Bodies Of Art Mystery: Marked Masters Part 7

The stairs were covered in a custom runner, unpadded to keep people from tripping. The pattern of the carpet was that of lush flowers and vines, blending well with the Deco motif of the building. However, I wondered at how the Browning justified the cost of this kind of extravagance. I didn't have to see the backing to know the exquisite rug was handmade. It might be worth Ca.s.sie's time to do a little checking on the Browning's finances and donors. Can never be too careful or too well informed.

I didn't plan to storm the castle, so to speak, but moved ever upward in a casual yet efficient manner. The second floor housed the beginning of the Browning's art collection, and the works stretched to the fourth floor as well. The elevator was going to get a workout that day. At the point of rounding the curve in the staircase, I glanced over to the queue for the single elevator, a device as slow as any utilized in this type of setting, and figured the wait at the end was probably now past two in the afternoon.

The fourth floor also held an artist's studio, soundproofed, of course. This was the s.p.a.ce I had planned to check out yesterday, but a certain set of car thieves thwarted those good intentions. I made a pretense of interest now, but only to lend credence to my seeming exploratory jaunt before I headed for my true destination on the top floor. Instead, a woman in a severe black suit with a cell phone to her ear nearly bowled me down on the stairs. The phone flew out of her hand and arced over the railing, executing a nosedive before exploding into a handful of pieces as it hit the parquet floor.

"d.a.m.n!" The woman moved past me to recover the plastic and electronic pieces. I recognized her as the person who had signaled Tina when we'd left the tent the day before, and a.s.sumed I'd found my quarry.

"You're the event planner, right?" I walked back down to the fourth floor.

She gave me a weary nod and a wary look, most likely over her limit on complaints and problems already.

I offered my practiced handshake. "Laurel Beacham, of the Beacham Foundation."

"You're based in New York." The Brooklyn accent was still strong in her voice, so I knew she was either commuting in her business endeavors or was a recent transplant to the Florida sun. The basic black business outfit she wore put an even stronger point on my a.s.sumption.

"Well, I'm based in the London office." I stooped to retrieve a small square piece that probably covered the back of her phone. She scrambled to pick up the rest of the scattered parts. "But I've been in Orlando and wanted to stop into the event today while I was in the neighborhood, so to speak. You've truly done an outstanding job."

The woman smiled and suddenly showed her vulnerability. "I'm Alice Lawson. I can get you a card-"

I had already pulled one of mine from the Fendi and offered it to her. "You can mail one to me here. Or e-mail me a JPEG file. I'll forward it along to the events planner in the New York office."

"Oh, I will." She unceremoniously shoved the pieces of her phone into a too-small pocket in her skirt, making the fabric bulge. I handed over my small contribution.

She thanked me, and I moved on to what I really wanted to ask her. "I was here yesterday in the late afternoon and ran into a friend of mine. Tina Schroeder. She said she worked for you, but I haven't been able to find her today. She was going to meet me earlier about an item she was pa.s.sing along from a friend. Do you have any idea where I could find her?"

Alice's face turned as pale as the marble statue on the floor behind her. She stuttered, "No...n-no...Tina...Tina failed to show this morning. Probably got bored." She attempted to laugh, but the effort came off as lacking. "You know how she is."

Now the big question, what made her so nervous? The fact she thought she was hiding Tina's death from me? Or because I'd said the girl was bringing something to give to me today, before she was murdered? I probably shouldn't have taken the risk of saying that last bit, but I'd wanted to see what it got me. I figured this was the kind of thing Jack had been warning about earlier.

I waved a hand. "Oh, no matter. It was just a perfume sample a friend wanted me to try. Starting a new business and trying to beat the bushes for customers, and friends are the first asked to try the new scent."

Alice seemed to relax a fraction, and she faked a little laugh as she said, "Yes, we all have those kinds of friends. Don't we?" But her dark eyes still held a hard look.

"Isn't that the truth?" I put a hand on her forearm to imply solidarity. "You've saved me looking all over for nothing. I'm sure you need to get back to work."

"Nice meeting you."

