Rachel stood up, her hand gripping the receiver so tightly her knuckles were white. “Please repeat that, Mr. Quincy. I cannot have understood you properly.”
“Well, as I explained, Lord Gresham—he owns the Baldorean collection, after all—thinks—and he spoke to others—very important people, all concerned with museums—who agree with him—that the Baldorean situation should be handled quietly. It’s Lord Gresham’s hope that Heyward Bain will return the Dürers to the Baldorean, and that Bain will try to get his money back from Fanshawe-Davies privately, without attracting the attention of the press. I told Lord Gresham that Fanshawe-Davies had not deposited the money in the gallery accounts, and that we’ll cooperate with Bain in his—uh—endeavors. He hopes that Bain will not prosecute. Lord Gresham will not.”
“How do you know Bain is not involved? And are you saying that Simon will walk away from this unpunished?” Rachel said.
“There’s no reason to think that Bain knew the Dürers were stolen, or that he was a party to the theft. As for Fanshawe-Davies, if we can prove that he stole the Dürers, he will lose a great deal,” Quincy said.
“If no one will prosecute Simon, how can I invoke the criminal clause in the partnership?”
“If we have sufficient proof of his criminal activity—evidence that would stand up in court
if
presented—we’ll be able to invoke the criminal clause. But those who could prosecute him will not do so. Publicity about this kind of theft inevitably attracts imitators. We could have a rash of thefts in private museums and country houses all over England. Remember, it would mean bad publicity for Ransome’s, too.”
“I would risk the publicity. Simon should not be allowed to walk away from this. I want him in prison,” Rachel said.
“Oh, but Mrs. Ransome, you want vengeance, and that’s not what the law is about.”
“Nor is it about justice,” she said. She hung up the telephone and began to consider her options. She was determined to rid herself of Simon. He had become a major liability.
From: Rob Mondelli
To: Coleman Greene, Dinah Greene,
and Jonathan Hathaway
Subject: Simon’s Alibis
Simon has an alibi for Monday night and couldn’t have been your mugger, Coleman. He was on Heyward Bain’s plane returning from Santa Fe, and arrived at Teterboro airport around two a.m. Tuesday. The police questioned Bethany. Her sighting on the night La Grange died was between 2:20 and 2:40, so the doctor could have been the person who struck the fatal blows. Simon has an alibi for that night, too. He claims he spent the night with Ms. Carswell, and she has confirmed it.
Coleman was re-reading the e-mail when Dinah telephoned. “Can you believe it? They’re lovers after all. I never thought they were. It still seems incredible,” Dinah said.
“I’m not as astonished about that as I am that he has an alibi for my mugging. I was positive he did it,” Coleman said.
“Since it couldn’t have been Simon, something about the mugger must have been Simon-like, or reminded you of Simon,” Dinah said.
Coleman slapped the desk in front of her. “Yes! That’s it! It was that weird scent of his—the mugger
reeked
of it! I’m going to call Rob right away.”
“I remember that horrible scent. It’s unmistakable. I can see why you thought it was Simon, but some other idiot must wear it. Rob wants to meet again this evening. Are you free at six? Can you come to Cornelia Street?”
“Yes, sure. Are you permanently back in residence?”
Dinah laughed. “So far, so good. We’re still working out the details, but I think it’s going to be okay.”
Coleman remained skeptical—she had known a number of Jonathan-types, and none of them were capable of learning new tricks—but it was Dinah’s business. “Whatever you say, dear heart. See you tonight.”
Coleman punched in Rob’s number. “Rob? Thank you for this morning. It’s a relief to have that woman out of here.”
“I was pleased to be of service,” he said.
“I’ve remembered why I was so sure Simon mugged me: he wears this peculiar perfume, maybe an aftershave, and my mugger wore it, too.”
“Do you know anything about the scent? The name or where he gets it?”
“Not a thing, except I don’t like it. It smells like dead grass or hay, or something like that.”
“Okay. I’ll look into it. Will I see you later on Cornelia Street?”
“Oh sure, I’ll be there,” Coleman said.
“Would you like to have dinner afterwards?”
Coleman was speechless for a moment. Then, “Oh—uh—sure, that’d be great,” she said.
“Do you know Leopard? Where Café des Artistes used to be?” Rob said.
“I haven’t been there, but I’ve heard it’s great.”
“Okay, we’ll go there. See you at six. But if you have any problems between now and then, call me. I can be in your office in half an hour or less,” Rob said.
