Читать книгу A Priceless Find - Kate James - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

THURSDAY THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Chelsea was discussing the merits of a Keith Hamilton sculpture with a couple when she heard the gallery’s front door chime. Turning, she saw Mr. Anderson hurrying through the front foyer.

“Chelsea! This is outrageous!” he called to her the minute he stepped into the showroom.

Excusing herself, she left the couple she’d been with and hurried to Mr. Anderson. He hastened toward her, too, waving a document.

“This has never happened to me in all the years I’ve been collecting!” His face was flushed, and his nostrils flared with each rapid breath he took. “As soon as I got this, I drove straight here from Boston.”

Worried more about the fact that he seemed to be hyperventilating than what her potential new clients might think, Chelsea touched his arm placatingly. “Please calm down, Mr. Anderson. Why don’t we go into the office? You can explain to me what happened. Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to fix it.”

He let out a loud harrumphing sound.

Chelsea apologized to the couple she’d been with as she led Mr. Anderson past them, and signaled to Deborah to take over.

She got him seated in the sales office, but he declined refreshments.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Chelsea said.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He flapped the papers at her. “You sold me a forgery!”

Chelsea was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

“Here,” he said and thrust the papers at her. “Have a look at that. I had the Babineux authenticated myself, as I always do, and as my insurance company requires. And that!” he said, motioning at the document. “That’s what I got back. You tell me how this could’ve happened!”

Chelsea quickly scanned the document and felt the blood drain from her face. “This...this can’t be right. There has to be a mistake.”

Mr. Anderson’s jaw jutted out. “Murphy & McGuire is one of the most reputable art authentication and valuation companies in the nation. Their people have never been wrong for me before. If there’s a mistake, it’s on your end.”

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. “I’d like to get Mr. Hadley.”

“Go on. Go get him.”

She left the document on the table and rushed out. As she reached Mr. Hadley’s office, Joel grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I have to get Mr. Hadley.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged out of his grasp. “I’ll tell you later.”

Fortunately, Mr. Hadley was in his office. She explained what had happened and remembered to pull the file with their copies of the authentication and appraisal reports. When they entered the sales office, Chelsea let Mr. Hadley take the lead.

“I’m terribly sorry about this,” he said, his British accent more distinct than usual. “I can’t imagine how it might have happened, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, please bring the painting back. We’ll have it reauthenticated and I will in good faith refund the full purchase price until we sort everything out.”

Mr. Anderson’s color was returning to normal and his voice didn’t sound quite as shrill. “That’ll be fine. I’ll have the painting brought in tomorrow. I’ve spent enough of my time traveling back and forth from Boston.”

“I understand. Why don’t I make it easier for you and arrange to have it picked up?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Mr. Hadley’s solicitousness and offer of transport seemed to appease Mr. Anderson, at least temporarily. The two men shook hands, neither paying much attention to Chelsea. She felt it was deliberate and wondered why this had become her fault, when she didn’t have any responsibility for acquisition, valuation or authentication.

She stayed back and waited until Mr. Hadley had seen Mr. Anderson out. When he came back, Joel and Tina were both with him. Mr. Hadley’s brow was furrowed, his mouth a thin, straight line.

“Can anyone venture a guess as to how this could’ve happened?” he demanded.

Joel seemed to know what he was talking about, but Tina looked perplexed. Chelsea gave a brief overview of the situation. Tina grabbed the file folder from the table and leafed through it. “Ridley’s did the authentication. They’re one of the most respected houses in the state. They wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Well, someone did. Anderson used Murphy & McGuire. It’s equally unlikely that they’d make such an enormous error. If this leaks out, especially before we get to the bottom of it, our reputation will take a huge hit.” Mr. Hadley turned to Joel. “I’ll need you to prepare for a media onslaught.” At Joel’s nod, he continued. “I’m going to have to tell your grandmother about this. I’d much rather she hears it from me than other sources—like the press.”

Joel raised his hands. “I have to agree. She won’t be pleased, I can tell you that. You know as well as I do that the gallery is her passion, and she cares deeply about it. This gallery is everything to her.”

“Other than you,” Chelsea added softly.

Joel shifted his gaze to her. “Yes. Thank you.”

* * *

MR. HADLEY DECIDED it would be best to deliver news of this import to Mrs. Sinclair in person. Joel went off somewhere shortly after their meeting, and Tina was arranging for the top authentication expert in New York State to have a look at the Babineux.

Chelsea and Deborah were covering the showroom. Not that there was a lot of walk-in traffic. Frankly, Chelsea wanted to go home. A headache was beginning to pound behind her temples and she was facing the possibility of losing a substantial commission. A commission she’d already spent on her car for the much-needed maintenance work.

