Chapter
twenty

The next morning Zander drove past the employee lot behind The Giftery, confirmed that Carolyn’s car was parked there, then continued to Frank and Carolyn’s house. He let himself inside with the key that Frank had given him the day he’d moved in.

He found Frank’s phone charging on the desk in the home office.

Aurora padded into the room, her tail wagging and her homely dog face smiling.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He scratched her chin and then, when she rolled onto her back, obliged her by scratching her belly.

Sitting on the desk chair, he picked up the cell phone. Aurora pawed his pant leg. He ignored her. More insistent pawing.

“Come on up, then.” Since Aurora had the vertical jump of an elephant, he lifted her dead weight onto his lap.

Immediately, she rested her chin on the crook of his elbow and closed her eyes.

He brought Frank’s phone to life, then slowly tested his newest passcode theory.

Five. Six. Eight. Three.

With swift obedience, the phone unlocked.

Zander stared at it in astonishment.

No way.

LOVE had been Frank’s passcode.

His tiredness vanished. All other distractions fell away like a deck of cards from a child’s hands.

One of the app icons displayed on the phone belonged to Pacific Trust Bank. The rest of the apps looked like ones that had come preloaded onto the phone.

Zander tapped the Pacific Trust Bank icon. The app requested another password. This roadblock, he’d anticipated. He reached for the notepad on which Carolyn had jotted down all the passwords that she and Frank had ever used. The bank would no doubt demand a long password that contained a mix of numbers, uppercase and lowercase letters.

He scanned the list of known passwords, looking for one that matched those characteristics. The third one he tried, Frank&Caro1986, worked.

Account information filled the phone’s screen, and Zander released an amazed exhale. He scrolled through the list of withdrawals and deposits.

On the fifteenth day of every month, Frank’s employer deposited money into the account. On the first day of every month, a company called The Residences withdrew money from the account. The deposit from his employer and the withdrawals to The Residences were set to trigger automatically. Scattered between those two static transactions, Frank paid utility bills. Because Frank had steadily deposited more than he’d paid out, he’d built up a five-thousand-dollar balance.

Zander tapped on the hyperlink for The Residences. The app provided a phone number and an address in Olympia, Washington.

He memorized both.

Carefully, he placed Frank’s phone on the desk, as if rattling it might cause the clue to disappear. He picked up his own phone and ran a search for The Residences.

The seven-story apartment building gave the impression of modern solidity. According to The Residences home page, it had opened its doors eight years before.

He returned his attention to Frank’s phone and checked the date of the first rent payment Frank had made to The Residences. Eight years ago. In fact, that was the first payment he’d ever made via mobile banking using this bank account.

Assuming Frank had moved Young Woman at Rest to The Residences eight years ago, Zander had no way of knowing where he’d kept it prior to that time. Wherever it had been, Frank hadn’t paid for storage or rent fees via mobile banking.

How could he pinpoint Frank’s apartment number?

Frank must’ve been receiving rent and utility bills either via his mailbox at The Residences or via his email inbox. Or both.

Zander launched the email app. Sure enough, he found a row of bills inside the inbox. He opened the most recent statement from the electric company and—there.

Right at the top of the bill, it listed Frank’s address. 4030 Oak Fern Way, #618, Olympia, Washington.

Zander stared at the address until it blurred.

The top desk drawer released an accusing creak as Zander opened it. Since Frank’s death, Carolyn had kept many of his personal items here. His wallet. His business cards. His keys. His other phone, the non-secret one. The spare change he’d left on the kitchen counter the last time he’d been at the house.

Zander scooped up Frank’s keys. Nothing about the ordinary split ring holding several plain keys would arouse anyone’s interest. Yet, Zander would bet that this ring held the key to Frank’s apartment at The Residences. If anyone questioned Frank about that particular key, it would have been easy for Frank to shrug and say the key had been there so long that he’d forgotten what it opened.

Zander went to the back door, let Aurora out, then stood on the stoop. Should he take the keys without saying anything to Carolyn? Or should he ask to borrow them?

He had no idea how often she went through Frank’s things. If he took the keys without telling her and she realized they were missing, she’d go into a panic, and he’d have to backpedal. Better to tell her. He’d say he planned to take the keys to a friend to see if the friend could give him information about them.

He hated lying to her. But since lying might protect her, he’d lie.

Aurora returned. She sat and peered up at him with a combination of kindness and disapproval, as if she could read his mind.

