Alexa opened another box of gargoyles. “The last thing I want to do is have a cup of tea with you, Mac.”
“Coffee, then,” Harriet said irrepressibly. “I noticed a cute little café at the end of the walk.”
“It’s closed indefinitely.” Alexa examined the monsters inside the box and closed the lid. “What do you want, Mac?”
“Oh, dear. I see you’re still a trifle upset with me.”
That was too much. Alexa shoved the carton of gargoyles back into place in the stack and swung around to confront Harriet.
“Upset? Why should I be upset, Mac? You pretended you were my friend and mentor, but you set me up to take the fall when your forgery scheme fell apart. You left me to face your irate clients. You disappeared without a trace, leaving me holding the bag.”
“I know you won’t believe me, dear, but I never intended for you to get into trouble because of my little side business.”
“Side business? You’re an art forger. You cheated some very powerful people. They were not happy when they found out they’d been taken to the cleaners. Experts hate it when someone makes a fool out of them.”
“I suppose I should be ashamed at having duped the so-called experts and the critics.” Harriet twinkled. “But you must admit, some of them had it coming. Such an arrogant, prissy lot.”
“That arrogant, prissy lot tore my reputation to shreds. I was found guilty by association. I’ve had to go to ground for over a year to let the worst of the gossip dissipate. I may never fully recover.”
“Nonsense. Ultimately, the publicity will serve you well. Trust me.”
“Trust you? Mac, I did trust you once and you betrayed me.”
“There’s no need to go all melodramatic.” Harriet smiled benignly. “You’ll do just fine, believe me. When the reviews of your wonderful Art Deco collection at the Avalon Resort & Spa hit print, you’ll be hailed as the brilliant expert who exposed the McClelland forgeries.”
“If the word McClelland ever appears next to my name in print again, I’ll be doomed.”
Harriet shook her head sadly. “You’ve got fantastic instincts when it comes to early-twentieth-century art, my dear, but you still have a great deal to learn about how things work in the art world.”
Alexa folded her arms. “In the past year, I’ve learned more than I really want to know, thank you very much.”
“Nonsense. What you fail to grasp is the importance of mystique.”
Alexa raised her brows. “Mystique? Is that another word for stupidity?”
“No, dear, it’s another word for presence. For fascination. For excitement. For charisma. For glamour. In short, for all the qualities that captivate those who make a living in the world of art.”
“Oh, yeah?” Alexa swept out a hand to indicate the cluttered back room full of imitation marble statuary, cheap tapestries, and fake swords. “Does this look like I’ve got a lot of mystique in my life?”
“Give it time, my dear.” Harriet looked wistful. “Young people are always so impatient.”
“Impatient?” Alexa yelped. “Is that what you—?”
There was a movement in the doorway. She broke off to glance between two towers built of Greek pedestals and saw Dylan. He had a Styrofoam cup in one hand. He gave her an awkward smile.
“Uh, sorry.” He glanced uneasily at her and then at Harriet. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Harriet gave him her charm-the-client smile. “Not at all, dear boy. Alexa and I are old friends. We haven’t seen each other in a while. We were just renewing our acquaintance.”
“I see.” Dylan looked dubious. He turned to Alexa for guidance.
She managed to unclench her teeth. “Was there something you wanted, Dylan?”
“Brought you some tea.” He held up the plastic cup. “Iced. I’ll, uh, just put it down on your front counter.”
“Thank you, Dylan.”
“Sure. Any time.” He stepped back and came up hard against the full-sized suit of sixteenth-century armor. There was a loud clang. One of the metal gauntlets clattered to the floor.
“Oops.” Dylan’s pale face flushed a dark red.
“Careful, there,” Harriet said brightly.
Dylan winced. He stretched out his arm to scoop up the fallen gauntlet. Then he stood holding it with an abashed expression. “I’m not sure how to put it back.”
“Just set it down on the table,” Alexa said. “I’ll reattach it later.”
