Fatal Forgeries Page 10

  “Go to your room and call me back, so we can talk in privacy.”

  “Right.” I ran for the elevator, then paced that small area as I waited for a car. Nothing about her statement made me feel the least optimistic.

  On my floor, the key opened the door and I hit redial simultaneously, letting the door thunk behind me as the lock reengaged.

  “You can talk?” she greeted me.

  “Did you find something?” My patience level sat at zero.

  “On one of the bulletin boards, yes. It’s kind of a goofy board where people post really whimsical stuff as they’re also asking for information. I think they try to outdo each other sometimes on the nerd-comedy end. Anyway, I just saw the username GorgeousGeek—all one word. It’s one I’ve seen Nico use before.”

  The nickname I gave him. Of course.

  Cassie continued, “The message said, ‘Floating the river with my amigos. Comfortably working on my base tan.’ Then it says he’s looking for a bunch of coding stuff that I don’t understand, but I figure it’s the way he got someone to let him use the bulletin board. And why did he write the Spanish word for friend instead of the Italian amico?”

  “Because he’s tipping us off that he is not with friends. Floating the river signifies the Rhine River.”

  “He’s not going to be sunbathing this time of year.”

  “No, he’s not literally on the river. He’s telling us how to find him.” I scooped my tablet off the desk and used one hand to pull up a map of the region around the Rhine. “He’s trying to tell us his location. It must be a place that starts like either the words base or tan. Just a minute.” I traced the river with my finger. “Okay, my guess is he’s in Basel, or he knows they’re taking him there since he’d still be en route unless they flew. It fits the best. And ‘comfortably’ tells me he isn’t feeling like he’s in immediate danger.”

  “You don’t think he’s switched sides?” Cassie asked.

  “No. Bite your tongue. He’s saying he’s being treated well enough. Not harmed.”

  “Wow. You guys have this whole secret code thing, huh?”

  I smiled. We’d employed the method off and on through the years. Not just when we needed to alert the other about danger, but when we were trying to keep our communications confidential from Max and others. Simon was someone who knew we used it but didn’t have the key, so never knew what anything meant. Or even when we were talking in code.

  “Yeah, we’ve used this before as needed. It’s pretty simple, so we won’t forget. But effective. Are there any symbols coming after the coding stuff he’s asking about? Especially symbols that are duplicated?”

  “Three plus signs are separated from the rest of the message by several spaces, followed by three pound signs. But the repeated pound signs just denote it’s the end of the message, right?”

  “No, the hashtags say to hold back. He might already have an idea for escape. At least I hope that’s what he means. The three plus signs are good because it tells me he thinks he can keep in communication with us this way.”

  “So I should keep an eye on this bulletin board?”

  “Yes. Send me the link and I’ll watch it too. I don’t think we’ll get regular messages from him, but maybe he can let us know for sure how many people are holding him and give a specific location.”

  A sigh filtered over the line. “I wish you could talk to Jack.”

  Like I hadn’t already wished the same thing. Aloud, I said, “I’ll contact Whatley again if any message sounds stressed, but otherwise, I think we’re left with Nico calling the shots.”

  “What do you mean call Whatley again?”

  Oops. “Nothing. Just call him. Like I have before.”

  “And you’ve talked to Leif?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see him soon.” Like Tuesday.

  Cassie sighed again. “Okay, if you think Nico has things under control, I guess I’ll just keep an eye on this board.”

  “I know you’re concerned. I am too. But there’s no way Nico would have shared that code with anyone, so the message must be valid. As hard as it is, we need to trust him to know what he’s doing. We could mess things up by acting rashly.”

  “But what is he doing?”

  God only knows, I thought. “I imagine he’s trying to get intel on Ermo Colle’s organization. This kidnapping has to be Colle’s work.”

  “Why not Rollie or Moran?”

