Absolutely, Positively

  “Maybe you should turn yourself in,” I suggested.

  “Why?”

  Good question. If he turned himself in, he was going to jail. For a long, long time. That wouldn’t hold much appeal to me, either.

  When I didn’t say anything, he added, “I’m not guilty, Ms. Valentine. I didn’t run over Spero, though I’d like to thank the person who did.”

  “There’s an eyewitness.”

  He shrugged. “That person is mistaken.”

  Not a chance.

  “Now, about Meaghan’s information…”

  “No,” I said.

  “I don’t want to do this the hard way.”

  I took a step back.

  He sighed. “Didn’t I tell you violence wasn’t my style?”

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  Rufus tugged on the leash. He was eager to get on with his walk. I heard an engine in the distance, drawing closer. I wouldn’t mind a bit if it was a police cruiser.

  Tristan heard it, too. He jumped into his car, rolled down the window. “I always get what I want, Ms. Valentine. I’ll be in touch.”

  Unfortunately, I believed him.

  He drove off, and the car I had heard coming never materialized. I let Rufus walk me back to the house.

  We were almost to my front door when Rufus froze again, his ear cocked, his head tipped to the side in doggy concentration. I tried to pick up on what caught his attention, but I could only hear the crashing of the waves against the bluff.

  Suddenly Rufus bolted. I lost hold of his leash as he darted off toward the woods on Dovie’s side of the lot. He was barking and wagging his tail as he galloped along. I dropped the mail and gave chase but was winded by the time I reached the top of my lane. I watched Rufus run down the driveway, and in a blink he was out of sight. I knew I couldn’t keep up with him. I went back for my car. And three hours of frantic searching and many tears later, I had to admit to myself I’d lost him.

  23

  Grendel was sleeping atop my head when I woke to the sound of the phone ringing. It had jarred me awake from the most awful dream—I had lost Rufus.

  I sat up, rubbed my eyes. They were crusty from salty tears.

  Right. It hadn’t been a dream.

  I rolled to my right, quickly grabbed the phone from its base, hoping someone had seen the message I’d posted on craigslist last night about a missing golden retriever. “Hello?”

  “Uva,” Raphael said. “It’s me.”

  I focused on the clock. It was just after seven. I’d slept for only an hour. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  “Your father needs you to come in to the office as soon as possible.”

  “Why?” I had a dog to find. If this wasn’t important …

  “There’s been a break-in and Oscar wants you to check and see if anything is missing.”

  There was a tight edge to Raphael’s voice. I knew he hadn’t told me everything yet. “What else?”

  There was a long pause. “There was also a break-in at the penthouse. The Vermeer is gone, the Gandolfi, too.”

  I sat up. “Tristan Rourke.”

  “We think so, yes.”

  I knew so. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I’d only had an hour’s rest. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Taking a quick shower, I let my hair air-dry to save time. I fed Grendel and Odysseus and grabbed the LOST DOG poster I’d made of Rufus last night. I needed to make copies and hang them on every streetlight around town. But as I gathered all my things, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be wasting my time.

  It seemed to me Tristan Rourke had been on a stealing spree last night.

  Had it extended to dognapping as well?

  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

  * * *

  Suz was sitting at her desk when I came into the office, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. “I set the alarm last night.”

  I gave her a hug. “It’s not your fault. Really. Tristan Rourke isn’t a criminal mastermind for nothing. Our alarm system is child’s play to him. Is my father here?”

  “He’s at his penthouse. He wants you to go there as soon as you look around here.”

  I did a quick scan of the front room. Nothing was out of place. Even the binoculars were still sitting on the windowsill exactly where I left them yesterday. In my office I could tell someone had gone through my files, but nothing was taken.

  I knew what Tristan was looking for. And it was in my satchel.

  Meaghan’s file.

