by Nora Roberts
somebody come relieve me. I’m bored half to death.”
“We’ll be along.” Malachi hung up the secured line. “It’s your cue, darling,” he said to Tia. “Are you set?”
“I didn’t think she’d move so fast.” Tia pressed a hand to her nervous stomach and felt the soft nap of her new red sweater. “I’m set. I’ll meet you all back at Jack’s.”
“I could go with you as far as the police station.”
“No. I’m fine. Being a little nervous will just make it all the more credible.” She slipped on a jacket, then for an extra boost, draped the boldly patterned scarf she’d bought on one of her new shopping sprees over her shoulders. “I think I’m getting good at all this.”
“Sweetheart.” He wrapped his fingers around the scarf and used it to tug her to him for a kiss. “You’re a natural.”
She held on to that—the confidence and the kiss—all the way into the Detectives Bureau at the Sixty-first Precinct.
She asked for Detective Robbins, stood twisting the strap of her handbag, then managed a shy smile when he came to get her.
“Dr. Marsh?”
“Detective Robbins, thanks so much for seeing me. I feel so foolish coming in here, bothering you.”
“Don’t give it a thought.” His face remained polite and blank as he studied her. “I saw you outside Anita Gaye’s office. Morningside Antiquities.”
“Yes.” She tried a slightly embarrassed, slightly fuddled look in response. “I got so flustered when I heard your name and recognized it. I couldn’t think how to introduce myself in front of Anita without it all being so awkward and complicated. And I didn’t think you’d remember the name, from when I called you about Jack Burdett.”
“I remembered. You and Ms. Gaye friends?”
“Oh no.” She flushed now. “Not really what you’d call friends. We did have lunch once, and I invited her to lunch again, at her convenience. But she . . . Well, this is all very complicated after all.”
“You want some coffee?”
“Well, I . . .”
“I could use some.” He gestured, then led her into the tiny break area. “Cream, sugar?”
“Do you have decaf?”
“Sorry, strictly high-test around here.”
“Oh, well . . . Actually, if I could just have some water.”
“No problem.” He poured a cup from the spigot of a tiny sink, and Tia tried not to think of the horrors of city tap water. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“It’s probably nothing.” She lifted the cup, but couldn’t quite make herself risk a sip. “I feel like an idiot.” She glanced around the boxy coffee room with its cluttered counters, crowded corkboard and water-stained ceiling.
“Just tell me what’s on your mind.” He brought his coffee to the table, sat across from her.
“All right. Well . . . I thought of you, Detective, because I’d written down your information when Mr. Burdett came to see me that day. That was the oddest thing.”
He gave her an encouraging nod. “Jack has a talent for odd things.”
She bit her lip. “You . . . you did vouch for him, right? I mean you know him and believe he’s honest and responsible.”
“Absolutely. Jack and I go way back. He’s unorthodox at times, Dr. Marsh, but you can trust him right down the line.”
“Good. That’s good. I feel more confident knowing that. It’s just that that day when he told me my phones were tapped—”
“Did he?” He shifted in his seat, straightened.
“Yes. Didn’t he mention that to you? You see, he’d tried to call me about something, apparently, and when he did he detected something about the line. I don’t really understand how all that works. And I have to admit, Detective, even with you reassuring me about him, I didn’t believe him. Why should my phones be tapped, after all? That’s just silly. Don’t you think?”
“Any reason you can think of why anyone would want to listen to your phone calls?”
“None at all. I live a very quiet sort of life. Most of my calls involve my research or my family. Nothing of particular interest to anyone but another mythologist. But it did unnerve me a little. Even so, I more or less dismissed it until . . . Do you know anything about the Three Fates?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“They’re characters in Greek myth. Three sisters who spin, measure and cut the thread of life. They’re also statues. Small, precious silver statues. Another kind of myth in antique and art circles. One of my ancestors owned one, and it was lost with him and his wife on the Lusitania. The other two . . .” She spread her hands. “Who can say? They’re reasonably valuable separately, but would be priceless as a complete set. Mr. Burdett contacted me because he’s a collector, and he’d learned of the connection with my family. My father owns Wyley’s. The antique and auction house.”
“Okay. So Jack was hoping for a line on these statues through you.”
“That’s right. In any case, I told him what little I knew about the art pieces. But the conversation sparked an idea for another book. I’ve started researching. Phone calls,” she said. “Collecting data and so on. Then the other day, I was talking with someone, someone I know primarily through my family. I was surprised when she seemed eager to spend some time with me and, I admit, flattered.”
