by Rhys Ford
“The painting looks shiny,” O’Byrne said, scooting over to get a better look at what I was pointing out. “So what?”
“One of the things Jae likes to watch is painting restoration. And I’m not talking about a couple of dings and scratches. There’s this guy that fills in big chunks of missing old paint and repairs torn canvases. He narrates as he goes, but the cool thing about it is he explains that everything he does to the painting is reversible. He uses special paints that can be removed a lot easier than standard oils or acrylics.” I zoomed in even tighter until we could see the even line of black covering a good portion of the canvas’s corner. The ebony cover was unforgiving, as deeply pitch and light-sucking as a monolith coming down to the ground and scaring a bunch of monkeys. “The one thing that stuck with me was something he always says. He does this thing to the original painting that glosses it up so he can see what the final colors are when he varnishes it at the end.”
“This all sounds very cool, but I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” O’Byrne said, nodding toward my beer. “How many of those have you had?”
“Just the one. Hear me out. The reason he has to do that is because the paint he uses doesn’t have any oils in it. So it doesn’t have the same sheen as regular oil paint, and he needs to be able to color match with what’s already there. Once he’s done, he varnishes the whole thing, and you can’t tell where the restoration is. Well, unless he does that crosshatch painting technique, but I only saw that once, and it looked weird. But most of the time, it’s flawless. But the paint is matte until he finishes it up.” With a flick of my finger, I restored the painting to the full screen. “That black part is what the paint looks like before the restorer finishes his work. The rest of Watson’s painting has already been varnished. If Arthur was doing these to give away or to sell, his signature would be under that layer of varnish. And why would he put that big black rectangle there?”
“So what are you thinking?” O’Byrne took the iPad from me, studying the painting closer.
“I think if we removed that black rectangle, we’d find Rubens’s signature underneath it. Maybe there’s something about this painting that he didn’t think was good enough to pass off as an original or maybe even one made by a student, but I’m thinking Arthur Brinkerhoff never stopped passing off forgeries.” Neko demanded another pet, and I picked her up to cuddle her in my lap. “I think someone figured out he was still working his magic and tried to blackmail them. That’s why Adele was out there. I think she was paying somebody off, and that somebody knew those diamonds she had on her were lab grown. That’s why they killed her.”
“And if Arthur was still doing forgeries, chances are Adele still had either a stash in their old house or was still pulling enough jobs,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “She was an older woman. Getting into somebody’s house would be kind of hard for her. They’d notice somebody’s grandmother trying to break in.”
“Not if she was their lover,” I said with a smile. “Remember how I told you I met her? Wrapped up in a leather corset, doing a BDSM scene with a younger woman? I checked something when I came home today. That house I found her at was burglarized three months later. The only thing taken was the woman’s jewelry. So yeah, I think the Brinkerhoffs never gave up their life of crime. Just like they never gave up that house. Now we’ve just got to find where they’ve hidden their loot and who the hell is ballsy enough to try to blackmail a couple of old criminals.”
Eighteen
O’BYRNE AND I kicked around a few options, eventually even eating the cold grilled cheese sandwiches after giving them a quick trip into a hot skillet to warm them up. She wasn’t convinced that the forgeries were the reason Adele was murdered, but the attack on Arthur tied both of the Brinkerhoffs to what was going on. It was the only thing I could think of. No one had found anything in either Brinkerhoff residence to lead us to believe Adele was still operating as a thief, but my quick look at the burglary stats for the neighborhood I’d tracked her to on my first case was telling. Not only had the house I’d found her at been hit. So had the surrounding homes.
“I’m going to need evidence of the wife stealing and fencing jewelry,” O’Byrne said after swallowing a mouthful of water. We’d switched away from beer nearly an hour ago, needing to keep an open mind and clear head about the case, but I was longing for a sip of whiskey, mostly because my body creaked after all of the abuse I’d done to it over the past week or so. “We can’t ask Arthur. Doctors have him under heavy sedation. And since Marlena wasn’t aware of her grandparents still owning that house by the studios, I don’t think we can count on her to give us a lot of information.”
