TWENTY-FOUR

For a minute all I could do was stare at the dark-haired woman before me. She looked almost exactly as she did in Ollie’s photograph, only better, darn her. Even with pale skin and dark circles beneath worried eyes, she still looked as if she’d stepped right out of the pages of Vogue magazine in the tight black jeans and simple purple turtleneck she wore.

Finally I found my voice. “You’re Angelique Martone,” I said. “Or I guess I should call you Alexa Martin, right? How did you get in here?”

Her lips curved in a wistful expression. “Angelique, Alexa . . . there are days when I am not sure just who I am anymore. As for how I got in here . . . I’m pretty good with locks.”

“A man named Bronson Pichard tells me you’re the person who can shed some light on Nick Atkins’s disappearance.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Nick is still missing?”

“I think you know he is.”

Nick, who’d been busy sniffing the other cat, turned suddenly to face Alexa. His back arched, his lips peeled back, and he let out the mother of all hisses.

Alexa nodded toward the cats. “He is Nick’s cat, right? Sherlock?”

I nodded. “His name is Nick now.” At her startled look I added, “I named him that before I knew who his owner was.”

She let out a low laugh. “The cat never really warmed up to me, which is a shame, since I’m an animal lover. I think he knew I was lying to his owner, but I had my reasons.”

“He is a very perceptive cat. You lied about your identity, right? Because you knew Nick had been hired by Violet to find you?”

“I lied about my identity, but not because I was trying to hide from my aunt. Had I known she was the least bit interested in finding me . . . who am I kidding? It wouldn’t have changed anything. I had to be thought missing, or better yet, dead, not only for my safety but for anyone connected with me.” She took a step closer to me, Nick hissed again, and she stepped back. “You took the stone from the hotel room, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “That’s what they ran me off the road for, and ransacked my apartment hoping to find, isn’t it? There’s something about this stone that’s very special. Would it have anything to do with the laser writing etched in it?”

Her eyes held a gleam of admiration. “Doris was right about you. You are smart. We can help each other, Nora.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I’d say right now you need my help more than I need yours.”

Her lips slashed into a thin line. “I did not kill Doris. She was my friend, probably the only true one I’ve ever had.”

I nodded. “I believe you. However, the police will be a different matter. Several people, myself included, heard you arguing with her the night of the gala.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and pushed the back of her hand through her thick, luxuriant black tresses. “That is because she was so stubborn. She insisted she could handle things on her own. She didn’t want me to help her.”

“Because you were supposed to be missing or dead, right?”

“If it was revealed that I was indeed alive, then it would have put us both in a very precarious position.”

“Because you stole that red stone.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

We stood for a moment or two in silence, which I broke with a light cough. “We’re talking in circles here, and not really getting anywhere.”

“This is true.” Her gaze softened as she looked at me. “You wish to learn the truth about Nick Atkins and the reason why he disappeared. Pichard was correct. It is possible I might be able to help.”

I leaned toward her. “You know where he is?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say that. I can tell you what I know about Nick, and why I think he might have wanted to drop out of sight, but that’s about all I can do.” She paused. “I will need something from you first.”

I should have seen that coming. “What is it you want?”

“I need your detective skills to help me clear my name in Daisy’s murder, and bring a dangerous criminal to justice.”

“Is that all? Would you like me to whip you up a sandwich, too?”

“It’s a very serious matter, Nora. You can ask your friend Daniel. He appreciates the gravity of the situation.”

Even though I’d suspected Daniel was acquainted with Alexa, hearing it confirmed still surprised me. “So the FBI’s involved in all this?” When she didn’t answer I added, “I know Doris was a reporter, working on some sort of story that concerned international espionage.”

Alexa nodded. “That is true. These people are very dangerous, make no mistake.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I was up against someone dangerous.”

Her lips slashed a thin line. “Not like this. I have nothing to offer you, Nora, except the little I can tell you about Nick. I would ask much more of you in return.”