  Because I had another person try to kidnap me today, and because I think two others watched me in the hotel lobby soon after, I thought. It was the kind of tag-team approach Ermo Colle employed when Jack and I were in Rome and Germany. And when Moran’s watchers paid attention to who was watching us along the same route, they reported how many different people followed us at each juncture. Obsession overkill.

  However, I couldn’t have her thinking I was going to disappear any second, and one hint of what transpired in the afternoon would send her spiraling. She was new to the job. Until last fall I’d run solo most of the time, so I didn’t take near misses as seriously as I probably should have, but I didn’t have the luxury of changing tactics. “Remember, I know who Ermo Colle really is. I know his manias and his need to know everything about everyone. Someone like Nico is a trophy for that kind of personality. I don’t like the idea, but my instincts are telling me it’s likely Colle.”

  “Would he hurt Nico?”

  “Not while Colle gets what he wants.” I heard a gasp and quickly added, “Nico can read paranoid people as well as I can, Cass. He’ll figure out what to do. We can’t help but worry until we see him again, but at this point our only option is trust Nico.”

  Time to change the subject.

  “How are you getting time away from Max?” I asked.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” she said. “He probably thinks I’m having some phase of kidney failure by this point. I should go.”

  I reminded her to get some sleep and not to sit up all night hoping for another message. Then we promised to talk again in the morning and hung up.

  Before I got more worried and forgot to follow through on anything else, I phoned Clive and asked him to call Patricia.

  “Nico’s been delayed,” I said. “Something came up and he couldn’t call himself. But please tell Patricia he’ll make it up to her soon.” Closing my eyes, I sent up a mental prayer for my last statement to come true.

  I told him I needed to run so he wouldn’t ask anything uncomfortable, but I could tell he didn’t completely believe my assurances when he said, “Okay, keep me apprised if I can do anything. I’ll be here until the first of the week. Cheers.”

  With that task completed, I was left to face the question of what I should do myself. Did I run everything lone wolf and maybe make things worse? Or simply hole up in my room and order food in until Jack or Leif returned?

  The house phone rang and for a moment I had the irrational thought that Nico was finally in the lobby.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “I have a package for you at the desk, miss. It’s marked fragile.”

  The painted flutes, of course. “Did the person dropping them off look like an artist?”

  “Electric blue and magenta streaks in her hair,” he replied. “Rather unconventional dress.”

  Yes, that was my artist. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Before I could hang up, he said, “Another thing. There was someone else here just before her asking for you. He left, and I was about to call you when the second person showed up. At first I thought the young man was whomever you said earlier to let you know about, but there was something off about him. He didn’t have your correct name either. He kept saying Laura. I told him we didn’t have anyone here by the name Laura Beacham, but he was welcome to leave his card or a contact number. He became agitated then and hurried out the door.”

 
“Was he very tall, thin, blond? Maybe wore a suit?”

  “That describes him.”

  My second watcher in the lobby of the Ritz. The one who came back after leaving with the stocky guy from the hallway. “Thanks so much. You handled it exactly right.”

  “But you do know him?”

  “No. I’ve only seen him once. If he comes around here again, whether he asks for me or not, please text or email me.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll also ask security to pull a print of his face from tonight’s surveillance video.”

  “Awesome idea. Thank you.”

  “I can have the package sent up to you,” he offered.

  And that’s when I had my third epiphany of the day. I was on a roll. “I’ll come down. I may be going out in a short while, and if so I’ll need the package.”

  I replaced the receiver, then hit the number Marci used to call my cell phone earlier.

  “Laurel!” Marci greeted me. “You’re coming, right? I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Then you’ll get the answer you want,” I said, smiling at how well this was going. “One question. Would it be an inconvenience if I came a little early?”

  “Like tomorrow?”

  “More like tonight.” I held my breath.

  “No inconvenience at all. I’ll have our London driver ready the Bentley and come fetch you. It’s a bit of a journey up here to Yorkshire, but you can sleep on the drive back. How soon should I send him?”

