“He did? He’s never discussed Robyn with me.”
“I guess he didn’t think there was any point in rubbing salt in the wound.”
Zach leaned back in his chair, stirring his coffee. “Why did you come here tonight, Will?”
“For one thing, Claire and I plan to get married on Christmas Eve. We want you to come to the wedding.”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Zach said. “I’d like to pretend I’m happy for you both, but I’m having a hard time of it. The fact is, Claire and I got divorced because we can’t stand the sight of each other.”
Will shrugged. “Claire came out of her marriage convinced you’re a monster, and you think she’s a witch. Life would be a lot easier if both of you would accept that you’re not bad guys. You were just two immature kids who should never have gotten married.”
“Great advice.” Zach didn’t attempt to hide his sarcasm. “Don’t forget to mention that you just happen to be the next sucker waiting in line to get hexed by Witch Claire. She may look like honey and sweet cream on the surface, but take it from me, she’s pure poison at the center.”
Will pushed back his chair and strode over to the sink to pour himself another mug of coffee. “My therapist doesn’t like it when I solve my problems with physical violence,” he said. “Count yourself lucky, big brother, because I sure as hell resent people who talk that way about the woman I love.”
Zach stared into his empty mug. “Why are you marrying her, Will? Bottom line.”
“Bottom line? We’re in love. Claire and I make things go right for each other. We enjoy each other’s company, even when we’re not in bed, which is more than could be said for the pair of you when you were married.”
Will was throwing down the gauntlet with a vengeance and Zach stopped himself on the brink of hurling back an angry response. The hell of it was, Will’s direct approach was the right one. They were never going to get their relationship back on track as long as they refused to acknowledge the problem of being two brothers who’d shared the bed and the sexual favors of the same woman.
“Doesn’t it worry you that Claire scarcely waited for the lawyer to hand her a copy of the divorce papers before she cozied up to you? She made damn sure I knew what she was doing, too. I don’t think it’s just my overinflated ego that suggests she started an affair with you at least in part to get back at me.”
“You’re probably right,” Will agreed mildly. “And my own motives in starting the affair sure as hell don’t stand scrutiny. But Claire and I are different people today from the people we were a year ago. Vengeance against you plays no part in our relationship anymore.” He lifted his shoulders in an embarrassed shrug. “I guess we both finally grew up.”
“Fine. That’s good to hear,” Zach snarled, then realized to his amazement that his response was no more than the simple truth. If Claire and his brother were genuinely in love, who was he to stand in their way? He loved Robyn, had loved her for months, and Claire had no role in his life nowadays except as a figure from the distant past. He felt an enormous sense of liberation as he mentally closed the book on his youthful marriage.
He thumped his brother on the shoulder. “Hey, you know what? I’ve been making a total ass of myself because of some hang-up I should have grown out of years ago. I hope you and Claire will be very happy together. You have my sincere good wishes, both of you.”
Will’s mouth broke into a smile. “You really mean that, don’t you? Are you going to attend the wedding after all?”
Zach hesitated. “If Claire won’t feel uncomfortable having me around.”
“Not a bit. She says you being there will give her a feeling of necessary closure.”
Trust Claire to make him feel about as significant as a malfunctioning zipper, Zach thought with mild amusement. He got up and dumped his coffee mug in the sink.
“Let me know when and where I have to turn up, and I’ll be there. In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you? Something’s chewing you up, and I don’t think it’s my screwed-up attitude toward Claire.”
Will stopped pacing, obviously steeling himself to break bad news. “I never could deceive you worth a damn,” he said at last.
“Then don’t try. Tell me what’s eating you.”
“It’s about the Gallery.” Will drew in a deep breath. “Zach, word’s out in the trade that the Bowleigh Gallery can’t be relied on anymore. I’ve heard rumors all over town that the Gallery has been passing high-end fakes on a regular basis.”
Zach didn’t say anything for a moment. He realized that he finally felt stone-cold sober. The churning in his stomach was caused by tension, not by alcohol. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.
