at me in a ‘what’s going on’ question-mark.

  I shrugged an ‘I don’t know’ gesture, thanked her for the coffee, and she reluctantly left, looking annoyed.

  After Abby shut the door, I asked, “So?”

  “I’m not volunteering. You were asking, remember?”

  She wasn’t making this easy. I expected as much.

  Where to start? The obvious. “Tell me about your ex.”

  “Not much to tell, actually. It was a romp in the hay that didn’t work out.”

  “So that’s your only regret?”

  “What, that he wasn’t sharp or that great in bed?”

  I almost spilled my coffee. She was serious.

  I kept up the banter. “Well, that says it all right there.”

  She smiled sadly. “Been there yourself, right?”

  “A time or two. Did your ex do many deliveries here?”

  Anne’s eyes fixed on me. “Pretty regularly.”

  “Then you saw him quite a bit.”

  She frowned. “Harassment personified.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m so tired of carrying these secrets around. He gambled, owed big time. He started harassing me to copy a painting for him to sell to repay his debts.”

  “But you’d be ruining your reputation in the art field.”

  “Exactly! So I refused. Then he threatened me…”

  “What could he possibly threaten you with?”

  She paused briefly. “He knew I’d done it before.”

  Anne was gifted and could restore and copy anything.

  “You mean you forged a painting?”

  “Ages ago. I wanted to see if I could actually pull it off. I did it just for fun. If anyone ever found out…”

  Just then Abby burst in, “The police are here!”

  Anne leaped to her feet. “What?”

  A stern-faced mid-forties man in a somewhat rumpled suit, holding an ID and badge said, “Anne Wythe?”

  Anne went rigid and paled. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Mind if I have a few words with you?”

  Anne looked at me then sank to her chair. “Okay.”

  He glared Abby and I. “In private, if you don’t mind.”

  I got up and we both walked out.

  Abby grabbed my arm the minute Anne’s office door shut behind us, whispering, “What does he want with her?”

  She’d find out soon enough.

  “Mr. UPS was Anne’s ex.”

  Abby glanced back toward Anne’s office. “Wow! So her ex was Mr. Brown.”

  I stopped cold, now grabbing her arm, whispering back, “…What did you just say?”

  Chapter 46

  What Do You Mean?

  Abby turned to me. “What do you mean?”

  “Just now! That name you just said!”

  “You mean, brown?”

  It hit. They referred to UPS as brown: Its truck’s color!

  The text Clay got from Alicia was just one word: brown.

  Like I said, a password, code…?

  Or was it a warning?

  I had to tell the others. “I’ve got to make a call, Abby.”

  “Sure. Let me know what happens to Miss Princess.”

  A
s I went upstairs to the loft, I glanced back. Abby was smiling. Was the worm turning, now that her nemesis, Anne, was taken down several notches?

  I tried, but couldn’t get through to any of my crew, Clay included. All I got was voicemail. It was frustrating. What good was voicemail? This was information I didn’t feel comfortable leaving a message about. So I told them to call.

  You never know who is listening, do you?

  With nothing else keeping me at the gallery, I picked myself up and walked across the bridge over the Delaware River to Lambertville to visit the gallery owner, Jeffrey Price. Ten minutes later I was staring up at his sign: Price Gallery.

  I stepped inside, hearing the identical ringing of a bell triggered by the door. I looked up. It was exactly like the one at Worth Gallery. At first I thought it was quaint, but now I was thinking maybe it really was a warning signal to whoever was in the back doing whatever.

  I glanced around the gallery, impressed by the beautiful art objects and paintings: very similar to Worth Gallery. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he had copied Alicia and Chris’ style of presentation. Which then made me wonder who had opened their doors first? Which then made me consider all the history behind those rumors concerning the Worths’ gallery and the paintings they sold at a discount.

  I leisurely sauntered among the art, taking my time, leaning this way and that, marveling at the frames too. Then I spotted motion sensors and a couple of cameras.

  Did they have an alarm system like the Worth Gallery?

  I was tempted to whip out my iPhone for its flashlight to find out by looking behind a few frames, but that would be pushing the obvious. I decided to lean in to get a real good look at the paintings themselves and the signatures at the bottom of each one.

  Were these originals?

  Who could tell what was a forgery or not? Even the best auction houses, like Sotheby’s and Christie’s, had been blindsided in past years with excellent forgeries. Art restorers like Anne and expert art appraisers working for insurance companies were taken in. I was learning the art world was a slippery slope to travel around in and quite dangerous.