  I went over to my corner desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and grabbed a large envelope. I slipped Meaghan’s file inside, addressed it to Marisol. In the little kitchenette off the hallway that also housed the Xerox machine, I made a hundred copies of the LOST DOG flyer. There was a pit in my stomach that ached so badly I didn’t even think about drinking a cup of coffee. I was operating on pure adrenaline.

  Suz was still at her desk, sniffling. I said, “Did you find anything missing?”

  “No. I probably wouldn’t have known someone was in here except for the alarm company called about a sensor being tripped.”

  It was unusual that Tristan would have been so careless. Usually no one knew he’d been in or out until they realized valuables were missing. Which made me suspect he’d tripped the alarm on purpose. To let us know he’d been here. That we couldn’t keep him out.

  I gave Suz another hug and climbed the stairs leading up to SD Investigations on the third floor. It was just after eight, and as I hoped, Andrew, the office assistant (he hated being called a receptionist), was just arriving.

  When he spotted me, he said, “Sean’s in his office.”

  “He is?”

  “You didn’t come up to see him?”

  I suddenly felt the pull from Sean’s office, iron to a magnet. “No, I came up to see you.”

  His eyes widened and his chest puffed a bit. “Me?”

  I pulled the envelope from my bag and slipped him a twenty. “Can you mail this for me?” I hadn’t wanted to involve Suz just in case Tristan ever approached her for information. This way she wouldn’t have to lie.

  He looked at the twenty, then at me, a brazen look in his eye. “How about instead of money—”

  “I’m not kissing you,” I said.

  Frowning, he sat. “It was worth a try.”

  I smiled at him. He was gutsier than I had ever given him credit for. Because if Sean had overheard him, he’d be out of a job. And most likely maimed. But Andrew was young, early twenties, and still had a lot to learn. He’d come to work at SDI during a time when Sam and Sean hadn’t been able to keep a receptionist thanks to a pesky hex. They’d learned the hard way not to mess with curses.

  I headed back to Sean’s office. I had received a text message from him late last night that he’d finally been released from questioning and he’d tell me all about it this morning.

  I stopped at his doorway, leaned there for a minute just watching him work on his desktop computer. He wasn’t what GQ would consider handsome, with his broken nose and strong chin, but there was just something about him that radiated sex appeal, a special kind of aura. Maybe that’s why I’d been so attracted to him. And maybe it was why when I touched his hand I could see images of our future. Because I sure as hell couldn’t figure out why that happened, and I’d spent many nights trying.

  He glanced up, caught me staring at him. In a flash he was out of his chair, rushing over to me. He cupped my face, his fingers strong, sure, and warm. “What’s happened? You’ve been crying. This isn’t about me not coming over last night, is it?”

  “Such ego,” I cracked, though I could feel tears welling again.

  “Then what?”

  Where to start? “I bumped into Tristan Rourke at my mailbox last night. I lost Rufus. Valentine, Inc., was broken into last night, my father’s penthouse, too, and his Vermeer and Gandolfi are missing.”

  Sean swore, then said, “Rourke?”

  “
He’s looking for Meaghan’s information because I wouldn’t give it to him. The paintings have to be a bargaining chip.”

  “And Rufus?”

  “I was walking him, and suddenly he bolted. I don’t know if he’s wandering the streets of town or if Rourke stole him, too.” I remembered the way Rufus had rolled over to offer up his belly for scratching. The shameless mutt. “I searched well into the morning. There was no sign of him. I have posters to hang, but I have to go see my father.”

  Sean closed his laptop. “I’ll come with you.”

  I wanted to sag in relief but felt I should be stronger, put up a fight. “You don’t have to; you’re probably busy.…”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Okay.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were at the penthouse. Dad was pacing; Raphael was watching him. I didn’t see any police presence. I took the mug of coffee Raphael offered, and said, “Where are the police? Shouldn’t they be dusting for prints or something?”

  My father raised a dark eyebrow. His brown eyes burned with fury. He waved his hand, dismissing the notion of police with one swipe.

