When she wouldn’t kiss back with any enthusiasm, he went for other locations, her face, her forehead, her eyelids. She endured it, fearing the consequences of open rebellion, and her mind flew—both to escape routes and piecing the puzzle together.
If Rick was part of the mafia family, maybe he was involved in the theft of the painting itself. The dry cleaning couldn’t have been that important to him, unless the claim check was for something worth more than a shirt.
The painting. He’d checked the painting at the cleaners. That had to be it.
Never trust the handsome Italian.
But another part of the puzzle didn’t make sense. If Riccardo was involved in the theft, though, why would Enzio threaten her not to tell the FBI agent about the little jaunt into the desert?
And if not Enzio, then which coworker got him the ticket to opening night? It was for VIPs only. If he had to go across town to get his shirts cleaned for free, he wasn’t in the big donor bracket. Unless the Outfit got him in. But they’d steer clear of that. And he did say a coworker of hers got him a ticket.
“Riccardo, baby,” she cooed. “Tell me which of my coworkers got you a ticket to the exhibit’s opening night. And don’t say Harmony Billows or I’ll be very jealous.”
“Harmony and I are through,” he said. “We were through months ago.”
He’d dated her? That hit like a bombshell.
“You didn’t say she isn’t the one who gave you the ticket, though.” She used her most girlish voice here.
“Harmony’s got nothing on you. I saw it instantly when you walked into that interview. Legs from here to Mars.” He pulled her tighter. His arms were strong. Too strong. They frightened her. But she still had to know, so she gave him an insistent look, and he relented. “So what if it was that Brit with the head cold?” He pressed a kiss to her neck, compressing her throat a bit.
Nigel. Nigel had gotten Rick the ticket.
But when Ford was interviewing her, she told him her suspicions about Nigel, and he acted like he didn’t know who he was. But he’d given Riccardo the ticket.
“I thought you didn’t know Nigel.”
He didn’t respond to this, was too busy with other things. But he did murmur, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I wrote it right there on your hand.”
Oh. Right. That let him off the hook.
Her mind worked like sixty. Nigel was with Umberto Iglesias at the hookah bar. Nigel had acted beyond suspicious all week. And Enzio warned Ava against telling the FBI about her trip into the desert with him—or was it a warning about not telling the FBI about Umberto? It wasn’t clear.
It didn’t fit together. Any of it.
Why would Enzio insist on the secrecy of her seeing Umberto? Unless he meant something else. Actually, to Enzio she’d never admitted to seeing Umberto. At least not in the museum. Actually, not anywhere.
Don’t go telling any FBI agents about this little “date” of ours, or I won’t be so nice next time.
Those were his exact words. Maybe what Enzio had threatened she not tell was about the drive into the desert. Their so-called “date.” She hadn’t. She hadn’t mentioned Enzio at all.
Now Rick was getting insistent with his lips and hands. She wondered what would happen if she dropped this information now—if it would be the bomb she imagined, or if seeing (or not seeing) the guy with the weird beard was the real bomb.
So confusing.
“Listen, Ava. You can’t go teasing a man like you do. Not a man who’s been widowed and alone for as long as I have. You left your door open. You lured me in here by taking that dry cleaning ticket, knowing I’d come after it.” His hand was on her waist and climbing. “You can’t play games with a man like that. It’s not nice.”
“You’re the one who’s not nice, Agent Ford.” He was not being nice at all. His kisses didn’t warm her the way Kellen’s did. They burned as his stubble scratched her. She had to get away from him before he got more impatient—and possibly violent. She didn’t know, but she assumed he carried a weapon. “I could call the cops on you for breaking and entering.”
This miniature threat didn’t dissuade him in the least, only fueled his fire.
“I’ll show you breaking and entering.” He reached for her hip.
Panic seared her. She’d have to do something drastic—
The door burst open and banged against the wall. “Hello?” a scratchy voice asked.
Kellen! Surely he had come to her rescue. She said she needed someone to protect her, and …
“Miss Young?” A female voice hollered. “I don’t understand what you think the definition of propriety is, but this is not it.” Mrs. Chowder’s tottering step clunked across the wood floor. “We had an agreement, Miss Young. The smell of oil and turpentine is making my asthma act up, and—”
Agent Ford dropped his attack and backed away. Ava let out a slow breath.
