Chameleon's Death Dance
Page 21
“Nope. He wasn’t in a reasonable mood.”
Chapter 28
“Did you find Kieran’s bags?” I asked Wil as we walked back to the museum.
“Yeah, they were in that room where we found her. Someone searched them before we got there.”
“And her backpack was there?”
“Backpack? No. Why?”
“Wil, when those guys blew up her room and killed her guards, did it look as though someone searched it?”
“Yes. The drawers were pulled out, closet ransacked, that sort of thing.”
As soon as I could, I commandeered a ride back to Chamber headquarters. Kieran’s old room was still shattered from explosions and murder. I spent about forty-five minutes going through it, looking for hiding places.
From there, I searched through her current room, which was across the hall. That took a lot longer, but again, I didn’t come up with anything unusual. Her backpack was still missing.
Wil showed up about that time. “What are you looking for?”
“I’ll let you know if I find it,” I said.
He followed me down to the gym. Other than her room, that was about the only place she was allowed to go to. She was there during the first attempt on her life, and she was kidnapped from the gym that morning.
Faced with a main room five times the size of Kieran’s suite—full of closets, equipment storage rooms, locker rooms, the pool, and the sauna—I took a deep breath. Two hours later, I had barely scratched the surface of possible hiding places when Wil came in and brought me a sandwich. His timing was great, as the grumbling in my stomach was starting to distract me.
After finishing my lunch, I passed through the locker room to the ladies’ room. Just the site of all those lockers and linen closets was enough to think about a stiff drink. I could be searching the place for the next month.
Since I was there, I looked around the ladies’ room. The only closet held toilet paper and cleaning supplies, but no backpack. I couldn’t see any other hiding places. Then I opened the last stall, the only one with a real wall. A maintenance panel—a plate of metal—was screwed onto the wall with four screws. It had been painted over.
Closer inspection showed that the slots on the screws didn’t have any paint. I dug out my Swiss army knife and removed the screws. The panel slid to the floor, revealing a hole with pipes and a cutoff valve for water to the room. And a small blue backpack. It felt rather heavy when I lifted it out.
Opening the pack up, I found the type of things a woman might put in a getaway bag. Tampons, brush, toothbrush and toothpaste, small makeup kit, extra undies, and a few other things. Nothing of great interest. But the bag seemed rather shallow. Emptying it out did almost nothing as far as reducing its weight. I found a zipper around the edge inside at the bottom, covered by a cloth flap.
In the bottom compartment, wrapped in foam and tape, the crown jewels of England and France lay hidden. Not all of them, of course, but enough to call it a king’s ransom. The Princess of Wales Tiara, Queen Elizabeth’s ruby and diamond earrings, the Cullinan Yellow diamond set in a brooch, Queen Victoria’s emerald necklace and earrings, Empress Marie-Louise’s crown, and the Regent Diamond, plus half-a-dozen lesser rings, earrings, and loose stones.
I just sat for a few minutes, gazing in wonder at what I held in my hands. The Regent Diamond, pale blue and one hundred forty carats, had been insured for a hundred million credits. The French crown was literally priceless, but for insurance purposes it had been valued at a quarter of a billion credits.
Wil called my name and brought me back to reality. Carefully re-wrapping the jewelry, I put it back in the pack and took it with me.
“Is that the backpack you’re so concerned about?” Wil asked.
“Yeah. About half a billion creds. Want to run away with me?”
He did a double-take. “How much?”
“Believe me, enough to buy you the best steak in Dublin, with two bottles of fancy wine, and have money left over.”
I knew from experience that doctors had no appreciation for how long it took a girl to grow her hair out. I practically wanted to cry the following morning at the hospital when I saw Kieran with her head shaved. She was sitting up in bed, and to my surprise, she smiled at me.
“I was hoping you’d come,” she said.
I stopped and took a step backward. “You aren’t hiding anything sharp, are you?”
She laughed and held up her hands. “Nope. Not your fault I didn’t duck quick enough.” The smile faded. “I would have rather died than have O’Bannon torture me. But I knew you were going to kill Michael. I could see it in your eyes.”
“Are you doing okay?” I asked. “I can’t believe they shaved your head.”
“The doctors only shaved part of it. I had a nurse finish the job this morning. No problem, it will grow back. Yeah, I’m okay. No one will tell me anything, though. What’s going on? Am I going to a labor camp?”
She tried to smile as she said the last part, but her voice quivered and her eyes weren’t smiling.
“Remember our deal in Macon?”
“Yeah.”
“When you check out of the hospital, you’re free to go anywhere you want. Just don’t paint anything you’re not supposed to.”
Her eyes searched my face. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s over. O’Bannon’s dead, and so is McCrory. I turned the jewelry over to the insurance company this morning. Fenton is dropping all charges against you in Vancouver.”