Tia lowered her eyes to her glass, turned it around and around with her fingertips. “I didn’t think she’d be bothered with me, socially. It wasn’t until I was back home again, after we’d talked, that I realized she’d not only brought up the Fates, but . . .”
She breathed deeply, looked at him again. “Detective Robbins, there were a couple of things she said that related directly to my research, to phone calls I’ve made and conversations I’ve had. I know it’s probably just a coincidence, but it seems very odd. Odder when I put it all together with her inviting me to lunch, with her steering the conversation toward the statues and knowing things she shouldn’t have known about my research. And I learned she’d asked both my parents about Clotho.”
“Who’s Clotho?”
“Oh sorry. The first Fate. The statue my ancestor owned was of Clotho. I don’t know what to think. She even let it slip about the third Fate, that would be Atropus, being in Athens.”
“Greece.”
“Yes, I’d only just tracked down that rumor myself the day before we had lunch, had discussed it with a colleague in a phone conversation. I suppose she could be following the same trail as I am, but it just feels so strange. And when I think of what Mr. Burdett said about my phones . . . I’m very uneasy.”
“Why don’t we have someone take a look at your phones?”
“Could you?” She sent him a thankful look. “I’d be so grateful. It really would relieve my mind.”
“I’ll take care of it. The woman you mentioned, Dr. Marsh. Would that be Anita Gaye?”
Tia gasped—hoped it wasn’t overdone. “How did you guess?”
“Just one of the tricks they teach us in cop school.”
“Detective Robbins, I feel so odd about all this. I don’t want to get Anita in any trouble if I’m just imagining things. And I probably am. I probably am because I’m not the type of person this sort of thing happens to. You won’t tell her I said anything, will you? I’d be horribly embarrassed if she knew I’d spoken to the police about her. And my parents—”
“We’ll keep your name out of it. Like you said, it’s probably coincidence.”
“You’re right.” She beamed a relieved smile. “It’s probably just coincidence.”
IT WAS A lot like planting seeds, Tia imagined. Not that she’d ever, literally, planted seeds, but it just seemed much the same. You stirred up the ground a bit, scattered around what you wanted to grow, then gave it a little boost of fertilizer.
Or in this case, bullshit.
She liked the fact that her team trusted her enough to do so much of the planting.
If, as expected, those seeds sprouted quickly, there was a grea
t deal to do in a short amount of time. She swung into Wyley’s with a spring in her step, and the clock ticking in her head.
Before she could ask if her father was available, she heard her mother’s voice. Tia winced, and hated herself for it. Guilt had her moving through the showroom to where Alma was haranguing a clerk.
“Mother, I didn’t expect to see you here.” She laid her lips lightly on Alma’s cheek. “What a gorgeous vase,” she commented, studying the delicate pansy motif on the vase the clerk was guarding. “Grueby?”
“Yes.” The clerk slanted Alma a dubious look. “Circa 1905. It’s a particularly fine piece.”
“I want it boxed up, gift-wrapped and messengered to my home.”
“Mrs. Marsh,” the clerk began.
“I don’t want to hear any more about it.” Alma waved the protest aside. “Ellen Foster’s daughter Magda is getting married next month,” she said to Tia. “I asked your father repeatedly to bring home an appropriate wedding gift, but has he bothered? No. So I’m forced to come all the way down here to take care of it myself. The man’s in here every day. The least he could do is take care of one little thing for me.”
“I’m sure he—”
“And now,” Alma continued, rolling over Tia, “this young woman refuses to do what she’s told.”
“Mr. Marsh has given the staff very specific instructions. We aren’t permitted to allow you to take any merchandise valued at more than one thousand dollars. This piece is priced at six thousand, Mrs. Marsh.”
“I’ve never heard such nonsense. I’m getting palpitations. I’m sure my blood pressure is spiking.”
“Mother.” Tia’s voice, sharper than either of them expected, had Alma blinking. “This vase isn’t an appropriate gift for the daughter of an acquaintance.”
“Ellen is a dear friend—”
“Whom you see perhaps six times a year at social functions,” Tia finished briskly. “Your taste, as always, is impeccable, but this isn’t the right gift. Would you mind telling my father we’re here?” she asked the clerk.
“Not at all.” Obviously relieved to have reinforcements, the clerk left them alone.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” Alma’s pretty face shifted from angry to unhappy lines. “You’re so unsympathetic, so harsh.”
“I don’t mean to be.”
“It’s that man you’re involved with. That foreigner.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve let yourself get upset over nothing.”
“Nothing? That woman—”
“Was only doing her job. Mother, you can’t come into Wyley’s and pluck something off a shelf because it’s pretty. Now, I’m going to help you find just the right wedding present.”
“I have a headache.”