“Sure. Okay.” Dylan set the heavy glove on a table. “See you tomorrow, Alexa.” He nodded politely at Harriet. “Ma’am.”
He disappeared in an embarrassed rush.
Harriet turned to Alexa. “Your friend is the anxious sort, isn’t he?”
“Your fault. You made him nervous.”
“But, dear—”
“You make me nervous.” Alexa waved that aside. “Just tell me why you’re here, Mac.”
“It’s very simple really.” Harriet’s smile would have soothed a disgruntled devil. “I need a little help from one of my dearest friends.”
Alexa stared at her aghast. “Me?”
“You.”
“Forget it.” Resolutely, Alexa turned back to the stack of gargoyle boxes. “I’m busy.”
“I can see that. But this won’t take long. It’s a simple request, really.”
“There is no such thing as a simple request where you’re concerned.” Alexa lifted another box down from the stack and yanked open the lid. More gargoyle eyes goggled up at her. “You’re bad news, Mac. I gave you the best years of my life, and look what you did to me.”
“Because of me, my dear, you will one day be a legend in the business. You will surpass that twit, Paxton Forsyth, himself, in prominence. In the future your verdict on any objet d’art created in the first half of the twentieth century will be accepted as the final authority.”
“Yeah, sure.” Alexa was aware of a growing sense of anxiety. The deeper she dug into the heap of gargoyle cartons the more convinced she was that Joanna had been trying to tell her something important. “Let’s have it, Mac. Why are you here?”
Harriet cleared her throat. “Well, dear, as it happens, I have recently acquired a rather important client.”
“Client?” That stopped her for a moment. Alexa looked at Harriet over her shoulder. “I knew it. You’re still in business, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” Harriet chuckled. “Can you envision me just sitting back in my rocking chair, knitting?”
The thought of Mac not involved in the art world was mind-boggling, Alexa admitted silently. “What, exactly, are you doing these days, Mac?”
“The usual,” Harriet said airily. “I assist my clients in acquiring the very finest early-twentieth-century art and antiques.”
“Who are these clients?” Alexa asked suspiciously.
“Wealthy, discerning collectors who, for one reason or another, prefer not to do business with the customary galleries and auction houses.”
“Why not? Afraid they’ll get arrested?”
“In some cases, yes.” Harriet smiled candidly. “In others, there is a fear of deportation. Some simply are obsessed with maintaining their anonymity. Collectors are an odd lot, you know that. I cater to those who like to keep a very low profile.”
“So, you’re working for criminals and lowlifes who don’t dare come out in the light of day. Congratulations, Mac. Sounds exciting.”
“It certainly has its moments. Now then, the reason I need your assistance, my dear, is that I have recently acquired a very fine Icarus Ives piece for my client. Dancing Satyr.”
Alexa groaned. “I should have known.”
Harriet’s eyes widened innocently. “I take it you’re with me on this so far.”
“I knew that Ives piece that Edward bought from Forsyth was one of your forgeries. I was sure of it.”
“Lovely, isn’t it? I understand it’s in the new Avalon Resort & Spa collection.”
“West win
g. Right outside the owner’s suite.” Alexa glowered. “I wondered what had happened to the real one. You stole it, didn’t you? And then arranged to leave your fake in its place.”
Harriet glowed with pride of craftsmanship. “Paxton Forsyth never knew the difference. And Edward Vale, being the charming dunce that he is, purchased it for the new Avalon collection. I knew I was in trouble when I heard the rumor that you were vetting Vale’s acquisitions.”
Alexa was briefly distracted by that news. “The rumors about me are already on the street?”
“Of course, dear. I told you that you were well on your way to becoming a legend.”
Alexa narrowed her eyes. “What’s the problem? You’ve got the real Satyr for your client.”