He’d take Frank’s cell phone, too. LOVE was not an extremely tricky four-letter word. It had evaded him for days, but now that he’d hit on it, it seemed almost elementary. Carolyn could come home from work tonight and figure it out. It was only a matter of time before Britt did.

At this point, he didn’t want either of them to know about The Residences. The meeting with Emerson had confirmed that there might be others—maybe several others and maybe dangerous others—who were aware that Frank possessed Young Woman at Rest. Until the FBI arrived, knowledge about Frank’s apartment in Olympia could do nothing for Carolyn or Britt except endanger them.

He stuffed Frank’s phone and keys into his sweat shirt pocket, filled Aurora’s water dish, then locked the door behind him on his way to his car.

He sat behind the wheel in silence, searching the view for Emerson or any other suspicious person or vehicle. He saw nothing unusual. Even so, he could very well be under surveillance, and the information he’d just learned felt like it was flashing from him like the lights on top of a police car.

He drove a few miles, then parked in a lot adjacent to a busy restaurant.

He texted Carolyn, asking to borrow Frank’s phone and keys and giving his reasons why.

In under a minute, Carolyn replied that he was welcome to borrow Frank’s phone and keys.

Zander dialed Jennifer Delacruz, the FBI agent he’d spoken with on the phone after meeting with Emerson. He explained that he may have discovered the location of the painting. She informed him that she was currently on assignment in Georgia. However, she and her partner would shoot to arrive in Washington in four days’ time to follow up on his lead.

After they disconnected, Zander eyed Frank’s keys, resting in the Jeep’s cupholder.

He had an address. And he had keys.

For more than eight weeks, he’d been searching for information. Now that he’d finally obtained it, he was almost desperate to act on it.

He wouldn’t act on it, though.

It was smartest to wait until Agent Delacruz arrived and let her take over the case.

He returned to the Inn at Bradfordwood and sat at the desk in his room. However, he didn’t even open his laptop. After staring out the window for countless minutes, he scoured through Frank’s phone. He checked its browsing history—none. He checked its phone contacts—none. No recent calls to or from the phone.

The drive to Olympia would only take forty minutes. He needed to be free by two, when Britt got off work, because they were going out on the Bradford family sailboat with her mom and dad this afternoon.

He had plenty of time to drive to Olympia, try Frank’s keys on #618 at The Residences, and return to Merryweather without tipping off Britt.

No.

He’d wait for the FBI.

That afternoon, he did his level best to behave as if his mind was fully present. Britt’s parents bought it, but Britt did not.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in the car on the way back to the Hackberry Lane Cottages. “Something’s bothering you. You’re distracted.”

“Sorry. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about the painting.”

The next day, his nerves stretched tighter and tighter. Questions about the mysterious interior of #618 consumed his thoughts.

Again that night, Britt asked him what was wrong. Again, he blamed his preoccupation on the painting.

He tried to eat breakfast at the inn the next morning and couldn’t manage it.

What if the apartment in Olympia stood empty? Even if Frank had been storing the painting at The Residences, it’s possible that Emerson’s reappearance in his life had changed everything. Maybe Frank had moved the painting. Or maybe he’d sold it? Or perhaps, in the days since Zander and Britt had met with Emerson, Emerson had located the painting and removed it from #618.

What if the FBI agents flew to Washington based on the strength of his tip and found nothing? No painting? No evidence?

The prospect of wasting their time and money settled over him like a dark fog. If he drove to Olympia and checked the apartment, he’d be far better informed. He’d know whether his information merited a visit by the FBI.

Through the inn’s front windows, Zander caught sight of Clint’s truck approaching. No doubt, Clint would let Zander swap cars with him for the day.

If someone was tailing Zander, they’d be waiting and watching for his Jeep. If they were following his movements remotely through a tracking device, that device would be connected to the Jeep. He could drive Clint’s truck to Olympia undetected—

No. He shouldn’t go.

He was going to have to go. He couldn’t stand to sit on the address of Frank’s apartment at The Residences for another minute.

He rose from the dining room table, his face settling into resolute lines, and went in search of Clint.

Britt entered The Giftery carrying a large cardboard box containing the shop’s most recent chocolate order.

“Britt!” Carolyn hurried to hold open the door leading to the shop’s storage space.

Britt passed by her, set the box on the work table within, and hugged Carolyn. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.”

