by Amanda Lee
“Maybe he ran out of money,” Blake said. “Who knows how much he got for the Cézanne, but I’m certain it would be nowhere near what the painting was worth since he couldn’t sell it to a legitimate buyer.”
“That’s true,” said Sadie. “And he could hardly apply for a job using his real name and credentials since he was a wanted man.”
Ted was shaking his head. “From what the FBI has divulged to us, Vandehey never sold the Cézanne. He is believed to have given it to a small library somewhere. So far, the bureau has been unable to find it, but they believe it’s in either Canada or Mexico.”
“Then, unless he’s independently wealthy, he would definitely need money,” said Blake.
“Even if he was a wealthy man, the government would freeze his assets to force him out of hiding,” Sadie said. “Right, Ted?”
“That’s right.” He handed the final bite of his ham sandwich to Angus, as promised. “I suppose the library that became the unknowing beneficiary of a stolen piece of artwork might have paid Vandehey a small stipend, but it couldn’t have been much.”
“Obviously, I never met the man, but it doesn’t appear to me that Professor Vandehey was a bad guy,” I said. “Yes, he stole a painting. But from what I understand was written in his confession, he simply couldn’t stand for it to be in the home of the unappreciative boor who’d acquired it. Was his taking it wrong? Of course. But it doesn’t strike me as the action of a greedy man.”
“What are you saying?” Sadie asked.
“He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who would come to Tallulah Falls after being on the run for years to steal for the sake of stealing,” I said. “There had to be a compelling reason for him to come here.”
“I agree,” said Ted. “And that reason is what I need to find out in order to determine who killed him.”
“I think when you find your museum thieves, you’ll find your killer,” said Blake.
“You’re probably right,” Ted said. “But I can’t go solely on that presumption or else I might overlook something important.”
“True,” I said. “It could be that Vandehey didn’t have anything to do with the theft but that he was recognized and killed because he wouldn’t give up the location of the Cézanne.”
“And it could be as simple as whoever was giving him the money to live on got tired of doing so,” Ted said.
* * *
As Sadie and I packed up the picnic, Blake and Ted played ball with Angus. The three of them kept getting farther and farther away.
“I believe the guys are trying to see who can throw the ball the hardest,” I said, with a laugh.
“They must be trying to impress Angus,” she said.
“My guess is that Ted is trying to tire Angus out so there won’t be a furry little face between us when we try to cuddle on the couch later.”
“How are you . . . after this morning, I mean?” Sadie asked me.
“I’m okay.” I gathered our trash into a small bag, tied it closed, and placed that bag in another one. “I might not be able to sleep tonight. . . . Hopefully, I won’t see the professor’s face every time I close my eyes. But mainly, I just feel sorry for Dr. Vandehey.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “For some reason—and maybe it’s nothing more than wishful thinking—I don’t feel that Dr. Vandehey was here to rob the museum. Maybe he was here to prevent the theft . . . or something. I don’t know. I really am grasping at straws. Every instinct I have is telling me that he was a good man caught up in a bad situation.”
Chapter Seven
Both Ted and Manu were supposed to have been off duty this weekend, but my discovery of Dr. Vandehey in the alley and the museum theft had resulted in everyone at the police department working this Sunday morning. I called Reggie and invited her over for brunch. She said she’d be delighted, and that she’d come over in half an hour.
Before I began cooking, I allowed Angus to go into our fenced backyard for his morning romp. On nice days in the fall, winter, and spring, he enjoyed spending quite a bit of time outside. So far this summer, it had been too hot to let him go out for more than a few minutes except in the early morning and late evening.
After Angus went outside, I washed my hands, slipped on my comic-book-heroine apron, and got down to the business of making brunch. I started with blueberry muffins. While the muffins were baking, I set a cutting board on my blue granite countertop and chopped broccoli and cauliflower to go on the veggie pizza. I then sliced apples, oranges, and kiwi and arranged them on a decorative plate. Once I’d taken the muffins out of the oven and put the pizza in, I made a pitcher of Bellinis and put on a pot of coffee.
I let Angus back in, filled his water bowl, and added a tray of ice cubes. I then refilled the ice tray and put it back ino the freezer. Angus lapped at his water and then retrieved one of the ice cubes and ran off to the hall with it. I could hear him crunching on it as I set the ash square table. Although I didn’t have a formal dining room, the size of my kitchen more than made up for that fact.
I’d just taken the pizza out of the oven when Reggie arrived. She rang the doorbell, and Angus raced to the door ahead of me. He woofed a hearty greeting as I clamped my hand on his collar to restrain him from jumping on Reggie the instant I opened the door.
“You have perfect timing,” I said. “I just put the finishing touches on our meal.”
She looked relaxed and elegant in a white tunic and pants and silver jewelry. She carried a shopping bag. “Something sure smells delicious.” She reached into the bag and handed me a small box of chocolate truffles. “Those are for you. And, of course, I didn’t forget about Angus.” She took out a mint-flavored bone designed to clean his teeth and freshen his breath. “I thought maybe he could use this after brunch.”
I laughed as I took it out of the package and handed it to him. “Or, hopefully, it will keep him busy while we eat.”
