SEVENTY-FOUR

MATT and I stayed quiet until Fontana left the restaurant. He appeared to be in a hurry, and we knew how to find him—along with the stolen jewel he’d apparently just purchased.

But Monica was another matter.

Suspecting her of attempted murder, as well as grand theft, we confronted her on 1st Street.

“We’re going to have a long talk in the back of our coffee van,” I told her, taking hold of one arm while Matt took the other. “And you’re going to answer every one of our questions. Or we’re driving you straight to the Sixth Precinct and you can answer official questions after a night in jail.”

The young woman was clearly in a panic, sputtering over and over that we “got it all wrong.”

“Okay,” I said, as Matt slammed the van doors shut. “Then tell us how to get it right.”

“What I sold to Victor isn’t real! It’s a facsimile! Two months ago, Victor met with Gus and asked him to make a replica of the Eye of the Cat, using synthetic diamonds. Victor offered plenty of money, but Gus turned him down.”

“So how did you get involved?”

“I followed Victor out to his car and told him I could do it. So he hired me. It’s that simple.”

Matt folded his arms. “You expect us to believe you were capable of imitating the famous Campana cut, and creating an identical copy of a world-famous piece like the Eye?”

“Yes! I have the skills Gus taught me. He’s been mentoring me for five years. He knew, from the start, that Sophia didn’t like me—and after he’s gone, she’ll inherit the whole business, and will probably fire me. Gus wanted to make sure I was good enough to start my own business on the West Coast—that’s my dream.”

“Why did he care so much about you?” I hated to ask the next question, given their age differences, but . . . “Monica, are you having an affair with Gus Campana?”

“Of course not! It was my mother who had the affair, twenty-two years ago.”

“You mean to say—”

“Gus is my father. And before you ask, Sophia and Perla don’t know. Gus and I both wanted it that way. I’m just happy he was willing to bring me into the business when I was barely seventeen. He’s treated me dearly and taught me a lot.”

“Then why did you run away the day he was poisoned?”

“Gus let everyone go early, and I pretended to get my things together and leave with them. But I lagged behind the others and snuck up the back stairs into the workshop, so I could finish my Eye facsimile . . .”

How could I have missed that? I thought.

Then I remembered how rushed Sophia and I were when we reviewed the security camera footage. After seeing Gus dismiss his staff, we watched the employees exit the store in a bunch. But we never counted heads—never actually saw Monica leave.

“When the alarm went off that day, I thought I’d triggered it. We have night motion detectors, and I convinced myself I’d tripped one. I ran because Gus didn’t know I was working on the copy, and I didn’t want him to be angry with me.”

“And you expect us to believe you didn’t poison Gus?” Matt said. “He had an affair with your mother, never married her, and won’t even come clean about your identity!”

“I would never harm Gus! Never! And I’m not upset in the least with how he became my father. Years ago, my mother was divorced and miserable. Gus had lost his wife and was lonely. My mom went to Gus for an appraisal of jewels her ex-husband had given her. They became lovers. I was the result.”

“But he never married her?” I pressed.

“Gus proposed, but my mother didn’t want to marry again, or stay in New York. She took me to California, where she’d been born and raised. When I found out Gus was my father, I contacted him. I had zero interest in college, or my mother’s real estate business, so he and Mom agreed I’d come to New York and apprentice in his shop. I’m grateful to him . . . and I love him.”

“Then who do you think poisoned him?”

“Hunter Rolf, obviously! And that’s what I told the police when they came to interview the staff early this morning. I told them I was in the workshop when Hunter came and went. I witnessed his visit. The only thing I can’t figure is how he did it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gus was poisoned with beryllium salts.”

“How do you know that?” Matt asked.

“The police detectives told me. They wanted to know if it was on the premises, and I told them that it was. And there is no way you could drink that by accident. It would burn and taste awful. I’m sickened by the idea that Hunter forced Gus to drink it—or even knocked him out somehow and inserted a tube down his throat.”

I shook my head at her theory. “I don’t believe Hunter poisoned Gus.”

“But Hunter was there that day. And I know Gus never got along with him, especially lately with Sophia convinced he was cheating on her.”

“He wasn’t. And Hunter’s visit was to repair the damage of misunderstandings they’ve had.”

“Then who else could have done it?”