They returned to the retail area, where a husband and wife were studying the folk art display and a twenty-something woman was perusing bath products.

“How’s everything going with Zander?” Bashful interest shone in the older woman’s eyes. Britt knew she was really asking—“Is your romance with my nephew blissful? Yes? I hope?”

Without exception, Britt’s friends and relatives had been thrilled to learn that she was dating Zander. They’d said things like, “Finally!” and “It’s about time!” and “You two are meant to be together.”

Carolyn had been among the happiest when greeted with the news. Britt supposed this was because she understood better than most the solitary state of Zander’s heart.

“Everything’s going great,” Britt answered honestly. If there was one thing that was less than ideal about dating Zander, it was the fact that she couldn’t be with him twenty-four hours a day. “How are you?” she asked Carolyn.

“I’m hanging in there.”

Sorrow shrouded Carolyn. However, she no longer had the drawn, pale look of a person who had a knife pressing against her ribs.

“Has Zander’s friend been able to find out anything about Frank’s keys or phone?” Carolyn asked.

Britt wrinkled her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”

“No?”

“No.”

Carolyn’s hands made a fluttery movement just anxious enough to reveal that she believed she’d told Britt something she shouldn’t have. “Oh well. It’s no big deal. I’m sure he just forgot to mention it.”

“Zander delivered Frank’s keys and phone to a friend of his?”

“Yes, two days ago. I guess his friend is knowledgeable about phones . . . and keys. I’ve been hoping something good might come out of it.”

“Wonderful,” Britt said brightly. “I’m hopeful, too. Fingers crossed!” She headed to the door, explaining as she went that she had to get back to Sweet Art, but that she’d see Carolyn again soon.

Once out of sight of The Giftery’s windows, she came to a halt. Placing her hands on her hips, she frowned at the sidewalk.

Two days ago Zander had taken Frank’s keys and cell phone. He’d said nothing about it to her. Unfortunately, she didn’t believe he’d said nothing because he’d forgotten to mention it, as Carolyn had suggested.

He’d deliberately remained silent on the subject.

For the past two days, he’d been distracted. Every time she’d asked him why, he’d said he was worried about the painting. She’d accepted that answer because he was her boyfriend and because concern wasn’t out of character for him. Also because she trusted him.

Her thoughts ticked like a clock.

Zander definitely did not have a friend with supernatural knowledge about keys and phones. If he had, he would have told her so. He would have taken Frank’s keys and phone to his friend weeks ago.

Had Zander figured out the passcode to Frank’s cell phone?

Surely, surely, he would have told her if he had.

But if he still didn’t know the passcode, why did he have a sudden need of Frank’s keys? He’d only need the keys if he’d learned of a house or a storage locker or an apartment that needed opening.

The most likely possibility . . . Let this not be true. The most likely possibility was that he’d figured out the passcode, searched the information on Frank’s phone, and learned of a potential location for the painting.

Her stomach give a sickening lurch. She didn’t want to believe that Zander would cut her out of something that had been their joint project.

Except he himself had admitted to her that he was overly protective of her. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine that he’d cut her out in an attempt to keep her safe.

He’d also admitted to her that he loved her. But now he was treating her as if she wasn’t worthy of so much as a discussion about the painting’s location. As if he couldn’t rely on her to protect sensitive information. As if she were a child he had to make decisions for.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and speed-dialed his number.

Phone call from Britt to Zander:

Zander:	Hello?
Britt:	Hey, I just saw your aunt Carolyn when I was dropping off chocolate at her store, and she told me that you took Frank’s cell phone and keys to a friend of yours a few days ago.
Zander:	Yeah, I did.
Britt:	You didn’t tell me about this development.
Zander:	I didn’t? I meant to. It’s hard for me to think straight when I’m around you. You look at me, and my brain goes blank.
Britt:	Who is this friend?
Zander:	A guy named Ryan who I used to work with.
Britt:	You’ve never mentioned him before.
Zander:	He wasn’t a close friend. I know him well enough to know that he’s a genius with phones, though. I thought maybe he could figure out a way to hack into Frank’s phone without compromising any of the contents.
Britt:	And he’s also a genius with keys?
Zander:	More so than I am. Since we’re stuck, it seemed like it might be helpful to let someone with fresh eyes take a look.
Britt:	Are you at the inn, writing?
Zander:	Yep.
Britt:	Okay, got to go. I’ll see you later.