Lost and Found (23 page)

Mack raised his gaze to the two men who were holding the insect. “You were at the gallery reception, weren’t you? I noticed you looking at that old microscope.”

The one on the left nodded. “I’m Dave O’Donnell. This is my partner, Brian Meagers. We collect antique scientific instruments.”

“Mack Easton. Thanks for showing up at the ideal moment. Great timing.”

“We pride ourselves on our timing,” Dave replied.

Cady smiled gratefully at the pair. “I’m Cady Briggs. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

“No problem.” Brian Meagers took a closer look at her. “Hey, you’re one of the Chatelaine Briggses, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Met Leandra, earlier. Nice person.”

“She’s my cousin. I saw her trying to sell you that nineteenth-century Powell and Lealand microscope. A lovely old instrument.”

Dave chuckled. “It’s gorgeous but it’s a little out of our range.”

Cady gripped Mack’s hand very tightly. “I think that under the circumstances, I can arrange for you to get the family discount.”

“
A
re you sure you’re all right?” Cady thrust a glass of brandy into his hands. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I’m all right.” Mack leaned back in the big chair and sipped brandy. “He wasn’t fighting me, he was just fighting to get away.”

She sat down on the sofa. “What is it? You haven’t said more than ten words since you spoke with the cops.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“I sort of figured that.”

He looked at her. “About something the mugger said.”

“What was that?”

“I asked him if we could do a deal. I’d give him all my cash, he’d let me keep the cards. He said he had to have the cards.”

“So? You don’t really think that a juiced-up street mugger is going to bargain with you in a situation like that, do you?”

“No. But I did think it was interesting that he insisted that he had to have the plastic.”

Cady shuddered visibly. “What’s so unusual about it? You heard him say that his dealer had told him to get them. Probably wanted to sell them to one of those identity thieves who steal your credit cards and then trash your credit rating.”

“Maybe.” Mack swallowed more brandy. “But it occurred to me that there is something else you can do with someone’s plastic besides assume an identity and run up a lot of bills.”

“What’s that?”

“Research. If you have a person’s credit cards and driver’s license, you can find out a lot about him. If you know where to look on the internet, that is.”

She watched him for a long time.

“Are you saying that you think the mugging was planned?” she finally asked very carefully. “Not a random street incident?”

“You have to admit that it was a poor choice of venue for a low-end mugger. The neighborhood was definitely out of his league. Too upscale. Too many people around.”

“People who are feeding a habit can get desperate. Maybe he was just following the old rule of thumb bank robbers use. Go where the money is.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s happening here? This doesn’t sound like the skeptical, logical Mack Easton I hired.”

“Forget that guy. He was kind of boring.” Mack pushed himself up out of the chair. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

“
A
unt Vesta’s phone records?” Cady scooted her chair closer to Mack’s so that she could get a better view of the list of numbers and names that he had written on a sheet of paper. “Why are you interested in them?”

“These are the numbers that she had entered into the speed dial feature. I figure they’re the ones that she called the most often.”

“Makes sense.”

“Most are members of the family. Your number is on here.” He tapped it with the tip of a pen. “So is her lawyer’s and her doctor’s. There is also a number for a woman named Hattie Woods in San Francisco.”

Cady smiled. “Hattie?”

“Know her?”

“Sure. I remember her very well, although I haven’t seen her since last year’s Carnival Night. She’s been a client of Chatelaine’s since forever. One of the first major accounts. Vesta always handled her personally, even after she retired.”

“What does Hattie Woods collect?”

“Eighteenth-and nineteenth-century clocks. I used to love to visit her when I was a kid. I couldn’t wait for all the clocks to strike the hour at the same time. A total madhouse.”

He sat back in his chair and regarded her over the tops of his steepled fingers. “She’s the only client I could identify on your aunt’s speed dial program. Was she also a close friend of Vesta’s?”

“Not really. She and Aunt Vesta certainly had a solid business and professional relationship. I think that they liked and respected each other. But the truth is, my aunt didn’t have what most people would call close friends.”

