Relic of Time (43 page)

“Okay, Arroyo. So you got the picture to Don Ibanez's basilica. Let's talk about the plan to get it back where it belongs.”

“Traeger, I confess that I am as confused by that as you are.”

“I'm not confused, damn it. How did you make the switch?”

Arroyo looked at Sapienza. “I suppose I could be flattered by this suggestion of my shrewdness. I cannot tell you how I felt when I learned what had happened when Traeger delivered that package to the shrine.”

His eyes went to Traeger. “How did you do it? You left with the original painting. Everyone trusted you, Don Ibanez trusted you, and you betrayed them.”

“Cui bono?”
Sapienza murmured.

“I don't understand,” Arroyo said.

“Miguel, you can't seriously expect us to believe that Traeger would insure the failure of his own plan. What could he possibly gain from that?”

“I never had the original,” Traeger said. “The package I delivered and which held only a copy was put into my hands by Don Ibanez himself. It never left my sight. I had no idea that I was taking such precautions over a copy. So where is the original, Arroyo?”

“I repeat. I do not know.”

“As God is your judge?”

“It had to be you, Traeger. Why? Only you can tell us. But I can guess. You could arrange to deliver it to Ignatius Hannan, who would doubtless have enriched you for your troubles. For that matter, you could have done the same with Don Ibanez. Did you attack him when he reacted in shock to your proposal?”

“Miguel, Miguel, please stop. Let me summarize.” Sapienza brought his hands together as if in prayer. “Consider the point we have arrived at. Traeger accuses Arroyo of knowing where the original is.”

Traeger exploded. “Is that why I've been chasing all over creation trying to find it?”

Sapienza parted his hands and showed a palm to Traeger. “Arroyo in turn accuses you. Of course both of you protest your innocence. The question is, how do we resolve the matter?”

“Excellent,” Neal Admirari cried. “How do we?”

It was then that Traeger saw a file of cruisers approaching the house. By God, it was a trap. All this palaver had been meant merely to hold him until the police arrived. In a trice he was at the window. He leapt through and headed for the orange grove, the soft soil gripping his feet in their size fourteen tennis shoes and making speed difficult. He became aware of figures ahead. The grove seemed full of cops. He changed direction; he felt cornered. He stumbled, trying to draw his weapon, when a shot rang out and he felt a piercing pain in his upper leg. Then they were upon him, bringing him to the ground, pinning him. He was flipped on his back and his weapon taken. The face of Crosby appeared, looking down at him with a sad expression.

“Nice going, Traeger.”

CHAPTER TWO

Neal watched Traeger being hustled away, handcuffed now as Arroyo had wished him to be earlier. Crosby walked at Traeger's side, talking away. What was he doing, gloating? He had done what he was being paid to do, find Traeger. But what had finding him solved? The miraculous image of Our Lady of Guadalupe was still missing. Traeger was put into an unmarked vehicle by two huge men in civilian clothes. The uniformed troopers in their cruisers led the procession as they drove away.

Lulu had decided that the meeting in Sapienza's living room and the capture of Traeger in the orange grove behind the house overrode any reluctance on the part of the now retired and inclined to be retiring bishop.

“Emilio, you'll be on every website. You might just as well get in a few words yourself.”

He had said neither yes nor no, taking Miguel Arroyo off to his study and closing its door. Lulu asked Neal to spell “cui bono” for her. But it was her mention of websites that had caught Neal's attention. He had just learned that a half dozen papers had dropped his column, and that made a baker's dozen in the current year. All the talk about the demise of the print media seemed suddenly credible. He had resisted the claim as hyperbole. In every airport terminal he passed through there were stacks of newspapers—local, national—and magazines! There seemed to be a magazine for every conceivable hobby or interest. The covers were almost as hilarious as those in the supermarket checkout line. “Build your summer home with pine cones.” “Lose fifty pounds in minutes!” “Double your computer's speed.” It was the number of magazines devoted to electronics and computers that struck him. Without telling Lulu, he had sent an e-mail to Nick Pendant at Mercury. Just hello and how are you? If Pendant didn't connect the message to his earlier efforts to sign up Neal, he was not the new employer Neal was looking for. And of course there was the book.

What a stroke of luck to have been here, an eyewitness to the exchange between Arroyo and Traeger. It had looked like a standoff—not to say a Mexican standoff—to Neal until Traeger had suddenly dived through the window and headed for the orange grove. His flight seemed to answer the question that had just been put: which one, Traeger or Arroyo, was telling the truth?

Crosby came in, looked vaguely at Neal, and asked where the bishop was.

“In his study with a penitent.”

Crosby shook his head. “Traeger thinks I double-crossed him. He thinks I lured him here so he could be picked up.”

“Why did he run?”

“Because Arroyo had pulled a similar stunt on Traeger in San Diego. Once he saw the cruisers arriving, he took off.”

“Well, he didn't get far.”

“Did you ever try running through an orange grove?”

“Not recently.”

Crosby looked at him in disgust. “It doesn't mean he's guilty of anything!”

“Of course not. Can I have your full name for the story I'll be writing?”

“How would you like a knuckle sandwich?”

“I never eat while I'm working.”

The study door opened and a pensive Arroyo came out. Then, seeing Neal, he put on the charm. “You saw it all, Admirari. You heard it all. I'm counting on you to get the story out.” He leaned toward Neal. “Sapienza thinks I'm lying,” he whispered, inviting Neal's disbelief.