Will looked miserable. “The fact is, Zach, I heard it in a half-dozen different places. Rick Bernsteen even mentioned something about it, and he’s three thousand miles across country, plus he has almost no contact with people in the antiques trade.”
Will broke off. “Jeez, Zach, you could at least look a little surprised, or worried, or something.”
Zach shook his head. “I guess I’m not surprised and I passed from being worried into being numb weeks ago, when Robyn was shot.”
Will shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but is there even a crumb of truth to the rumors?”
“More than a crumb. I’ve identified at least nine fakes we’ve sold in the past year. The Farleigh cabinet you spotted in L.A. was just one of them.”
Will’s breath expelled in a hiss of surprise. “Jesus H. Christ! What the hell are you doing about the situation?”
“I have investigators working on the case, a couple of top specialists from the J. W. Grady Agency.”
“They’re good, the best in the business. Are they getting anywhere?”
Zach walked over to the window, parting the slats of the blind and peering out into the darkness. The J. W. Grady Agency was getting somewhere all right. That was why he’d spent most of the evening trying to make himself drunk.
“Zach?” Will stood behind him. “Have the investigators found out anything useful?”
Zach tried to shake off his black mood. “They’ve found out quite a lot. In fact, as far as the folks from J. W. Grady are concerned, the case is wrapped up. They’re hoping for a bonus, based on the speed with which they’ve solved the case.”
“That’s all good news, so why are you looking so damn gloomy?”
Zach released the slats of the blind with a snap. “Because I’m not willing to accept their conclusions.”
“Why not? What have they concluded?”
Zach felt a white-hot explosion of pain in the middle of his gut. He thought he’d gotten over the shock of the day’s revelations, but apparently they still had the power to wound. He drew in an unsteady breath. “The investigators think Robyn Delaney was responsible for the scam.”
Will was silent for at least a minute. “Gee, I’m sorry,” he said at last. “Real sorry.”
“She didn’t do it,” Zach said tightly. “I know Robyn and she just isn’t capable of that sort of betrayal.”
Will cleared his throat. “What makes the investigators suspect her?”
“They found the design specifications for at least twenty of the Gallery’s major antiques coded into her computer. They also found the address of a factory in Taiwan that made the pieces according to her specifications, and the address of a warehouse in Queens where she stored the fakes until she was ready to make the substitutions.”
Will gave a low whistle. “Wouldn’t you consider that pretty damning evidence?” he asked.
“On the contrary,” Zach said. “Robyn wasn’t... isn’t... a fool. Why the hell would she leave all that incriminating information on an office computer where anyone could find it?”
“Well, it was coded. Was it deeply encrypted?”
“Yes,” Zach acknowledged. “But why keep it on an office computer at all? She has a laptop, for God’s sa
ke.”
“You’re right, I guess.” Will tried to look persuaded and didn’t entirely succeed. “Did the investigators find any trace of the money she supposedly made working the scam?”
Zach stared at the coffeepot, resisting the totally irrational urge to pick it up and fling it against the wall.
“Yes,” he said, through gritted teeth, hating to make the admission. “They found an account of hers that has eighty thousand dollars in it.”
“Wow!” Will recovered quickly. “Maybe she has rich parents,” he said.
Zach shook his head. “No.”
Will touched his brother on the arm. “I’msorry, Zach.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry. I don’t accept the agency’s conclusions. The investigators are missing something, somewhere. God, I wish Robyn was able to come back to work and answer all these damn questions.”
Zach rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the crick that seemed to have lodged there permanently for a week at least. “It’s hard enough to imagine Robyn as a criminal,” he said brusquely. “It’s flat out impossible to imagine her as a stupid criminal.”
Will seemed to think it would be tactful to change the subject. “Did the investigators say how the fakes were introduced onto the Gallery floor?” he asked. “Do they realize Robyn couldn’t have done that alone? She was only a junior buyer, and her verifications would always be vetted by someone else.”