“What do you know about Hattie Woods?”

“You mean aside from her clock collection?”

“Yes.”

She thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose that the second most interesting thing about Hattie Woods is that, until she retired several years ago, she was a working actress. Never a famous star, you understand. But she must have done hundreds of character roles during the course of her career.”

“Did she show up at the funeral?”

“I didn’t see her there, come to think of it. Although I might have missed her in the crowd.”

“If she wasn’t a close friend of your aunt’s, can you think of any reason why her number would have been programmed into the speed dialer?”

“Nope. Want me to call her and ask if she and Vesta had been chatting a lot about anything in particular recently?”

“Yes,” Mack said slowly. “Yes. I think that might be a good idea.”

“No problem. Hattie won’t mind. But what’s this all about?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe nothing at all. But finding Hattie Woods’s number programmed into the speed dialer bothers me.”

“Why?”

“Because it fits into the same category as your aunt’s visits to a psychic.”

“How?”

“It breaks a pattern,” Mack said.

A
t eight the next morning, Cady poured a cup of tea from the pot she had just finished brewing and used the speed dial feature to call Hattie.

“Woods residence.” Not Hattie’s firm, well-modulated tones.

“I’m calling for Miss Woods.” Cady was aware of Mack watching her intently from the opposite side of the table. “Please tell her that Cady Briggs of the Gallery Chatelaine would very much like to speak with her.”

“One moment, please.”

Another voice came on the line a short time later. It was elegant, charming and edged with a distinct note of urgency and relief. “Cady, is that you, dear?”

“Hi, Hattie. It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Extremely happy to hear from you, dear, I must say. I’ve been waiting for your call. In fact, I was wondering if perhaps I should take the initiative. But Vesta gave very clear instructions and I didn’t want to go against her wishes.”

Cady nearly fell off her chair. “You were
expecting
my call?”

“Well, yes, of course, dear. Your aunt said that if anything happened to her, you would be in touch. I realize you’ve been occupied with the sad business of the funeral and all. I told myself to allow you some time. But I didn’t want to wait too long.”

“I’m not sure I understand what this is all about, Hattie.”

“It’s about that phony, Jonathan Arden, of course. Isn’t that why you called me, dear?”

Cady’s mouth went dry. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, that is why I called.”

On the opposite side of the table, Mack watched her with near-predatory anticipation.

“I don’t think we should discuss this over the phone, do you?” Hattie’s voice went down to a conspiratorial level. “Vesta was very concerned with secrecy. It was one of the reasons why I didn’t attend the funeral. I was afraid of blowing my cover. I knew your aunt would not have wanted that. There is too much at stake.”

“Your cover?” Cady repeated weakly.

“Yes, dear. As in
undercover
. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”

“Oh, right. Cover.” Adrenaline shot through her. “You did some undercover work for my aunt?”

“Indeed. I believe I did some of my best acting work since my wedding night.”

“Hattie, what is going on here?”

“I think we should discuss that after you’ve had a look at the table.”

“What table?”

“The one I allowed Jonathan Arden to persuade me to acquire.” Hattie uttered a genteel snort. “Early nineteenth century, he said. And you would not believe the silly story he spun to go with the piece. I suggest we meet as soon as possible. Are you free to come into the city for dinner this evening?”

“Dinner will be fine, Hattie. I’m going to spend the morning helping Sylvia prepare for my nephews’ birthday bash. It takes place this afternoon. We can leave right after the party.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to mention my, uh, friend.” Cady clutched the phone very snugly and let her gaze slide away from Mack’s coolly amused eyes. “His name is
Mack Easton. He’s very much involved in this situation. May I bring him with me tonight?”

“By all means. Whatever you think best, dear.”

Cady hung up the phone, hardly daring to breathe. “You were right, Mack. Something was going on between Hattie and Vesta, and it did involve Jonathan Arden. Hattie called him a phony. Something about conning her into buying an antique table. I got the impression that she and Aunt Vesta tried to set a trap for Arden. We’re going to get the whole story this evening.”

