There was a knock on the already-open door. “Sorry to interrupt,” Aiden said, not looking sorry at all.
I reluctantly let go of Sean. He went back to the table, gathered up his files.
“Good news or bad news?” Aiden asked, sitting on the edge of the table.
“Good?” I could use some good news.
“I got a call from the flooring store. My hardwood has come in.”
“Woo-hoo,” I said dully.
Aiden laughed.
Sean said, “What am I missing?”
“You didn’t tell him?” Aiden asked.
“I’ve been a little busy,” I countered, and explained to Sean about the renovations at Aiden’s. “If that’s your good news, then what’s the bad news?”
“Catherine Murphy and Mary Ellen Spero have skipped town.”
I sank into my chair.
“The Boston police found the earring just where you said it would be. By the time they secured a search warrant, they were gone. Cleaned out their bank accounts, packed up, and left.”
Catherine must have known that earring would be their downfall. “Any leads yet?”
“Not yet. It’s just a matter of time before they turn up.”
Sean said, “What does this mean for Tristan Rourke?”
Aiden covered a yawn with his hand, then said, “The DA is beside himself. Rourke was released on bail an hour ago. The FBI couldn’t find any solid evidence Tristan is behind the art thefts, and so the only thing they could hold him on was breaking into your house, Lucy. The judge had no choice but to set bail, which Meaghan quickly posted.”
So, Tristan was out. He and Meaghan were together. There might just be a happily ever after in their future.
“Why are you smiling?” Aiden asked me.
Sean said in a syrupy voice, “Because love conquered all.”
“I’m sorry, I’m a sap.” Speaking of. I pulled a box out of my satchel. “I got you a little something. As a thank-you for helping out with Mac’s case. Marisol helped pick it out.”
Aiden stood, took the box. “Oh, well, if Marisol helped…” He lifted the box top, separated the tissue paper, and pulled out the Hawaiian shirt. He bent down and picked up the piece of paper that had fluttered out of the box.
Sean kept his head down, suddenly focused on aligning his files just right, but I could see his smile. He might just be coming down with the Love Conquered All syndrome himself.
Aiden glanced at me, a question in his eyes.
“The flight leaves tomorrow morning. The hotel information is still in the box. Everything’s been taken care of. You’ve been working so hard lately. We thought a vacation was in order and knowing how stubborn you are, we thought you might need a little push in the right direction.”
He was quiet for so long I thought he was going to protest. Finally, a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth, then the other, and then went straight to his eyes. “I’d better get home and start packing. Thanks, Lucy,” he said softly. “And thank Marisol for me, too.” He shook Sean’s hand and headed for the door before stopping and looking back at me. “Don’t think you’re getting out of helping with the floors.”
“I wouldn’t dream of backing out of our agree—” My voice caught as a woman stepped into the doorway. “Hello.”
Meaghan Archibald said, “Hi.”
Why hadn’t Suz buzzed me to let me know?
Aiden looked between us, smiled, and said, “I’m on vacation,” as he walked out.
Sean walked over to the door and said, “Come on in.”
Meaghan wore a simple white T-shirt and UMass sweats but made them look as good as any designer outfit. She had a large backpack slung over her shoulder and set it on the floor as she sat down. “I can’t stay. I just came by to say thank you. If you hadn’t seen that earring…”
I wondered how she felt about Mary Ellen and Catherine. Whether it was anger or compassion. After all, they had been victims of Anthony Spero, too.
Meaghan stood up. “I should go. Tristan is waiting for me downstairs. The past is completely behind us now. Today is a new day. The first day of the rest of our lives. Together.” She smiled, glowing. “I think it was kismet the way everything worked out. Now with my family’s money Tristan and I can help others—legally,” she said with a wink. “Maybe everything worked out just the way it was supposed to.”
“Good luck,” I said, knowing they had a long road ahead, kismet or not.
