He rose, and she did, too. He was sorry about his part in causing her spirits to plummet, but there was nothing he could do. And if it was an inside job and what Chelsea had seen in the warehouse was somehow related, the fewer people who knew she’d been there, the better.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHEN CHELSEA’S ALARM SOUNDED, she hit the snooze button. She rolled over on her side, stretched much like Mindy would and curled up again, tucking an arm under her head. The cat sprang up on the bed and butted her head against Chelsea.
Chelsea wasn’t a morning person. Never had been.
She wanted to stay in bed with the happy dream she’d had about dancing on a moonlit beach with Sam. It was so tempting to try to recapture the dream that she thought about drifting back to sleep for a few more minutes.
Instead, she bolted up in bed. She’d nearly forgotten that she was acting for Mr. Hadley. That meant she had to be at the gallery early. Well, if not early, at least she had to be on time. She tossed back the covers, eliciting an annoyed grumble from Mindy. She made coffee and took her first hit of caffeine, then showered, dressed and hurriedly did her hair and makeup. After opening a can of cat food for Mindy, she fixed herself a bagel with cream cheese.
Despite the few extra minutes she’d spent luxuriating in bed, Chelsea was at the gallery and preparing the first pot of coffee in the staff kitchen before eight. She had paperwork to do, so a second cup was called for.
As the coffee brewed, she leaned against the counter and let her thoughts drift back to her dream about Sam. Her recollection of the imagined brush of his lips across hers made her skin tingle. She jerked when her phone vibrated in her pocket, almost simultaneously with the machine signaling that the coffee was ready. That was a rude way to end her fantasy, she thought irritably.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she felt her annoyance subside at seeing Sam’s name and number on the display. She held the phone to her ear as she poured her coffee.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully. “Did you have a good night?”
“I didn’t get much sleep,” he admitted.
“Oh...?” She loved the sound of his voice, especially when it seemed a little reserved. A little uncertain, as it did just then.
“I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
That tingle she’d felt speared straight to her stomach. “I’m trying to feel bad about that, but I can’t.” Then she remembered why she’d seen him the evening before. “Did your IT people have a chance to brighten the photos?”
She heard him clear his throat. Not a good sign.
“One of the guys had a look at them. When he brightened them, he lost definition. I’m sorry, Chelsea, but he couldn’t bring sufficient clarity to the photos because of the muted ambient light in the warehouse. We can make out the work counter and that there are things on top of it, but no detail. We can see the easels, but they don’t mean much since there are no paintings on them, and even if there were...”
“Oh...” Chelsea couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I’m sorry.”
She thought back to their conversation the evening before. “This means there’s still nothing you can do?”
“That’s right.”
They chatted uneasily for a couple of minutes, then Chelsea thanked Sam and said goodbye. She was sorry that a conversation that had started on a happy, hopeful note had ended with tension between them. Taking her coffee to her office, she finished the paperwork just as the other staff began to arrive. She hated the fact that she looked at each one of them carefully, wondering if they could be involved in a forgery operation.
She took a couple of telephone calls, spent some time on the showroom floor, then retreated to her office again. “I’ve got to concentrate on a couple of things,” she explained to Tina and closed her door.
In the privacy of her office, Chelsea got out her phone and tried to enhance the photographs herself. After twenty frustrating minutes, she tossed the phone on the table.
How ridiculous to even try. Did she really believe she’d be able to do something the IT experts working for the police department couldn’t?
Why didn’t she check the flash setting? Or notice that the flash hadn’t gone off?
She’d been too tense. Too distracted. And not thinking logically, she berated herself.
And on the topic of thinking...how likely was it that she’d stumbled on a forgery or smuggling ring? There had to be a rational explanation for what she’d seen. It wasn’t out of the question that her imagination had run wild. Grudgingly, she admitted that it wouldn’t be the first time. She remembered with more than a little embarrassment that shortly after Paige had started dating Daniel, she’d read a story in a Boston paper about a Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Kinsley, and she’d convinced herself that it was the same Daniel Kinsley Paige was seeing. She and their neighbor Mr. Weatherly had gone on a reconnaissance mission to determine if she was correct.
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
Boy, had she been wrong! It hadn’t been Daniel. It had been his parents. Daniel was a sweet, honest, straightforward and considerate guy.
Thank God she hadn’t ruined her friendship with Paige when she’d confessed to her what she and Mr. Weatherly had done.
Was it possible that she was wrong in this case, too?
She considered talking to Joel about it. Asking him what the setup in the warehouse was for. He’d know, if anyone did. He’d probably give her a very plausible explanation, and she’d feel foolish. The most prudent course of action was to let it go.
But she couldn’t!
She’d seen what she’d seen.
She just had to figure out what it meant and what to do about it.
* * *
OVER A WEEK had passed since Sam had seen Chelsea. He’d been tempted to call her more times than he could count, but he’d resisted.
