Страница 40 из 60
She looked up and gasped. “What in the world?”
“Hi, Naomi,” I said, waving from behind the cops.
“What’s wrong?”
I bent to catch Ortiz’s gaze. “Do you mind?” Then I slipped in front of him and held up the Sleepy Hollow book.
“Derek found this book in his hotel suite. Are you familiar with it?”
She lost all color in her face and her mouth did that trout-caught-by-a-fishhook thing again. Open, close, open, close. Finally, she said, “I—I . . . Where did you get that?”
“I just told you. Weren’t you listening?”
She shook her head back and forth. “I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” She grabbed her purse. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Norris yelled, “Put the bag down.” Both cops drew their guns.
Naomi screamed, dropped the bag, and held up her hands.
Inspector Lee came ru
“I want my lawyer,” Naomi wailed.
I turned to Derek. “I guess that answers the question of guilt.”
Derek stared at Naomi. “Before they haul you off to jail, I want to know why you were so intent on framing me.”
Her eyes widened. “It . . . it wasn’t me.”
“And yet, you want to lawyer up,” I said, and jabbed my finger at her. “Not a good-faith gesture, Naomi.” I turned to Inspector Lee. “You’re arresting her, right?”
“For what?” Lee asked. “Being an idiot?”
“If only,” Norris muttered, reluctantly slipping her gun back into the holster at her hip.
“Breaking and entering?” I suggested, then pointed at the book. “Or stealing a priceless art object?”
“Where’d she steal it from?”
I frowned at Derek. “From Layla, I guess.”
Lee pushed back her jacket and holstered her gun. “So she basically stole the book from herself. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Brooklyn!” Naomi cried. “I didn’t do it.”
I glared at her. “I’m having a real hard time believing anything you say, Naomi.” I turned down the hall in time to see Karalee jump back into her office and slam the door. Great. Everyone in the building would know all about it within minutes.
Naomi ran into the hall. “Wait. Can I have my book back?”
“Civilians,” Norris muttered, hand resting on her gun.
Lee laughed without humor. “That’s a joke, right, Ms. Fontaine?”
“No,” she said earnestly. “I need that book for . . .”
I cocked my head. “For what?”
“It’s evidence,” Lee said, ending the discussion.
I slipped the book back into the Baggie and handed it to the inspector.
Naomi’s eyes widened; then her shoulders slumped and she walked back to her office and closed the door.
Derek and I followed the cop back to the gallery.
Lee turned and held up her hand to stop Derek. “We’re going to have to search your hotel room, Commander.”
“Didn’t you already do that?” I asked.
Lee looked at me as though I’d been smoking lettuce or something.
I glanced from her to Derek and back. “But you arrested him,” I said haltingly. “Why didn’t you . . .”
Derek put his hand on my shoulder. “I wasn’t arrested, darling, just questioned.”
“Oh, good.” I turned to Lee. “You should fingerprint his hotel room.”
“Wow, good idea,” she said.
I shook my head and sighed. “Go ahead and mock me, but I’ve had a bad day.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, her tone friendly again.
“You won’t find any fingerprints,” Derek said tightly.
Lee gave a philosophical shrug. “Let’s give it a shot anyway.”
As predicted, the police didn’t find any fingerprints in Derek’s hotel room, so Naomi was safe from imprisonment. For now.
After my class, Derek and I went out to a marvelous Italian restaurant near Nob Hill. Over tender short ribs in a Barolo reduction with sweet potato ravioli, accompanied by a stu
On the night of Layla’s death, the police had confiscated her computer. What they found among her personal and business records were several bank accounts to which large deposits were made on a regular basis. A separate ledger with three different entries noted down payments of twenty thousand dollars each, for the books listed, with the merchandise scheduled to be turned over that very week.
“Down payments? Of twenty thousand dollars? For each book?” I mentally picked my jaw up off the floor. “Was there a list of the books being sold?”
“Yes,” Derek said, then tasted the deep red wine.
“Well?” I waited, but he was intent on torturing me as he swirled the wineglass, then took another sip. “Derek, swallow the damn wine and tell me what books they were.”
“Patience, darling. Your father wouldn’t approve of my drinking something this exquisite any other way.”
“You’re right,” I grumbled, and slumped back against the booth. “Just tell me if one of the books was an Oliver Twist?”
His eyes sparkled as he set down his glass. “I think you’ve already guessed.”
“It was,” I whispered, then tried to put the pieces together. “I thought it was being saved for the silent auction, but the real reason Naomi didn’t want to sell me the book was because it was already promised to another buyer.”
The wine steward poured more lovely red liquid into my glass. When he left, I looked at Derek. “There’s no way that Oliver Twist is worth twenty thousand dollars, and that’s just the down payment. I mean, I did a damn good job of restoring it, but how much did Layla expect to get paid? Whatever it was, it’s a completely fraudulent deal.”
“Yes,” he said, and bit into a succulent piece of beef. “And where does Naomi fit in?”
“I don’t know.” I cut into a pillowy ravioli square.
“Well, I can tell you that the police went by to speak with Naomi Monday night.”
“I saw them come in.” I swallowed the bite and almost swooned. The buttery ravioli sauce was extraordinary. “Oh, my, I need a moment.”
“It’s rather good, isn’t it?”
“It’s heaven.” I took a sip of wine, then exhaled softly. “Ah. Where was I? Oh, yes, the police showed up during the wake, just as the crowd was thi
“They merely confiscated her computer,” Derek revealed. “They’ve combed through it. It appears she knew nothing about these prepayments.”
“Oh, she knew,” I said, absently pointing my fork at him. “She’s hiding something. Why else would she be so nervous when I asked her about the Oliver Twist?”
“And this was the same Oliver Twist that Layla mentioned she was auctioning off at the Twisted festival?”
I considered the answer as I munched on a perfectly prepared haricot vert. “I thought so, but now I’m not sure. If it’s listed as a presale, how can they be auctioning it off?”
“Are there two Oliver Twists, perhaps?”
“I have no idea,” I said, grabbing my wineglass.
“I believe we should pay another visit to Naomi.”
As we drove away from the restaurant, I called Inspector Lee to explain the situation. I described Naomi’s reaction when I’d mentioned I wanted to buy the Oliver Twist.
“I’m willing to swear she knew about Layla’s prepayments,” I said. “I’m going to confront her, with or without a police presence.”
“With,” Inspector Lee barked into the phone. “You’ll wait for me.”
“Gladly,” I said, and winked at Derek. He’d already bet she wouldn’t miss it for the world.
“And just so you know,” Lee said. “We gave her back that Oliver Twist book a few days ago.”
I stared at Derek.
“The plot thickens,” he murmured.
“Yes, doesn’t it just?” So last night when I’d asked Naomi if I could buy the Oliver Twist, she’d already obtained it from the police. She had to have known exactly what book I was talking about. And judging from the dull pallor of her skin when I told her it wasn’t a first edition, I was willing to bet she’d already sold it.