“You guys went over the condo, right?” I asked, grunting when O’Byrne gave me a nod. “And there was nothing at the house but someone still looking for something after Adele was murdered. Since Ivan and the fake Marlena are taken out of the equation, we’re still left with one person unaccounted for, and we don’t know where Arthur’s paintings were going.”
“The granddaughter might have documentation about a storage space.” O’Byrne eased back into the sofa, groaning when the cushions cradled her lean body. “You’re right about someone trying to find something. And judging from the bodies falling everywhere, Arthur didn’t tell his attacker where to look. Wherever this third person is, they’re pretty ruthless. We can speculate Ivan knew about what his aunt and uncle were up to, based on his own criminal activity, but Marlena seems pretty sharp. It’s odd she wouldn’t have suspected anything.”
“You like her for this?” I turned that option over in my mind, poking at it gently. “Seems kind of weird she would work hard to get to the point of being an assistant district attorney only to throw it all out for a bit of sparkle and fake paintings. Especially since the diamonds Adele had were fake.”
“Apparently even fake diamonds are worth a shit-ton, Mac. It all depends on how they’re branded and where they come from. I’m going to see if I can get the financials hurried up through the system. I want to know how much money the Brinkerhoffs have and how steady their income is. If we find out they’re getting some pennies-on-the-dollar pension from somewhere, we’ll know we’re on the right track of something, because there is no way in hell they can afford that condo, especially if they didn’t sell that house.” She stifled a yawn, but it was still enough to trigger a teeth-bearing gape from Neko. She was the only cat I knew who reacted to a human yawning, or it could be she took it as a sign of aggression and was returning the favor. “Town houses and condos like that usually come with some kind of storage area in the garage. I don’t think Marlena is all too keen about us poking around in her grandparents’ life anymore, so it’s probably going to have to cost me a favor with the judge to get a warrant. I don’t want to burn that favor unless I know I’m going to find something.”
A murmur of Korean followed by a burst of masculine laughter drifting through the open jalousies told me Ichi and Jae were back at the house. I didn’t understand what they were saying. My Korean pretty much began and ended at food, smut talking, “I love you,” and calling Jae the wrong word for babe. He found it hilarious. I used to find it embarrassing, but a silly thing we shared, and I was okay with it. That didn’t mean I wished I could be better at languages, because hardly any of it stuck, but I could order a Korean dinner like nobody’s business.
Honey was off the couch as soon as she heard the key in the door, dancing her way across the living room with a peculiar slide shuffle she only did when Jae came home. He liked to say she was happy when she heard me come up the walk, but considering I’d spotted her through the window, crashed out on the couch more than a few times when I got through the front door, I politely and respectfully called my husband a liar.
Two seconds later even the cat abandoned us, mewling her way in a gentle trot toward the man she loved the most.
“If she’s telling you she hasn’t been fed, she’s lying,” I called out to Jae. “She got a whole can of seafood
pâté and then ate some of the dog’s food too.”
“Why did you give the dog a grilled cheese sandwich?” Jae asked, hidden from my view by the wall separating the foyer and the living room. “She’s got a whole sandwich here. And don’t tell me you made her an end piece in the microwave, because this is a full sandwich. And it looks like you cooked it with a black crayon, so I know it’s yours.”
“Didn’t we eat all of them?” I muttered at O’Byrne.
“I might have given her half of mine when we were in the kitchen, but I figured she was a dog, she would just eat it,” O’Byrne hissed back. “Why does your dog have a food Nazi? And why is your husband a food Nazi?”
“Because if I let him feed her human food, she’s going to look like one of those giant rocks on Costa Rica,” Jae said, padding into the living room while cradling Neko to his shoulder. He leaned over, taking a kiss from my mouth, then frowned at the collection of beer bottles, water glasses, and plates on the apothecary chest. “Tell me you had something besides bread and cheese and beer tonight for dinner.”