"You too. And remember to send me your business card." I smiled one last time at her, then quickly made my way back down the stairs. The third floor was full of experimental art, my least favorite, so I headed to the second floor, drawn to the area featuring Sebastian, an artist who'd been well established for the past fifty years. It was rumored he still lived somewhere in Italy, but no one had seen him for decades. A few people quietly walked and talked in the area, but most on the floor stayed engaged with the art. There was nothing second cla.s.s about this gallery.

The oversized landscape of a Tuscany vineyard was exquisite. Done in oils, the work reminded me why I'd gotten into this business. Daydreaming over a picture had been my modus operandi as far back as I remembered. For that fragile second, I was lost in the Tuscan countryside, searching for the elusive Sebastian. A voice near my right ear startled me.

"Does it speak to your heart?" said Anthony Berintino, otherwise known as Tony B. He stood too closely behind me and was clad in confidence and a thousand-dollar Italian suit. He was such a stereotypical hood, I didn't know whether he had no imagination or actually set the bar for every other low-thinking thug with visions of grandeur. Long suspected of being connected to some of the "families" and the acting front man for a dozen corporations, Tony B had never been convicted of or even charged with anything in the twenty or more years his name had been active.

Slick, cool, with a powerful physique and a smile that dropped women at thirty paces-and there had been plenty of those over the years-I knew he was always in evidence at Browning celebrations. I'd also noticed him and Melanie with their heads together when I was checking out the line to the elevator, so I figured nothing had changed recently. The man was one of the reasons my grandfather had started disengaging himself from the Browning right before he died.

In his early forties, Tony B's confidence matched his physique, and I knew he was building a reputation few people discussed. And as long as no one discussed it, he felt free to increase his influence through monetary gifts and celebrity attendance at events such as this one.

Looking past Tony B's shoulder, I saw his too-thin, too-blonde wife of fifteen years also present and holding court nearby, but as usual they worked the room separately. I had run into both him and his long-suffering b.i.t.c.h of a spouse many times over the past few years, usually at only the most prestigious events. I had even sat next to him at one of the less prestigious, and ultimately more infamous, parties held on a private yacht anch.o.r.ed on the Strait of Gibraltar. We'd had to stop our host from diving headfirst into the dangerous waters because he'd had too much to drink. He had "wanted to swim naked with the fis.h.i.+es." As I recalled, Tony B had been the one most often getting the poor man refills.

"Tony B, it's lovely to see you." He moved in for a hug, but I stepped back and offered a hand.

"You look terrific, Laurel, but fawn really is too understated a color for you. Think about a bright red or a peac.o.c.k-blue next time."

Now I'm getting fas.h.i.+on tips from a thug. Great. "Thank you so much for noticing. I've been at a bit of a disadvantage with limited luggage this trip."

He smirked, then pointed toward the painting I'd been studying. "I see you like Sebastian."

I turned and pulled the Fendi closer as I processed possible options to get away from him. "Yes. I love his work and the legend behind his life story."

"Ahhh, women and their romance." He leaned closer. "I have a couple of Sebastians of my own. In my office. I'd love to show them to you."

Come up and see my etchings, little girl. Okay, maybe not, but that's how his offer made me feel. Regardless, I'm nothing if not diplomatic. "Gee, I'd love to, Tony B, but I'm only here for part of the day. Just breezing through to add a little Beacham interest to the celebration."

"Really? That's funny, because I heard something different. My mistake."

Yeah, there was the warning s.h.i.+ver again. So who tipped Tony B off about me? Melanie or Alice? And why? Did he have anything to do with Tina's murder? I could have asked if he'd seen Simon lately, since I knew they were acquainted in the past, but common sense told me to get out of there fast. "Well, it was good seeing you, Tony B. And thanks again for thinking of me." I excused myself and headed back to the lobby level to regroup. The man was never a person to be trusted, but something about the way he said what he had made me doubly uncomfortable.

I texted Jack and Nico and asked them to meet me outside the ladies' room. While I waited inside, I rummaged through the Fendi for Ca.s.sie's Hermes scarf. I still loved the suit, and would always take Margarite's clothing suggestions over Tony B's, but this was a festive event, and a little extra color couldn't hurt. I did a quick twist maneuver with the scarf and connected the ends in a loose knot. The golds and burnished brown in the Hermes were a perfect complement to both my hair and the linen suit.

