Duplicity

by Sara Rosett

  Zoe and Jack leaned on the metal railing that edged the canal. Zoe pointed above the trees. “Check out the hooks at the top of the buildings.” They were mounted on sturdy pieces of wood protruding from the peak of the gables. “They attach pulleys to them, then hoist furniture up to the windows. They’ve used them for centuries.”

  “That’s my travel-lover. I knew you hadn’t forgotten all those details from your guidebook-proofing days.” Jack tilted his head back, his chin rising as he took in the building directly behind them. “Using a pulley would be much better than taking the stairs, especially when you’ve got five or six flights.”

  They strolled along the canal, stopping to photograph an incredibly narrow house that was only a few feet wide, then they dropped into a shop to order Vlaamse Frites—not French fries—at a stand-up counter. The chef dipped the thick-cut strips of potatoes into sizzling oil, tossed them with salt, then served them in a paper cone. The variety of sauces to choose from was extensive, but they went with a heavy dollop of ketchup. Jack motioned to a couple of bar stools that lined the shop’s window. “Want to sit?”

  “No, let’s keep walking. There’s so much to see.” They nibbled fries as they wandered along the canals and over bridges, making their way to the Prinsengracht Canal, where Mallory’s houseboat was located.

  The canals of Amsterdam ran in concentric half circles. The central train station was at the center of the half circle, perched between the Old Town and a channel that ships had used to reach Amsterdam for centuries. The canals moved out from the central point in ever-larger arcing half circles. Roads and bridges bisected the canals, creating a fan-like pattern. If they took the correct canal and cut through on certain bridges, they could save themselves quite a few steps and a lot of time—not that Zoe wanted to cut their rambling short. She was soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying every step of their walk, but the sooner they found Mallory and tracked down Olive’s reports, the sooner they could focus solely on their vacation.

  Zoe ate her last fry and tossed the empty paper cone in a trash bin. “I think we’re almost there.” They crossed over an arched bridge, then went along a short street with clothing shops and cafés, weaving in and out of tourists loaded down with backpacks and shopping bags, catching snatches of English, German, and what sounded like Russian or an Eastern European language. Tulips were everywhere, their bright colors and straight stems bursting out of round stone planters spaced along the streets as well as in pots and buckets on the steps leading into the shops.

  Rows of houseboats lined each side of the next canal. “Looks like the right place,” Jack said.

  “So interesting how they’re all so different.” Some were squat houses on floating platforms, but others were actual boats that had been converted to homes. One was painted bright orange and had a colorful contrasting blue trim, while the next houseboat had a sleek gray exterior and a modern style. Farther down the canal, another one looked to be made of slats of teakwood. Another was covered with a mass of low-growing plants, like a rooftop garden. Flowers in pots with trailing ivy decorated the decks of some of the houseboats, while other owners had created container gardens along the edge of the canal.

  Zoe consulted the map and the note from Ava. “Mallory’s is the third one from this bridge on the east side of the canal, by the bistro with green awnings. There, I see it.”

  Zoe navigated around a tangle of bikes propped against a row of metal racks. Only a couple of the bikes were locked with chains.

  “Trusting lot around here,” Jack said, noticing Zoe’s gaze.

  “Yes. I’ve heard the way to keep your bike from being stolen is to ride one so old that no one would want to steal it.”

  Mallory’s houseboat was low and barge-like, painted a dull brown with small portholes lining the cabin. “It looks closed up,” Jack said as they approached.

  Zoe wasn’t sure what the protocol was when visiting a houseboat, but since there was no one around to ask if she could come aboard, she crossed the wooden gangplank with Jack following her. They walked along the narrow passage at the side of the low cabin to reach the front—the bow, she supposed—gliding her hand along a waist-high rope that was obviously meant to prevent someone from falling off. The boat had barely shifted under their weight when they crossed the gangplank. If Mallory was onboard, could she tell someone had stepped onto the boat?