I managed a small smile. “Let me be the judge of that.”

*   *   *

I made a strong pot of coffee and then Alexa and I sat down at my kitchen table. I put out two big bowls of Friskies for the cats; Alexa’s cat hunched over her bowl and gobbled hungrily. Nick pecked at his and then he moved off to squat in front of my stove, his sharp golden gaze trained on us. For Nick to abandon his food bowl, he must sense something big in the wind.

Alexa took a sip of coffee and nodded at him. “Your protector.”

I looked at the cat fondly. “You can say that again. He’s saved my life more than once.”

“You are lucky.” Alexa cast a glance at her own cat. “Valentina is a good companion, but at the first hint of danger . . . well, let’s just say she gives new meaning to the phrase scaredy cat.”

I laughed. “Nick’s just the opposite. He runs toward guns, not away from them.” I sobered and cupped my mug in my palms. “Okay, enough small talk. It’s time you had the floor. Why is that stone so valuable that people want to kill over it?”

Alexa set her mug down and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not sure how much you know about my past.”

“I know your father was estranged from his sister, Violet, and he raised you after your mother died.”

She nodded. “My father never married my mother, but it wasn’t because he never asked. She just could never bring herself to marry . . . a thief. That was what my father did best, you know, and it’s true what they say . . . genes will out. I discovered at a very young age that I’d inherited his talent—I have very nimble fingers.” She held out her hand and flexed the digits in front of me. “My mother would have had a stroke if she knew just how much like my father I was. It started out with small things—a pack of gum here, a candy bar there—but as I grew older, I discovered a way to get the pretty things we couldn’t afford. Nice underwear, angora sweaters, pretty dresses . . . it came easily to me. Too easily.

“The worst was when I stole a diamond bracelet from a local jeweler. Just my luck, they’d installed new video cameras that day I wasn’t aware of. They had me on tape, and the only thing that saved my indiscretion from going public was the fact I was still under eighteen. I was living with my father by then, and he was appalled—although I can’t help but feel there was a little part of him that was actually proud I’d inherited some talent of his. Anyway, the records were sealed by the court, I did some community service, and then—my father got sick. In the meantime, I’d decided to turn over a new leaf, and I went to college. I studied Art History, because I also had a talent for drawing and I’d always loved to look at the paintings and sculptures by the masters. I thought I could get my degree, maybe get a museum job as a docent, eventually work my way up, and someday, maybe, my own paintings or sculptures might be on display somewhere. I was a year away from graduation when Dad died—and then Doris called me.

“I’d met Doris two years ago at a Zeta Tau Alpha fund-raiser. We had a mutual love of art and hit it off right away. Doris was more interested in journalism, though, and she’d received an offer to study abroad and attend school in London while working at the Meecham Foundation. Anyway, two days after my father passed away I got a call from her. She wanted to know if I could come to London. She’d see to it that I got a job at Meecham—if I helped her out with a story she was writing. I asked for details, but she was adamant: I had to go to London first, and she’d fill me in later. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance. I was being given an opportunity for a fresh start, in an entirely new country where no one knew of me or my past. I cleaned out my accounts and was on the next flight out of the USA.

“I took the job with Meecham, and I have to say, at first I was disappointed. It consisted of writing articles and categorizing exhibits—really boring stuff. Doris worked from home on other projects—I later found out she wanted it that way because she was holding down two jobs at the same time. Anyway, I’d just about decided to give up the job and go back to the States and finish college when Sir Rodney brought in the grimoire.

