BRONZED BETRAYALS Page 8

  The elevator dinged to announce the lobby. The floor seemed empty of uniformed police. I assumed everyone was finishing up on my floor.

  “So, you have these clothes and everything electronic.” She raised the shopping bag in her right hand. “Guess you’re kind of getting used to losing your packed bags, right?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” I said. “I am getting resigned to it, however.”

  Then she asked the bombshell questions. “But did you not notice your luggage was already gone last night? Or didn’t you look?”

  I was in mid-stride, heading toward the front desk and suddenly my legs didn’t feel strong enough to support me much farther. I hurried to a chair, and Cassie followed at my heels, close enough that I could whisper, “Omigod, my luggage still sat grouped in the bedroom when I was in the suite with Melanie. I distinctly remember seeing the packed bags when I came out of my closet after grabbing my gadget case and Prada purse. But I’d heard the police sirens and panicked, walking past the luggage because I wanted to be able to move quickly.”

  Cassie made a kind of strangled sound, then asked, “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Nodding, I didn’t trust myself to speak, but internally I was screaming—Hell, yes! It meant I was in the room with a murderer who left right behind me with my luggage.

  I remembered the door that closed above me on the stairwell after I’d flown down several floors. Finally, I said, “That must have taken some nerve. The elevator dinged right as I headed down the staircase, so whoever it was had to have snuck out in the seconds between when I entered the stairwell and the lift opening. If the ding signaled the police arrival of course.”

  The lights strobed through my curtains only a minute or so before I heard the elevator. Once I thought about it, the arrival would have been close to the police’s, but it was a viable fear either way. If it wasn’t the police, and the killer exited directly after me, he or she could have been the one I heard open the stairwell door. Or the killer could have really had balls and boarded the waiting elevator with my luggage, pretending to be a guest ready to check out of the hotel. I huffed. “And who called the police and tipped them off about the murder? Was the luggage part of the killer’s plan to get away or an improvisation?”

  “My guess would be the killer took your bags and called the police,” she whispered.

  “I was just thinking exactly the same thing.” I wondered if James would remember anyone leaving as the police arrived, but in the excitement, he easily might have missed such a departure. Since the hotel offered express checkout, it wouldn’t have been unusual to see someone leave with bags without stopping by the front desk. I needed to remember to ask Jack to get the security footage to see if we spotted anyone with my luggage. “But why? It couldn’t be for framing me, since Melanie was already dead when I arrived. Maybe the killer had an alibi somehow for when the time the call would have been recorded?”

  “Do you want to go back and tell the inspector any of this?”

  “How can I do that without admitting I went into my closet for my purse and case? Something I didn’t admit before.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe Jack could suggest that’s why the luggage was taken.”

  “Maybe.”

  Jack always lectured me about my penchant for removing items from a crime scene. I figured I’d be in for another refresher when I admitted last night’s transgression to retrieve the gadgets. Instead, I could call the inspector later. Probably denial on my part, but I felt rattled and didn’t want to risk calling attention to myself again anytime soon. It would be too easy to say more than I should.

  Thinking back, I couldn’t be sure the door I heard opening while heading downstairs was even my floor. Which meant it might have been the murderer—or not. There were several floors above mine, and the person sharing the stairwell with me might as easily have been someone else from a higher floor heading down for a late night drink and a bit of exercise who had no correlation to what occurred. I knew I hadn’t heard anything that sounded like my luggage banging through the door. The wheels alone would have made a recognizable noise if they’d been set down on the concrete landing. Besides, I’d already moved into flight stage by then, and everything seemed a potential enemy at the time. I would have noticed a sound out of place.

  Not that I was currently very calm. Neither was Cassie, so she didn’t argue when I said I’d call Timms later. I needed to finish my business with the hotel. When Thomas pulled up to the hotel entrance a minute later, I was at the front desk trying to thank the hotel manager for all the assistance and do my best to keep my options open. While I didn’t close the door on returning to lodge there later, saying I was staying with friends in the short-term, I had no doubt she picked up on the anxiety ping-ponging between Cassie and me. The manager promised to collect any personal items I may have left in the room, and we agreed to talk again in a few days’ time about my future lodging plans.

  Thomas stashed all my shopping bags in the boot without comment, and Cassie and I stayed quiet as we pulled away. When he asked me where to go next, my brain had to catch up to the fact there was still so much to do.

  “We probably need to check out the office,” I said. “But I want to keep our schedule open in case we need to reconnect with Jack. How about if we go back to Cassie’s first and drop off my things?”

  “Will do,” he said, turning at the next corner.

  Admittedly, a part of me wanted back in Cassie’s alarmed flat just so I could hide under the covers. I couldn’t stop wondering how close I’d stood to the murderer.

  Eight

  When we arrived at Cassie’s flat, Thomas stayed with the car and we promised not to take more than a few minutes. We raced up the stairs, and once we were inside she turned the alarm back on as I twisted the deadbolt.

  “I know I’m being silly,” she said, nodding her head toward the keypad. “But I’m kind of feeling heebie-jeebied right now knowing the murderer was with you in the suite.”