“O’Byrne and I both had a package of Raspberry Zingers.” I snatched one of the wrappers nearly hidden by one of the plates, then wrinkled it at him. “So a little bit of coconut and maybe some raspberry jam. Does that count?”
“Would it kill you to eat a salad once in a while?” Jae shook his head, smiling at O’Byrne. “Hi, Dell. Tell me he talked to you about something besides shop.”
“Well, since it’s my policy never to lie to people I like, I think it’s time for me to go home.” O’Byrne stood up, making a grab for the dishes, but Jae fended her off. “I can at least help clean up.”
“I’ll do it. The food at the showing was horrible, so I’m going to throw together something for Ichi and me to eat.” Jae gave me an assessing look. “Should I just make enough for the two of us? Or are you going to pick through my dinner and eat half of it, so I should make more?”
I returned his look, taking in the pleasant view of his muscular body encased in black jeans and a tight T-shirt. “I don’t know. What are you going to make?”
“Probably some bulgogi from the freezer and rice.” Shaking his head, Jae put Neko down on the couch. “Never mind. I already know the answer. I’ll make enough for the three of us. Dell, I’ll walk you out, because it looks like my husband is way too comfortable to move.”
“I can move.” I sat up but didn’t go farther than scooting forward on the couch cushion. O’Byrne waved me off, chuckling.
“I’ll let you know about the warrant if we need it. I’ll see about a storage space. We’ve still got the house on lockdown. Maybe want to swing by there again and just take another look. I don’t think we missed anything, but you never know. There could be a piece of paper somewhere in there that didn’t seem important at the time.” Dell nodded a hello to Ichi, passing my baby brother by with a quick pat on his shoulder. “Good to see you, Tokugawa. I still need to stop by your place to get that ink we talked about. I just need a good four to five hours of time at one stretch to get that first sitting in.”
“My table will always be empty for you, Dell,” Ichi reassured her, Honey hot on his heels as he headed toward the other couch. “Just let me know when.”
He stepped over my legs, not making eye contact with me as he went by. I waited for him to get settled, then followed Dell out, ignoring Jae shooing me back into the living room. My husband was playing peacekeeper, and while I appreciated it, it would be pretty shitty of me to not see Dell to the door. I would offer to walk her to her car, but she had a gun, and between the two of us, a mugger would be better off attacking me. That way, they could probably survive the experience. I knew Dell. She fought dirty and with an intent to kill.
In a lot of ways, she reminded me of Neko.
“Call me after you get over there tomorrow,” she said from the front stoop. The porch light wasn’t doing her any favors, but I also knew offering her a bed would get me a middle finger and a snort. “I’m going to see if we can get into the Brinkerhoff apartment through Marlena first. If your theory is right, then maybe there’s a record of who’s picking up the paintings and where they’re going. Maybe even a big red sign that says here’s the murderer.”
“Let me know whenever that happens.” I laughed at her flipped-up hand.
“Thanks for understanding about the guns,” O’Byrne murmured, slanting a glance toward the kitchen, where Jae was rattling about. “I hated asking you for them. I just didn’t have a choice.”
“No. I get it. It’s okay.” I poked at the edges of my emotions, looking for any anger or discomfort about O’Byrne’s requests and the stupidly necessary need to eliminate me as Ivan’s killer. While the timeline of my afternoon pretty much excluded me, it was always better to make sure I was above reproach. At least she had enough faith in me not to take me off of the case. “Not like I was carrying them around anyway. I tried for a day after Ivan came after us in the alleyway, but the weight felt wrong. I’m probably being naïve, because we talked it all out and Jae was fine with me carrying, but I don’t think I am yet. This way I’ve got an excuse to just take a pocket knife and my sharp wit with me.”
“Well, at least the pocketknife will be useful,” she shot back with a wink. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mac. And thanks for the grilled cheese and the beer.”