As the front-door chime sounded, she sincerely hoped Deborah would take the customer. With the mood she was in, it was highly unlikely she’d be able to make a sale, anyway. When she saw Detective Sam Eldridge, her heart did a little skip. She glanced at Deborah, who was already sashaying over to greet Sam.

Chelsea felt an unexpected and unreasonable pang of jealousy as she watched Deborah turn on the charm for Sam. She really couldn’t blame Deborah, since a man’s looks were a priority for her, and Sam had them in spades. But she didn’t have to hang around and watch this, she thought, and turned to go.

“Chelsea!” She heard Sam call her name. “Do you have a minute?”

She swung around and saw the mildly annoyed expression Deborah gave her. “Yes. Certainly.” She walked back toward Sam.

“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”

“Sure. The sales office.”

Sam glanced over at it. “Somewhere without glass walls?” he asked.

It had been a long day, and the throbbing behind her temples was intensifying. “Can we—”

“Let me buy you a coffee,” he interrupted. She was about to refuse, but before she had a chance, he added, “official police business.”

It must’ve been loud enough for Deborah to hear. With a satisfied smirk, she tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and walked back to the office area.

“All right. Give me a minute to get my things.” And take an aspirin.

Chelsea went to her desk and pulled her handbag from the bottom drawer. She took the painkiller first. With the drawer still open, she noticed the high-heeled pumps she’d worn to the gallery’s gala. Headache be damned, she took off her more practical shoes and slipped on the pumps. Using the small mirror she kept in her desk, she touched up her lipstick. Sam might want to talk police business, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look her best.

By the time she spritzed on some perfume, her headache was fading.

* * *

THE FIRST THING Sam noticed when Chelsea walked out of the back was that she looked...taller. He slid his gaze down and saw the shoes. Unless he was mistaken, they were the same shoes she’d worn the night of the exhibit, but they worked even better with the skirt she wore today.

Caught in the act, he realized when he looked up and saw Chelsea’s amused smile. “Ready to go?” he asked, proud of how smoothly he managed to recover from his lapse of professionalism. He helped her with her coat and walked her to his vehicle, having agreed that he’d drive her back to the gallery to get her car when they were done. “How was your day?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

She leaned back against the headrest. “Don’t ask. One of the worst.”

He thought of Joel Sinclair and how unpleasant he’d seemed and glanced at her. “Boyfriend trouble?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Too personal.” And where the heck did that come from?

“Oh, no. It’s not that at all. Just something...unusual happened at work today.”

He glanced at her again. She had her eyes closed and seemed unwilling to elaborate.

He drove into The Coffee Shoppe’s parking lot and took a spot close to the entrance, and let her precede him into the café

They both had coffee and Chelsea ordered an enormous cinnamon bun.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him after swallowing a generous bite.

He watched her tear off another sizable portion. “Where do you put all that food?” he asked.

“I get plenty of exercise walking around at work, and I try to do yoga a couple of times a week,” she explained. “Fortunately, I’m also blessed with a high metabolism,” she added with a flash of even white teeth. “But you said this was official police business. Do you know who’s responsible for the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines?”

“I did say it’s police business,” he replied, although he’d nearly forgotten, enjoying her company as much as he was. “It’s about the robbery, although regrettably we haven’t caught the responsible person yet.”

Chelsea had been about to put another bite of the pastry in her mouth but paused. “Does it usually take this long with a robbery of this sort?”

“Generally not. The longer it takes, the lower the odds that we’ll be able to catch the perpetrator. This case is somewhat out of the norm. And that’s part of the problem.” He preferred not to tell her outright what he was considering, for two reasons. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily; she looked troubled enough as it was. Also, if he was going to share his theory with anyone, it should be the curator or owner of the gallery. His purpose in meeting with Chelsea was to get her take on whether there’d been anything out of the ordinary that could indicate the gallery might be a target.

Or so he told himself.

“What’s unusual about it?” Chelsea probed. “Is it that Mr. Rochester was hurt? There aren’t many incidents like that in Camden Falls. Not that I’ve heard of, anyway.”

“You’re correct. We don’t see a lot of crime like the jewelry store break-in. Generally, that makes my job a lot easier,” he said with a smile. “But since it did happen, we don’t want to see a recurrence. Catching the perpetrator will not only keep him or her from a repeat performance, but it’ll also act as a deterrent to other potential thieves.”

“Sounds like a plan. How can I help?”