When I considered everything I’d learned today, including Monica’s statement, I came to a firm conclusion. A sad one. But now wasn’t the time to reveal it.

“Let’s get back to the Eye of the Cat,” I said. “By now, you must know it was never lost, that Gus had been hiding it all these years. Did you know he was being blackmailed?”

Monica nodded. “Gus confided in me that he was paying off a terrible man to keep him out of our lives. That’s all I know.”

I described the blackmailer in the white suit. “Did you ever see this man? And do you know his name?”

“I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him visit Gus a few times in the last week. They always argued in Italian.”

“Did you understand any of it?”

“Every word. They fought about money. The man kept demanding that Gus ‘sell it’ and split the profits. I asked what ‘it’ was, and that’s when he told me the Eye of the Cat was never lost. He said Sophia—and you, Matt—were named as its trustees. Gus also said that he didn’t want you or Sophia or any of us to be harassed by this jerk. He said, ‘I’m going to take care of this man for good and forever.’”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He was enraged when he said it. I think Gus was willing to kill if he had to.”

“I have no doubt he was . . . and attempted it,” I added under my breath. “Monica, do you have any idea where we can find this blackmailer?”

“Only tonight. He told Gus he was going to the ‘Survivors’ party on the new Andrea Doria. He wanted Gus to attend with him since he was also one of the shipwreck’s survivors. He said they should work out their differences and make a deal. Gus told him to go have sex with himself . . . in Italian.”

“So the new Andrea Doria is here in New York?” As I asked the question, Matt jumped in—

“She came in last night. I saw her from my warehouse this morning. She’s docked at Pier 12, the Brooklyn Cruise Terminal.”

Monica nodded. “Victor was thrilled I finished my work on the Eye in time for his party. He’s putting it on display—marked clearly as a facsimile—with a series of video clips showing deep-sea divers who’ve searched the shipwreck looking for it over the years.”

Before Matt and I parted ways with Monica, she had a final warning. “I told Victor already. But you should know, too, so you see it coming.”

“See what coming?”

“That awful blackmailer swore that if Gus refused to make a deal, he was going to ‘tell the truth’ at tonight’s party. He said the story would make a big bestseller or even a movie—and he’d get his money that way.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does he plan to do?”

“He’s going to make a scene and announce some kind of shocking truth about ‘the real’ Gus Campana and what happened to him on the night the first Andrea Doria sank.”

After Monica left, I turned to Matt. “Tonight’s party is our best lead at finding your mother. Can we get in?”

“It’s a strict guest list. It’s really a PR event to show off the ship to the press and media. Survivors of the first Andrea Doria are supposed to share their memories of the night it sank. Fontana’s also inviting the mayor, the governors of New York and New Jersey, and a boatload of VIPs.”

“If it’s that exclusive, how can we possibly crash it?”

“Easy. I have an official invitation. With Mother missing, I was going to skip attending. But if that blackmailer’s going to be there, and we can nail him, I’m all for it.”

“Good.”

“Clare, what was that bit about Gus you said to Monica?”

“What bit?”

“You said you had no doubt Gus was willing to kill—and attempted it. I heard that last part, under your breath. So who did he try to kill? The person who poisoned him?”

“Yes, and they’re the same person.”

“Who?”

“Matt, given all that we’ve learned about the blackmailer’s threats, the nature of the poison, and the fact that Gus knew he was dying of cancer, I believe Gus Campana poisoned himself.”

For a silent minute, my ex-husband looked stricken.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But we did get to him in time. And he still may recover. You need to focus on that—and finding your mother.” I checked my watch. “We have to get to that party, and the clock is ticking. Does your invitation allow you to bring a plus-one?”

“Only by name. You’ll have to pretend to be her.”

“Her?” It took me a second to figure it out. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“There’s got to be another way. Can’t you explain that your marital partner couldn’t make it, and you brought your business partner instead?”

“Sorry, it’s a nontransferable invitation. It’s also a press event, and they invited Breanne because she’s the head of Trend magazine.”

“But—”

“Look, Clare, I need your help tonight. And I don’t want to risk them not admitting you. So get ready to impersonate you favorite editor in chief . . . Please?”

I considered my short-notice bag of tricks and took a deep breath. “Fine. If an insufferable fashionista is what they want, that’s what they’re going to get.”