by Kate James
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHELSEA SAT DOWN heavily on a stool in Paige’s kitchen after work that day. “Why can’t I have a normal relationship with a nice man?” She dropped her hand on Scout’s head when he trotted over and leaned against her leg.
Paige turned away from the coffee machine and gave her friend a startled look. “I thought things were going well with you and Sam. What happened?”
“Well, you know about the problem with the painting and that the police are now treating it as theft?”
Paige nodded as she carried two mugs of coffee to the island and handed one to Chelsea.
“The police figure it was an inside job. There’re only six of us who work at the gallery, and that’s including Mrs. Sinclair, the owner. With such a small number, the police are looking at each of us.”
“Oh, no...” Paige was immediately sympathetic.
“Yeah, that’s bad, especially when I can’t imagine any of them getting involved in something like this, much less doing it themselves. It’s a process. I understand we have to go through it. But here’s the kicker. Sam is the lead investigator.”
“Seeing him under the circumstances must be difficult.”
“Yes and no. I mean, yes, it’s difficult, but no, I’m not seeing him. At least not now and not until the investigation is over.”
Paige reached for Chelsea’s hand. “I’m so sorry. You two seemed so good together, and I sensed you were really getting to like him.”
Chelsea made a tsking noise. “Yeah, I really was.” She forced a smile. “I thought he was getting to like me, too. Maybe we can pick up where we left off—which is really just the beginning—when the investigation’s done.”
“I don’t want to add to your problem, but what if they don’t solve the theft? From what you’ve told me, there’s no evidence, and not all crimes get solved, do they? I’m thinking of the Thompson Museum heist, for example, which was years ago. Or closer to home, the All That Glitters and Shines robbery. That’s still unsolved as well, am I right?”
“Yes, you are.” Chelsea slumped forward and folded her hands around her mug. “I’m not sure what would happen if it remained unsolved and if Sam stayed on the case. But that would be so far into the future that whatever’s been developing between Sam and me would’ve puffed into thin air, just like that.” She emphasized her words with a snap of her fingers.
“Let’s stay positive and assume it’ll wrap up soon.”
“Yeah,” Chelsea said with cheer she didn’t feel.
They heard a commotion in the front hall, and Scout abandoned Chelsea to investigate. A minute later Jason, with Scout at his heels, came skidding into the kitchen. Just seeing her honorary nephew lifted Chelsea’s spirits.
She slid off the stool. “How’s my favorite squirt doing today?” she asked as she hugged him.
Daniel arrived home shortly after Jason, and baby Emily woke from her nap a little while later. Paige and Daniel tried to convince Chelsea to stay for dinner, but she knew how precious family time was for her friends. She didn’t want to intrude and excused herself.
At home, she fed Mindy, made a salad for herself and, with the cat snuggled up against her on the sofa, called her mother.
“I’m glad to hear from you,” Margaret said. “I was planning to call you, since we hadn’t heard from you for a couple of days. Is everything okay?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Chelsea...?”
She should’ve known better than to try to avoid leveling with her mother. Subconscious, perhaps, but that had been the reason she’d put off calling. Even though she knew she’d only hurt herself. No matter what, her parents were always there for her. Solid and dependable.
She let it all spill out. Her father got on the phone for a while, too.
“I love you, Mom,” Chelsea said at the conclusion of the call.
“We love you, too, honey,” Margaret told her. “It’ll all work out the way it’s meant to,” she added reassuringly.
Those words echoed Chelsea’s own thought.
If it was meant to be, she’d have a relationship with Sam. And if it wasn’t, she was blessed to have fantastic parents, great friends and a job she loved.
It wouldn’t be a hardship for her to make do with everything she was fortunate to have.
She rubbed a hand over the ache in her chest and wondered how long it would take to subside.
* * *
WITH CHELSEA’S NEW outlook of taking pleasure in what she had rather than bemoaning what—or more aptly whom—she didn’t have, she focused on her job.