“Lucy, I don’t need luck. I have love.” She walked out.
Sean said, “Wait!” He grabbed her backpack. “You forgot this.”
Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I know,” and kept on walking.
Sean set the backpack on the table and unzipped it. I peeked inside.
Two paintings were covered in Bubble Wrap.
The Vermeer and the Gandolfi.
My father was going to be a happy man.
* * *
“I’ll put these in the safe upstairs,” Sean said, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. I followed him to the empty reception area. No sign of Suz.
“I’ll wait until he’s done with his consultation to tell him the good news.”
“Why the frown?” Sean asked.
“It just feels like he shouldn’t be rewarded. Those are stolen paintings. Someone is missing them. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“I’m not sure I like that look in your eye, Ms. Valentine.”
I smiled. “I don’t think my father will like it, either.”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs and the office door banged open. Suz stuck her head in. “The Lone Ranger is back! Hurry!”
Mac.
Sean looked at me. “Go! I’ll wait here for you.”
I took off running, hating that Sean had to stay behind. Hating that he knew he’d slow us down.
“Did you see him, Suz?”
Her long dark hair streamed behind her. “No, but look.” She held up a fistful of twenties. “I’d been watching for him, but then Aiden came in and I was sidetracked, and by the time I made it back to the window there was chaos on the Common. I got down here as soon as I could.”
People were running around chasing money, pushing and shoving. Suz dove back into the fray.
I frantically looked around for Mac but didn’t see him. Someone pushed me aside as they chased a twenty. I took a quick jog around the heart of the chaos. Mac was gone.
As I started across the Common, I spotted the rhyming homeless man sitting on a bench watching me with a smile.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, motioning to the spot next to him.
He shook his head. A black trash bag sat on the ground between his legs. I didn’t see a thermos today, but he was wearing the same holey knit hat, the same black coat.
“I—” I blinked.
He tipped his head, waiting for me to finish my sentence.
That black coat. It was the same one I had seen hanging in the closet of a swanky hotel room during my reading with Orlinda Batista.
I couldn’t believe it had taken me so long to put it together. That’s why my reading with Orlinda had been nagging at me. I’d recognized the coat in the closet but hadn’t been able to make the connection.
Now I had to make sure.
“It’s been a long week,” I said. “Really long. You see, I have this talent for finding lost objects. Sometimes it comes in handy, and sometimes it’s a pain. There are all kinds of rules. For example, my father lost some valuable artwork this week. Priceless, really. But I couldn’t help him find it, because it didn’t really belong to him. That’s a long story in itself. Have you ever lost anything?”
He nodded, watching me warily.
“Then you can understand,” I said brightly, taking his cold hand in mine. I felt the wave of dizziness as my vision took me from Boston Common, to Roxbury, to a well-maintained street, to a gray house with black trim and lacy white curtains in the upstairs windows, inside to a basement with a hidden tra
pdoor that led to a secret warehouse packed with Bubble-Wrapped canvases.
I pulled my hand back, focused through the dizziness. “It’s harder for me to find people. Part of the rules. Plus, it doesn’t help when the people don’t want to be found. They dress up in a costume, or use an assumed name at a hotel, or pretend to be a rhyming gimpy homeless man.”
“Lucy!” Preston ran up the path. “There you are. Sean said the Lone Ranger was here. Did you see him? Was it Mac? Is he still around? Does he know what happened with Rick yesterday?”
“Preston, breathe!”
She sucked in a lungful of air but didn’t take her eyes off the crowd.
“He’s not out there,” I said.
“How do you know? Did you search the whole crowd?”
“Preston, have a seat. I want you to meet someone, a friend of mine.”
Her gaze flashed between me and the man on the bench. She held up her hands. “Whoa, I don’t have any extra cash, so don’t think I’m giving any away. I work hard, you know.”
“Sit, Preston. Please.”