To add to his frustration, both the All That Glitters and Shines robbery and the Sinclair Gallery cases had stalled. He didn’t have any leads for either. When he heard that Charles Hadley had returned from England after his sister passed away, he saw that as an opportunity to follow up on what Chelsea had told him.
He wasn’t doing it simply to appease Chelsea, Sam reminded himself as he parked his vehicle in the gallery’s parking lot. He’d checked with the gallery’s administrative assistant, Tina, regarding work schedules. He purposely chose a day when Hadley would be at the gallery but Chelsea wouldn’t to avoid running into her. Tina had told him that Hadley had given Chelsea a couple of days off in appreciation for the extra workload she’d handled while he was gone.
That worked to his advantage.
Since the showroom was empty, Sam took the time to get a better feel for the place. It was sparsely but tastefully decorated. That made sense, since they’d want everyone’s focus on the art. The lighting was subdued and also drew attention to the artwork. His predominant impression was of understated elegance. He imagined the environment would appeal to people who were affluent but unlikely to flaunt it.
He glanced at the art on display. To each his own, he thought, then watched Joel Sinclair emerge from the office area. Joel must have been thirty or thereabouts. Not much younger than Sam. He had a slight build, topped out probably around five-ten, short blond hair and brown eyes. Sam sensed the same animosity from him that he had when they’d first met. It belied the causal smile he offered as he approached. “Welcome back, Detective.” He held out a hand. Sam shook it and decided there was resentment as well as the animosity. “Are you interested in making a purchase today?”
“Oh, I doubt it. Most of this stuff is out of my price range.”
Joel’s expression remained stoic.
“How much would one of these pieces cost?” Sam asked, motioning to the paintings closest to w
here they were standing.
“As the saying goes, if you have to ask the price, you probably can’t afford it. They’re likely beyond the means of one of Camden Falls’ finest,” Joel added with a smirk.
Sam realized that he didn’t mind getting under Joel’s skin. He slid his hands in his coat pockets and smiled tightly. “Seeing I am one of Camden Falls’s finest, humor me.” He observed the irritation in Joel’s eyes. “I’ll ask again. How much would one of these be?”
“Each piece is assessed and appraised on its own merits,” Joel responded.
“I get that. How much on average? Or if that’s too difficult...” It might have been small of him, but Sam felt a brief sense of satisfaction that Joel’s irritation was becoming more evident. He pointed to a particularly gloomy painting of a hunting scene. “How much is that one?”
“Oh, that’s a Frederic Remington, painted circa 1902. Shortly before his death. It’s appraised at four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. From the right buyer, we may get half a million. Remington’s paintings and sculptures have gone up dramatically over the last decade.”
Sam managed not to sputter. Just barely.
Although he’d expected it to be expensive, the fact that it was half a million dollars astounded him. He took a moment longer to study the painting. If it’d been ten dollars, he wouldn’t have wanted it. He wasn’t a fan of hunting, and just looking at it depressed him. “Thanks,” he said, turning his attention back to Joel. “But this isn’t a personal visit. As it turns out, I’m here on police business.”
Joel took a step back. Sam could see his nerves build and wondered what he had to hide. “I’d like to speak to Charles Hadley, if he’s in.”
“Does this have to do with the Babineux?”
“I’ll share what this is about with Mr. Hadley, if you don’t mind getting him for me.”
“Sure, Detective Eldridge. I’ll see if he’s available.” The cockiness was gone.
Sam thought about throwing his weight around and clarifying that he hadn’t asked if Hadley was available, but rather if he was in; however, he restrained himself. There was no point other than to mess with Joel. Sam knew Joel disliked him. He just hadn’t figured out if it was all personal because of Chelsea, or because he had something to do with the theft of the Babineux. Irrespective, the dislike was mutual. Joel seemed to make a special effort to rub him the wrong way.
Alone again, Sam stopped in front of a sculpture. The creature had a man’s head and torso, and the body of what appeared to be a horse. He knew such creatures existed in mythology, but he wondered how people came up with these things.
“Detective Eldridge.” He heard Charles Hadley’s cultured, English-accented voice from behind him. Turning, he watched the distinguished-looking man, probably in his midsixties, walk toward him.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, extending a hand to Sam.
This time, Sam sensed curiosity, nothing more. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Naturally. How might I help?”
Sam inquired about the warehouse—how and when it had been leased by the gallery—and skated on some thin ice as he explained that there’d been “concerns” raised about it. He concluded by asking if it would be possible for him to see it.
“As you wish. Is now convenient?”
Sam didn’t detect any hesitation or subterfuge, and wondered how much time he was wasting. But he was in it now and had to follow through. “Works for me.”
“I’ll get my coat and keys and be right back.”
Sam considered whether he should’ve let Hadley out of his sight. He’d agreed so readily, Sam speculated what the odds were that he was on the phone, alerting someone to their visit. He counted off the seconds until Hadley returned, and decided if he had made a call, it was a very brief one.
