The man looked up, his gaze fixing on Avery. “Yeah?”
“Parker Mitchell,” he said, internally chuckling at the gape of the man’s mouth as he noticed Avery. “This is Avery Tate,” he said.
“Avery Tate?” Kenneth swung his legs around, fully shifting to face them. “The Avery Tate? You have quite the rep in the art community.”
“Yeah.” She exhaled. “Well, we’re not really here about me.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean no disrespect,” he said, standing and slinking flirtatiously toward her. “I think what you did is awesome. How you busted that perv.” He punched out his arm and shook his head. “Mmm, now that’s a strong woman.”
“Thanks.” Surprise tickled her tone.
“So . . .” Kenneth smiled, his gaze tracking her up and down. “What can I help you with, darling?”
Irritation pinched Avery’s brow, but she withheld a retort. “We’re looking into what happened with the swap of Skylar Pierce’s portraits.”
Kenneth’s smile vanished. “Yeah, that was some crazy stunt. I’m sure Gerard went nuts.”
“Any idea how it happened?”
“No clue.” He shrugged. “Everything was kosher on my end.”
“You helped hang the portraits?” Parker asked as Kenneth moved for his workbench.
“Yeah.” He grabbed one of the clipboards off a peg.
“Did you hang Skylar’s?”
He flipped through what appeared to be shipping invoices. “The original, yeah,” he said, not bothering to glance up.
“And then . . . ?” Parker pressed.
“Then nothing. I finished my job and left.”
“Did you see anyone unusual hanging around before the opening, anyone who stood out?”
“I didn’t know all the artists, but no one seemed out of place, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“How long between your hanging Skylar’s portrait and the unveiling, would you say?”
Kenneth shrugged. “I don’t know. After all the pieces are hung and the center showcase veiled, Mr. Fuller likes to hold a powwow in his office for all the artists and staff working that night. That’s my cue my job is done and I’m outta there. My guess is they’re probably up there fifteen minutes or so. Mr. Fuller likes to talk. As to when it was unveiled, that depends on the artist’s ego. With Gerard Vaughn, I’m guessing he wanted a big reveal—maybe twenty, thirty minutes after the guests began arriving.”
Exactly what Nadine had said to Avery.
“So . . .” Avery leaned against the worktable. “How do you suppose someone carried another portrait into the studio, swapped them out, and walked away without anyone noticing?”
“No clue.”
“Seems to me the only way a person could appear unnoticeable is either if they snuck in during the short time everyone was in Fuller’s office, or if it was their job to be unnoticeable—to fade into the background as the event began. Someone who was supposed to be hanging portraits, perhaps.”
“Whoa!” He flung the clipboard onto the countertop. “I resent what you’re implying.”
Avery tilted her head. “What am I implying?”
Parker smiled. He loved her directness.
“That I had something to do with what went down.”
“Christopher, his staff on site that night, Gerard, and his assistant—not one of them reported noticing anyone present who wasn’t supposed to be. The only person they saw hanging portraits that night was you.”
“I did my job and left. Like you said, someone could have snuck in and swapped portraits.”
“But how would they know Christopher was going to have the preshow meeting, and how would they know the precise timing? Seems to me it had to have been someone on the inside.”
“In addition,” Parker said, “Mr. Fuller reiterated to the federal officer called in after the theft that the gallery’s front door is always kept locked until the event begins.” Declan’s investigation had proved extremely helpful to theirs.
“Yeah?” Kenneth crossed his arms.
“So that means the only way in is through the warehouse.”
“So maybe I forgot to lock up. What’s the big deal? I’m sure Gerard had his photograph insured.”
“We’re not here about the portrait. Not directly.”
Kenneth’s brow bunched. “Then why are you here?”
“About the model, Skylar Pierce. She’s missing.”
“Missing?” His brown eyes widened, genuine concern flashing across his face. “Oh man.” He swiped a hand over his shaved head. “He didn’t say nothing about a missing woman.”