  Oh, Marci, I may never sleep again, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Wouldn’t the train be easier on everyone? We’ll be arriving awfully late by car.”

  Marci brushed the idea aside. “Piffle. Dalton loves to drive. It’s his job. Cook will put a basket together, too, in case you feel like a snack along the way.”

  “Alright, I guess. If he can give me at least an hour to get what I need together, that would be terrific. I’ll be packed and ready when he gets here. Give him my number to call when he’s close and I’ll be downstairs in the lobby so he won’t have to come up.”

  While the party in the country took care of my hiding out and security concerns, I had several things to do before I could leave London. First, and most important, I needed to figure out what to do with the treasures Clive produced in the Ritz bar. The figurine was small enough to fit into the safe in my room but not the tube, and I wasn’t comfortable removing the painting from its stiff leather cocoon. I also wasn’t crazy about leaving something worth so much money in a hotel room safe that likely had an override code known by too many of the hotel personnel.

  I trusted the people who worked there to a point, but I didn’t know how far Colle might go to get the pieces. Or Moran and Rollie for that matter. There were all kinds of people in my life I couldn’t trust not to bribe the hotel employees. I pulled a large shopping bag from my closet shelf and set the tube inside. With it leaning at an angle, nothing appeared above the top edge when I pulled the handles together in one hand. Good. This might work.

  When I stepped off the elevator at the lobby, I was glad to see the clerk alone at the desk. “Hi, I’ve come down for my package.”

  “Yes, Miss Beacham.” He pulled a square, brown paper-wrapped parcel from below. “Here it is.”

  I pulled it with my left arm to wedge next to my body. I held up the shopping bag in my right. “Also, I have an item too big to fit in my room safe. I’d like to put it into one of your boxes in the large safe room.”

  “Of course.” He pulled the swing gate to invite me behind the desk and waved for another employee to take over for him. We walked through the open door in the back wall and entered a quiet hallway. A few minutes later I gratefully hid the tube behind a steel door with a long key, and the box with the painted flutes now rode comfortably in the shopping bag in place of the art.

  I almost forgot. I had one other request. “I wonder if you have any wrapping paper I could use,” I asked the clerk. “For a wedding tea.”

  “Yes, I believe we have some solid colors.” He checked inside one of the cabinet. “Here’s some white and a nice white bow. Would that work?”

  “Perfect, thank you.” I slipped the supplies into the bag.

  Back in my room, I felt like a weight was off my shoulders. The gift was wrapped in a few minutes. Then I packed without much thought, randomly pulling clothes from the closet. Until I realized the clothes tossed on the bed would take care of me for a two-week Atlantic cruise. It was one thing to plan for every eventuality and quite another to senselessly overpack. Trimming my options down from three bags’ worth to only three days’ needs, I sorted and packed—and unpacked—until I just had my hanging garment bag and a carryon. I also changed from my work-and-almost-kidnapped outfit to a comfortable pair of lined navy wool slacks and a winter white Merino wool sweater. I’d already kicked off my Jimmy Choos and sat on the bed to pull on my short black travel boots. The driver called my cell as I was in the middle of inventorying my Prada, deciding which gizmos went and which stayed behind.

  “No way it’s been an hour already,” I said as I hung up. But I looked at the clock and learned I was wrong. Glad I’d thought to tell Marci to give me an hour when she said he was at the London residence.

  I put on my long leather coat, slung my Prada on my right shoulder, and grabbed the small carryon with the same hand. The garment bag hung down my back, with my left hand holding the hanger side handle at my shoulder.

  The drizzle had stopped, and the doorman opened the walk-through glass door for me as the black Bentley idled noiselessly at the curb. The trunk lid, or boot, rose slightly like magic, and the driver exited the vehicle. He took my carryon, and I started to turn and sling the garment bag around.

  Suddenly, I was knocked to the ground.

  “See here!” someone shouted.

  My garment bag was ripped from my hand. I fell semi-forward, with my shoulder taking most of the impact, but my face still managed to graze the rough pavement.