“You’ll feel better when we take care of your errand.” She put an arm over her mother’s stiff shoulders and guided her away. “Look at this lovely teapot.”
“I want a vase,” Alma said stubbornly.
“All right.” She led Alma along, and though she was tempted to signal another clerk for help, ordered herself to tough it out. “Oh, this is beautiful.” She spotted a footed vase, and prayed her shaky expertise was in gear. If she missed and picked out something even more valuable, the ordeal would snowball. “It’s so stunning and classic. I think it’s Stourbridge.”
Carefully, she angled it, tipped it so she could check the tiny price tag. And breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “What a wonderful gift this would be,” she went on quickly as she saw the sulk folding into her mother’s face. “You know, if you gave the other as a gift, they wouldn’t know what they had, so they wouldn’t appreciate the gesture for what it was worth. But something as gorgeous as this, at just the right price, will get full marks.”
“Well . . .”
“Why don’t I take care of having it boxed and wrapped for you? Then we’ll see if Father has time to have some tea. It’s been a long time since we’ve been in Wyley’s together.”
“I suppose.” Alma studied the vase more carefully. “It is very elegant.”
“Gorgeous.” And at less than four hundred, right in the ballpark.
“You always had good taste, Tia. I never had to worry about that.”
“You don’t have to worry about me at all.”
“Then what would I do with my time?” Alma said, with just a hint of petulance.
“We’ll think of something. I love you.” Even as Alma teared up, Tia heard her father’s footsteps. And saw he looked very harassed, very displeased. Without thinking, she instinctively stepped between him and her flustered mother.
“You’ve been invaded,” Tia said cheerfully. “I dropped by to see you and got the bonus of running into Mother. She needs the footed Stourbridge vase boxed and wrapped as a wedding gift.”
“Which?” His gaze narrowed as he followed Tia’s gesture. After a brief study of the selection, he nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Alma, I’ve told you to check with me before you pick out anything.”
“She didn’t want to bother you.” Determined, Tia kept her voice bright. “But I couldn’t resist. Are you terribly busy?”
“As a matter of fact, it’s been a distressing morning. Morningside Antiquities was broken into last night.”
Alma pressed a hand on her heart. “Burglarized? I live in fear of that happening here. I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight worrying about it.”
“Alma, it didn’t happen here.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” she predicted. “Crime is running rampant. Why, a person isn’t safe walking out of her own home. She isn’t safe in her home.”
“Thank goodness Father’s seen you have such excellent security here, and at home,” Tia commented. “Mother, you should sit down, catch your breath. I know with your empathic nature, hearing of someone else’s misfortune upsets you. What you need is a nice calming cup of chamomile,” Tia continued, soothing as she helped her mother to a chair across the showroom.
She got her settled, asked a clerk to see to the tea, then went back to her father.
“When did you learn to do that?” he wanted to know. “Handle your mother?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I realized you could use a little help in that area, and I haven’t been any. I haven’t been a very good daughter, to either of you. I’d like that to change.”
“It seems to me a lot of things are changing.” He touched her cheek in a rare outward gesture of affection. “I don’t know when I’ve seen you look better, Tia.”
“Oh, it’s a new sweater and—”
He kept his hand on her cheek. “It’s not just the sweater.”
“No.” And she did something she rarely did. She lifted her hand and covered his. “It’s not.”
“Maybe it’s time we took a break in routine. Why don’t I take you and your mother out to lunch?”
“I’d love that, but I can’t today. I’m already running behind. Can I take a rain check?”
“Of course.”
“Well . . . Ah . . . it’s terrible about Morningside. Was anything stolen?”
“I’m not sure. Apparently they did get into the building, but only briefly, as the alarms went off. Anita hasn’t completed her inventory check.”
“Oh, you’ve spoken to her.”
“I went over this morning, to offer my help and concern. And,” he added with a faint smile, “to see if I could pry out more details. It also seemed like the perfect opportunity to mention I’d heard rumors about one of the Fates, and Athens. She seemed very interested. So much so I embellished and told her I remembered something, vaguely, being passed down through the family about Henry Wyley planning on going on to Athens after his trip to London.”
“Oh! I didn’t think of that.”
“I wouldn’t imagine. You’ve never been good at embellishment. Though that, too, might have changed.”
“I appreciate what you did,” Tia said, evading. “I know it was an odd request. I wonder why you agreed to do
it.”
“You’ve never asked me for anything before,” he said simply.
“Then I’ll ask for something else. Stay away from Anita Gaye. She’s not what she seems. I have to go. I’m very late.” She brushed her lips over his cheek. “I’ll call you soon.”
She rushed off in such a hurry, she all but collided with a