Her hands were wrapped around her mug, and her smile was warm and inquisitive. She looked so appealing, he had to force himself to remember what he’d been about to say. “Uh, Willowbrook Avenue is home to most of Camden Falls’s retail stores, the most likely targets for a thief. I couldn’t help noticing,” he said, smiling again, “that you seem to be aware of what goes on in the neighborhood and don’t mind getting involved, if the need arises. I don’t mean that as a criticism,” he added quickly, when he saw her eyes narrow. “I was wondering if you’d seen anything suspicious in the area, either before or after the robbery.”

Her brow furrowed. “Not that I recall. The store owners and employees along that stretch of Willowbrook all know each other and we’re a close-knit group. We tend to look out for each other. If anyone had seen anything, I would’ve found out.”

“Have you seen or heard of anyone unfamiliar or someone who seemed out of place visiting the gallery or any of the other stores?”

She took a sip of her coffee but kept her eyes steady on his. Finally, she shook her head. “You’re asking me because you don’t think the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines was an isolated incident. You think the gallery or one of the other businesses on Willowbrook might be targeted.”

It wasn’t posed as a question. Her agile mind impressed him. “We haven’t discounted the possibility. We’ve arranged for extra patrols along Willowbrook for the time being. Just in case.”

Chelsea nodded. “Thank you. There wasn’t much of value stolen from All That Glitters and Shines, was there?”

“No.”

“But there was a great deal of damage. I can’t imagine Mr. and Mrs. Rochester having enemies. So, I don’t think it was targeting them.” Sam assumed she was looking for confirmation or denial. Careful to give her neither, he was again struck by how bright she was. He was starting to respect her intelligence as much as her courage, kindness and humor.

“It wasn’t strictly vandalism, though,” she continued. “There are easier, less risky ways to accomplish that than breaking into the store. What was the motivation, then?”

“Interesting line of reasoning,” he said. “You’ve taken courses in criminology?” he teased.

Her delighted smile caused a twinge—like extreme hunger—in his gut.

“No, but I love reading crime novels.” Her expression turned serious. “I can put two plus two together well enough to know that if you considered it a routine robbery, we wouldn’t be here having coffee.”

The thought of them doing just that, but for personal reasons, ran through his mind. “Maybe I used it as an excuse to get you here.”

She rolled her eyes, but not before she smiled at him again—flirtatiously this time. “I understand you can’t tell me more,” she said, “but I honestly don’t know what I can say that would help. Believe me, I want the person who hurt Mr. Rochester caught.” The intensity in her voice underscored her words.

“You care about him,” he said, stating the obvious.

She raised her hands. “Of course I care about Mr. Rochester. And Mrs. Rochester, who’s been worried sick about her husband. They’re a sweet couple. The way they are with each other, you’d think they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. They’ve been married more than forty-five years.”

He mentally added romantic to the list of her attributes. And the list was getting long. She had intelligence, warmth and compassion. She had a spirit of fun that he readily admitted he was lacking but admired. And, needless to say, he loved the way she looked.

But she had a boyfriend and he had to stay focused on the case. “Another question, if you don’t mind. Is there anything more you can tell me about Adam Rochester or his mother?”

“Not really.” She stared down at the table. “I told you everything I know the other night.”

He’d been watching her intently—couldn’t take his eyes off her. So he’d noticed that the warmth fizzled out as she talked about the nephew. “You don’t like him.”

She raised startled eyes to meet his. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m a detective, remember. Well-honed observation skills,” he responded, trying to put her at ease again and lighten the mood. It had the desired effect, making her smile again. “So, why is that?” he asked.

She seemed to consider his question for a moment. “I don’t dislike Adam. We’ve just never...connected.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since I started working at the gallery. Nearly five years ago now.”

“That’s a long time not to connect with someone.”

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t think connecting is a function of time. We’re too different.”

Soon after, Sam ran out of questions, and he needed to take Chelsea back to the gallery. He dropped her off there and said good-night.

But he found himself thinking about her as he drove home.

He was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t remember being drawn to anyone else...other than Katherine. He’d been tempted to ask Chelsea about her relationship with Joel again, but he didn’t want to cross the line from business to personal. Her reaction to his impromptu question in the car had told him she was sensitive about it.

Didn’t it just figure that when he finally met a woman he could be interested in, it was during an investigation and she was in a relationship. Even if those obstacles didn’t exist, he recalled her comment about not connecting with Adam Sinclair because they were too different.

Weren’t they too different? Sam wondered grudgingly as he let himself into his apartment. Not from his perspective. And her comment about connecting not being a function of time? His own reaction to her had been almost immediate, so he had to agree.

It was only when he closed the door behind him that he realized he’d neglected to ask her what she’d meant about this being one of her worst days.