His invitation had caught Coleman by surprise. She hadn’t thought of going out with Rob. But why not? He was intelligent, not bad looking. She’d disliked him initially, but he’d acted okay since they’d met again. And just because she was interested in someone else didn’t mean she couldn’t have dinner with Mondelli, especially when that someone else had never even called her, never mind asked her out.
But dinner was hours away. She stared at the piles of paper on her desk, wondering how she was going to cope. She was killing herself trying to keep up. She should have hired another writer long ago. Now she was short two writers, not counting the one she’d planned to hire before Chick died and Tammy left.
Bethany had a cousin in North Carolina who sounded good and was interested in the job, but she wouldn’t be available for a couple of months. Coleman would just have to keep looking, and meanwhile use freelancers. She sighed and began to sort through the papers on her desk.
Her cell phone rang. It was Zeke, asking if they could get together.
Coleman groaned. “Is this about the bug? I thought we were through with that.”
Zeke laughed. “No, nothing to do with the bug. I want to talk about
ArtSmart
, but I’d rather do it in person.”
She’d have liked to put him off, but Zeke had listened to her problems when she needed him, even though
he’d
been busy. “Would you mind coming here? I’m swamped. I’m up against deadlines. But I can always take a coffee break. If this won’t take too long?”
“No, not long. When should I come?”
“Now, if you like.”
Coleman looked again at the stacks of paper on her desk. Fifteen minutes with Zeke wouldn’t matter. She’d be here all night anyway.
She’d read only two pages when the receptionist announced Zeke’s arrival. She went out to greet him, Dolly at her heels.
Zeke sat down in her guest chair and passed her a cardboard Starbucks cup. “Cheers,” he said. “I’m here on business. I’d like to work for you.”
“My stars! Doing what?”
“I’d merge
Print News
into
ArtSmart.
You’d get a mailing list and me and a couple of clerical people—we could let them go if you don’t need them. I’d write all your print stories, and any other assignments you give me, plus a monthly piece or at least an occasional story, on art scams. I’d like to work closely with IFAR—the International Foundation for Art Research—as you know they track art thefts—their stuff is interesting, and no one is covering it. Anyway, I think I have a lot to offer,” he concluded.
Coleman considered him. Zeke’s proposal seemed too good to be true. But she probably couldn’t afford him, and she didn’t want to buy
Print News
, if that’s what he had in mind. “What would you expect to make?” Coleman asked.
“To begin with, whatever you paid Chick, and I’d like to buy stock in the magazine, if you’re willing to sell.”
Glorious heavens, he wanted to put capital in
Art-Smart
,
and he’d work for much less than she’d expected. Zeke was turning into the Greene family banker. “I think that sounds like a good deal for me, but not so great for you. Why do you want to do it?”
“I’m bored and restless. I’m tired of
Print News.
I need a change and a challenge. I’ve watched what you’ve accomplished here, and I’d like to be a part of it. You’ve made
ArtSmart
the best art magazine in town, fun and exciting.” He paused, looking sheepish, and added, “I’ve been in a rut for a long time, and carrying a lot of old baggage. But I’ve developed new interests, and I feel like a new person.”
Coleman smiled. “I’ve noticed one new interest. What does Bethany think about your working here?”
“It was her idea. I wouldn’t have thought of it—just not smart enough, I guess. But I leaped into action when she suggested it. She knows how bored I’ve been, and she’s a great fan of yours,” Zeke said.
“Frankly, Zeke, you’re the answer to my prayers. I was feeling at the end of my tether. There’s so much to do, and I’m so far behind. When could you start?”
Zeke looked at the piles of paper on her desk and grinned. “How about now?”
“You’ve got a deal. I’ll show you to Chick’s office. His partner came in yesterday and cleaned it out. It’s all yours. Here’s a stack of manuscripts to go over—they’ve been edited, but they need a final look by an educated eye. That’s you. I’ll get the lawyers working on the agreement and tell Jonathan you’ll be in touch to set up an appointment to talk about stock.”
Coleman escorted him to Chick’s office, which had been stripped of his belongings and personality. It was just an empty room, but it still smelled faintly of peppermint.
“Did you ever find out what was on Chick’s mind?” Zeke asked.
Coleman sighed. “Yes. David told me when he came in to clear out Chick’s office. David wanted to move to California—his family’s there, and he thought his career prospects would be better. Chick thought it was disloyal to me to even consider it.”
“He was a good friend to the end. You can count on me, too,” Zeke said.
She smiled. “I know I can. Thanks, Zeke.”
