“How closely related?”
“Very.”
“Are you suggesting Emsworth’s daughter is the forger?” The idea of it was ludicrous.
“Not necessarily.”
I wondered how AISE solved a single crime. My experience was they were masters of innuendo in settings that called for the straightforward exchange of information.
When I left the meeting, the first call I made was to Tackle.
“I need your help with something.”
“Shoot.”
“Take a deeper look into her and her parents’ background. I’m looking for possible siblings.”
“Copy that. I’ll get back to you with what I find.”
My second call was to Striker. There were several organizations I wanted information from, and he’d be able to disseminate it more quickly than I could.
One thing that made no sense to me was why no one from the US had come forward saying they too purchased forgeries from Emsworth. News that he was a wanted man had certainly made the headlines. It stood to reason that many, particularly in New York City’s social circles, would have fallen victim to his scam. Yet, there hadn’t been a single one.
The victims were scattered across Europe, but that appeared to be it. No one had come forward from wealthier middle-eastern countries, Russia, or China. In all of those cases, whether a single victim came forward or not, by now, the CIA would have gotten word of an international hunt for Emsworth. So why only Europe?
“An AISE informant believes the forger is someone close to Emsworth,” I told Striker. “They believe there is a familial connection.”
“We’ve run background—”
“Dig deeper. Nieces, nephews, cousins…” I ended the call before I could let my anger get the better of me. I needed something—anything—that would point toward someone other than Tara being the forger.
When I returned to the farmhouse, I found Tara outside, painting. There were several canvases lined up, resting against the low stone wall that surrounded the terrazza. Each looked as though she’d done a small amount of work and then abandoned them.
“What are these?” I asked after giving her a kiss that let her know being away from her for only a few hours was agony.
“I’m painting with oils today. I haven’t for quite a while, so I need practice. Plus, they have to dry a bit before I do more.”
The colors on the unfinished pieces were so different than her watercolors. They were darker, more like the Gothic work we’d seen at San Marcos.
“Oh, Pia came down earlier. She asked if I could work in the tasting room for a few hours once you returned from Florence.”
I had research to do, but there was no reason I couldn’t do it from the winery.
“Of course,” I muttered, looking back at the unfinished paintings.
“Great. I’ll just clean up.”
It took over a half hour for Tara to “clean up,” which was a grueling process, involving foul-smelling liquids.
“Is this stuff toxic?” I asked, studying the can that held the solution.
“Probably. It could be why so many of the masters eventually went mad. Although, today’s dissolvents, I’m sure are more environmentally friendly.”
“Environment? What about to humans?”
“I certainly wouldn’t drink it.”
“I’m not sure I’m a fan of oil painting.”
Tara shrugged. “Every medium is fraught with something that makes the process difficult. I admit that when we were at the Accademia Gallery, I was inspired to paint the way people like da Milano, Michaelangelo, and Cennino did. A challenge, if you will.”
“Have you ever tried copying their work?”
She cocked her head. “It’s not an uncommon practice for students.” She pointed over to the terrazza. “That’s what all those are.”
“I thought you were an art history major.”
Her eyes scrunched. “I was. I also took painting classes.”
“What will you do with them?”
“Eventually, paint over them.”
“Would you sell them?”
Tara’s eyes widened. “Of course I wouldn’t. What an odd question.”
“If they’re good enough, I would think there’d be a market for them.”
“Not a legal one.” She shook her head as though I was thick as a plank. Her words should reassure me, but that she was painting them at all, bothered me.
24
Tara
“You are not your usual happy self, at least since you’ve been staying at the farmhouse, Catarina.”
I looked over at the table where Knox sat. He had the same scowl on his face he’d had since our strange conversation earlier. He was studying his laptop, periodically looking over in my direction, but when he did, he didn’t smile.
“Ah, I see,” said Pia, following my line of sight. “It is never easy, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Uomini difficili.”
I laughed. “I’m sure they say the same about women.”
Pia walked over to where the bottles of wine were stored and pulled one out. There was no one in the tasting room presently, but within thirty minutes, another tour bus was scheduled to arrive.
“I promised you a story about my friend Mylos.”
“That’s right,” I said, taking a sip of the wine she poured. “Oh my God, that is so good,” I groaned.
“I know.” She smiled and motioned toward Knox with her head. “You two are so sympatico.”
“Are we? There are times I wonder.”
“Let me tell you about Mylos. To be honest with you, he is not my friend. Well, he is, but he is so much more.”
“He must be someone very special.”
“Sì, he is the man I will love until the day I die.” She frowned. “I look out at the vineyards of Valentini, the place that isn’t just my life, it’s my heart, but Mylos…he is not here.”
“Where is he?”