  I walked over to the mantel. The Vermeer was indeed missing. Sean had taken a mug of coffee and was about to sit on the couch. “No!” I shouted.

  He hovered in a half sit as though he realized he was about to sit on a porcupine.

  “Not the couch,” I said. “The chair. It’s much more comfortable.”

  Raphael chuckled. My father continued to glare. Sean switched seats.

  “Nothing was taken at the office,” I said to my dad. “Rourke riffled through the files but didn’t find what he was looking for. Meaghan Archibald’s file was at home with me.”

  I blew across the mug but didn’t drink. My stomach was in knots, twisting and turning, churning and burning. The rhyme had me thinking of the homeless man again. My mind had wandered to him a lot lately. I took it as a sign I was supposed to help him. Later, after we sorted out this mess, I’d look for him.

  “I don’t know whether he came here looking for the file or specifically looking for your artwork, but it doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? I’m glad neither of you were home. Rourke insists he’s not violent, but there’s a dead man who might not agree.”

  “Dead?” my father gasped.

  “The house was empty?” Sean asked.

  I hadn’t had time to tell him about all the moving out going on around here. “Dad moved in with Mum yesterday.”

  “And I moved in with Maggie,” Raphael said, refilling Sean’s mug from the coffee press. “It was good timing on Rourke’s part.”

  “How did he get past the alarm?” Sean asked.

  My father growled. “The security issue will be addressed later today. The bigger picture is my missing artwork.”

  “Did you call the police?” I asked. “What did they say?”

  “The police have not been notified,” my father said stiffly, running a hand through his hair. “I’d rather not involve them if I can help it.”

  I sat on the arm of Sean’s chair. I wasn’t going anywhere near that couch. “Why?”

  “Red tape. Besides, I have you. We’ll do a reading, find the paintings, have them returned, and everything will be settled and forgotten.”

  I set the mug on a side table. “Were the paintings insured?”

  My father scowled, breath blowing through his nose. He reminded me of the milliner in Medford at that moment. Such bursts of temper couldn’t be good for their blood pressure.

  “Lucy Juliet,” my father said through clenched teeth. “You’ll do a reading?”

  My head was pounding. Not enough sleep, too much worrying about Rufus, now this … And I never did get my bath. “Since you asked so nicely.” I walked over to him, held out my hand. He knew the drill.

  Slowly, he placed his hand on mine. I waited for the dizziness, the images. None came. I drew my hand back and said, “Which one were you thinking about?”

  “Both.”

  “Let’s try again. Focus only on the Vermeer.”

  Still nothing. My father’s hand was turning clammy. I let go of it. “Nothing,” I said, wincing.

  “What do you mean nothing?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t see anything. You own the paintings; therefore, I should be able to get a reading from you. The only time I see nothing is when someone is deliberately not thinking of the item or—” I stared at my father. He had the good grace to stare at the ceiling. Raphael had busied himself in the kitchen, suddenly deciding the wine bottles on the rack all needed to be turned.

  “What?” Sean asked.

  “The objects don’t belong to the person. Dad, where’d you get the paintings?”

  “I don’t really see where that matters, Lucy Juliet.”

  “They’re stolen property?” I sank onto the couch and leaped off the moment I realized it, as though my rear end had caught fire. I was going to have to throw these jeans away. Great. Another pair of pants ruined.

  “You don’t have to sound so disdainful. It’s a common practice.”

  “Insurance?” Sean asked.

  My father gave a short shake of his head. “I don’t understand, Lucy. If I paid for the paintings they should belong to me, no matter the provenance.”

  “Don’t blame me that my abilities came with a conscience.”

  “What are we going to do?” Dad dragged a hand down his face. “Those paintings are worth millions.”

  I didn’t want to lecture about buying from legitimate sources.

  “Rourke wants Meaghan’s information. He’ll make a trade,” my father said softly, testing the waters.