“At first glance, you’d wonder just what was so special about it. I know I did. It looked like any other old book. The silver scrolling on the cover was pretty nice, but the jewels weren’t anything to write home about—and I know a thing or two about jewels. As a matter of fact, it didn’t take me long to realize the jewels on its cover weren’t real. I thought about bringing it to someone’s attention, but that would entail my explaining just how I was so expert in the field of jewelry—so I confided it to Doris. She got so excited, I thought she was going to have a heart attack right on the spot. Then, a few days later, she started asking me for details—how I knew they weren’t real, what looked different about them, yada yada. She made such a fuss I told her that maybe I should mention something to Sir Meecham, and that’s when she took me into her confidence. She admitted that the reason she’d called me to England and gotten me a job with Meecham was the grimoire. She’d wanted my opinion on the jewels, because it bore out what a source of hers had told her weeks before. The grimoire was being used as a tool to smuggle a valuable formula to a foreign power. Or rather, the jewels in its cover were.”

I set down my cup and leaned forward. “So it wasn’t just the red stone? They all have writing in them?”

Alexa nodded. “The jewels are really all a formula for a highly sophisticated nerve gas. According to Doris’s source, there was a contact within the Meecham Foundation who secretly worked for an undercover organization, and they intended to switch the stones and transport them to a lab in the United States. So Doris hit upon an idea. She wanted me to steal the stones first.”

My eyes flew open. “Good Lord. Talk about a nutty, dangerous idea!”

Alexa chuckled. “Yes, in hindsight it did have a lot of flaws. Doris, however, saw an opportunity to impress her contact and get a Pulitzer Prize–winning front-page story. She talked me into breaking into the foundation and taking the stones.” She paused. “What we didn’t count on was someone else breaking in on the same night, with the same idea.”

My eyebrows rose. “So someone else was there to steal the stones?”

“Apparently there was someone else involved, besides the mole in Meecham, who also wanted the stones to sell to a different foreign power. Lord only knows what might have happened if the guard had not come in when he did. I managed to get away with the red stone, but I was shot in the side, and I ended up taking a header out the window. Fortunately Doris was there and she came to my aid. I woke up in a hospital two days later. Turns out the bullet had only grazed my side, but I’d suffered a mild concussion, two broken ribs, and a broken wrist from the fall.” Her lips twisted into a rueful grin. “When I was in college a friend of mine was drunk and fell off the roof of the sorority house. She suffered similar injuries. The doctor said it was because her whole body had gone limp when she fell. Thank God that was what happened to me.” She let out a breath. “After that we both decided that it was best for Alexa Martin to disappear. She feared whoever was involved at Meecham could easily uncover my past and put two and two together. I vanished, changed my appearance and my name, and took a flight back to America a week later. I settled in Carmel, got a part-time job in a bar. That’s how I met Nick.”

“And the other stones?”

“They remained untouched in the grimoire until the night of the gala. Someone switched them.”

I nodded, remembering I’d thought the stones had looked different in the photograph. “And of course they realized they were missing one.”

“I believe they knew that going in, and suspected Doris of having it. I think that’s why she was killed.”

“Do you have any theories on who the inside person might be.”

“Doris was fairly certain Reynaud was involved. Even though the man’s past looks excellent on paper, Doris recently was able to uncover the fact he contributed a good amount of funds to an underground group suspected of terrorism.”

“What were you two arguing about the night of the gala? I was outside the kitchen and heard you. I remember she said something about you being in danger.”

“She was pretty sure that Reynaud overheard Violet tell Nan about asking you to find out what happened to her niece. She felt Reynaud knew I was alive, and that I had the stone. She feared for my safety, as I feared for hers.”

“What did she want you to do that night?”

“She wanted me to steal the remaining stones. She’d worked out a plan to lure the guard away from his post so that I could slip in and switch them.”

“Sending him a text from his superior?” I nibbled at my lower lip. If that were the case, she must have been killed immediately afterward.

“I am not sure how she intended to distract the guard, but at the last minute, she told me to abort the plan. She’d discovered something—she wouldn’t tell me what—that led her to believe someone else was involved, and it might not be Reynaud after all. She said she didn’t want to move forward until she was certain.”

“And you have no idea what she might have found out that changed her mind?”

“No. She said it was too dangerous and the less I knew, the better.” She gave a short laugh. “I got mad and pushed her and threw my cape at her. I was horrified when I found out there was a red cape wrapped around her body.”