“That is a very long story. One that I will tell you now.” She waved her hand at one of the stools at the tasting bar, and I sat down.
“We met when we were both sixteen years old. His family came from England to visit, and the first time I saw him, I swear to you, I fell in love.” She smiled and leaned forward. “He was so handsome, like Ben, not as molto muscoloso as Ben, but still, un uomo forte. You understand what I mean, sì?”
“I do.”
“His family had to leave suddenly that summer while I was away on a sales trip with my father. When I returned, I was heartbroken to find him gone. So much so that two years later, I did a crazy thing.” She shook her head and laughed.
“What did you do?”
“I went to London to see him.”
“That was crazy?”
“Sì, it was, because while I was in London, Mylos was here at Valentini.”
“What happened?”
“On my last day there, he came home. We had only one wonderful night together. We talked all night long, kissing and laughing until the next morning when he had to take me to the airport.”
“Is that the last time you saw him?”
“Oh no. Another two years passed, and we met again. It was then that Mylos and I finally made love. The time we had together was so brief, but if there had been any doubt in my mind that I loved him, after we were together, I knew it like I know my own hands.” She held them out in front of her, turning her palms up and down. “When Mylos left, he was sent to Iraq, and there, the tank he was driving in hit an IED. You know what that is, sì?”
I put my hand in front of my mouth. “I do, and I’m so very sorry, Pia.”
“Mylos did not die, Catarina, but he was very badly burned. His sister, Lily, contacted me and asked me to come to Germany to the burn hospital. When I did, he turned me away. Didn’t want to see me.”
The story she was telling me was so tragic, I was truly at a loss for words. I brushed the tear from the corner of my eye. “You nev
er saw him again?”
“No, I did. Only once more. I cannot say that either of us ran away, Catarina, but we didn’t run to each other either. Do you understand?”
“How long has it been?”
“One year.”
“I’m sure—”
She held up her hand. “I need you to listen to me, Catarina. Learn from my heartbreak. Do not run away when love is within your reach.”
I sat back in my chair. “Love? Don’t be ridiculous, Pia. We hardly know each other.”
“You are wrong. The heart knows when it finds its match. You and Ben are a match.”
Based on what? He’d been hired to find me and now was looking for my father, a fugitive. If I knew where my father was, I wouldn’t tell Knox. In fact, I’d do everything in my power to help my father stay hidden forever. He wasn’t a bad man. He’d gotten himself involved in things I still knew very little about. What I did know, though, was that it was bad enough that he felt he’d had to run. Not just him, me too.
Knox and I still hadn’t talked about him, and I knew that conversation was coming. I also knew that when it did, it would drive us further apart.
I turned to Pia, who was studying me.
“I think you should try to see Mylos again,” I said.
“I don’t know. When we were last together, we spent several days in each other’s arms, making love, not seeing anyone but room service when they delivered our food.”
“How did you leave things between you?”
“The injuries Mylos suffered were terribly painful, as you can imagine. During our time together, I discovered he was abusing his medication. He asked me to help him, and I did. The last time I saw him, was outside of a rehab center in London.”
“A year ago?”
“Sì.”
“Do you know if he’s doing any better?”
“I think so. He’s written a couple of letters, and I talk to Lily, that’s his sister.”
“I remember.”
“I thought, after, that he’d come.”
“Here?”
“Sì. I have gone to Mylos many times. More than I should have. I cannot continue to leave Valentini. I am not only responsible for the winery, Catarina. The fate of everyone who works for our family, even the estate itself, rests on my shoulders. My life is here. Mylos is not.”
“Have you asked him to be?”
Pia rested her hand on my arm. “I am trying to help you with Ben, not have you help me with Mylos.”
“Isn’t that what friends do, Pia? Help each other?”
She hugged me. “I am so happy you are here, but something tells me you will not be much longer.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Whether you are or not, I want you to know that you will always be welcome here at Valentini.”
“I appreciate that so much.” I saw the tour bus pull up outside the tasting room window, and wiped away the tears I’d shed both at her story and her kindness. “Time to get back to work.”
“One more thing I forgot to tell you. I have to be away from Valentini for a few days. I’m taking my mamma to Milan to see a specialist. I’m hoping he can figure out why she is so ill. We will close the winery to the public while I’m away.”
Pia invited us to join her and her mother for dinner, but I politely declined. I’d been too stressed all afternoon, worrying about Knox’s mood swings, and I wasn’t hungry. It seemed that neither was he, since he didn’t object when I said no, thank you.
When we got to the farmhouse, I went upstairs to change; Knox didn’t follow. I hated the way I was feeling. It was as though he was angry with me about something, and I had no idea what.