  The narrow passage opened to a deck at the front of the boat with a pair of plastic chairs and a low table. A pot of drooping pink tulips with frilly-edged petals sat on the water-spotted table. The entrance to the boat had to be a metal hatch on the cabin’s roof. Zoe knocked on it.

  Silence. The boat didn’t rock with movement from inside the cabin. Zoe knocked again, pounding harder. After a moment, she stepped back.

  Jack angled to the side and peered through one of the portholes. “No light on inside. She’s probably at work.” They made their way back to the gangplank. “We can come back this evening. We’ll have a better chance of finding her home then.”

  “Yes, you’re right. We can come back to this part of Amsterdam for dinner.”

  “Sounds good.” Once they’d crossed the gangplank to the road that edged the canal, Jack paused to allow a woman with a wooden box the size of a wheelbarrow mounted on the front of her bike to trundle by. As she passed, a toddler with curly hair peered at them from inside the cart. A small dog and a string bag of groceries were nestled beside the little kid.

  “Wow.” Zoe’s gaze followed the mom. “I think that was the Amsterdam version of an SUV.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I bet she never has to go to the gym.” Zoe realized they were blocking the view of a man with gray hair pulled back into a thin ponytail who was taking a photo of the canal from his café table at the bistro. They moved out of his way, and Jack took out the map that came with the guidebook. “So . . . where to now? Art, tulips, or more wandering the canals? I’m good with anything.”

  Zoe settled her sunglasses on her face. “It’s such a gorgeous day. Let’s look at flowers.”

  11

  The bus was covered with images of tulips. “Well, that makes it easy to find the right one to take us to the flowers,” Zoe said before she and Jack climbed aboard, squeezing into the last pair of open seats. “Popular destination today,” Zoe murmured.

  “Keukenhof Gardens are only open for about six weeks each year, so I imagine it’s busy all the time.”

  “I love it when you speak guidebook.”

  Jack flared an eyebrow. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  They left the city center behind and skimmed along the highway to the outskirts of Amsterdam, where modern buildings lined the freeway. The sun streamed through the window, and the steady hum of the wheels created a soothing white noise. Zoe’s eyelids felt heavy, and she put her head on Jack’s shoulder.

  A soft voice sounded in her ear. “Zoe, take a look.” She sat up straight, rotating her shoulders to work out a kink in her neck as she followed the direction of Jack’s gaze out the window. Strips of brightly colored lines marched away from the bus across the flat land toward the horizon, each one a vibrant color—startling yellow, crimson, lush purple, shocking pink. Zoe reached for her phone to take a picture. “Are those tulips? We’re going by so quickly I can’t tell.”

  A woman in the seat in front of them twisted around. “They’re hyacinths. Aren’t they gorgeous?” She had a British accent, and she was clearly prepared to spend hours looking at flowers. A canvas hat dangled between her shoulder blades, sunglasses were perched on her head amid her white curls, and a bulging fanny pack encircled her waist. “You’ll see lots of those today too, not just tulips.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Jack asked her.

  “My third visit. It’s a gardener’s heaven.”

  The bus maneuvered around a massive parking lot where the sun glinted off thousands of cars, then stopped near the entrance to the gardens.

  They made their way
through the gates and into a forecourt area where people were milling about, heads bent over maps. Jack surveyed the multiple paths that branched off from the entrance area. “I had no idea this place was so large.”

  Zoe skimmed the map she’d picked up as they walked in. “It’s like Disneyland for flowers.”

  They set off down a random path and worked their way through the open-air displays. The tulips were planted in a mixture of patterns, some of them masses of straight lines of a single variety of tulip. Other flowerbeds contained many varieties of flowers and mixed shades and tones of the same color or contrasting colors, like one that contained pink and white hyacinths along with tulips so dark purple that they almost looked black.