“What’s this? Why, Riccardo. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“Hello, Mrs. Chowder.” Rick sounded sheepish.
“You need to run along home. Take the trash down on your way, sonny. Ava has let it pile up while she’s been out on airplanes with a billionaire. He’s a much better match for her than you. Stop setting your sights so high.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Agent Ford’s shoulders slouched. He slunk away, with just one backward glance at Ava.
Chapter 17
Ava breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed onto the sofa, not even caring that Mrs. Chowder saw her in her nightgown. Mrs. Chowder perched on the edge of the loveseat, her gray hair cut neatly in a bob, replacing the scraggly bun.
“I told Riccardo he was up to no good, and he’d better leave you alone. That you were a nice girl.”
The stress of the moment still lingered. It took a while for it to register just how dangerous the moment had been. Ava collected herself enough to ask a question. “How do you know him?”
“He was married to my sweet niece, Natalie. Despite better prospects, she fell for his looks and so-called charms.” Mrs. Chowder tsked. It was the most Ava had heard her speak in the whole time they’d been neighbors. “Died too young, Natalie did. I blame Riccardo. Neglect. He was forever scraping, clawing his way toward something. Jealousy drove him, I swear.”
Jealousy—toward Kellen? It fit.
“How do you mean, clawing?”
“I watch things. When Kellen McMullen swept you up, I went on high alert. Called Riccardo over and told him to keep his hands off you. I guess he couldn’t.” Mrs. Chowder smirked. “You’ve done something with your hair. I liked the natural color better. But this is nice, too.”
Ava thanked her with a nod, but she was still in the dark about a lot.
“I’m not in the Rick Ford fan club right now, but he’s not exactly a slouch. He’s done well for himself, career-wise. Lots of photographs with dignitaries decorate his office.”
“Oh, that. Paid photo ops, I’m afraid. It’s sad, really. I’ve been down there and berated him about the pretense.” Mrs. Chowder rolled her eyes. “I like you, Ava. You make divine lemon squares. And you have been kind enough to leave me alone when I’ve wanted silence to do my surveillance work.”
Surveillance work? A closer look told Ava that Mrs. Chowder wasn’t nearly as elderly as Ava had previously believed. She couldn’t be over sixty.
“NSA. I’ve been a data processor for them for decades. It’s solitary work. Anyway, I got Riccardo that job at the FBI when he married Natalie. Her mother and I didn’t want her stuck with a bum, you know, so I pulled what strings I had to. It was a stretch, considering all his family ties. Of course, we figured he’d see the light, turn away from those past connections and go straight. Be the white sheep of the family, that is.” She chuckled a low, derisive laugh.
“I’m glad you came in when you did. It was a happy accident.”
“Oh, it was no accident, dearie.” Mrs. Chowder got up and paced the room. “The minute we were alerted that the
Hudson River collection was coming to Phoenix, several members of our team were put on task. Shame. I’ve been listening to conversations all over the world about it—including yours.” She looked grim. “I didn’t like the way things were going in here just now, and I didn’t think Riccardo remembered I lived next door. Clearly, he needed a little reminder about how to treat a lady. Not that he ever did well with Natalie.”
She frowned, and Ava thought she looked forlorn, so she went to the kitchen and brought out a plate of cranberry bread slices she’d kept in the refrigerator and a cup of milk.
“Ava, we owe you. You gave us a major piece of the puzzle when you got him to drop that ninny Nigel’s name tonight. We knew Winterthorn had a history of dirty deeds. Do you know, he sold a fake Hart for $49,000? Ridiculous. Besides that, you accepted the date with McMullen to go to that ridiculous belly dancing establishment. Without that, we never would have seen your runny-nosed Nigel in cahoots with Umberto Iglesias smoking hookahs.”
“You knew about that all the time?” But Ava hadn’t told anyone. “You were following me?”
“Why do you think you were asked not to leave the state? We don’t have the resources to go jetting after people with unlimited funds like Kellen McMullen.”