In a couple of minutes, an old-money matron wearing blue silk and dripping diamonds pushed open the door and asked, "Are you Laurel Beacham?"

"Yes."

"Well, there are two nice gentlemen out here who asked me to see if you would please come out."

"Thank you." As I pushed past her, she entered the restroom. I scanned the hallway, looking for either of the guys, but was instead grabbed by each arm and muscled farther down the hall and away from the crowd in the lobby.

I twisted to try breaking free, but their holds only tightened. "Wait a minut-" And that's when the goon on my right lifted the portion of the Hermes that lay across my bodice and pushed it into my mouth.

"Keep quiet, and everything will be fine."

Obviously the diamond-clad matron didn't know a gentleman when she saw one.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

We exited the building at the loading dock, where a big black Mercedes sat idling. Next thing I knew, one of them grabbed my Fendi and pawed through it until he found my cell phone. He took the phone, dropped it to the pavement, and smashed it with his size thirteen shoe. I couldn't scream, so I wiggled and fought. I was not getting into that car without a struggle. My heel ground into the instep of the goon holding my right arm. But my self-defense move didn't matter. They shoved me and my purse into the trunk and slammed down the lid.

Okay, no phone, trapped in the dark in what felt like a mobster's car, and Jack and Nico had no idea where I'd gone. h.e.l.l, I didn't even know where I was going. Or why. Or who had the b.a.l.l.s to kidnap me in broad daylight. This couldn't be good.

I wasted a few moments looking for the trunk latch release cable only to find it had been disabled. While that area in the Mercedes was good sized, it isn't surprising I quickly felt a bit cramped and claustrophobic.

Nonetheless, I counted myself lucky I was awake and all in one piece so far. As I quantified the situation, I did take the opportunity to not only remove the scarf from my mouth but to take it off my neck as well. Call me paranoid, but all of Jack's talk that morning, chastising me for continually putting myself into harm's way, was. .h.i.tting home. I couldn't take credit for this current predicament though, as I had little choice but to move with the Danger Twins.

I squeezed the slippery fabric, telling myself being proactive was better than nothing. After all, having something knotted around my neck left me vulnerable for an easy throttling. Conversely, holding the fabric in my own hand meant I had my own silky noose ready if a chance defensive move presented itself. The fabric might be beautiful and softly elegant, but I knew from experience that silk was deceptively strong, like my own backbone, and I intended to use both if pressed into another corner.

The car took enough short-block turns to hinder my keeping a running tally in my head. Besides, I didn't know Miami well enough for it to matter anyway. When the engine went silent about twenty minutes later, I had no idea where we might be. I just hoped it wasn't some dead-end road near a cemetery.

The more gracious goon, the one who only shoved my scarf in my mouth, opened the trunk lid and grunted in a way I interpreted to mean "Get out."

They resumed the tag-team escort, and I realized we were in an underground parking garage. I began to realize where I was going and why.

"Laurel, what a pleasure to see you." Tony B greeted us when the Danger Twins shoved me into his office. He took in my appearance in one piercing comprehensive glance. "I'm sorry we had to do things this way, but I heard you were asking about Tina, and I wanted a private place to give you the bad news."

"Tony B, I appreciate that, but I already got word. You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble." I glanced back at the Danger Twins. I summed up the situation quickly and decided I needed to take the offensive. Let Tony B believe I considered all of this the fault of his over-enthusiastic goons not understanding his orders. "Your men take their commissions seriously." My upper arms felt bruised, and I played it up for all it was worth, rubbing my muscles as if to a.s.sess the damage, and I warned, "You do realize your people stuffed my own scarf in my mouth, manhandled me out of the gallery against my will, and stuffed me into a car trunk? Your car trunk. To your office. By any stretch of the imagination, I could level a charge of a.s.sault, battery, and kidnapping. Surely you want to apologize and put this all right again."

He walked around the ma.s.sive desk and leaned against its dark wood front panel, his posture stiff and tone of voice menacing. "How did you hear about Tina?"

"Why...from the event planner. She said Tina took off. Quit, I a.s.sumed." With my words I saw the steel tension leave his body. He smiled slightly and waved a hand for his henchmen to leave us.