  Some of the flower beds were arranged in geometric shapes, while others undulated through the landscape, a meandering blaze of scarlet or brilliant white. And there were indeed plenty of hyacinths and crocuses along with the tulips. The hyacinths in particular had a strong aroma, and when they rounded a corner and came to a sweep of hyacinths under a stand of tall pines, the scent was so intense that it seemed as if they’d walked into a cloud of perfume.

  They wandered in and out of several of the display halls with rows of unusual tulips. The variations of the tulips were endless, ranging from color to petal shape to height. Zoe scanned the seemingly endless diversity. “These are amazing but a little overwhelming. I think I like the outdoor gardens the best.”

  “Then let’s go back outside.” Jack pushed open a glass door, and the scent of hyacinths engulfed them again. They strolled along the path and came to a long bed of sunny yellow tulips that contrasted with the dark green lawn. “This demands a picture with us in it.” Zoe looked around to ask someone to take their picture and caught sight of a familiar figure. “Look, it’s that man from the café—the one who was trying to take a picture and we blocked his shot. The guy with the gray ponytail.”

  Jack moved his gaze over the crowd in an unhurried fashion. “I see him.”

  “It’s kind of weird to see him again.” It was his position that caught Zoe’s eye, with his arm extended for a photo.

  “Probably just a coincidence. The canal with the houseboats is a tourist attraction, and this is another major one.” Jack glanced around. “We’ll probably go to dinner at the same restaurant as some of these people later tonight.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” They moved on, but Zoe noticed Jack glanced back and gave the man a long look.

  They were strolling around the delicate white blossoms on some massive cherry trees a little later when Zoe’s phone dinged with a text. “It’s from Ava.” Sheltering the screen from the sun with her hand, Zoe read, “Woman in a White Fur stolen during the night!”

  “What?” Jack pushed his sunglasses up on his head and leaned in to look over her shoulder.

  “Ava sent a link to a news video.”

  An image of the Janus Gallery filled the screen as a voiceover announced, “A London art gallery was the target of thieves last night. Entering through a back window, they made off with a Tamara de Lempicka painting, Woman in a White Fur, along with two paintings from an up-and-coming artist. The Tamara de Lempicka paintings are popular with collectors and have appeared in music videos. We caught up with the other artist whose work was taken, Farina Vee, this morning.”

  The video cut to a close-up of Farina. She brushed her white-blonde bangs out of her eyes. “I’m shocked. I don’t know what to think. It’s stunning—that someone would take a Tamara de Lempicka painting along with mine.” Her lips, shiny with lip gloss, parted in a small smile. “It’s flattering—horrible, but flattering at the same time, if you know what I mean.”

  The shot shifted to include both the reporter and Farina. The reporter’s red windbreaker seemed garish next to the subdued tones of Farina’s taupe cashmere scarf and flowing cream-colored dress. The reporter asked, “Tell me about the paintings of yours that were stolen.”

  “They were two of the ones most special to me—Titled and Untitled—they speak to the void and blankness of modern life—”

  “Wait,” the reporter said, “one of your paintings is called Titled? Do I have that right?”

  “Yes. And Untitled. Only by examining the ambiguous can we bring the perceptible into focus. It’s all about egocentrism . . .”

  She drew a breath, but the reporter cut in again. “Have you had any ransom demands?”

  Farina blinked. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Would you pay a ransom demand?”

  Her glossy lips widened into a full smile. “I’d have to receive one first before I made that decision.”

  “Thank you for speaking with us. And best of luck. We hope your artwork is returned unharmed.”

  “Thank you.” Farina looked directly into the camera. “So do I.”

  Zoe closed the video. “Well, Farina didn’t look that upset.”

  “You know what they say—there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  “That should be helpful if she ever gets them back. I’d better call Ava. The news clip barely mentioned Woman in a White Fur. I guess that means the provenance research is on hold.”

  A few moments later Zoe put her phone away. “Ava wasn’t in. I left her a message. She’s probably at lunch right now.”

  “Lunch is an excellent idea. Here or back to Amsterdam?”