Ava gulped. “You suspected Kellen of the theft, then?”
“Oh, no. Never. We knew who stole it all along. And it wasn’t Kellen McMullen.”
A whoosh of relief tingled from the top of Ava’s head to her toes. “But you said you knew all along.”
“Of course. It was Riccardo.”
“Agent Ford?” Ava almost shrieked. “You’ve got to be kidding. He was the one conducting the investigation.”
“At the request of that nincompoop Dwight Huggins at the Glastonbury. Who do you think arranged to have the paintings brought to Phoenix in the first place? Huggins. It’s why your old boss Friedman fell off the wagon and went back to drinking. He couldn’t take the pressure of being involved in arranging a theft of that nature. We knew there was someone else on the inside working with Riccardo. At first we pinned it on Ford’s longtime acquaintance, that Billows woman.”
Oh, no. Just when Ava had decided Harmony was tolerable. But wait, Mrs. Chowder said it wasn’t Harmony. “I assume you mean Enzio Valente was your next suspect.”
“Oh, he wasn’t in on it. He was our inside man.”
If Ava had been a cartoon character, her head would have spun around on her neck twenty times. Enzio! An inside man? Her face must have registered the shock because Mrs. Chowder snickered. “What? Did you think he was mafia? He didn’t hurt you. Barely even scared you. Mafia would’ve shot you dead and left you as coyote meat in the desert.” So, Enzio was working with the government? In a way that was a relief—at least she wasn’t the world’s worst judge of character when it came to workplace crushes. Unless she counted Rick Ford.
But she didn’t understand. “Why did he insist I not to tell any FBI agents, meaning Ford of course, about our so-called date?”
“Three reasons. One, we didn’t want to tip off Riccardo that anyone was onto Nigel and Umberto Iglesias’s connection. It would have endangered you.”
“Because?”
“Because if Riccardo knew that you’d seen Iglesias with Witherthorn, he would have gotten spooked, and possibly harmed Nigel. Desperate men can be volatile.” Chowder shook her head. “Or her might have re-routed the painting to somewhere away from the cleaners.”
“I see.” Ava frowned.
“Two, we didn’t need Riccardo getting ticked off at another man for moving in on the girl he had his eye on. He’s not nice when he’s jealous.” She smirked. “Three, we needed Enzio to verify you weren’t going to go running to Riccardo with the tipoff. We were getting close with all the evidence. Sorry about that bad walk in the night. That wasn’t meant to be unkind. We just had to see how Riccardo would react.”
So, Riccardo stole the painting. With help from Huggins and Nigel. And the dry cleaners claim ticket, which she had unwittingly swiped, gumming up the works for the bad guys. She took Mrs. Chowder’s crumb covered plate and empty cup. Mrs. Chowder dabbed her lip with a napkin.
“When the claim ticket went missing Riccardo went on a rampage. The painting wasn’t exactly safe while it languished in the back room of the dry cleaners, even if a hundred mob Tommy Guns protected it.”
“But if it was just up to Iglesias to pick it up, then what was the big deal? Why would he need the claim ticket?”
“Layers of security. Workers at the cleaners aren’t allowed to make the connections. Nigel did the drop, gave the ticket to Riccardo, who planned to give the ticket to Iglesias for the pick up.”
Ava nodded. “But I had it. I didn’t mean to have it. I just—”
“It’s fine. It worked in our favor, actually, bought us enough time to piece it together. Thank you. But believe me, there was no joy in Mudville the whole time you and McMullen were on your cozy trip to the Grand Canyon yesterday.”
Mrs. Chowder’s eyes flickered toward the mural of Havasupai Falls on Ava’s far wall. “A fair likeness. You’ve got some real talent there, Miss Young.”
“I work too many hours to give much time to painting.”
Mrs. Chowder raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Kellen McMullen will allow that to be the case for long.”
“Oh, Kellen. He’s a good guy. I’d probably let myself like him a lot if I thought he meant a single word he said to me. But a girl’s got to guard herself against interminable flirts.”
