| |
The eighteenth-century-built French wardrobe from Saturday’s auction arrived at Brittany’s antique shop at two-thirty p.m. that Monday afternoon. Brittany and Gabe watched as the hired movers eased the gorgeous piece from the small-sized moving truck and placed it gently in the very center of the Bar Harbor Antiques foyer, as though that was as good a place to put it as any. Brittany didn’t have the strength to tell them where to move it and nearly let their strong muscles depart for the day before Gabe interjected and said, “Actually, could you move it to that space by the window? That’s where we’ve decided to put it for future sale.”
Disgruntled, the movers lifted the wardrobe and hobbled toward the window, where they placed the wardrobe almost gently alongside a night-table built in Rome from the 1870s. Brittany pulled out several bills to tip them and watched them go, her heart thudding in her ears.
“Thank you,” she told Gabe under her breath. “When they put it down without asking me where it was supposed to go, I almost screamed.”
“I’m here for you, Brittany,” Gabe told her gently, padding her upper arm. He then retreated behind the coffee counter, where he made the espresso machine roar. Methodically, he crafted two perfect iced coffee drinks laced heavily with caramel and extra sugar. It was a monstrous thing for the waistline, and Brittany hadn’t bothered with spin class that morning. Even still, the thick milkshake-like liquid coursed across her tongue. Maybe this was the only real joy she’d get.
“It really is a spectacular piece,” Gabe said as he rounded back toward the French wardrobe, which stood proud and regal, already altering the air of the greater space.
Brittany joined him. Her hand was placed tenderly on the top of the wardrobe. After another sigh, she added, “I have two more pieces being delivered today.”
Gabe’s eyes widened. “You tracked them down?”
“Not quite.” Brittany wasn’t sure how much she wanted to reveal about the situation with Evan Snow. Was he somehow manipulating the story to make her look foolish? Would she really allow herself to trust a Snow? “But whoever robbed me is trying to troll me. They dropped two pieces off at a— um a friend. One had a picture of a smiley face on the inside.”
“That’s so creepy,” Gabe muttered.
Brittany scanned the drawers before her, suddenly conscious that this wardrobe, too, could hold some sort of taunt, perhaps from Conner himself. Unwilling to wait around for the thing to explode on her (or something equally as traumatic yet metaphorical), Brittany began to pull open the drawers, hardly being careful enough with such a pristine object.
“What are you doing?” Gabe demanded.
“Maybe there’s something like that in here. A clue...”
The third row on the left revealed something, all right. When Brittany pulled it open, she found a heavy black object, on which a bright red dot flashed.
“What is that?” Gabe’s voice was high-pitched, frightened.
“I’m not totally sure.” Brittany grabbed her phone and dialed Nicole’s number, gripping the heavy device with a stiff grip. Nicole answered on the second ring, bringing with her a sea of chaotic voices from the inside of the kitchen at the Acadia Eatery.
“Brittany. What’s wrong?”
“Hey, could you do me a favor? Could you ask Evan if the tracker he put on Elijah’s vehicle is still located at the warehouse? Or if it’s changed locations?”
“Um. Okay, I can do that.”
Brittany allowed a minute to pass. In the background, there came a hiss from a skillet and then Luke’s voice, barking orders at a kitchen prepare.
“Are you’re okay, Brittany?” Nicole asked finally.
Brittany flared her nostrils. Since their break-in at the Snow Estate, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt. She felt like a boat without a captain, a swimmer without a shore.
“I’ll be fine,” Brittany told her. “Just trying to put the pieces of my life back together is all.”
When they got off the phone, another driver entered Bar Harbor Antiques. The bell jangled as he explained that he had a delivery from Evan Snow, already paid in full. Brittany nodded and immediately instructed him on where the pieces needed to be positioned. Her stomach questioned whether or not she should feel guilty for Evan Snow paying for this delivery. A voice in the back of her mind yelled out a resounding “no way.”
Nicole texted back as the new delivery workers settled the desk in the corner.
NICOLE: Actually, Evan says that the tracker is located at Bar Harbor Antiques...
NICOLE: Are you okay, Brittany????
Brittany glared at the red blinking device, which she’d positioned atop the wardrobe. Was this proof that Evan told the truth? Or was this another set-up?
BRITTANY: I found it. I just wanted to make sure it was the same one.
NICOLE: But no sign of Elijah or Conner?
BRITTANY: Not unless they’re in one of the other drawers. I haven’t checked all of them yet.
“I want to be grateful you know?” Brittany opened the little glass container on the counter of the coffee shop area, hand-selecting a brownie and tearing it into little pieces, eating each gooey bit gingerly. “Grateful that I have these three pieces back. But I can’t help but think of the twenty-two pieces still out there— how I hand-selected them for this next part of my life. How I couldn’t wait to see how people would react to them when I put them in the store.”
Gabe moaned inwardly. He stepped toward one of his paintings, adjusting the angle of it lovingly. Brittany felt as though they stood in a haunted house, one they could no longer open up to the public. The ghosts had tainted everything.
As though the universe wanted to tease her even more, Brittany’s phone dinged with a message from an antique dealer located in Brunswick.
Brittany, hello. I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Mallory, and we met several years ago at an auction outside of Portland. I’ve recently learned of your plight and happened to glance at the fantastic array of pieces that those criminals stole from you.
And then I took stock of my own collection.
It seems that I purchased something recently from an online seller—an Italian sofa. Find the photo attached.
Brittany’s eyes widened. There it was— another of her pieces.