“Except for the so-called Farleigh cabinet, there’s no evidence that fakes were ever brought into the Gallery showrooms,” Zach said. “I’ve realized for a while that the substitutions had to be made after the Gallery made a sale, not before.”
Will knew enough about the antiques trade to understand at once. “My God, of course! That way the thieves avoid the problem of authentication. The genuine antique goes through all the tests, and whoever is working the scam produces a fake at the last minute.”
“You’ve got it,” Zach said grimly. “The scheme these folks worked out is so simple, it’s embarrassing. A couple of the Gallery’s deliverymen have been bought off. When a substitution is going to be made, the drivers take the delivery truck on a detour to the warehouse in Queens. They remove the crate with the genuine antique in it, and substitute a crate containing the fake antique—”
“And that’s it!” Will exclaimed. “The buyer gets a perfect copy of the antique he’s just bought, complete with all the necessary provenance documents, and the whole deal guaranteed by the highly reputable Bowleigh Gallery. He’s no expert, and he doesn’t suspect a thing—”
“Why would he? These fakes are good enough to fool all of us, expert or not. So the buyer pays upward of fifty thousand dollars for a well-crafted fake, and the thieves are left with a genuine antique that they can offer for sale anywhere.”
Will looked stunned. “Damn, you’re right, Zach. The plan’s so simple, it’s almost foolproof.”
Zach smiled without a trace of mirth. “It is, isn’t it’? So now I’m left with only one really important question.”
“What’s that?”
Zach’s eyes hardened. “Since I know Robyn didn’t organize this scam, I want to know who the hell is setting her up to take the fall? And is that the same person who tried to kill her?”
* * *
Freddie, who had stationed himself on a stool at the nursery window, stopped eating caraway seed cake long enough to inform everyone that it was snowing. George jumped up and ran to the window.
“Hooray!” He hopped from foot to foot in sheer pleasure. “It’s snowing lots and lots! We can build a fort, and a castle, too! Mamma, may we go outside and play’? Papa, will you come with us?”
William left his chair by the fire and strolled over to join his excited sons at the nursery window. He watched as a few snowflakes fluttered to earth, adding to the patchy coating of white already on the ground. He caught Robyn’s eye and they exchanged wry smiles.
“I fear there may not yet be quite enough snow to build a fort and a castle,” he said. “At the moment, there may not be enough snow to build even a small turret. However, the sky looks heavy with promise. Shall we wait until tomorrow when there may be enough snow for us to fashion something really superior?”
Responding to a chorus of groans from the twins, Robyn got up and joined William at the window. “Actually, I do believe the snow is starting to fall more thickly,” she said. “If this keeps up, tomorrow morning you could have a snowball fight.”
“A battle,” Freddie agreed enthusiastically. “An ‘normous battle.”
“Papa shall be on my side,” George said.
“And you shall be on mine, Mamma.” Freddie, who was good-natured in the extreme, did not appear too crestfallen at having been left with the burden of a female teammate.
“We cannot expect your mother to play in the snow,” William said quickly. “But we will find some way to make up a good game, never fear. I shall ask Jake and Aaron to send their sons.”
“Hey, not so fast,” Robyn interjected. “Don’t count me out. I’ll have you know that when I was growing up, I was considered the neighborhood champion in snowball fights. You picked a winner for your team, Freddie. We’re going to whip the pants off George and your father.”
“Whip the pants off?” Freddie repeated. He chuckled. “That’s very good, Mamma. We shall whip the pants off you, George.”
“May I play wiv you, Mamma?” Clemmie jumped up excitedly. “Me, too. I want to play battles wiv you and Fweddie.”
“Very well,” Freddie said, although this time he looked decidedly reluctant. “But you will have to stay back behind the line of fire. You’re only little.”
“She can’t play. She’s a girl,” George said, appalled by his brother’s lack of judgment. “She’ll get her stupid petticoats wet. Besides, you know girls can’t throw snowballs.”
Clemmie burst into tears. “I want to play,” she said between sobs. “I don’t want to be a girl. Petticoats is silly. Girls is silly.”