  I thought it fairly obvious that was Rourke’s plan all along. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up, because I didn’t want to give in. It was essentially blackmail. Or extortion. I never could remember the difference.

  The three of them looked at me.

  “No,” I said. “No way.”

  My father said, “I expected nothing less from you.” He kissed my forehead.

  “We should go,” I said to Sean. There wasn’t anything we could do here.

  My father walked us to the door. “When Rourke contacts you, and he undoubtedly will, give him my number. It’s time I dealt with him myself.”

  I said I would but immediately pictured my father making deals with Rourke for more stolen paintings.

  Sean pressed the button for the elevator. “Lucy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s with the couch?”

  24

  Sean drove me home. Dad had closed the office for the day. I hated to disappoint clients, but I was glad for the day off. I fought a yawn as I asked Sean about the FBI questioning.

  “They left me in a holding room for hours by myself. Head games.”

  Sean had told them all he knew about Rourke, but they hadn’t believed him and had accused him of holding back.

  “They want me out of their case and proved just how far they’re willing to go to prove they have more power.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “My job.”

  “Do you think Tristan is innocent?”

  “I don’t know what to believe, Lucy. I’m just looking for the truth. It might not be what Meaghan wants to hear, or it may just be the best news of her life.”

  My cell phone rang, and I fished around in my bag until I found it. Preston’s name flashed on my screen. I answered because I hated the silence stretching between Sean and me like elastic pulled too tight.

  “Guess where I am,” she said, sounding too bright and perky for my foul mood.

  “Jail.”

  “Ha. Ha. I’m in Randolph. I just met with Eva Denham-Foster for tea.”

  I tried to place the name, and then it clicked. “The hat.”

  “Right. Well, it turns out her sons cleaned out their father’s belongings after he died. She doesn’t have a clue to what they did with them.”

  “So one of the Denham-Foster
sons could be the Lone Ranger?”

  “Exactly. Believe me when I tell you they have enough money to be throwing it around. I drank out of a teacup rimmed in twenty-four-karat gold. Can you believe that? I’m glad you and your family aren’t that pretentious.”

  Twenty-four-karat gold was a long way from my sarcasm mug.

  “Anyway, I’m off to meet with Matthias Denham-Foster. Did you want to come along? Are you busy?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?”

  “I lost Rufus,” I said. “I need to put up flyers.”

  “You what?”

  I couldn’t repeat it again. The tears were welling. Sean reached over and placed his hand on the back of my mine. Little zaps of electricity tickled my fingers, but there were no visions this way—only when our palms touched. The tips of his fingers massaged my knuckles. It was soothing. And just like that the elastic tension between us went slack.

  “I’ll come right over,” Preston said. “I’ll help.”

  “You don’t have to. Really.”

  “I want to.”

  How could I argue? “Okay.”

  I searched for any sign of Rufus’s copper tail as we drove toward Aerie. As soon as Sean parked in front of my cottage, Dovie was out her back door on her way down. I didn’t know how to break the news to her.

  I unlocked the door, scooped up Grendel, and held him close. Sean met Dovie on the walkway and they whispered back and forth.

  Dovie rushed through my front door, took one look at me, and opened her arms wide. I set Grendel down and went willingly, and no sooner was I wrapped in a tight hug than I burst into tears.

  There were a lot of mumblings of “there, there” and “poor thing.” Before I knew it, I had drunk two cups of tea and was lying down on the bed, a cool towel on my head, Grendel at my feet. The last thing I remembered before I fell asleep was Sean kissing me gently and telling me not to worry and to trust him.

  As I drifted off, I realized there was no one I trusted more.

  * * *

  I woke to knocking. Someone was at my front door.

  Suddenly wide awake, I sat up. Tristan Rourke probably wouldn’t knock, so I let out the breath I was holding. I couldn’t get his words out of my head.

  I’ll be in touch.