I handed her my tablet and keyed the playback.
“The hero of this case is Kieran Murphy,” Fenton’s image on the screen said. “At great personal risk, she worked undercover to break one of the largest stolen art rings in the world. Our thanks go out to her.”
The announcer went on to say how billions of credits of stolen art had been recovered. There was even a clip of Marian Clark talking about how she had been swindled by the thieves.
I thought Kieran’s eyes might pop out of her head. “You’re kidding.” She keyed the playback again. When it finished, she handed the tablet back to me. “You found the jewelry?” I nodded. “You’re the one who found it, right?” I nodded again. “I should have figured. You’re some kind of magician.”
She motioned toward the tablet. “Thanks. That’s a hell of a lot more than I expected. More than I deserve.”
“I keep my promises. You be sure and keep yours.”
Kieran said, “I will.”
As I turned to go, she said, “Libby, I don’t completely understand. I’m a thief. Why are you so willing to let me slide?”
I winked at her. “Because I’m not a hypocrite.” I handed her my business card. “If you’re ever in Toronto, look me up.”
“Libby? I’d love to paint you.” I remembered her nudes in Vancouver.
“Without my clothes?”
“Both. With and without. You’re so long. I’ll bet you’d look smashing in an evening gown.”
I chuckled. “Come visit and we’ll talk about it. I do have someone I would love to get a portrait of.”
“He is gorgeous.” I knew she referred to Wil.
“Yeah, he is, but that’s not who I mean. Ever heard of a singer named Nellie Barton?”
Wil waited for me outside Kieran’s room.
“What’s next on the agenda?” he asked. “Are we going back to Toronto?”
“In time. Don’t you think we deserve a holiday? Maybe spend at least a couple of weeks here in Ireland playing tourist? I’m really not looking forward to getting on an airplane again.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “I talked to Chung this morning. I guess you made out like a bandit on this job.” He paused, blushed, then said, “So to speak.”
“Oh, yeah. My treat. Between NAI, the other insurance companies, and a few trinkets I picked up along the way, I’m not hurting for creds.”
As we walked out of the hospital, Wil said, “Funny thing. Inspector Fenton tells me th
at David Abramowitz had no heirs. But when they checked with his banks, they discovered that just before his death, he donated a hundred million credits to the Modigliani Foundation.”
“Yeah. Isn’t it amazing how many public-spirited people there are in the art world?”
He stopped. “You gave away a hundred million credits?”
“Sure. Easy come, easy go. What the hell else would I do with that much money? I can’t figure out what all these billionaires are thinking. If I lived to be a hundred, I couldn’t spend that much money.”
We spent three days hiking in Killarney National Park, a couple of days on the Dingle Peninsula, seeing the sights and going deep-sea fishing one day, and a week in Galway. We took day trips to castles and abbeys and the Cliffs of Mohr, and spent the nights listening to music in the pubs, and making love. We traveled back to North America on a sub-orbital supersonic jet—my first experience on one of the frightfully expensive planes—but the lack of weather at super-high altitudes was worth it.
I arrived home to a stack of paperwork and a dozen security installation jobs. Some of the job requests were months old, but Dad had kept the clients on the hook, promising them the world if they didn’t cancel. Some good press from the Vancouver fiasco that mentioned my name helped with that.
About six months after I got home, I received an email from Kieran.
I sent you a package.
The next day, the shipping company called. “Miss Nelson? We have a package for you, but there’s no delivery address.”
I told them to deliver it to my mom’s hotel. I never gave out my home address. And then I promptly forgot about it because I had an appointment with a client that afternoon.
When I got out of the meeting with the client, I checked my phone and saw a message from my mom. I rode my bike over there and was greeted with a very large skinny shipping crate stamped ‘Fragile’.
“I’ve already scanned it,” Mom said. “No electronics, no explosives. Who do you know in Switzerland?”
I tore open the envelope attached. A single piece of paper said, It’s all your fault!
That was ominous enough. Carefully peeling away the packaging, we discovered a four-foot by three-foot painting of Vancouver harbor from the viewpoint of the cliff edge at British Columbia University. It was absolutely stunning. I found another envelope inside the crate.
An advertisement for a show at an art gallery fell out. On the back of it, written by hand, was a note.
I have a one-woman show opening in Geneva in three months. You and your gorgeous man are invited. And bring that lady you want me to paint. - Kieran
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Other books by BR Kingsolver
The Chameleon Assassin Series
Chameleon Assassin
Chameleon Uncovered
Chameleon’s Challenge
Chameleon’s Death Dance
The Telepathic Clans Saga
The Succubus Gift
Succubus Unleashed
Broken Dolls
Succubus Rising
Succubus Ascendant
Other books
I’ll Sing for my Dinner
Trust
Short Stories in Anthologies
Here, Kitty Kitty
Bellator
BRKingsolver.com
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