Mr. Hadley had been perfectly willing to teach her everything he knew. She respected his vast knowledge, which he’d gained working in the industry for over forty years, but the recent events had put her lessons with him on the back burner. His priorities had changed since the Babineux affair. Mrs. Sinclair’s presence at the gallery had gradually dwindled and its running fell mostly on Mr. Hadley’s shoulders again.
Although Chelsea had to accept that her budding relationship with Sam had fizzled out, she didn’t give up on learning. She wouldn’t let Mr. Hadley’s reduced availability deter her. She was skilled with computers, so while Mr. Hadley didn’t have time, she’d teach herself through online research.
With her personal life in a shamble, she was even more determined to pursue her career aspiration. Recognizing the pressures on Mr. Hadley and Mrs. Sinclair, Chelsea hoped there’d be an opportunity for her to accomplish her own goal and at the same time lessen their burden. She wanted to let Mr. Hadley know that she was prepared to help in any way she could.
“Where’s Mr. Hadley?” Chelsea asked Joel as she entered the back-office area.
He shrugged his shoulder toward the curator’s office but didn’t say a word.
His moodiness since they’d split up had been getting worse and was beginning to annoy her. “You know, if you talk to me your tongue won’t shrivel up and fall out,” she said testily. “For someone who works in marketing and promotion, you’d think he’d have better interpersonal skills,” she mumbled under her breath as she headed to Mr. Hadley’s office.
His office door was open and Tina must have been on lunch, since she wasn’t at her desk. Chelsea was about to knock on the door frame, when she heard Mr. Hadley exclaim in an uncharacteristically aggravated tone, “I said no! It’s not possible for me to do it.”
Chelsea lowered her hand and peered around the corner. She could see Mr. Hadley pacing back and forth in front of his window. With his free hand, he scratched the top of his head, mussing his thick salt-and-pepper hair. She could only assume that he was talking to Mrs. Sinclair, and the discussion was not going to his liking. Still, raising his voice at her was out of character for him.
“It’s not my fault the shipment is arriving early...Uh-huh. I understand, but it can’t be helped. This is a large shipment and I don’t have time to do the inventory.” He paused to listen again. “Look, if it was anything other than my sister...” His voice dropped and she could hear the emotion break through. “I don’t know how much time she has. I must catch that flight to Heathrow today. As it is, I’m hoping I’m not too late...”
Chelsea was aware that Mr. Hadley’s sister, who lived in London, was ailing and he planned to go see her, but she hadn’t known how ill she was. If that was Mrs. Sinclair on the phone—and who else would he be discussing a shipment with—Chelsea was shocked by her lack of sympathy to Mr. Hadley’s sister’s plight. That was also out of character.
Admittedly, all of them were on edge.
Sam’s question about family illness came to mind, but she was certain there was no money issue, and Mr. Hadley would never do anything illegal or damaging to the reputation of the gallery. And what a terrible time for him to have to worry about his sister! Not that there ever was a goo
d time, of course.
The conversation had upset him, by the sound of it. This might be the perfect opportunity for her to demonstrate what she was capable of, by inventorying the shipment and completing all the paperwork for Mr. Hadley to review on his return.
“No. You don’t have to worry about that. When is the shipment due to arrive?” she heard him ask, then there was a pause. “The Mackenzie warehouse? Why there?” Another pause followed. “Uh-huh. Yes, I suppose that makes sense. I’ll take care of it as soon as I get back.”
Chelsea realized that the conversation was coming to an end. Yes, she wanted to talk to Mr. Hadley about her idea, but she was reluctant to have him discover that she’d been eavesdropping on his conversation. Odd that they’d ship to the Mackenzie warehouse, though. That was Joel’s domain; he used it to store marketing materials, displays and packing goods. To the best of her knowledge, it wasn’t climate-controlled to the exacting standard they required for fine art, so they only used it for that when it was unavoidable. All the more reason she should take the initiative to deal with the shipment, she thought, as she hurried toward the showroom.