I took a shower, hoping the hot water would lessen the tension in my shoulders. If anything, I felt worse once I got out, mainly because Knox hadn’t come to see if he could join me. Finally, not being able to stand it any longer, I went downstairs in search of him.
“I don’t like this,” I blurted when I found him, still on his laptop, sitting at the table in the kitchen.
He looked up at me with wide eyes. “What don’t you like?”
“If you’re angry with me, just say so.”
“I’m not angry with you, Tara.”
“Then, why are you acting like you are?”
“It’s a miracle we can both fit in this room with the size of the elephant. Don’t you agree?”
“Are you talking about my father?”
“Don’t you think it’s time we did?”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“You’re right. I should have.” He stood and pulled the cork out of the bottle of wine we’d opened the night before. “Want a glass?”
“No, thank you.” I went and filled a pitcher of water instead, got two glasses from the cupboard, and set them on the table between us.
I folded my hands in front of me.
“I’m going to ask you this straight out.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know where your father is?”
“No.”
“Do you have reason to believe he’s in Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s where I was told he’d be.”
“When?”
“The day I left New York.”
“What else were you told?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what crimes your father has been accused of?”
If I thought I hated the way Knox was acting toward me before, the way he was now made me loathe him. Couldn’t he ask me these questions without sounding like he was interrogating me?
“No, Ben, I don’t.”
He sat back and glared at me. “What’s that all about? Why’d you call me Ben?”
“Because you’re acting like someone I don’t know.”
“I’m asking you questions, Tara. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you to answer them, unless you have something to hide.”
When I stood, I thought about slapping his face. Instead, I walked out of the room and went upstairs. This time, Knox followed.
“We aren’t finished,” he said as we approached the master bedroom.
“Yes. We are.”
“You can’t keep avoiding having this conversation.”
“I can’t? Or what? You’ll arrest me?”
“Tara! What the hell?”
“Can’t you hear yourself? You’re treating me like a criminal.”
“Are you?”
I spun around and grabbed the handle of the bedroom door. Before I could open it, Knox snaked his hand around my waist.
“Do you want to tell me one more time what you intend to do with all those paintings?”
“Let go of me.”
“Answer me.”
“Right now, I’d like to burn them.”
“To get rid of the evidence?”
“You’ve gone crazy. I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. Now, please, let me go.”
He did, but stayed on my heels. “Are you saying you have no idea why your father is on the run?”
I grabbed a bag and started tossing clothes into it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m not staying here with you, Knox.”
He folded his arms in front of him. “Going off to find your other boyfriend?”
I looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Why are you acting this way?”
“Because of your refusal to tell me the truth.”
“What truth?”
“What do you really intend to do with those paintings, Tara?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Did you really think I was that stupid? That you could do it right in front of me?”
I sat on the end of the bed and stared at him. “I don’t know what it is you think I’ve done, but this conversation, the way it’s going now, needs to stop.”
“I agree.”
“You can either treat me with respect, and start at the beginning, or
I’m leaving. As to where I’m going, it would be up to the villa to stay with Pia.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I couldn’t do that. Pia was leaving in the morning to take her mother to Milan. I’d have to come up with another solution, and I had no idea what that might be, unless I could go back to the casina.
Knox walked over to the bedroom window and looked out. He stood there long enough without speaking that I wondered if he would.
“Your father has been indicted for wire fraud and enterprise corruption.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Art forgery, Tara. He’s sold millions of dollars of fake art throughout Europe.”
My head reeled with the weight of his words. So much so that I thought I might pass out. Everything Knox had asked me made so much more sense. “You think it was me,” I whispered.
“I didn’t want to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t think you had it in you. I honestly couldn’t believe you were that kind of person.”
“What changed your mind?”
“One of the paintings was recovered two days ago. That’s why I was called to Florence.”
He walked over to the closet and went inside. When he came back out, he had what looked like a painting wrapped in brown paper. He tore the wrap away and held it up. “Look familiar?”
I shook my head.
“Strange because the forensics team found a hair inside of the frame. A blonde hair. It wasn’t long, but it was enough for them to run a DNA test. What do you think they found?”
“Tell me, Knox.”
“Since they already had your father’s DNA on file, it was easy for them to quickly determine whether it was a match. I got the results a few minutes ago. According to the test, there is a ninety-nine percent certainty that the person whose hair we found is Richard Emsworth’s biological child.”
“I see.”
“I thought you might.”
“What happens now? Do you arrest me?”
“Explain it to me. Why was your hair found inside the frame, Tara?”
The explanation was that the test had to be faulty. The hair wasn’t mine, although I couldn’t tell him whose it was, because I had no siblings. But until I talked to my father, I couldn’t tell anyone that. Not even Knox.
Halo (K19 Security Solutions Book 8) Page 13