“Who didn’t?”
Kenneth swallowed, his thick Adam’s apple bobbing in his stout throat. “Sebastian.”
“Sebastian?” Avery’s eyes narrowed, fixing in on her target. “Are you two friends?”
“In a way,” Kenneth said with an exhale. “Look, Sebastian just wanted a shot, and guys like Gerard and Fuller, they prevent young artists from getting a chance unless they grovel at their feet and dance to their demands. Sebastian ain’t that kind of guy.”
“What kind of guy is he?” Avery asked.
“A hardworking guy just looking for a break.”
“Sounds like you can relate?”
“I was told I needed to work my way up before I could show. It’s been six months and nada. I’m stuck in this warehouse. You know what I’m saying?”
“So you made the switch for Sebastian while everyone was in Fuller’s office?”
Kenneth shrugged, but his shoulders were tensing, his movements growing taut, rigid. “Dude deserved a shot. His piece was stellar. Gave me a couple hundred bucks and I made the switch.”
“And Gerard’s portrait?”
“Sebastian took it.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. Probably to trash it. Wasn’t my business. Besides, by him taking the original portrait it looked more like a theft than just a switch since it wasn’t found.”
“Yeah, well, Skylar hasn’t been found either. You know anything about that?”
“Nah, I swear. Sebastian photographed her the night before the show. She’s probably just laying low because she knows Gerard’s ticked, and you don’t want to cross Gerard.”
“Then why’d she do it?” Parker asked. “Why risk ticking off Gerard when she could have been his star?”
According to Avery, it had been all she’d talked about for weeks. Her shining moment.
“Dude. The chick’s a rebel. Always skating the edge. Sebastian’s portrait was ten times better than Gerard’s. If she wanted to be noticed, going with Sebastian was the way to do it.”
12
Griffin glanced over at Kate as they approached the two-story brick townhome mere blocks from Loyola’s campus. “Nice house for a couple of college kids.”
“Rich parents,” Kate said. Her Internet search had revealed Connor’s parents were both lawyers and lived in a gigantic home in the heart of Roland Park—the most expensive and luxurious neighborhood in Baltimore—and Connor’s townhouse reflected that same wealth. Griffin hoped he wouldn’t be too difficult to deal with.
“Here goes nothing.” He rang the bell.
It took a moment, but the black door finally swung open.
A young man—twenty-one according to his driver’s license—answered. He was five-ten, a hundred and seventy-ish pounds, with brown wavy hair cut relatively clean, and brown eyes. He seemed like an average college guy. “Connor Davis?”
Connor rested his right arm along the doorframe, leaning toward Kate and ignoring him. So he was that type of guy.
Griffin stepped forward. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“And you are?”
“Detective McCray.” Griffin showed his badge. “And my associate, Kate Maxwell.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop too?”
She shook her head. “I’m a PI.”
“Seriously?” He laughed. “No wa
y. A gorgeous number like you.”
She ignored the “compliment,” likely not counting it as such. “Can we come in?”
Connor stiffened, glanced back at Griffin’s badge, and then turned his attention back to Kate. “What’s this all about?”
“Skylar Pierce.”
“Who?”
“Oh, come on, Connor.” Kate pulled out Skylar’s picture and showed it to him. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. Your fingerprints were in her trailer, on her headboard. . . .”
“Oh, right. Her. What about her?”
Griffin decided it was time to take this conversation off the front stoop. “Can we come in?”
Connor looked into the house and then back at them. “Fine, but make it quick. I have a test in an hour.”
“No problem,” Griffin said, taking in the nicely furnished home. A mommy job if ever he’d seen one. Paintings on the walls, a grand flower display on the hall table, and elegant lighting. The place was immaculate. Hmm. Perhaps a girlfriend’s upkeep as well, unless Mommy made regular visits.