“Well,” Rob said, “we started off with the hypothesis that Simon Fanshawe-Davies might be a thief, could have been involved in two murders, and was probably a mugger. But he’s alibied by Ms. Carswell for La Grange’s murder, Bain alibis him for Coleman’s mugging, and he was clubbing with a large group when O’Reilly was killed. We can’t tie him to the theft of the Rembrandt plates—we have no clues as to how or when they were taken—and there’s nothing to suggest Simon has ever been anywhere near the Harnett Museum.”
Coleman, seated opposite Rob, groaned to herself. Simon Fanshawe-Davies was slippery as a water moccasin.
“The London police have told the New York police that the Dürers Bain bought for the Print Museum were almost certainly stolen from the Baldorean, a country-house museum near Oxford. The Baldorean Dürers—the same four images, unstamped, and in superb condition—are missing. There’s no way of proving they’re the ones Bain bought, but it seems probable. Once again, an unidentified bearded man is the suspect. They have a Polaroid of him, and he used the name Ravenscroft at the museum,” Rob said.
Coleman’s eyes widened. The Dürer thief
had
to be Simon.
“Rachel Ransome, formerly Ravenscroft, identified Simon from the photo, but no one agrees with her identification. They’re checking to see if he has an alibi,” Rob said.
Coleman was the first to speak. “Could you get me a copy of the photo of the guy at the Baldorean? If Rachel Ransome thinks the guy is Simon, she must have a good reason.”
“Sure.” Rob made a note.
“What do we do now?” Dinah said.
“I think we should talk to Heyward Bain. He has a lot at risk. The public embarrassment and the financial losses are his, and he brought both Simon and Ellen Carswell into this.”
“I agree,” Coleman said.
“Me, too,” Dinah said.
“It’s okay with me,” Jonathan said.
“I suggest I make an appointment to see him as soon as possible,” Rob said.
“I want to go with you,” Coleman said.
Rob looked at Jonathan and Dinah.
“If Coleman wants to go, I think she should,” Dinah said.
“I think so, too,” Jonathan said.
“Okay, it’s the two of us,” Rob told Coleman. “On another topic, I called Ellen Carswell about Ms. Isaacs as soon as I got back to my office. I taped the conversation. Want to hear it?”
“Absolutely!” Coleman said, just as Dinah said, “Oh yes,” and Jonathan said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
He turned on the tape recorder, and they heard Rob’s voice:
“Ms. Carswell, did you make a job offer to Tammy Isaacs?”
“Yes. She approached me when she heard I was launching the magazine. She told me she’d like to join me, and we agreed on terms. She’s to start here after her marriage in April, working out of Chicago.”
“Did you ask her to steal Coleman Greene’s article ideas and give them to you?”
“Of course not. Tammy made a few suggestions for articles, but the ideas were hers.”
“Ms. Isaacs admits that she has been stealing ideas from Ms. Greene, and she says it was at your request.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that. Why would she say such a thing? I must speak to her and put a stop to this nonsense.”
He turned off the tape recorder and was about to speak when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and withdrew to the kitchen.
“I think we should get in touch with Rachel Ransome,” Dinah said.
“Why? Do you have something specific you want to ask her?” Coleman said.
“No, but like Bain, she has a lot to lose. Rachel Ransome believes Simon stole the Dürers. We should join forces.”
“That’s a good idea,” Rob, who’d come back in the room, said. “Why don’t you call her, Dinah? Meanwhile, does anyone here think Simon is not guilty on all charges?”
“Absolutely not,” Coleman said.
“I think he’s guilty of something. I just don’t know what,” Dinah said.
“I’ll go along with Dinah and Coleman. I don’t know him, but they do, and that’s enough for me,” Jonathan said.
“Well, whatever he’s guilty of, it isn’t the theft of the Dürers. He was in New York when the beard was at the Baldorean. The call I just took was to give me that information,” Rob said.
Coleman raised her eyebrows. “With Carswell again? Anybody think she might be lying?”
“When the Dürers were stolen, he was with a group of print dealers,” Rob said.
“I guess that’s that, although I still can’t believe it,” Coleman said. “Is it definite that Carswell is the owner of the
Artful Californian
? Because if so, she’s the person trying to ruin
ArtSmart.
”
“She owns the magazine and several other businesses, but I don’t agree that anyone is necessarily out to ruin your magazine
.
Don’t you think it’s possible Carswell just took advantage of a situation that presented itself when Ms. Isaacs approached her? But talking of the
Artful Californian
reminds me that I told Zeke and Bethany to leave the bug at
ArtSmart
in place. I have some ideas about how to use it. We’ll talk about that at our next meeting.