Robyn swept the child into her arms. “Shush,” she said, using the corner of Clemmie’s embroidered apron to wipe her eyes. “It’s great to be a girl and of course you can throw snowballs tomorrow. I’m a girl, aren’t I? You can be my helper, and hand me the snowballs so I can throw them faster. We’ll show George and Papa who are the really tough cookies around here.”
“I can play?” Clemmie’s tears dried in an instant. “What is a cookie?” she asked.
“A cookie is... er...” Robyn thought hard and remembered that in England cookies were called biscuits, at least in the twenty-first century.
“It’s another name for a biscuit,” she said triumphantly.
William smiled. “If the two of you prove to be as tough as sailor’s biscuits, you will surely be unconquerable. Freddie, you have acquired a formidable team. We had better look to our laurels, George.”
“It’s getting dark,” Clemmie said, wriggling in Robyn’s arms so that she could get a better view out of the window. “Is it nearly tomorrow?”
“Very nearly.” Robyn gave the squirming child a quick kiss on the nape of her neck. “And if there’s enough snow, we’ll start to play right after breakfast, won’t we, William?”
William seemed to have difficulty in dragging his gaze away from Clemmie. Perhaps he disapproved of his daughter’s disheveled hair and slightly scruffy pinafore, Robyn decided. Well, too bad. She had no intention of allowing the servants to bully the child back into her previous state of permanent doll-like neatness.
She lifted her chin and repeated his name. “William? Is that all right with you?”
“What?” He blinked. “Oh... er... yes, certainly we’ll play early in the morning.”
Clemmie and her brothers cheered in unison. Not surprisingly, baby Zach woke up and immediately announced his displeasure with the boring view inside his cradle. Clemmie clung tighter to Robyn’s neck at the sound of the baby’s cries, and Robyn knew she was being tested.
She didn’t att
empt to untangle herself from Clemmie’s possessive hug, but smiled pleasantly at George and Freddie. “Would one of you please pick up your little brother?”
The twins stopped cheering. “Pick him up?” George sounded horrified.
“But we are boys!” Freddie looked too shocked to speak.
Robyn chuckled. “I promise you Zach doesn’t bite,” she said. “Not even boys.” She walked over to the cradle, still holding Clemmie. Kneeling down, she gently slid Clemmie to the floor, but kept one arm around her so that the child wouldn’t feel displaced by her little brother. Using her free hand, she guided George’s cake-sticky fingers toward the baby, feeling relieved that Zach’s fragile, newborn skin would be protected by his bonnet and long silk gown. Carefully she showed George how to support his brother’s head at the same time as he cradled the baby’s body.
“Very good,” she said when George’s hands were positioned just right. “You can lift him up now.”
Clemmie, fascinated by the sight of her older brother picking up the baby, stopped clinging to Robyn and peered into the cradle instead. Gingerly, with Robyn’s unobtrusive help, George lifted the baby into his arms. Zach’s cries stopped abruptly when he sensed his liberation. His gaze wobbled around the room, then fixed with newborn fierceness on his older brother.
George stared down at the baby, his expression uncertain. “He is very small,” he said finally.
“Yes, but he is strong and healthy, so he will soon grow bigger.”
Freddie peered over his twin’s shoulder. “Were we that small when we were borned?”
“Even smaller, I expect, because the two of you were born at the same time.”
“That’s because we are twins. Twins are always borned together.” Freddie sounded pleased to deliver this piece of insider information.
“That’s right, they are.” Robyn noticed that George’s arms were beginning to droop. “Baby Zach feels heavy even though he’s so small,” she said casually. “His head, especially. Would you like me to hold him now?”
George had no chance to answer. William bent down and carefully removed the shawl-wrapped bundle from his son’s arms. “It is my turn to play nursemaid,” he said. “Freddie, I see the box of spillikins on the shelf over there. You and George should show Clementina how to play the game. She is old enough now to learn the rules.”
Timeless (A Time Travel Romance) Page 24