“He's been around sinners too long.”

“You are writing this up, aren't you? My God, what a scoop.”

“I never thought of that.”

Arroyo stepped back, then smiled. “I'm not telling you how to do your job.”

“Keep it that way.”

Sapienza had come to the door of his study. He beckoned Crosby inside. Neal was curious to know how the session between the bishop and Arroyo had gone. He went over to Lulu, who was plinking away at her computer.

“What are you writing?”

“Are you kidding?” She tossed her head, getting the hair out of her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her.

“For
Commonweal
?”

She turned to him. “Neal, this is a web job.”

That sounded like something from
The Joy of Sex
.

“Did I tell you about the offer Pendant made me?”

“Take it, Neal! You're on the
Titanic
.”

“This life saver?” He patted his belly. “One week on a diet and it's gone. Maybe sooner.” Lose fifty pounds in minutes!

Neal went out the front door to a porch shaded by a wooden trellis from which pots of flowers hung. He tried to get comfortable on a metal chair and brought out his cell phone. At the moment, even email seemed too slow.

Pendant was delighted to hear from him.

“You asked me to call you before I accepted any offer.”

“I'll match it, Neal.” A pause. “I'll more than match it. Who is it?”

“Would that be ethical?”

“Ethical? We're the media.”

“I keep forgetting.”

Pendant wanted a fax number where he could ship his offer. “You read it over and then we'll talk some more. I want you, Neal. I'll get you more readers in a day than your column gets you in a year.”

“Give me your fax. I'll send you one and then you'll know where to send yours.”

He snapped his phone shut and Lulu came out. “What are you grinning about?”

“I'm being seduced.”

He told her about the call. To his surprise, she was delighted. “I thought you'd dither until it was too late.”

“You think it's a good idea?”

“Do you know how many readers you'll have? What is he asking, twice a week, three times a week?”

“He's not that demanding a seducer. What's wrong with weekly?”

She shrugged. “They'll archive it. It'll be there all week anyway. Neal, you have to hold out for top billing. We'll get a flattering photograph taken. We'll demand a lead-up to your debut. Fanfare, razzmatazz.”

“I thought I'd start off with the big showdown here today.”

“Then you'd better get at it. I'll send Pendant Sapienza's fax number. Can I be your agent?”

“Be patient.”

She took a metal chair and sat. She squirmed. “This chair makes me feel like I'm being branded. I wonder where they took Traeger.”

Ignatius Hannan was elated when Crosby called to report about Traeger—until he realized that the miraculous image of Our Lady of Guadalupe was still missing.

“What did he do with it?” Nate demanded. Laura, listening in on another phone, thought that her boss was entitled to one stupid question.

“He doesn't have it, Hannan. For God's sake, ever since Mexico City he been trying to find it.”

“Then why did he run?”

“Have you ever been surrounded by half a dozen police cruisers?” Crosby reminded Nate of Traeger's experience in San Diego. “It was dumb, I grant that, but I understand it. I wouldn't want to be Arroyo when Traeger gets his hands on him. That guy is lying.”

“He's committed enough violence,” Nate said. He meant Traeger. “Laura, you on?”

“Of course.”

“Look, you talk with Crosby. I've got calls to make.”

“Tell me about the meeting at Bishop Sapienza's,” Laura said when she had Crosby all to herself.

Crosby was quick but thorough. Laura felt that she had been in the room during the confrontation between Arroyo and Traeger.

“Why do you think Arroyo is lying?”

“Because I know Traeger is telling the truth.”

“Where did you flunk logic?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What if neither of them is lying?”

There was a long pause. “Then I'm right back where I started.”

“It's a possibility. What charge did they arrest Traeger on?”

“Suspicion of robbery for now.”

“Where did they take him?”

“They were state troopers. In uniform.” A pause. “Most of them.”

“Go see him. We'll arrange for a lawyer. You're going to need his help.”

“I'll need all the help I can get.”

“Call back after you've talked with Traeger.”

In the kitchen, Boris was busy about many things. On the stove, in a large pan, a corruptingly aromatic sauce simmered. On one of the tables lay the roast that would become a London broil, a favorite of Nate's, right after Big Macs. Boris, whistling tunelessly, was breaking eggs one-handed into a stainless steel bowl.

“I never got the knack of that,” Laura said, picking up an egg. She gave it a whack and then, still one-handed, tried getting the shell open so she could add its yolk to the bowl. The shell collapsed in her hand and she had to dance back not to get yolk all over her. Boris smiled a tolerant smile. He broke another egg. One-handed. Effortlessly.

“My hands are too small,” Laura said, going to the sink and washing her hands and arms.

“Or the eggs are too big.”

She heard voices, male and female, from the room in back where Boris and his wife Lise ate. Wiping her hands, she peeked in. Smiley and Steltz, all lovey-dovey over their coffee, standing by. Nate thought that maybe later he would have to go to Atlanta.

“Did you hear what happened to Traeger?”

Smiley looked with exaggerated innocence at Laura. “What happened to him?”

“He's been arrested.”

“What for?”

Did Smiley even care what the point of the flight to Mexico City had been? Ah well, he had the distraction of his copilot. A beautiful woman, if you liked wide-spaced eyes and a slight lisp.

“When did you meet Ray?” Brenda asked Laura, the question coming out of nowhere.

“When we were both single.”