  “Honestly, I think I’m all tulip-ed out. I’m ready to head back to Amsterdam.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Once they were on the bus, Zoe twisted around and looked up and down the rows, but she didn’t see a man with a gray ponytail. As she settled back into her seat, Jack said, “I didn’t see him either.”

  Once they were back in Amsterdam, they strolled along the canals until Zoe saw a sign for an Italian restaurant. “This sounds good. We need the carbs after walking all those acres.” They shared a pizza and a bowl of pasta, then headed back to the hotel.

  The streets were busier than they had been earlier in the day. Zoe and Jack threaded between pedestrians, bicycles, and trams, then halted at a corner to wait for the light to change. Jack turned around.

  “The hotel is just a couple of blocks ahead,” Zoe said, thinking he was checking the street signs for their location.

  “I know.” The light changed, but instead of moving with the foot traffic across the street, Jack tugged on Zoe’s hand. “This way.” She followed his lead as they turned left and walked down a side street at a quick clip.

  Zoe was itching to glance behind them, but she made herself look straight ahead. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Gray Ponytail is behind us.”

  Zoe wanted to turn around even more and get a look for herself, but she focused on the street in front of them. If Jack said the guy was behind them, he was. “So you agree that the third time we see someone it’s not a coincidence.”

  “Could be, but it’s doubtful. How about a little test?” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  “I’m not going to put the brakes on your fun.” Jack so rarely got to exercise some of his best skills. She waved a hand. “Have at it.”

  “Excellent.” He slowed his pace and nodded to a shop window.

  They stopped in front of the large plate-glass window, seemingly to check out the rather unusual displays. Zoe said, “I don’t need to look at the map to know we’re on the edge of the red-light district.”

  “Appears so.” Jack’s gaze was on the window’s reflection, not the merchandise inside.

  Zoe shifted her focus to the hazy image of the street behind them. “Is he still there?”

  “Yes. He’s stopped to look in a window as well.”

  Zoe and Jack resumed walking, dodging through pedestrians and bikes. “Why is he following us? Who is he?”

  “No idea.”

  They worked their way back to the main street, which was packed. Bicyclists threaded their way through the throngs of tourists posing for selfies as the trams slid silently by. Afte
r a while their hotel came into sight, and they made directly for the maroon awning over the sidewalk. The hotel lobby was a hodgepodge of nooks and crannies with the reception desk and elevators tucked into the building at odd angles.

  They paused at a grouping of couches and chairs in the only open area of the lobby where they could see out the double glass doors. Jack took out the map and pretended to study it. “Is he still there?”

  “He’s on the corner across the street . . . he’s turning . . . looks like he’s headed away.” Zoe took in the intent look on Jack’s face. “And you’re going to follow him.”

  “You can come too.”

  They’d played this game before, and Jack was a better choice to tail someone. For one thing, her bright red hair tended to stand out, and she didn’t have a hat or scarf to cover it up. She gave him a quick kiss. “You go ahead. I need to try Ava again.”

  “Okay. Back soon.”

  Upstairs in their room, Zoe went to the window. She spotted Jack’s lean dark-haired figure moving away from the hotel as he stayed several yards behind Mr. Gray Ponytail, who was striding quickly up the street without glancing to the side or behind him.

  Zoe turned away from the window and dialed Ava. She picked up after the first ring. “Hello, Zoe. Perfect timing. I was about to ring you.”

  “I can’t believe Woman in a White Fur has been stolen.”

  “Awful, isn’t it? I have Harrington on the line. Let me merge the calls.”

  A few clicks later, Harrington said, “Zoe, how is Amsterdam?”

  Zoe glanced out the window, but Jack was too far away to see now. “It’s turning into an interesting stay. How’s it going where you are?”

  “Slowly. Criminals are rather lax about keeping to a schedule. No developments here, unlike in London.”

  “Yes, Ava sent me the details. Do you have any news on the theft?” Zoe asked.