Connor led them into the den. A fifty-five-inch flat screen was mounted on the wall over the fireplace. A leather sectional arched around a coffee table in front of it. Open textbooks covered the glass table along with cans of Red Bull and a bowl of Doritos.
“Summer classes?” Kate asked. Griffin could tell she was working to keep her tone friendly. They wanted Connor on their side. He decided to play it cool and let her run the show.
“Yeah. Anatomy and Physiology.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Oooh. Tough course. You studying to be a doctor?” A bit over the top in Griffin’s opinion, but Connor didn’t seem to notice.
“Nah. Going to vet school, but my dad wanted me to keep my options open, so he has me picking up some pre-med classes.”
“Sounds like a rough workload.”
“It’s crazy, man.”
“I bet.” Kate took a seat when he offered, but Griffin continued standing. “I also bet you need some stress relief now and again.”
Connor smiled. “You interested?”
“I’m flattered, but let’s talk about Skylar. Is that what she was?”
“Yeah. We hooked up.”
“Often?”
His smile faded. “Once.”
“How come only once?”
He shrugged, but his shoulders tensed and his gaze flashed to a picture on the bookshelf. “Just the way it was,” he said.
“Where’d you meet?” Kate asked as Griffin shifted closer to the photograph. It was Connor, his roommate, Kyle Eason, according to his MVA records—they’d looked him up when his name appeared on the lease with Connor’s—and a slender blonde between them.
“At a bar,” Connor said, growing twitchy.
“Which one?” Griffin said, stepping from the photograph.
“Why does it matter?” His jaw stiffened. He was about done playing along. “She’s not saying I raped her or anything crazy? I’ve heard that happens. Girls trying to get money from guys.”
“No. Nothing like that. Skylar’s missing.”
“What do you mean missing?”
“As in hasn’t been seen,” Griffin said. “So tell us more about you and Skylar.”
“Whoa!” He jumped up from the couch. “You think I had something to do with some chick’s disappearance. You are way off track.”
“We’re not suggesting anything of the sort.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here, asking questions?”
“We’re here because your fingerprints were in her place, and we’re talking to everyone whose prints were there.”
“That must be a long list,” he scoffed.
“Meaning?” Kate pressed.
“Not like it’s a secret what kind of girl she is.”
Griffin linked his arms across his chest, looking at the photograph Connor had looked straight at when they asked why he’d only slept with Skylar once. “Any chance your roommate slept with her?”
Connor’s jaw tensed.
“Slept with who?”
Griffin turned to find the blonde from the photograph standing in the entryway.
“Hey, Mandy,” Connor said.
“What’s going on?” She eyed Kate and Griffin skeptically.
“They’re here about some missing girl.”
“Why here?”
“Because I hooked up with her.”
“And?”
“And as I was explaining to Connor”—Kate stood and stepped toward the girl—“we’re following up with everyone who saw or interacted with Skylar before she went missing.” She put out her hand. “And you are?”
The blonde ignored Kate’s hand and looked from Kate to him. “Amanda.”
“Amanda . . . ?”
“King. I’m a friend of Connor’s.” She looked at Connor, her gaze communicating something. What was she attempting to hide?
“Did you know Skylar?” Griffin asked.
“How would I know one of Connor’s conquests?”
“Conquest?” Kate said. “Interesting choice of words.”
“Would you prefer hookup or skank?” There was venom in Amanda’s tone.
“Are you sure you didn’t know Skylar Pierce?” Griffin asked, taking Skylar’s photo from Kate to show Amanda.
She barely glanced at it. “No.”
She was clearly lying. The question was why.
Kate followed Griffin outside when their questioning was done. “Nice car,” she said, gesturing at the convertible Fiat parked in the drive that hadn’t been parked there upon their arrival. “Must belong to Amanda. Hmm . . . Might have to be my next vehicle.”
“Please, you’re already a nightmare on the roads with your Mini Cooper, driving around like the world’s a racetrack.”