  “No need to convince me.” I followed her into the guest room. Neither of us bothered taking off our coats.

  Because the building was nineteenth century, and despite many modernizations, the owner kept the flats as close to historically accurate as possible. Cassie had even exchanged rent early on by doing restoration work to the historic plaster moldings and woodwork, and she had changed wall coverings to better suit the period. In all those changes, however, closet and storage space were kept to a minimum, so an antique wardrobe filled the bill in this room. She opened one of the double doors and grabbed a handful of hangers.

  “It’s kind of lucky we had our adventure last night,” she said, hanging up a white Valentino I loved, and was so glad hadn’t been in the absconded luggage. “Otherwise you’d be down two of your most worn outfits.”

  I laughed and started pulling out and folding the sweaters we’d tossed into another bag. “I don’t know that I’d say my black Lycra suit is one of my most worn, but I would hate to have to replace it. Same goes for the LBD. Which reminds me, it should go to the cleaners since it’s the only black dress I have.”

  “Also, now that you and Jack aren’t going to New York, do you want me to see if I can get you a last-minute re-invite to Caro Taylor’s event? You RSVP’d regrets while you were scheduled to be out of town, but it may be worth attending for the chitchat alone.”

  Caro Taylor was a society maven who held an annual arts luncheon and fashion show each spring. I adored the woman, now in her sixties, for her quick wit and patronage of art and artists. Her fundraisers were legendary for giving new artists the financial shot in the arm they needed from both the grants she bestowed and the attention she threw their way.

  “It’s a good idea. But let’s wait and see what develops. I’d hate to beg for a last-minute seat, and then find I need to be somewhere else instead.”

&n
bsp; “Okay, just let me know.”

  She moved on to hang up my pants, and I dropped the shopping tote filled with shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe. Cassie had made sure each was in its own storage sack, so it wouldn’t hurt anything for the shoes to stay jumbled together until later.

  “Since you’re staying here, shouldn’t you text the inspector?” Cassie asked.

  “Do you mind if I stay here a few days? I didn’t really ask, and I can’t promise safe—”

  “Stop it. You know Jack will probably get police patrols beefed up in the area. My neighbors and I will be safer because you’re here.”

  I grinned. There was no use arguing with sound logic.

  Before I could finish the text, my phone buzzed. I touched the screen with my finger, putting the call on speaker. “Hi, Jack. Cassie and I are back at her flat and Thomas is downstairs waiting on us. The police let me take away most of my things.”

  “What did they keep?” he asked.

  “Just my tablet, I think, but the luggage I had packed for the trip was gone, too, and Timms said the Met police didn’t take it.” I waited to see what he’d say.

  “But you said you almost grabbed it before you ran.”

  Give the boy a gold star. “Yes, I did. It was there when I found Melanie in the sitting room.”

  His voice was low and measured, but the calmness didn’t fool me when he asked, “Are you telling me the luggage disappeared between the time you left and when the police arrived?”

  “Looks that way.”

  Cassie wrapped her arms around her torso. I completely understood the impulse. The line remained silent, and I waited for Jack to speak again. Finally, he said, “Makes the idea of a frame look all the more plausible since you weren’t attacked and someone besides Melanie was likely in the suite with you.”

  “Yes, but maybe the murderer was just there to drop off Melanie’s body for the frame, then search my room.”

  “Why carry Melanie into your suite? It would be much easier to get her to go there on her own and kill her onsite.”

  “I forgot to ask if she was killed there.” I massaged my temples. “But you know how drunk she was at the party. She might not have even known where she was going if someone led her.”

  “Good reminder. Might be easier to spot her on CCTV in a drunken condition with someone else.” Then he asked the question I’d been dreading. “What did Timms say when you told him?”

  “I…haven’t yet.”

  “Why not?” Though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was squinting his right eye as he spoke those two words.

  “I figured he’d ask me why I was in the bedroom, rather than running out immediately after spotting the body on the front room floor.”

  “And why didn’t you?”

  “I’d gone into my closet to grab my gadget case and my Prada.” I caught my lower lip in my teeth and waited.

  “You grabbed electronics, but not your clothes…”

  I knew what he was thinking, and I wanted to slap him. Sure, I bought designer clothes, and he never failed to razz me about them, but Jack of all people should have known I’d gotten used to losing them at every turn. My custom devices were entirely different. “It was a priorities issue. The gadgets are more difficult to replace. Plus, I didn’t think it was a good idea for the police to get a look in that case.”

  “Valid point,” he said.

  “I’d thought for a second about grabbing my carryon,” I admitted. “Which is why I know the luggage was there when I left.”

  “But you didn’t see or hear anyone?”

  “Of course I didn’t, or you would have heard me screaming all the way to Cecil’s office. I do acknowledge, however, that I wasn’t really looking around. I saw Melanie, I grabbed the purse and gizmos out of my closet, and I lit out.”

  “I’m not saying you should have done anything differently. Simply asking.”

  When no lecture came, I asked, “So you agree it’s okay I took my purse and case?”

  He sighed. “Why don’t we leave things at saying it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for London police to have seen inside that case while they were processing the scene.”

  That counted as a win in my book.