“Hey, Chels,” Joel called to her as she passed his office. Sure, now Joel was talking to her. She noted he was with Adam Rochester.
“That woman who looks like a crow? One of your top customers?” Joel said.
She frowned at him. That was one of the things she’d come to not like about him. How he could be critical and mean. “Mrs. Duffy?”
“Yeah. Her. She’s here and asking for you. Deborah offered to help, but she wants you. Something about an important purchase.”
Mrs. Duffy had been eyeing the Angelo bronze for some time. Could she be here to purchase it? If so, thank goodness she hadn’t let Deborah help her. The commission on the bronze would go a long way to make up what she’d lost on the Babineux. “Thanks,” she said to Joel as she rushed out of the office area.
As it turned out, it was the bronze that Mrs. Duffy was interested in and she bought it! It took well over an hour to get her to commit, but Chelsea finally had the deposit, and the paperwork was signed. This was their first major sale since the whole Babineux fiasco.
It would be icing on the cake if Mr. Hadley let her do the inventory of the new shipment. Telling him she’d sold the prized bronze sure wouldn’t hurt the likelihood that he’d agree to it!
Entering the back-office area again, she noticed that Mr. Hadley’s door was closed. “Is he with someone?” Chelsea asked Tina, who was now at her desk.
Tina glanced up. “Oh, no. He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah. You knew he was leaving to visit his sister. There was a report of a major accident on Interstate 93. To make sure he didn’t miss his flight, he headed for Logan Airport earlier than he’d planned.” Her face brightened with a smile. “Congratulations on being acting curator while he’s gone.” The smile spread into a grin. “Can I have tomorrow off?”
Chelsea returned the grin. “Not on your life! I need you here.”
“It was worth a shot. When he saw you were with Mrs. Duffy, he didn’t want to disturb you.” Tina reached into the top drawer of her desk, pulled out a set of keys and card keys and passed them to Chelsea. “He left these for you, in case you need them while he’s gone. Oh, and this, too.” Tina handed her an envelope with her name on it.
“Thanks.” Chelsea turned to go but paused. “Do you know if we’ve done some upgrades to the warehouse on Mackenzie Avenue? Enough to store paintings there?”
“No, I don’t. I haven’t heard Mr. Hadley mention it.”
“Do you know the street number?”
“No. I haven’t seen it on any statements. I don’t think I’ve heard Mr. Hadley mention that, either, but I do recall him complaining that he had to park his car on Addison when he went there. So I assume it’s near the intersection of Addison and Mackenzie. Joel could tell you.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Chelsea repeated as she walked out of the office area.
Given how strained her relationship with Joel had been lately, she didn’t feel comfortable asking him about it.
She’d just have to find it on her own.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHELSEA BELIEVED IN FATE. She was convinced that she was meant to overhear the call Mr. Hadley had presumably with Mrs. Sinclair.
With Mr. Hadley gone, she saw it as an even greater opportunity than she’d originally thought to demonstrate how much she’d learned about the overall operations of the gallery.
Not knowing the exact location of the warehouse didn’t deter her and, no, she didn’t want Joel to find out what she was planning. With the information Tina had given her about the intersection, she’d surely figure it out.
The note Tina had passed her contained clear instructions regarding her priorities while Mr. Hadley was away. There was no mention of the new shipment. Obviously, it had been news to Mr. Hadley, and she’d heard him state clearly that he’d take care of it on his return.
Yes, this could work out very well for everyone. It was also an opportunity for her to show initiative, she rationalized, a true sign of a good leader. Since she was acting curator and they were down a person, she couldn’t leave the gallery during normal work hours, but her evening was free, once she’d stopped by her apartment to feed Mindy. She worked impatiently through the remainder of the workday.