“Hang on. Are you saying that Arden used the psychic gimmick to sell Hattie a forgery?”

“That’s what it sounds like. Apparently Aunt Vesta and Hattie were aware that Arden is a fraud. It sounds like they were trying to prove it. Aunt Vesta hated frauds. I can see her exposing Arden, just for the hell of it.”

“Huh.”

“What now?” she demanded. “This is our big break. We’re onto something here.”

“Maybe.”

“This was your idea,” she reminded him. “Why aren’t you demonstrating a little enthusiasm? Is it because Arden’s name didn’t pop up when you searched your database? Are you annoyed because it isn’t perfect?”

“No database is perfect. The fact that mine didn’t have any info on Arden just means that until now he’s worked his scam outside the art world or else he’s been too clever to leave fingerprints.”

“Fine. So if it’s not the database, why the negativity here?”

“We’re supposed to be investigating your theory that your aunt may have been murdered. It looks like we might end up discovering that Arden is a con artist instead. That’s not exactly a connection.”

“But there could be,” she insisted. “What if he murdered
her because he realized that she was trying to expose him?”

“I told you, a good con artist avoids complicating his career with murder.”

“Maybe he’s not such a good con artist.” She was growing more irritated by the second. “Maybe he’s a really stupid, mean, violent con artist.”

“Maybe.”

A thought struck her. “You know, after we find out what’s going on with Hattie’s table, maybe I should pay a call on Jonathan Arden.”

“No.”

“I could pose as a client.” She warmed to her plan. “Tell him that I was referred by Hattie Woods.”

“No.”

“I might learn something if I talk to him.”

“What the hell do you think that will accomplish? Arden’s not going to cough up his secrets or make any slips. The guy’s a pro.”

“You’re probably right, but it’s worth a try.”

“No,” Mack said again, very flatly this time. “It is not worth a try.”

“You know what your problem is, Easton?”

“Which one? I’ve got a lot of them at the moment.”

“Your big problem,” she said, “is that you’re having difficulty accepting the change of status in our relationship.”

“You call this a relationship?”

She opted to ignore that. “You’ve always been the employer in the past and I’ve always been the employee. You’re accustomed to giving the orders. But now the situation is reversed. I’m the one in charge and you’re having difficulty dealing with that.”

He leaned back in the chair, rested one arm along the edge of the desk and regarded her as if she was showing signs of losing it. “You think so?”

“Yes, I do. You’ve got a bad attitude.”

“Can’t think of any reason why I’d have an attitude problem.”

“I can.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “I’m assertive by nature and I happen to be in charge at the moment. A lot of men have problems with strong, self-confident, assertive women in positions of authority.”

“Who told you that?”

“Common knowledge. A female authority figure pushes a lot of hot-button issues left over from childhood. Reminds men of their mothers or something.”

“No shit?”

“Yes.” She glared. “I mean, no. The point I’m trying to make is that your reaction to my being the boss is not unexpected or unusual.”

“Interesting theory.”

“It’s not a theory,” she said through her teeth. “It’s a psychological fact. Get over it.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s another fact for you. The only kind of assertive women who make me nervous are those who take idiotic risks.” He flashed her a sudden, sexy grin. “And for the record, you definitely do not remind me of my mother.”

M
ack held the wobbly paper plate in one hand and carefully wielded the plastic fork. The trick was not to stab too hard, he reminded himself. If you didn’t get it right, the whole thing flipped into the air and landed on the ground. Invariably some frosting splashed your pants leg on the way down. The rest could be expected to hit the toe of your shoe. Such was the nature of birthday cakes and paper plates.

It was an attractive cake. His slice was decorated with mounds of yellow and blue frosting that tasted remarkably
like sweetened vegetable shortening. Had about the same consistency, too, he reflected.

The birthday party was being staged on the garden terrace behind Sylvia and Gardner’s home. From where he stood, he could look down the hillside toward Phantom Point’s boutique waterfront with its pocket-sized park and small marina. The Carnival Night stage was nearly completed, he noticed. In the distance the Golden Gate arced against a gray sky.