  The doorman gave chase, but the thief disappeared in the darkness. The driver helped me up. I was shaking.

  “Are you okay, Mi—”

  I interrupted him. “No injuries, everything is fine.” It wasn’t. My left shoulder was bruised from hitting the hard surface, and I was bleeding from the cement scratches at the side of my chin, but at least I succeeded in stopping him from saying my name out loud. Too many ears could be listening from the shadows.

  The driver reached into the front seat for a box of tissues, and I took several to dab at the blood. I thanked him.

  “If you want to return to your room for clothes to or to clean—” he started.

  “Let’s go,” I interrupted him. “I’ll borrow clothes from Marci.” I didn’t want the thief to have the chance to double back.

  The driver was bright enough not to argue, and he opened the rear door of the Bentley. I slid onto the buttery leather seat. He put my carryon bag alone in the back and climbed behind the wheel.

  I could forget about sleep. For the miles between London and Marci’s place in the York countryside, I’d stay wide-eyed and searching out the back glass to check if anyone took the opportunity to follow us.

  NINE

  Normally, a Bentley made me feel like I was cocooned in luxury, but my nerves were too far on edge for me to relax into the experience. As we cruised away from the hotel, the driver, Dalton, informed me we would reach Yorkshire in about four hours, then suggested phoning the police about the mugging before we left London.

  “Or we can stop and make a report to the police,” he said, turning his face slightly so I saw an almost-full profile with an aquiline nose as he spoke. “You’ll likely need one for the insurance adjuster.”

  “No, I’ll take care of it later.” I took a deep breath before I added, “It’s just stuff. I’ll borrow something from Marci when necessary.”

  Yeah, just stuff I co
uldn’t replace with my maxed-out credit cards. Let him think I was one of the airhead rich who couldn’t be bothered about the loss. It was better than explaining what was actually going on. I wasn’t positive, but it did seem like Dalton took a few unnecessary extra turns before leaving the London environs. Possibly to check for tails. My vigil behind us—and I checked out the back glass a lot—revealed normal traffic. No too-interested headlights seemed to follow the Bentley, but I appreciated any additional evasive maneuvers the driver utilized.

  I was doubly glad I’d accepted Marci’s offer for the car rather than my suggestion of the train. The latter might have meant a faster trip, but who could guess what might have happened if I’d taken the public late-night option. I certainly didn’t want to find out.

  Even though she’d already offered when I talked to her around noon, I called Marci once we were on the A1 and heading north to ask if I could borrow some clothes. Even went so far as to make light of the event and joke how some homeless person would be wearing my favorite pink DKNY outfit and emerald green Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. Though better odds said my clothes would be tossed instead.

  She had no problem with the request. “Of course you can borrow whatever you like. I’d planned to put you in the room next to mine anyway so we could catch up, and it will be convenient for you to get into my closet anytime.”

  After we hung up, I used a penlight to better assess damage. Makeup would mask the chin scrape, but I wanted to sob over the rough scarring the pavement left on my coat when I was knocked to the ground. Hopefully my drycleaner could work a miracle on it when I got back to London. The leather had saved my body from getting further battered, and I was grateful for that. I gently rolled my hurt shoulder to check range of movement. It seemed manageable. Hopefully a hot shower at Marci’s would help the shoulder and the tightness I was feeling in my torso over getting tossed into the kidnapper’s car earlier. I dabbed the nick under my chin again to make sure blood didn’t hit my white sweater.

  The long drive gave me time to think about everything that had happened. I texted Clive and asked if anyone had bothered him at the Ritz while the treasure tube was in his possession. He said no, asked if he needed to be worried. I stewed for a minute then responded, No, I’m only double checking. He asked, Heard anything else from Nico? I was relieved he worded the question that way, and I felt no guilty pangs responding, Yes, he sent a message. Thanks again for letting Patricia know he’d be a no-show.