“Glad I’m not the only one who’s nervous about becoming a midlife father,” he said dryly. “But if it’s any consolation, Leandra assures me that there are a lot of self-help books published for expectant parents these days.”
“I’d call that a major success for Sylvia,” Cady said an hour later on the way back to the car. “She really knows how to create that special air of excitement that it takes to bring in the clients.”
“I could see that,” Mack said.
He took in the street scene outside the gallery, automatically registering the lightly crowded sidewalks and the good street lighting. Chatelaine’s shared the upscale commercial neighborhood with a couple of trendy restaurants, an art gallery and a small hotel.
The sidewalks were still damp from the recent rain. The crisp, cold breeze carried a damp chill off the bay.
Beside him, Cady walked with her hands thrust deep into the pockets of a black raincoat.
“Were you bored?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Spent some time talking to Parker Turner.”
“He’s a nice guy. Not like Dillon, that’s for sure. Everyone says he’s very serious about Leandra.”
“He’s serious, all right. Talked about the joys of midlife fatherhood.”
He winced at his own words. What the hell was he doing here? Did he really want to bring up the subject of babies?
“Midlife fatherhood, hmm?” Cady pursed her lips. “That’s definitely serious.
“Yeah.”
In silence they walked the remaining few steps to where the car was parked at the curb. Mack opened the passenger door. Cady slid into the seat. She looked up at him just as he was about to close the door.
“Must be a relief to be finished with fatherhood,” she said very casually.
“Relief?”
“You know what I mean. You’re finished with your parenting responsibilities. The trials and tribulations are behind you. Now that Gabriella is off to college, you’ve got your freedom back. You can set your own hours. Travel. Do what you want. That must be very gratifying for you.”
He considered that. “I don’t think you ever really finish with the parenting thing.”
He shut the door quickly and turned to walk around the front of the car.
The skinny man in the battered leather jacket came out of the shadows of a darkened doorway, moving with the quick, jerky speed of an insect. Light glinted on the barrel of the small, cheap gun in his hand.
“Don’t move. Not one fucking inch.”
The voice was a hoarse, rasping whisper. Mack figured that in addition to adrenaline, there were probably some other drugs in the night crawler’s bloodstream.
“Gimme the wallet.” The insect twitched the gun. “Do it now.”
“Sure. No problem.” Mack reached inside his jacket. “Any chance we can do a deal here?”
Behind him, the car door opened. Cady had evidently just realized that something was happening.
“Don’t get out,” he said to her, making it an order.
“Do what he says,” the insect rasped. “Get back inside.”
Cady closed the car door very quietly.
“About this deal,” Mack said, wanting to distract him from Cady. “How about I give you all the cash in the wallet. You let me keep the cards and license. It’s a nuisance having to replace them.”
“No, man. No deal. No way. I need the cards. Gimme the damned wallet.”
“Take it easy.” Mack slid the wallet out of his jacket and held it up. “Here it is.”
“Drop it on the ground.” The insect flicked anxious glances to either side, checking the sidewalk. “Hurry.”
Mack tossed the wallet to the ground. The insect scuttled toward it. He bent down, trying to keep an eye on his target and at the same time pick up the object of the exercise. His movements were awkward. Apparently he had not thought this part out ahead of the mugging.
Two men came around the corner and stopped short several yards away.
“Hey, what’s going on there?” one of them yelled in a loud, attention-grabbing voice.
“I’m on the line with 911,” the other one shouted, phone to his ear.
“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.” The insect panicked. He started to turn to face the new threat. He was off-balance and rattled.
Mack launched himself forward, colliding heavily with the scrawny creature. The force of the impact carried them both to the sidewalk with a jolt that he knew he would feel in the morning. Metal clanged loudly as the gun landed on the pavement.
Footsteps thudded in the shadows. The two men were racing to the rescue. He heard the car door open again. Cady was out of the vehicle.
“Mack, I’ve got his gun. Get away from him, he’s not worth it.”
“Cops are on the way,” one of the two men shouted.
Mack could tell from the way the insect clawed and scrabbled to get free that the creature had lost all interest in the wallet. Its primitive survival instincts had kicked in. Fleeing into the night was its only goal.
Mack found some space and some leverage and managed to deliver a short, chopping blow. The insect jerked spasmodically and then slumped.
The two men pounded to a halt.
“It’s okay,” one of them said. “We’ve got him. You all right?”
“Yeah.” Mack rolled slowly to his feet, gingerly feeling the place on his rib cage that had absorbed most of the jolt from the encounter with the sidewalk. “Thanks to you two.”
Cady was suddenly all over him. “Are you hurt? I don’t see any blood. Did that creep do any damage?”
“I’m all right,” he said, breathing carefully, testing the ribs. No deep twinges. That was probably a good sign.
A siren sounded in the distance.
The insect moaned. “The bastard set me up.”
Mack crouched down beside him. “Who set you up?”
“My dealer. I owe him some money. Fucking bastard said he’d call it even if I got your cards.”
“Why did he want my cards?”
“How the hell should I know? Probably wanted to sell them.” The insect moaned again. “He set me up, I tell you. This is all his fault.”
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.”
“Are 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.”
Eighteen
“Aunt 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.
At 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 Jona
than 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.”