“The problem,” Harriet said delicately, “is that my client unfortunately obtained Vale’s catalog of the Avalon collection. He noticed that Dancing Satyr was listed among the items housed in the hotel, and he naturally wondered a bit about the authenticity of his own Satyr.”
A short silence descended. Alexa bit her lip. And then, from out of nowhere, the humor of the situation swept over her.
“Oh, lord, this is wonderful.” Laughter welled up. She succumbed to it. “This is great. Shot yourself in the foot, huh, Mac? Your new client is afraid you’ve foisted off a forgery on him. He thinks the real Satyr is in the Avalon Resort collection. He’s afraid you sold him the fake.”
“That’s about the size of it, I’m afraid.” Harriet coughed discreetly. “Unfortunately, my client is inclined to take a somewhat dim view of the situation.”
“Serves you right. What do you expect me to do about it?”
“My client wants a second opinion on his Satyr.” Harriet paused meaningfully. “And he wants it from the expert who exposed the McClelland forgeries.”
Alexa straightened slowly. “He wants a second opinion from me?”
“Yes, you dear.” Harriet smiled broadly. “A droll predicament, is it not?”
“Hilarious.”
“I promise you that once you have convinced my client that his Satyr is the real one, nothing more will be said about the matter. The fake can stay in the Avalon Resort collection forever, and no one will be the wiser. My client has no interest in exposing the fraudulent Satyr. He merely wishes to be assured that he has the real one.”
“Mac, if you really think I’m going to help you out of this mess, you’ve slipped a cog since the last time I saw you.”
“Come now. Surely our friendship can sustain a small misunderstanding.”
“Is that what you call it when you leave a friend to take the heat for a bunch of fake statues? A misunderstanding? I don’t—Oh, wow.”
“Alexa? What is it, dear?”
“I knew it was here somewhere.” Alexa stared at the corner of the turquoise and white cover of a Dimensions meditation journal. “She didn’t hide it inside one of these cartons, she hid it behind the stack.”
She went back to work with a will, dragging the rest of the cartons aside so that she could get at the journal.
“Do be careful, dear.” Harriet frowned in concern as she watched Alexa stagger under the weight of a large carton. “That looks rather heavy. Can I give you a hand?”
“Yes, you can, as a matter of fact.” Alexa reached for the journal.
And froze.
Hand.
The image of Dylan reaching down with his right hand to pick up the fallen gauntlet blazed in her mind.
“Oh, damn,” she whispered.
Harriet looked concerned. “What on earth is wrong now, dear?”
“I just remembered something.”
“Something important?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, dear?” Harriet prodded. “What is the matter?”
“Dylan wasn’t wearing his Dimensions bracelet.”
35
The phone rang just as Webster was preparing to leave the suite. Trask grabbed the receiver.
“Trask, here.”
“I found Ms. Guthrie,” Phil Okura said without preamble. “She’s with me now. Safe and sound, but scared to death.”
“Where are you?” Trask motioned to Webster to come back into the suite.
“In a hotel near the Tucson airport. She’s been staying here since she left Avalon. She won’t talk to me. Says she can’t trust anyone except her guide, whoever that is.”
Trask watched Webster close the door and come back into the suite. “Ask her if Stewart Lutton or Foster Radstone was her guide.”
Webster’s black and silver brows bunched with concern as he listened to Trask’s side of the conversation.
Phil paused to repeat the question. Trask heard a muffled response.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She won’t answer the question. She won’t talk to anyone except her guide.”
“Ask her if she’ll talk to Webster Bell.”
There was another short pause while Phil relayed the question. He came back on the line a few seconds later.
“She says of course she’ll talk to him, but she doesn’t believe that he’s there with you. The lady is really frightened, Trask.”
“Hang on.” Trask handed the phone to Webster. “Ask her for the name of her personal guide. The one who was with her the morning she left Avalon.”
Webster took the phone. “Liz? Is that you? We’ve been worried about you.”
The deep music of his voice resonated through the room. Trask knew that on the other end of the line, Liz would be reassured. There was no mistaking Webster’s voice.