Eager to get started, Chelsea left the office right at five. She drove home in the first snowfall of the season, fed Mindy and—to appease the cat for hurrying back out again—gave her a catnip mouse she kept hidden for just such occasions.
By the time Chelsea left her apartment, there was a light blanket of snow on the ground.
It was nearing seven in the evening when she arrived at the intersection of Addison and Mackenzie. There was no sign identifying the warehouse as one used by the Sinclair Gallery, which made sense since it wasn’t a public venue. Being discreet was a prudent security precaution, because they didn’t want possible thieves to think there might be something of value inside the nondescript building.
The other doors near the intersection did have signs, so through the process of elimination, she decided that the door she was looking for was the second one from the corner.
A nearby streetlamp flickered as she parked adjacent to the curb. Glancing down the dark, deserted street sent a prickle of apprehension coursing up her spine. Her imagination playing tricks on her, she imagined that the elongated shadows cast across the pristine blanket of snow by security bollards were menacing loiterers. Grabbing her handbag from the passenger seat, she locked her car and, suppressing the urge to run, strode purposefully to the door.
She tried her master key in the lock, jiggled it around, but without success. Futile, maybe, but she pushed at the door, then gave it a bad-tempered kick. She felt a moment of unease and checked for security cameras. Relieved that none were discernible, she berated herself for not having thought things through—something she was admittedly guilty of at times because of her impulsive nature. Maybe she had the wrong building or the wrong door. She seriously considered getting back in her car, driving home to curl up with Mindy, a cup of chamomile tea and a good book, and forgetting the whole idea.
Then she remembered Mr. Hadley’s keys, which Tina had given her. He must’ve been in a big hurry, because he’d left his entire key chain, instead of just the keys he thought she might need. Rummaging through her handbag, she found them. Trying the keys at random, she got to a shiny, relatively new one. Not having high hopes since the lock on the door looked anything but new, she was surprised when it slid in smoothly and turned without a hitch.
“Well, what do you know?” she murmured to herself. The lock must have been rekeyed recently and this most definitely was the right unit.
She pushed the heavy metal door open.
The screech it made as it swung on its hinges was worthy of a horror movie and had her glancing down the empty street again.
Intrusion system! she thought suddenly and held her breath until she was satisfied that at least there was no audible alarm. If she’d triggered a silent alarm, she couldn’t do anything about it now. She searched in her bag for her iPhone and switched on its flashlight. Locating the alarm system panel on the wall beside the door, she saw that it had no lights flashing and appeared to be unarmed. If that was the case, it was careless of whoever had been here last. If not, and the security company personnel or the police were dispatched, she’d just have to explain who she was and her motives when they showed up. She had the letter from Mr. Hadley in her handbag, to attest to the fact that she was the gallery’s acting curator, which should help.
Oh, she hoped whatever happened, it wouldn’t be Sam she’d have to explain herself to.
She walked farther inside, the clicking of her heels on the concrete floor echoing around her. Using the flashlight on her phone again, she found the switches for the lights. Flipping them on, she immediately felt self-conscious in the bright glare of the overhead fluorescents. Still feeling some misgivings about being in the space without explicit permission, regardless of how noble her cause, she quickly tested the various switches and decided to leave on only a set of low-wattage incandescent lights. For her own comfort, she nudged the door shut behind her and locked it. She didn’t want someone wandering in off the street while she was working.
She glanced around the room. What she saw wasn’t what she’d expected.
Yes, there were several packing crates lined up along one wall—probably the shipment Mr. Hadley had talked about—but the center of the space resembled an artist’s studio more than a storage area. She took a few more steps into the room. Annoyed by the harsh sound of her heels, she yanked off her boots and walked around on stocking feet.
She trailed a finger along a work surface littered with tubes of paints, brushes, palettes, palette knives, and all manner of rags and solvents. There were high-quality canvases stacked against a wall, and a couple of professional-grade easels.