He motioned me into one of the visitors' chairs, and I sat, holding the Fendi in my lap and keeping a bit of s.p.a.ce between us. He shot me a glance, letting me know he recognized what I was doing. He poured scotch from the decanter on his desk and held out one of the gla.s.ses. "Please, let's have a drink together," he said.

I didn't want to mix alcohol with this scenario. I needed to stall and figure out how to get rid of the liquor. Not much else I could do though. I took the gla.s.s. "To what are we drinking?" I asked.

"We're celebrating. A long-lost item has returned to my possession after a series of events conspired to keep it away. Or, should I say, a series of people?" he mused as he sipped his drink, then produced the smile of a shark going after a school of fish.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! Of course he referred to the snuffbox I was supposed to pick up at the castillo last month. Until I'd found my mustachioed contact dead and the snuffbox missing. How had Tony B gotten involved with it? Rapidly, I replayed the history of the snuffbox as I knew it. Neither Tony B nor his organizations fit in at any point. Was he the one responsible for the mustached man's death? Surely not. But the hit man who confessed was Italian. While Tony's name was a.s.sociated with a lot of high-powered, albeit often shady, dealings in the art world and various other activities, I hadn't heard the word murder a.s.sociated with him. But he could hire someone, and even if everyone knew the guy who confessed hadn't actually carried out the murder, the Italian connection was still there. So the confessor could have covered for one of Tony B's compatriots who did the deed and needed protection.

I set the gla.s.s on the desktop and stood up. "Would you excuse me?" I smiled. "As you can tell, I'm a bit worse for wear, and I'd like to visit the powder room." He pointed, and I headed toward the executive bathroom.

"By all means, proceed," he said smoothly. "But please leave your bag here."

"Oh, but-"

"The bag stays here, Laurel. I want to speak with you, and I don't want you getting in touch with someone who will interrupt our conversation."

I couldn't help it. I slammed a fist against my hip and said, "One of your underlings already stomped my phone in the alley. I couldn't get in touch with anyone short of sending a message in a bottle through the sewer system."

He nodded. "Very well. I will, of course, see that your phone is replaced."

As I hurried to the bathroom, the sound of his low laughter followed me.

I rolled a towel to set at the bottom of the door to help hide any sounds I created and let my gaze rove over the lavish room. A Jacuzzi took up a corner, as well as a toilet and bidet. There was a small shower as well as a closet filled with more Italian suits and shoes.

One of the other things I'd learned on the yacht trip circling Gibraltar was Tony B's wife couldn't hold her liquor either, and she was one of the most bitter harpies I'd ever met. Not that I blamed the woman. Her husband openly flirted with anything in a skirt, and once when I'd helped her to the couple's stateroom and poured her into bed, she'd mumbled something I hoped would be useful in the present situation. In a slurred cadence she'd sung the words, "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d doesn't know it, but I know his safes are in his toilets."

Naturally, I didn't learn where in his restrooms, but with the size of this s.p.a.ce there was plenty of room to hide one. I started with the obvious and checked the medicine cabinet for a trip b.u.t.ton to make the whole unit swing away from the wall. Then I moved to the toilet tank. Another minute and I had the shoe shelves silently rolling out of the way and found the tiny ribbon marking where to pull to remove the carpeting.

The safe was a standard model I had opened many times thanks to some wonderful training received from an Irish thief during my year abroad after finis.h.i.+ng college. He taught me some wonderful moves. I was surprised Tony B didn't have anything high-tech, but he wasn't really known for having a love of gizmos. I'd heard him say many times if he "couldn't eat it, screw it, or intimidate it, what was the use?"

As the safe opened, I held my breath. I ran my hand through the papers and cash and searched a small velvet bag containing some not very good jewelry. No snuffbox in sight. I closed everything, feeling a bit defeated.

No! If Tina was killed today, the snuffbox was still in Miami. And if Tony B had it, it had to be in this office building. It had to be here. Maybe he had another hidey-hole.

I moved to the shower, and that's when I noticed the flaw. The recessed soap dish was flush on one side but out just a fraction of an inch on the other. I tugged, I pressed, I prayed. And just when I was about to give up, I removed the bar of soap and the unit moved soundlessly toward me. d.a.m.n, it was weight activated.