Sam knew where the warehouse was, but he followed Hadley’s late-model Audi and pulled up next to the curb behind it. Trailing Hadley into the warehouse, he immediately heard the security alarm signal, and watched as Hadley turned on the lights and, with his body blocking the panel so Sam couldn’t see the code he entered, disarmed the system.
Chelsea hadn’t mentioned anything about encountering an alarm system. Would she have known the code?
“Who, other than you, has the code to the security system?” he asked when Hadley had rejoined him.
“Joel Sinclair. He uses this space the most, for storage of displays and staging generally. I suppose the gallery’s owner, Nadine Sinclair, would have it written down somewhere.”
“What about your sales associates? Deborah or Chelsea? Or your assistant?”
Hadley shook his head. “They wouldn’t have any need to come here.”
“Is the code the same as for the gallery?”
Hadley smiled. “No, that would be unwise, and it would mean that anyone who had the gallery code—and the sales associates and Tina have that one—would automatically have this code, too.” Sam still didn’t sense any deceit or defensiveness. He nodded thoughtfully. So how would Chelsea have gotten into the building without setting off the alarm? “Is the alarm always armed, regardless of whether you have anything of value in here or not?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Always?” Sam prompted.
“Yes...well, unless there’s a problem with the system.”
“Does that happen often?”
“No, but shortly before I left for England, there was a power failure at the warehouse. Actually, the power for the whole block went down for an extended period of time, because one of the transformers blew. The security system has a UPS—an uninterrupted power supply—backup, but the length of the failure drained the battery, so the system failed.”
“Wouldn’t someone have been notified by the monitoring company?”
Hadley exhaled. “Yes. They notified me, but I was focused on my sister at the time and when they sent the reminder, I was already in England. At my sister’s deathbed. I wasn’t checking email or voice mail. Since low battery is not deemed to be a critical response condition, the company didn’t dispatch anyone. Nor were the police notified.”
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
Hadley nodded.
“And sorry to be asking these questions at what must be a difficult time... But shouldn’t the system have reset automatically, once the power came back on?”
“I’m not sure. I would think so.”
That was what Sam expected, too. “Has anyone been in here that you know of since you left?”
“Not that I’m aware. As I said, Joel uses the space the most, and we haven’t had any events or other initiatives that might have required him to be here. Oh...wait. I completely forgot that Nadine Sinclair called just before I left to tell me that we had a shipment. So he would’ve come here to receive it, but that would’ve been before I went to England. No. No, I’m wrong. Joel had an appointment that day. It might have been Nadine who received it. I didn’t ask, so I’m not sure.” He gestured toward the side wall, where there were several wooden shipping crates. “As I forgot all about it, the shipment is still here, crated, so I don’t think anyone’s been here since it arrived.”
The power failure might explain why Chelsea didn’t trip the alarm when she entered, but only if it didn’t automatically reset when the power came back on. But the system was armed when they’d arrived just now, so if it hadn’t automatically reset, someone had been in the warehouse between the time Chelsea had been and their arrival. Someone who might or might not have noticed that the alarm wasn’t set, but did set it when he—or she—left.
“Mind if I look around?” Sam asked.
“Not at all.”
Sam had already assessed the overall surroundings when they’d first walked in. Now, he noted again that the workbench Chelsea had described was t
here, but it was clean and clutter-free. He went over to have a closer look. “May I?” he asked Hadley, indicating the under-counter drawers and cupboards.
“Go ahead.”
Instead of paint or other art supplies, he found tools and packing materials. The easels were there, but empty. There were no canvases.
Next, he pointed to the shipping crates along the wall. “Okay if I have a look?”
“Be my guest.”
Again, Sam sensed no reservation, no discomfort. In contrast, he thought of Joel Sinclair’s demeanor and wondered whether he had something to do with whatever might be going on.
Sam knelt in front of the crates. They seemed to be in good order, although a couple of them looked as if they had been opened and resealed. Chelsea’s handiwork, no doubt.
“Would you like to see inside any of them?”
Sam glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s not necessary.”
He rose, walked around the open space and entered the room that he assumed Chelsea had described as an exhibit space. It was nothing more than an empty shell of drywall. Instead of the concrete floors throughout the remainder of the building, it had hardwood, although...
He took a few steps in and crouched to look more closely at the floorboards. There were some fresh scrapes, possibly indicative of a hurried move. He looked up to where the walls met the ceiling and noticed screw holes, possibly for curtain rods or draping?
It wouldn’t have been possible for anyone to clear out the room in the time it took him and Hadley to get here from the gallery. If it had been set up as Chelsea claimed, it’d been cleared out before he’d asked to see the place.
“Thank you for your time,” Sam said as he watched Hadley reset the alarm on their way out.
“No problem. Is there anything I should be concerned about?”
“No. I don’t think so. Thanks again,” Sam repeated before walking to his car.
Reconnecting with Chelsea would have to wait until she was back at work.