Angus took his treasure to the living room while Reggie and I went into the kitchen.
“We’ll never be able to eat all this food,” Reggie said. She picked up a blueberry muffin and inhaled its aroma. “Then again . . .”
“I thought that what we didn’t eat we could save for Manu and Ted. I really hate that they had to work today.”
“Me, too. But that’s the life.” She shrugged. “Had you made special plans for today?”
“We’d just planned to take a drive up the coast,” I said. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was looking forward to spending the day with Ted. . . . That’s all. And then I had to stumble over a body in the alley!”
“Even if you hadn’t discovered Professor Vandehey, someone would have. . . . Plus, the museum was robbed on top of everything.”
We filled our plates and sat down. At her request, I poured Reggie a cup of coffee, and I had a Bellini cocktail.
“Manu and Ted are fairly certain Dr. Vandehey’s murder and the museum theft are connected, aren’t they?” I asked.
She nodded as she put butter on her muffin. “Josh Ingle is, too. He’s terrified he’ll lose his job over this whole mess, even though he took a lot of extra security measures to protect the exhibit.”
“What’s your opinion of Josh?” I asked.
“I don’t know him terribly well, but I like him all right. Why?”
“Well, I had a customer come in Friday before the museum exhibit opening, and she expressed a reluctance to go to the event because she was afraid she’d run into Josh,” I said. “I encouraged her to go and told her she could hang out with us.”
“Was she the young woman who introduced herself to us?” Reggie asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And immediately after that, Josh came up and she took off.”
“I remember that.”
“So, based on her opinion and reaction to Josh, I was wary of him. But Blake and Sadie seem to think he’s great,” I said.
“I imagine he visits the coffeehouse quite often,�
� she said. “So maybe they know him better than your customer does. It sometimes takes only one unpleasant encounter to ruin an entire relationship with someone.”
“True. Blake and Sadie did mention that they believe Josh’s uncle influenced the board of directors to give him his job as curator. Do you think he’s competent?”
“I had no reason to think otherwise—nor did anyone else—before the theft,” she said. “And he had taken more than adequate security measures. Still, I don’t think anyone—Josh, the board of directors, or the security guards—really expected anything to happen Friday evening.” She sipped her coffee. “I believe they thought the worst-case scenario would be someone getting drunk off the free champagne and making a scene.”
“If you’ll recall, the only concern Ted and Manu both really expressed was that the museum would exceed maximum occupancy.” I took a bite of my pizza. The still-warm crust, tangy sauce, and crisp vegetables made a delicious combination. “Ted said the thieves stole the majority of the Padgett Collection.”
“They did. There were a couple of the bigger pieces that they left behind,” she said. “And it breaks my heart that they so carelessly ruined that kilim.” Her eyes widened. “And that they killed the professor, of course!”
I smiled. “I know what you meant, Reggie. It’s all right to say that we’re not only sad that a man lost his life but that an antique rug was destroyed as well.”
“I guess. . . . It makes me feel callous to even think it, though.”
“You’re anything but callous.” I tasted the refreshing Bellini. “Was anything besides pieces from the Padgett Collection stolen from the museum?”
“No. It appears the thieves were specific in what they wanted. They left everything else in the museum alone.”
“That seems odd to me,” I said. “If I wanted to rob a museum, I’d make the most of it and take everything I possibly could.”
“Maybe they did. What if Vandehey wasn’t in collusion with the thieves? He might’ve interrupted them in the midst of the heist and spoiled their plan.”
“And got himself killed in the process.”
“That’s only one theory,” Reggie reminded me.
“I know,” I said. “What about the security cameras? Didn’t they provide a clue as to who was behind the heist?”
“The cameras had been shot with paintball guns immediately. The person or persons who shot the lenses were masked, wore coveralls, and had on gloves.”
“What about the alarm system?”
“It didn’t go off at all,” she said. “That’s why no one knew about the theft until after you found Professor Vandehey wrapped in a rug taken from the exhibit. It was disabled also.”
“That really sounds like an inside job, don’t you think?”
“It seems that way. I believe Manu and Ted are spending the day interviewing all the staff and reinterviewing the security guards they spoke with yesterday.”
“What about the art collector, Mr. Padgett?” I asked. “I mean, the collection was undoubtedly insured, but he has to be upset about the loss.”
“I imagine so. I haven’t heard anything about that yet, though.”
“Is the museum offering a reward?”
“They want to,” Reggie said. “The board of directors suggested that to Manu first thing when he spoke with them yesterday. They thought it would be a good way to pacify the collector and get the public to speak up if anyone knew anything about the heist or the missing items.”
“I get the feeling there’s a but in there somewhere,” I said.
“Manu told them to wait. He said it would only muddy the waters at this point.” She added more apple slices to her plate. “He told the board they should wait to see if the collection is ransomed back to them.”
“You mean, like a kidnapping?” I asked.
“Exactly like a kidnapping. Art is usually stolen either to resell or to ransom back to the victim,” she said. “If the thieves plan to ransom the textiles back to the museum, they’ll call and make their demands within the next day or so.”