  My phone received a call waiting chime, and I said, “Thomas is calling. He probably thinks we’re dead up here.” I looked at Cassie, and she had already pulled out her phone and was dialing. “Where are you, and where should we meet?”

  “I’m waiting at Williams’s video cave, but I see him coming down the hall. Why don’t you get some lunch and we’ll meet up at the office and trade information while we eat? And if I can get copies of video segments we can watch them there on the big screen.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  We signed off. Cassie finished assuring Thomas we’d be down momentarily, then slipped her phone back into a pocket.

  “Was Thomas irritated?” I asked.

  “No, just worried, and he knew he needed a key to get into the building.”

  Choosing lunch options called for a discussion, and Cassie and I finally settled on Thai takeaway. An Asian restaurant occupied the ground floor below the Beacham Ltd. office, but we’d used that as a fallback too much lately when the weather was colder outside than we’d wanted to brave. Thomas knew of a good Thai restaurant on the way and headed that direction.

  “We’d love for you to join us, Thomas,” I invited.

  He shook his head, and I noticed a bit more gray in his hair than before. “I texted my wife earlier, and we’re going to meet. Don’t always get the chance to eat together midday, but try to do so at least once a week. Gives us time to talk without the kids.”

  “How many kids do you have?” Cassie asked.

  “Two boys. Don’t know how Michelle managed while I was on duty. They’re a handful, eleven and nine.”

  “Rambunctious, I’ll bet.”

  “Understatement.” He laughed, and I realized that was the first time I’d heard him sound jolly and almost carefree.

  Traffic was more stop than go, so I asked Thomas the name of the restaurant and found their site on my phone. I picked favorites from the menu to work up an online order, and when I finished, I asked, “Any idea on an ETA for the restaurant?”

  “Tell them fifteen minutes. It will likely be twenty, but they usually run a little longer than expected. It’s a really popular place for lunch.”

  I added the expected time for pickup, paid with my currently working credit card, and shot the order into the cybersphere.

  The food smelled wonderful, and I wasn’t sure we were going to get to the office before I ripped into it.

  “My mouth is watering, and my stomach is rumbling,” Cassie whined.

  “Tell me about it,” I said. “How soon to the office, Thomas?”

  “Probably seven or eight minutes.”

  “Can we picnic back here, or do you have rules?”

  “I’ll hurry, Miss Beacham.” The hint of a smile appeared in his profile.

  “Please call me Laurel.”

  Cassie and I used iron will to keep from diving into the bags, and Thomas helped us carry the food up the three flights of stairs when we got to the office. On the second landing, I heard his stomach rumbling and smiled. “Sure you don’t want a quick snack before you leave?”

  “Thank you, but I’m quite fine,” he replied.

  After we were safely behind the red steel door and the complicated electronic lock, Thomas took off for his date with his wife, and Cassie and I unloaded bags. Cartons of pad thai, panang curry, and jasmine rice made a beautiful presentation on the large conference table. Utensils and napkins were piled next to the paper plates I pulled from the shelf below the coffeepot.

  “I’m going to be rude and not wait for Jack,” Cassie said, opening the nearest carton and loading up her
plate.

  “Right behind you, sister.” Then my cell phone chimed Nico’s ringtone. My techno geek never liked doing field work, he was much happier living in his digital world. But when we learned one of the forgers we wanted to talk to might be in Italy, Nico agreed to take on the search duties if he could stop and see his grandmother while he was near Rome. Personally, I would have gone with him if I could have for the chance to eat her home cooking. I put it on speaker. “Hey, Nico, where are you? Still in Rome?”

  “Milan,” he replied. “But the bigger question is, where are you?”

  “In the office with Cassie. Why?”

  “Hi, Nico,” Cassie called, then slipped another bite of Thai chicken into her mouth.

  “Ciao,” he responded to Cassie.

  “Chow is right, I’m eating,” she said with a giggle.

  He took a second then said, “So the fact you aren’t in New York answers my first question. Is Jack there?”

  “No, we’re waiting on him. He’s watching CCTV with Danny Williams but should be here soon.”

  “I take it things didn’t go well last night.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. We should have called since you were involved in the planning, but everything started going sideways at the club and continued sliding the rest of the night.”

  “I heard Melanie Weems was murdered in your room. I wanted to check and make sure you were unharmed.”

  “Hell! You heard that in Milan?”

  “Sì. I take it from your response that you are fine.”

  “As fine as I can be when I’m interviewed by the police and have to change places of residence because where I lived was a crime scene. Who told you?”

  “Remember the source I came here to find?”

  “Yes…” I left the word hanging. Nico was in Italy trying to locate a trail to a forger who made a sword that started this whole jagged journey, along with the snuffbox that led Jack on a fool’s errand. Nico had shared a conversation with another friend last week and talk of metalwork forgers came up. This kind of thing regularly happened with the types of people he and I knew, so it wasn’t as unusual as it sounded. Learning this particular nameless forger also knew Simon Babbage, and did jobs for him before he was killed, and because Simon was the person evidence pointed to as having absconded with the sword we assumed the forger duplicated, all led to Nico landing in Italy yesterday morning.