I thought the sale to be very strange. A young woman sold it to me for a price far below market value. I hate to say that I fell for this trap, but I suppose I was at the mercy of my own greediness.
In any case, I’d like to have it shipped to you as soon as possible. Can you confirm your last name and shipping address?
“Wow. Another one?” Gabe shook his head as he re-read the email. “It’s nice that she’s going to send it over here as soon as possible.”
“It is nice. It is.” Brittany sounded hesitant. “But I can’t help but think that this is all a part of Conner’s grand scheme. He knows it’s driving me absolutely bonkers to receive these messages from all over the state. Plus, he’s been profiting off of the sale of these items without knowing what he can ask for! It’s such Conner Radley behavior, thinking he’s smarter than everyone yet falling short.”
Gabe clucked his tongue. “You are at the mercy of the worst kind of sociopath. A stupid one.”
Brittany laughed, even as her eyes filled with useless tears. Conner would love to know he was making her cry. He always seemed to gain power when she wept.
But the strangeness of the day (along with its tears) had only just begun.
A few minutes later, Brittany got another similar email. And two hours later, another. By the end of the afternoon, four different antique dealers had admitted that they held one of Brittany’s original pieces and were more than willing to have them shipped back. Brittany wept with a mix of delight and sorrow. She detested that these poor people, good people, had been taken advantage of! How she detested that Conner had extended his evils out across the antique world, a world she adored with her whole heart.
Armed with this fresh bout of information, Brittany drove out to the Keating House to discuss things with Nicole, Heather, and Casey. She also texted Brad, who informed her he was on “temporary duty of a downtown broken-down traffic light” but would contact her shortly about the potential next steps.
Brittany had no idea where they went from here. Each email delivered a tiny bout of hope, but gave almost no clues as to where the remainder of the items actually were. Perhaps this was Conner’s biggest con of all.
When Brittany reached the Keating House, she entered without knocking to find a silent house, echoing with springtime light. Exhausted, she collapsed on the couch, curled up in a ball with the corners of an Afghan throw across her legs. When she awoke, hissed whispers vibrated out from the kitchen, proof that whoever was there wanted to keep things quiet for the sake of her sleep.
But after a moment of clearing her head, Brittany could make out the voices.
It was Evan and Nicole.
“You have to believe me, Nicole. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that I would never do anything to hurt your family,” Evan breathed. “I’ve been falling in love with you since the moment I met you. And that love has only grown more powerful with each passing day.”
“Stop, Evan...” Nicole sniffled, clearly distraught. “I no longer know how to trust anyone. I’m not sure if I’m up for something like this.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Evan demanded, taking a small step as though she had stabbed him in the chest.
“I’m saying that I don’t know if I physically or emotionally can believe you after everything I’ve been through,” Nicole breathed.
“Nicole. Please. I’m telling you the truth. The last thing I want is to hurt you or cause an issue with our relationship.”
There was a sudden creak from the bottom step of the staircase. Brittany pulled her head around to discover Heather, dressed in cozy pajamas and a thick pair of socks. She joined Brittany on the couch, cuddling close to her. Nicole’s sobs in the kitchen became muffled as she finally allowed Evan to hold her. Brittany’s stomach twisted with the longing to be understood half as well.
“I think he might be telling the truth,” Heather whispered. “Evan Snow, I mean. I know it’s a struggle for you to trust him. You’re probably right to be hesitant. But...”
“No. I think I do trust him,” Brittany returned. “I just don’t know what to do with that trust. He’s the closest thing between me, Conner, Elijah, and my stolen inventory.”
Brittany continued to explain the messages she’d received from members of the antique community, showing Heather the emails and the apologies and the offers to have them delivered back as soon as possible. As Heather read them over, Evan and a tear-soaked Nicole came out of the kitchen, holding hands. It seemed they would no longer pretend they were anything less than boyfriend and girlfriend.
“Nicole. You have to look at these,” Heather ordered, flashing Brittany’s phone toward her.
Together, Nicole and Evan read the emails, their brows furrowed. Brittany shivered anxiously, clasping her hands over her lap.
“You think this has Conner and Elijah all over it?” Nicole asked, lifting her eyes toward Brittany.
“Yes, especially after I found the tracker this afternoon,” Brittany returned.
“Where are all these places located?” Evan asked, circling his finger over the phone.
“You mean, where are the antique shops who reached out today?” Brittany asked. “I haven’t looked up all their locations yet.”
“Let’s do that,” Evan suggested, pulling out his own phone.
Brittany used her search function to investigate the addresses of the Brunswick-based antique dealer, followed by one in Scarborough, one in Biddeford, and another just north of Portland, in Falmouth. As Brittany recited the town names, Evan made little dots around the map of his own phone, which created a near-perfect circle around the city of Portland.
“Huh.” Evan showed Brittany this evidence. “I don’t think it’s crazy to think the rest of your pieces are somewhere in Portland.”
“Great,” Brittany sighed. “One of the biggest cities in Maine. I’m sure they’ll be easy to find.”
“There has to be a way,” Evan muttered, wracking his brain.
As the others studied the map and its maniacal red dots, Brittany dialed her divorce lawyer, Mary, for an added layer of security. She wanted to pin this guy down.
“Hi, Mary. Maybe this isn’t something you can answer. But I’m curious. Where is Conner’s divorce lawyer located? City wise, I mean.”
“Oh, he’s over in Portland,” Mary confirmed evenly. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Thanks a bunch, Mary.”
“Any time.”