“You know, Lucy, you should have called me about what happened with Rick Hayes. I missed a huge scoop. The protests were just about over by then. My boss is hopping mad and my front-page story went to the sportswriter.”
“I might have a bigger scoop for you.”
Interested, she motioned for me to scoot over. I made room for her.
“Like what?” she asked.
The man looked helplessly at us.
“First, introductions,” I said.
Preston sighed. She stuck out her hand. “Preston Bailey.”
The man looked at me, then held out his hand. “Mac Gladstone.”
In the distance I saw a coppery-colored blob chasing pigeons while someone tugged helplessly on his leash. Rufus was taking Christa Hayes for a walk. And he was, in fact, having a blast.
Preston fell off the bench.
I looked down at her. “Mac and I were just discussing that it was time to go home. Right, Mac?”
“Yes, it’s time. This was my last hurrah.”
Suz walked over and looked at Preston on the ground as if it were a common occurrence. “Only sixty dollars. How am I going to save a down payment on a house with sixty dollars?”
Mac stood up and handed her his trash bag. “This might help.”
“Uh,” she threw me a help-me look, “thanks?”
Preston was still stunned. The rapid-fire questions would come as soon as the shock wore off.
“You might want to open it,” I said to Suz.
Holding it at arm’s length, she said, “I think I’ll pass.”
“I’ll open it!” Preston lunged.
“What’s going on?” Suz held it out of Preston’s reach. “What’s in here that’s so exciting?” She untied the plastic strings and looked inside. The color drained from her face. “Oh. My. God.”
“There should be about five thousand in there, give or take a bit,” Mac said. “The last of my stash. Is that enough for a down payment?”
Suz stumbled over her words. “What? I mean who? Why?”
“Because you cared enough about a homeless man to give him money.”
Suz winced. “I can’t keep this. I only gave you that money because Lucy made me feel guilty.” Reluctantly she held the bag out.
He pushed it back toward her. “But you still gave it. And any friend of Lucy’s is a friend of mine.”
“I’m a friend of Lucy’s,” Preston chirped.
Mac laughed, then sobered. “Yeah, but you stole my hat. She,” he motioned to Suz, “didn’t steal my hat.” Mac took a small silver whistle from his pocket and blew into it.
Rufus suddenly stopped chasing pigeons and headed our way. Christa chased him. He barked happily as he reached us. His tail wagged as he sniffed and licked in greeting. Christa hung back until Mac motioned her near. He put his arms around her shoulder. “We’re going home, kid.”
Mac, Christa, and Rufus walked ahead of us. They were going to gather Mac’s things from his new hotel room and head back to see Jemima.
I was impressed Preston didn’t ask if she could join them because I had a feeling Jemima wouldn’t have welcomed the media. There was time enough for questions, for answers, for figuring out the whys and hows.
Suz walked next to me, hugging her trash bag. Preston glanced over at her and pouted. I put my arm around her. “Look on the bright side.”
“What? The scoop?” She smiled halfheartedly. “I guess it is a good scoop. It’s not a five-thousand-dollar scoop, though.”
“Not that scoop. I have another one. A huge one. The biggest of your career, Preston. National—no, international headlines.”
Her steps faltered. Her lip quivered. “What is it?”
I motioned to a bench, and we sat. I looked her straight in the eye. “There’s a condition.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
I wasn’t. At all.
“What kind of condition?”
“I want you to stop looking into my family’s past. Stop trying to figure us out. Let it be.”
“But—”
I cut her off. “And I want a promise that if you ever do learn anything about us you won’t write about it. That you’ll keep our secrets—all of them—safely tucked into your heart, just as my family as tucked you into theirs.”
Tears swam in her bright blue eyes. “That, Lucy Valentine, is better than any old scoop.”
I smiled. “So you don’t want to know what it is?”