“Yes, Stewart’s death was a shock to all of us,” Webster said gently. “The poor man was clearly very disturbed. Yes, it’s safe to come home now. The vortices are no longer in a state of flux. Do you mind if I ask why you left Avalon?”
Another short pause.
“I see.” Webster glanced at Trask. “You say your personal guide knew that the vortices were going to become violent? Yes, he was obviously very much in tune with the harmonic energies. Very wise of him to advise you to stay out of the area for a while.”
Exasperated by the slow pace of the conversation, Trask began to prowl the room. He knew that Webster was probably handling Liz Guthrie the right way, but that did not make it any easier to control his impatience.
“Liz, I’m not in my office and I don’t have access to my records,” Webster said casually. “As you know, I’ve been a little busy lately. Can you remind me which personal guide Dimensions assigned to you?”
Trask halted.
“Are you sure?” Surprise echoed in Webster’s voice. It disappeared at once beneath a soothing balm of honey and warmth. “Of course. Thank you, Liz. Take care of yourself, my dear. I’ll see you when you get back to Avalon.”
Webster hung up the phone and looked at Trask.
“Well?” Trask prompted.
“I don’t get it.” Webster frowned. “It doesn’t make any sense. She says her personal meditation guide was Dylan Fenn.”
“Damn.” Trask grabbed the phone.
“This is all very exciting, dear.” Harriet’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as she followed Alexa across the stock room. “But would you mind telling me why we are about to sneak out of your shop through the rear door?”
“Because if we leave by the front door, Dylan will see us. We’d have to walk straight past his shop window to get to the parking lot.”
“He’ll think we’re going for a cup of tea.”
“No, he won’t. The only café in Avalon Plaza is closed.”
The decision to leave was an impulse that was too strong to deny. An overpowering sense of urgency was riding Alexa. Given the events of the previous few days, she thought, it might be best to follow her instincts.
“If you think this is a matter for the police, why don’t you call them?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know yet if it’s a police matter.” Alexa forged a path through a row of pedestals toward the rear door. “Chief Strood has a
lready concluded that I’m a little on the flaky side. If I call him with a lot of wild accusations and no proof, he’ll think I’ve gone over the edge. As far as he’s concerned, he’s already closed this case.”
“You think you’ll find proof in that book that this Dylan Fenn person is involved in something nefarious?”
“Maybe. Right now I only know two things for certain. The first is that Joanna felt she had to hide her journal. The second is that Dylan wasn’t wearing his Dimensions bracelet. He never takes it off.”
“Which means?”
“Which means he may have been the person Trask discovered in Foster Radstone’s office last night.”
“This is all very complicated, dear.”
“Yes, it is. Which is why I want to get this journal someplace where I can sit down and read it without worrying about Dylan walking in on me.”
“Shouldn’t you lock the front door of your shop?” Harriet asked.
“No. If Dylan comes for another visit and finds it locked with all the lights on, he might get suspicious. This way he’ll just assume that I went down the alley to dump some garbage or something.”
“If you say so.” Harriet glanced around the stock room as Alexa reached for the doorknob. She wrinkled her elegant nose in gentle disdain. “Now that I consider the matter, I must admit there is probably no pressing need to lock up this particular collection. Who would want to steal any of this stuff?”
Alexa glared at her. “Don’t start. I’m in this line of work because of you, Mac.”
“Now, now, dear, it’s only temporary, after all. And we have agreed to let bygones be bygones.”
Alexa yanked open the door. “No, we have not agreed—” She took one step outside and came to an abrupt halt. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Dylan stood there. He had a gun in one hand and a sad little smile on his face. He flicked a glance at the journal Alexa held.
“I see you found it. I wondered where Joanna had hidden it.”
Anger blazed, clean and strong. It burned away some of the fear and shock that was coursing through her. “What is this all about, Dylan?”