Kate climbed into Griffin’s truck with a smile. “Is there any other way?” As she buckled her seatbelt, she lifted her chin, indicating the front window of the townhouse.
He looked up to find Amanda King standing there, staring at them.
13
Agents Grey and Kadyrov.” Max Stallings reclined in his office chair, steepling his fingers. “What brings you to my establishment?”
The establishment to which he referred was a sports bar on the ground level of his three-story building on the Canton waterfront. The second story housed his office and the third a luxury apartment, where he occasionally stayed with lady friends while his wife, Ramona, maintained their sprawling six-thousand-square-foot home in Hunt Valley. Maintained with the help of a maid, housekeeper, and full-time nanny, of course.
“We’re looking for Lennie,” Declan said, getting straight to the point as his partner, Alexis “Lexi” Kadyrov, stood beside him. Now that they were dealing with a man they often investigated, it was only appropriate for Declan to pull his partner in, even if this case was only theirs until Monday.
Max frowned, though it was hard to distinguish from the almost permanent scowl he normally brandished on his full jowls. “What do you two want with Lennie?”
“We need to speak with Lennie in reference to his fingerprints being found at a missing woman’s home.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. This missing woman have a name?”
“Skylar Pierce,” Lexi said.
“Skylar’s missing?” He sat forward, something akin to concern skittering across his furrowed brows. “Since when?”
“You know Skylar Pierce?” That didn’t bode well for her.
Max exhaled and reclined again. “We have an . . . arrangement.”
So Max had nothing to do with Skylar’s disappearance or he’d never have admitted the arrangement in the first place.
“What kind of arrangement?” Lexi asked.
“That’s between me and my client.”
“We’re not here for you,” Declan said. “We’re just looking for Skylar, who if I’m guessing right owes you money, so it’s to your advantage to help us out.”
“Off the record??
?? he asked.
Declan looked at Lexi, got the head tilt, and then nodded an affirmation at Max. An entire task force had been assigned to Max Stallings for the last two years, and the most they made stick was racketeering, which resulted in nothing more than time served and two years’ probation. Basically a slap on the man’s thick wrist. Declan had no interest in getting sucked into another exercise in futility.
“Skylar needed some funding,” Max said.
“For?”
“Gambling debt. She and her pals got in over their heads at a bachelorette party. Skylar dug herself the biggest hole and needed help crawling out. She assured me she had a way to pay me back.”
“Which was?” Lexi took a seat in one of the swivel chairs opposite Max’s desk, crossing her legs.
“She didn’t say, but she hawked an item of value to give me a sign of good faith.”
Lexi’s green eyes narrowed and her throaty voice conveyed her suspicion. “Hawked what?”
“Some item of jewelry. Something her mom gave her, I think. I told her to go to Modell’s. He gives the best rates, but I heard from Vinnie that she held out on me.”
“Meaning?”
“She held back some of the cash.”
Declan exhaled a sigh. “That couldn’t have gone over well.” Not with a man like Max Stallings.
“I called her in, asked her about it.”
“And . . . ?” Declan feared the worst, but it’s not like Max Stallings would admit to anything.
“She said she needed the money for a safe deposit box. It was part of the score she was working on to pay me back my money.”
Declan leaned against the tall black metal filing cabinet, crossing his arms over his chest. “When was the balance due?”
“Tomorrow.”
Maybe Skylar didn’t come up with the funds and had to take off. If Skylar had taken off and not even bothered to give Avery a heads-up, that was just cold.
“So it really is in your best interest to help us find Skylar,” he said.
Max smiled, the creases in his forehead smushing together. “So it would seem.”
Lexi lifted her chin. “Where’s Lennie?”
“Downtown.”
Which meant collecting in the projects Max owned. He really was a piece of work.
Avery and Parker were headed for Sebastian Chadwyck’s home in northwest Baltimore when Declan called.