“Are you kidding?” She bounced with excitement. “Spill! And while we’re at it, can I get a company credit card, too?”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
We linked arms as we walked back to the office. If I planned everything just right, Tristan Rourke could get a fresh start, Mac’s paintings would be recovered, my father would get a little life lesson, and Preston Bailey, roving reporter, would get the scoop of a lifetime and I could stop worrying about her so much.
All I had to do was see a woman about some laundry.…
33
Later that afternoon, Maureen Rourke opened the door with a smile on her face. It didn’t fade when she recognized me. “Lucy Valentine. Yours be a name I’m hearing a lot these days. We owe you a debt of gratitude, we do.”
“Not at all.” I glanced at the street. The black Ford with tinted windows sat idling a few houses down. “Come for a walk with me?”
She looked between me and the car and said, “Let me get my coat.”
We headed in the opposite direction of the car. The curtain in an upstairs window of the house next door to Maureen’s fluttered. It was a three-story house, gray with black trim. The basement had a secret trapdoor leading to an underground hideaway.
“Has Tristan been living next door to you all this time?” I asked.
She didn’t bother denying it. “There’s a secret tunnel that runs between the houses.”
I stopped, looked at her. “I think we both know the FBI won’t leave him alone until he’s proven innocent of those art thefts. And we both know he’s guilty.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“But here’s the thing,” I said. “If all that artwork in Tristan’s basement is found, oh, say, in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town … Tristan might just have a chance at a normal life. The life he’s always wanted.”
“I’m listening,” she said.
So I told her my plan.
* * *
A week later, a rubber chicken flew through the air. Rufus chased it, Thoreau nipping at his tail.
Dinner was cooking and there were a lot of people gathered to celebrate my parents being back together. I admit to some doubts they’d still be together come tonight, but they proved me wrong. And then they surprised me by accepting Jemima Hayes’s request to hold the shindig at Mac’s house.
The front windows were still boarded up, but the rear of the house—where the party was being held—was
as beautiful as ever.
I watched Christa’s face as she sat on the couch between Dovie and Mac and flipped through the album Dovie had put together for her. Inside were dozens of old photos of Betty Gladstone that Dovie had rounded up from her collection of pictures and from friends as well. There seemed to be a story with every photo. Pipe tobacco scented the air as Mac puffed away. No one dared tell a dying man that smoking was bad for him.
Across the room, Rufus dropped a drool-covered chicken in Sean’s lap for him to throw again. He obliged.
I stood off to the side and watched as Maggie, Mum, Jemima, and Suz (Teddy was working) shared the kitchen, laughing and chatting as they put dinner together. My father and Raphael sat on the stainless-steel Fritos, heckling.
Cutter looked at me from his spot on the hearth. I raised my glass to him in a silent toast. He had Preston on one side and Marisol on the other. Cutter smiled. He loved every second of the attention—maybe he wasn’t so different from Dad after all.
I jumped when Raphael appeared by my side. “Sorry, Uva, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was lost in thought.”
“Good thoughts or bad?”
I sipped my wine, glanced at Cutter. “Good.”
Raphael followed my gaze. “Ah. It’s good to have him here. Did you warn him about Preston?”
“I did, but I don’t think we need to worry about her trying to dig up our secrets anymore.”
“She’s making quite a name for herself.”
“Yes.” Two of her stories—one on Mac’s disappearing act and stint as the Lone Ranger and one about a raid on a Nashua, New Hampshire, warehouse where millions of dollars of priceless art pieces were recovered—had been picked up by the Associated Press. And she was currently working with Tristan and Meaghan on an article about the launch of their Clean Start Foundation, whose mission was, among other things, to revitalize impoverished neighborhoods and mentor foster children. I’d just received an invitation to their wedding, which was three weeks away. They weren’t wasting any time.
“Has Dad forgiven me yet?” I asked.
His Vermeer and Gandolfi had been in that warehouse and were now back with their rightful owners. It had taken me quite a while to convince him it was the right thing to do. He still wasn’t totally buying it.