Ignoring my fear of spiders, I reached blindly into the dark opening and had to swallow a squeal when my fingers closed on the object I knew was the snuffbox. Quickly, I wrapped it in my scarf and then hid it in one of the secret pockets of the Fendi. I flushed the toilet and turned on the tap, taking the opportunity to wash my face and hands. Those were comforting moves designed to give me time to swallow my excitement so Tony B wasn't aware of my true intentions. Also, of course, I needed to figure out how to get out of this mess.

There was a bottle of imported Swiss lotion on the counter. I smoothed some on my face, and the smell reminded me of my mother. I shut the memory down and stared into the mirror. I had to get out of here and back to the Browning. Or find a way to contact Nico and Jack.

Still in the exact position where I left him, Tony B reached again for the scotch. "Come on, Laurel, drink up. I can't think of anyone I'd rather celebrate with, and I find it very fortuitous you are here with me. How's Max?"

"Same. Tight, frustrating, and determined to have his own way."

"Oh, yes. I think most of us are extremely determined to have our own way. Don't you, Laurel? You wouldn't have reached your level of, shall we say, success in your field, if you weren't so bullish about your recovery process. Or convinced your way was the right and only way."

I picked up my gla.s.s without sitting but played along. "I'm not sure I know exactly what you're implying. I work for my family's foundation, and this latest incarnation finds me heading the London office."

"Of course. My mistake." He smiled and rose, the gla.s.s in his hand. "I'm interested in what you think of a work I'm relocating. Would you accompany me?"

I followed as he opened a door to what looked like a study and wondered what this Neanderthal would be doing with a study. Heavy drapes blocked the sunlight. He flipped a switch, and a wall sconce came on, perfectly positioned to illuminate a small yet spectacular landscape unmistakably the work of the artist Sebastian.

For five decades, Sebastian's paintings and prints had graced art galleries and museums and been used to raise money for a variety of causes, mostly connected with improving the lives of children. His earlier works centered around portraits, although he had also ventured into landscapes, particularly those concerning the Normandy region of France and the Tuscany region of Italy. Paparazzi had searched all over Europe for him to no avail. It was believed he lived a reclusive existence, continuing to paint, though no one had proof one way or the other.

We approached the painting. About three paces away, we both stopped and stared. The foreground held a lovingly cared for lily pond and the land around it. In the distance a house appeared deserted, waiting for its owners to return home. As with all of Sebastian's work, it looked as though the painting somehow glowed with a vibrant light. Hundreds of critics and art fans had speculated on how he achieved that effect in his work, and hundreds had been frustrated. Equally frustrated were all the artists who attempted to duplicate his style.

We remained silent and appreciated the painting.

"Beautiful," I breathed, awed by the variety of feelings Sebastian's art always produced. I may have seen his work already that day at the Browning, but one could never see too much of sheer genius. "I don't think I know this piece."

He dragged his gaze away from the painting with what appeared to be difficulty. "It's never been displayed. It's always been in the hands of a private collector."

"It looks like it's from Sebastian's earlier period."

"It is. Probably painted over thirty years ago."

"Is this the possession you recently recovered?" I asked, playing along, continuing to stare at the brushstrokes.

I could almost feel the cruelty in his smile. "Oh, no. I acquired this many years ago from the original collector."

Reluctantly, I turned away from the painting and looked at him. The debonair playboy good looks definitely had a s.a.d.i.s.tic, sinister slant. Or maybe it was the focused lighting.

Fun time was over. Time to go. I didn't know what Tony B was up to and didn't want to find out in this precise minute.

"Thank you for allowing me to see such a master. I'm afraid I'll have to be going. Duty calls as usual. I have a plane to catch, but I'm sure we'll run into each other again soon."

"While I appreciate your diligence and haste to get back to work, I'm afraid that will be impossible just now." I took off walking back to his office, heading for the exit out. With impeccable manners, he waited for me to precede him into the office. However, at his words I bristled and stopped walking.

"I'm not sure I understand," I prevaricated. I needed to keep the situation from escalating.

He reached out and took my right hand. I used every ounce of self-control I possessed not to jerk away from him. He said, "I told you it was fortuitous you appeared when you did. I heard you were coming to Miami and hoped we would run into each other."