I closed the door and stood in the foyer, debating which conversation I was willing to take on. To the right of me was the kitchen and Jae. I could go in there and talk to him about O’Byrne removing the guns from our house to exclude me for murder or I could go to the left and sit down with my younger brother, maybe even smooth over the crinkles between us. What wasn’t an option was to head straight up the stairs and hide until everything went away. I did enough of that in my life before Jae, and I wasn’t going to go back to that as my default reaction.
Even if I really wanted to.
Honey made up my mind for me, because she tottered over to the threshold of the living room, cocked her head, and gave me a silly goofy grin, barking once as if to scold me. Her tail was going a mile a minute, furiously wagging in a circular motion with nearly enough torque to lift her ass off the ground. If I didn’t go into the living room, the dog was going to helicopter her way up to the ceiling, and I probably was never going to hear the end of it from Jae.
Or at least that’s what I told myself as I scooped up the canine rag mop and went to beard the lion in my den.
“Do you want something to drink?” I jerked my head back toward the kitchen. “There’s beer, bottles of water, and some iced tea. Both green and black. I think the green is actually popcorn, but it’s pretty good.”
“Tea would be good. Any kind.” My brother’s words were heavy with his Tokyo-Japanese accent, clipped and formal. I could nearly hear the gears in his throat grind as he finally spat out, “Thank you.”
“He’s as bad as Mike,” I muttered at my husband, retrieving a couple of bottles of popcorn green tea from the drink fridge. Jae barely looked up from the massive amounts of vegetables he was chopping, but he spared me a small smile. “Did he tell you anything? He’s still pissed off at me. He and Mike hold grudges. I don’t know why I bother trying to talk to either one of them.”
“You turned a man’s hands into scrapple using an old phone. So I would have to say that you’re not one to talk about holding grudges,” Jae said quietly, fiercely mincing a bunch of green onions. “Go talk to your brother and work this out. I’m making us something to eat.”
I looked at what he’d assembled on the counter, giving him a skeptical look. “You look like you’re about to open a salad buffet. Are you actually cooking all of this or are you trying to give us time to get into a fight?”
“I’ve got some bulgogi thawing out in the microwave, and I’m going to make soon dubu chigae. The rice is going to take thirty minutes. That’s how long you and Ichi have.” His knife began moving again, expertly gutting a hapless jalapeno minding its own business on the chop
ping board. If ever he murdered me, I took great comfort in knowing he could probably fillet my corpse like he did the California yellowtail Bobby and I caught when we went deep-sea fishing. His blade stopped moving, but his gaze was as sharp. “Go fix things with your brother. He hates this is between you.”
“Then why doesn’t he start the conversation?” I muttered, pinching a bit of bean sprouts from a bowl and popping them into my mouth.
“He won’t have a chance to if you stand here and talk to me in the kitchen,” Jae sniped back. “Go away. I’m trying to cook. You’re worse than the dog.”
And with that, I fled, taking a bowl of kimchee and a pair of wooden chopsticks with me as I went.
“Here.” I held out one of the bottles to Ichi, setting the kimchee down on the apothecary chest, making sure it was between us. He took the chopsticks, going through the ritual of removing them from the paper sleeve they’d come in and checking them for splinters. I wasn’t offended. I was going to do the same thing in a few seconds. “Do they really give you shit in Japan if you rub those really cheap ones together to get the splinters off?”
“If you’re eating someplace where the chopsticks are so poor quality that you risk getting a piece of wood in your mouth, they’re going to expect you to rub them together. So no one like that would take offense,” Ichi replied, picking a green leaf sliver of kimchee from the bowl. “It’s considered rude if you’re doing it at a restaurant or a ramen house, but they also wouldn’t serve you those kinds of chopsticks. These are okay. I like the kind you don’t have to pop apart.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “Mostly because I can never pop them apart evenly. And don’t talk to me about the trick of separating them with equal force near where they’re joined because it’s just easier if I hand them over to Jae and give him puppy-dog eyes so he does it for me.”