“So Manu thinks that offering a reward would hinder the investigation somehow?”
She nodded. “Everyone and his or her brother would want that reward. Our police department is too small to follow every possible lead, especially those pulled out of thin air in the hope of reaping some of the reward money.”
“I see.”
“But if the leads they’re pursuing don’t pan out, he’ll let them go ahead and post the reward.” She bit an apple slice in half. “Maybe some students from the academy or the criminal science program at the community college will help out at that point.”
* * *
After Reggie left, I spent the rest of the afternoon working on my latest project, a floral bouquet pillow. The piece had fuchsia lilies, white tulips, and pink roses. It would look lovely when it was made into a pillow. I had two quandaries, though: Did I want to put a gold tasseled border or a braided dark green border on the pillow? And did I want to keep the pillow here at home and place it on the white, overstuffed chair in my living room, or did I want to take it to the Seven-Year Stitch and place it among the candlewick embroidery pillows on one of the navy sofas? I was leaning more and more toward the gold border and displaying the pillow in my living room.
As I stitched and listened to the crunching noises Angus made while gnawing on his granola bone, I thought back to the conversation Reggie and I’d had over brunch. Could she be right about Professor Vandehey? Had he been killed because he’d interrupted the heist? Or had he been part of the robbery team from the very beginning and been killed so that the thieves didn’t have to give him his share? The latter scenario made more sense to me. And yet I couldn’t shake my feeling that the professor had been a good man at heart. Maybe that was it—maybe he’d agreed to take part in the robbery but had backed out, and the thieves had killed him to ensure his silence.
I determined to find out more about Dr. Geoffrey Vandehey. I’d start with a computer search later tonight or tomorrow morning. If that didn’t satisfy my curiosity, I’d talk with Paul Samms.
I continued working on the pillow until Ted called.
“Hi, beautiful,” he said when I answered.
“Hi, yourself. You sound exhausted.”
“I am pretty beat. I just got home and I’m going to take a shower. Would you mind if I take a quick nap before coming over?”
“Why don’t I come to you?” I said. “I can pick up some food and a movie.”
“You’re awesome,” he said. “Bring Angus, too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“See you in a few,” I said.
I placed my pillow, embroidery floss, and scissors in my tote bag so I could take the project to work with me tomorrow. Hopefully, business would be back to normal on Monday.
“Angus, do you want to go see Ted?” I asked.
He got up, tail wagging. He understood the word go and was always ready. Whether it was for a walk or for a drive, it made no difference to Angus. He pranced around impatiently while I put the tote away.
“Do you mind if I go upstairs and freshen up a little?”
When he saw me head toward the stairs, he sighed and flopped back down onto the floor as if I’d tricked him.
“We’ll go in just a minute!” I called over my shoulder.
I knew some people would think me insane for talking to my dog as if he were a person, but why shouldn’t I? For one thing, I was absolutely positive that he understood me. Besides, I talked to Jill sometimes, and she was a mannequin.
I hurried into the bedroom, changed tops, and reapplied my makeup. I slipped on a pair of peep-toe wedges and called the pizza parlor as I walked back down the stairs. I placed the order and grabbed Angus’s leash, and he hurried over without my even having to call him. I told you we understood each other.
Fortunately, the pizza parlor Ted and I frequented had a movie-rental kiosk outside, so I wa
s able to hop out of the Jeep and leave the engine running long enough to choose a movie and then get back in and go around to the drive-through window. That way, I didn’t have to let Angus out of my sight.
After I’d paid for the pizza and placed it in the passenger seat, I was really glad there was a doggy barrier between the front seats and backseats. It still allowed Angus to put his big furry head over the seat, but it didn’t give him enough room to snuffle the pizza box as he so desperately wanted to do.
When we arrived at Ted’s apartment, he answered the door in jeans and a T-shirt. He was barefoot and his hair was still wet from his shower. He smelled yummy in a very masculine way.
He greeted me with a kiss before taking the pizza so I could unclip Angus’s leash. Both the dog and I followed Ted into the kitchen. Unlike my country kitchen, Ted’s was ultramodern. The appliances were stainless steel, the cabinets were glossy black with thin, tubular silver handles, and the countertops were dark gray granite. There were skylights and recessed lighting over the island and a chandelier over the table in the breakfast nook.
Ted placed the pizza on the table as I put my purse on the counter. We turned, and he took me in his arms for a more passionate embrace.
“I’ve missed you today,” he said.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Thank you for sending Reggie over with the muffins. They were delicious.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I happened to think that she was probably a little lonely, too, so I called and invited her to brunch. We went over our own theories on the robbery.”
“Did you come to any conclusions, Inch-High? We could use all the help we can get on this one.” After kissing me again, he went to the cabinet and took out some plates.
“We’re fairly certain it was an inside job. I mean, it would have had to be, wouldn’t it? The thieves knew where the cameras were, blacked out the lenses, disabled the security alarm. . . .”
“We feel pretty sure there was someone within the museum helping the thieves,” he said. “But we can’t rush to judgment. Locating the security cameras and discovering what type of alarm the museum used could have been done by someone on the outside.” He opened the box and put slices of the pizza on the plates.