Mrs. Chowder looked away and back again. “I shouldn’t interfere, Ava. But you’ve been really kind to me, so I’ll tell you. Kellen McMullen doesn’t say things like that often. Maybe only once before—to my niece Natalie, from what I could tell. He deserves a good girl. Don’t pass him off as insincere just because he’s so good-natured.”
Ava’s face burned, and she raised a hand to her cheek.
Mrs. Chowder reached over and patted Ava on the head. “You feeling better now, sweetie? Get some sleep. The feds will do the rest of the heavy lifting. You’ve made our job a lot easier.”
In her fingers she fluttered the yellow claim ticket. “I palmed this from Riccardo on his way out. We’ll have a good time taking nasally Nigel on a trip to the west side of town to claim his prize.”
“Um, Mrs. Chowder? Two more things. What was Riccardo going to do with the painting? And does he know about your job?”
Mrs. Chowder laughed. “Heavens, no. It’d burst his ego. He thinks he got the FBI job on his own. I’m all about busting crime-committing men, not busting egos of men my niece loved. Let him live his fantasy.” She sighed. “And the other was a good question. He stole the painting to fence it and use the cash to build a mansion he wanted to rival his old friend’s. Right down to a bear skin rug he’s been bidding on online. It’s a shame, really. He won’t ever be half the man his nemesis is. And he’ll be even less in prison. Cops of any kind don’t do well in the pen.”
Ava shuddered. Very little pity swelled in her for Rick. He’d basically assaulted her in her kitchen. If they didn’t get him for grand larceny, they ought to for what he’d done to her. Or at least what he’d clearly intended to do.
“I’ll have some slices of pumpkin roll for you in the morning, Mrs. Chowder.”
“After the lemon squares, those are my favorite.” Mrs. Chowder touched Ava’s shoulder, and then went out.
* * *
Ava sank into her sofa, but before she could even put her feet up on the coffee table, a loud knock rapped at the door. “Ava? You all right?”
She opened it and found Kellen standing there. He took her by the shoulders. “I was just getting to my house and I got the strongest premonition I should get back over here.” His blazing blue eyes searched hers. “Tell me nothing’s happened to you. What?” His eyes flickered to the painting she’d done. “Did you do that?” He dropped her shoulders and walked slowly toward the mural of the waterfall. “It’s incredible. It’s astonishing. It’
s almost exactly like being there.”
That was an exaggeration. But it still made her feel good.
In a flash he had pulled out his cell phone. “Wait. I’ve got something.” He tapped the screen a few times and from the speaker came the sound of rushing water. “Listen to that. It sounds exactly like we’re back there again. I can’t believe you did this. You said you hadn’t been to Havasupai before. How could you paint it this well without going? Unless you were fibbing to make me feel important for taking you there first.”
He reached for a splash from the waterfall. “Oh, it’s fresh.” A bit of paint dabbed onto his fingertip.
“I did it tonight. Since you dropped me off.”
Kellen gathered her in his arms. “It’s incredible. I love oil paintings of waterfalls. Have I ever told you that?”
Then he’d love this next news. She told him about the recovery—er, impending recovery—of Niagara.
“Oh, I always knew that’d get sorted out fast. With my old buddy Ford on the job, it was only a matter of time.” Kellen would learn the thief’s identity soon enough.
“Wasn’t he kind of a rival, though?”
“Yeah. Of course. Natalie chose him, and it hurt, sure. We won’t ever be close again. And I don’t trust him around my girl.” He gave her a squeeze. “But we’d been buddies before that, and he was always a sharp mind when it came to his job.”
“Right.” She could see that Kellen might think that. She didn’t want to pop his trust bubble right now. It wasn’t the moment for it.
“That’s why I never acted very worried, even though I didn’t get a good look at it that first night.”
But that brought up another question Ava had had. “Yeah, so, why didn’t you? Look at Niagara then, I mean.”
Kellen started moving her furniture. In no time the couch was facing the newly painted mural. “Because. I had something so much more captivating to look at. You were all I could think about. Then and now.” He pulled her by the hand and plopped down, pulling her onto his lap. His fingertip traced the place on her neck where the sunburn glowed brightest.
The Lost Art: A Romantic Comedy Page 21