“Doris was strangled with a red scarf—were you wearing one? I couldn’t remember.”

Alexa shook her head. “No. Anyway, I did not kill her, no matter what the police will think.”

“I believe you. Did you happen to drop anything in the corridor behind the kitchen that night? A small purple stone?” When Alexa shook her head, I added, “I found one lying there when I was looking for you and Doris. Then I got conked on the head myself. Right before I blacked out, someone whispered, ‘Watch your step, Red. You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you.’ Shortly after, I realized the stone was missing. I wasn’t sure if I’d just lost it or if whoever knocked me out took it.”

“As far as I know, the only stones of any value are the red, green, and blue ones. I know nothing about a purple stone. It would make more sense that in your red cape, you were mistaken for me.”

I got up, went into the den, and returned with the pouch. I pulled out the stone and slip of paper and laid them in front of Alexa. “This was in the pouch with the red stone. Do you recognize the numbers on that paper?”

She picked it up and studied it. “It could be a numeric code,” she said at last. “I am not very good at cracking them, however.”

“I’ve recently gotten a crash course in just that subject.” I scraped my chair back, got a pad and pen from one of the drawers, and sat back down. I wrote out each letter of the alphabet, and then at the top of the page wrote down the numbers:

318 4181516.

Following Mollie’s method, the numeric message now became:

CAH DROP.

Alexa wrinkled her nose. “That makes no sense, does it? What is a cah drop?”

I sighed. “I have no idea.” I stared at the paper for another minute or two, and then something clicked in my head. I looked up at Alexa excitedly. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Maybe it’s not a code at all. Maybe it’s something much simpler—like a phone number. Geez, I should have thought of that right away! Dummy!” I gave my forehead a resounding slap.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Alexa said. “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the most overlooked one.”

“True.” I pointed to the first group of numbers. “318 could be an area code.”

“There are enough numbers in the sequence it could be a phone number,” Alexa agreed. “318-418-1516. I wonder if it is.”

“One way to find out.”

I went into the den, returning a few seconds later with my cell phone. I punched in the number and hit the speaker button. A few seconds later we heard, “Monroe Homicide.”

“Sorry, I dialed wrong,” I murmured and disconnected. “Why would Doris have put the Monroe Homicide’s number in with the stone?”

“To hide it? She must have had a reason.”

Something clawed at the edge of my consciousness, some memory that wouldn’t break free. I looked at Alexa. “Let’s go downstairs. I have the gala photos in the shop. I want to go over them again. I have a feeling the answer to all this is somewhere in those pictures.”

I locked the stone back in my desk, slid my phone into my pocket, and then Alexa and I went back down the stairs and into Hot Bread, Nick following close behind. The gala pictures were still where I’d thrown them when Nick went wild, on the back table. I motioned for Alexa to sit down and then I handed her a stack of photos. “Look these over.”

“Sure. What am I looking for, exactly?”

I bit down on my lower lip. “That’s the devil of it. I’m not sure exactly. I’m hoping something will just hit me when I see it.”

I thumbed through the pictures in front of me, and suddenly there it was, staring me right in the face. I picked the photo up, peered at it closely, and then suddenly it made sense. Crazy sense, maybe, but . . . sense. I held the photo out toward Nick.

Nick glanced at it, then let out a loud yowl.

“I’m glad you agree,” I said.

Alexa looked at me sharply. “You’ve found something?”

I nodded slowly. “I think I’ve figured out who the person is who wants the stone, and who killed Doris . . . Now I just need to find a way to prove it.”

A muffled thunk from the front of the shop made me pause.

“What was that?”

“It sounds as if something fell,” said Alexa, but I put a finger to my lips. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, but all remained quiet.

“I guess it was nothing,” I began, and then paused again as the bell over the front door gave a quick jingle and then stopped, almost as if a hand had clamped it to prevent making any more noise. A second later we both heard an unmistakable creak, and our eyes locked.

Someone else was in the shop.