“But you’ll have to excuse me. Coleman and I have a dinner reservation. Coleman, are you ready to go?” Rob stood up, and held out his hand to Coleman. Moments later, they were gone.
“Well, I never!” Dinah said when the door had closed behind them. “Coleman detested Rob! She didn’t want to hire him. I wonder why she didn’t tell me she’d changed her mind?”
Jonathan laughed. “She probably hasn’t had time. It sounds like she had a busy day at the office. Can you imagine it—Zeke and Bethany playing detective, and Ms. Isaacs having a fit? And Zeke joining
ArtSmart.
Too bad Coleman doesn’t drink. This would be a night to tie one on. Speaking of that, I’m going to have another glass of wine. Is dinner nearly ready? Something smells good.”
“Roast chicken keeping warm in the oven. Would you carve it, and toss the salad? I want to send Rachel Ransome an e-mail.”
He smiled at her. “Sure. Let’s make an early night of it, why don’t we? Why should Rob and Coleman have all the fun?”
To: Rachel Ransome
From: Dinah Greene
Subject: Print Crimes
Dear Mrs. Ransome,
My friends and I are investigating a series of crimes in the NY print world. We’ve heard about the Lautrec and the Dürers. Would you call me at your convenience to see if we can help each other?
“Have you recovered from this morning?” Rob asked, after they’d ordered. He couldn’t take his eyes off Coleman. She looked like a daffodil in a lime green jacket and skirt and a pale yellow silk blouse.
She smiled, her blonde curls gleaming in the candlelight. “Oh, yes. By the end of the day I could even see how funny the debugging was. I won’t get over the loss of Chick for a long time, but I’m feeling a little better about that, too.”
Rob toasted her with his wineglass. “I’m glad. I know that the problems at your office have been deeply troubling you. The idea I wanted to try out on you: how about using the bug in the conference room for disinformation? Maybe get revenge on whoever is listening?”
“Oh, what fun! I’d love it!” Coleman laughed, and several heads turned to look at her. Her laugh wasn’t loud, but nearby diners smiled when they heard it.
The patrons of Leopard apparently found Coleman as irresistible as Rob did, and he was smitten. Even the playful nymphs in the Howard Chandler Christy murals decorating the walls of the restaurant seemed to smile on Coleman. Rob wished he and she hadn’t gotten off to such a bad start. He hoped he could make it up to her.
“Good! We can have a lot of fun with it. We might even be able to find out if you’re right about
Artful
trying to ruin
ArtSmart.
”
“I’m pretty sure I’m right about that, even if I’ve been wrong about Simon—and I still can’t believe
that.
I’ve wasted time getting angry, but I’ve decided that if I can figure out how to do it, I’m going to get even with the
Artful Californian
crowd. I hadn’t thought of using the bug—that’s ingenious.”
Rob looked into her eyes, his face serious. “Coleman, I can’t tell you how much I regret not getting it right about Jimmy La Grange’s murder. You tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. I apologize.”
Coleman, who’d called him an ass and worse, and had said she never wanted to see him again, dropped her eyes and flushed. “It’s okay,” she said.
“Not okay, but I hope to make it up to you. Tell me about yourself. Mind you, I’ve read all about you in articles. I know you grew up in North Carolina, and came north to graduate school after Duke. Then what?”
“I wrote for several art magazines, some freelancing, but mostly on staff. Along the way I read a lot and I took courses trying to learn how to manage or run a magazine. My last job before buying
ArtSmart
was as editor of a small magazine, and by then, I thought I could do it all.” She laughed. “Maybe that doesn’t surprise you?”
He smiled. “Then what?”
“I looked for a magazine in trouble, but with potential. When I found
ArtSmart
, I bought it with borrowed money—Jonathan helped me finance it.” She shrugged. “That’s my story. What about yours?”
He told her about being a cop, studying law, and the interest in art crime that led him to open his own business. “My parents are dead, I’m divorced, no kids, and my wife remarried and moved upstate.”
“I’ve never married, never lived with anyone, never been engaged,” Coleman said.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like men?”
She smiled. “I do, but in small doses. I have flings, and that’s all I want. I love living alone. I love my work.”
“Are you warning me off?”
“If you’re shopping for a wife, or even a roommate, I am. I have a dog and she’s the only live-in companion I can imagine.”
“Where
is
the famous Dolly?”
“In my pouch under the table.”
“I’d never have guessed. She’s very well-behaved.”
“She’s also a good friend. She thinks I’m perfect, listens to my every word, and doesn’t talk back.”
He smiled. “Back to your flings: when can I see you again?”