Knight Music

by Darlene Franklin

  Back in the room, Nel had finished supper and closed her eyes. Brian smiled when Michelle and Sonia came in. “I was just saying that if Mum’s x-rays come back okay tomorrow, she can go home.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  Ty turned from his spot by the window. “I’ll tell my boss I need a couple of days off, so I can stay home with her.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Joe accepted the diet Dr Pepper Michelle gave him.

  “I know I don’t, but I want to.”

  “If I know Mum, she’ll chase you out before the day is over.” Joe grinned. “May you succeed where others have failed.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  ❧

  When Nel was released from the hospital late Monday morning, she insisted on going to a restaurant for real food. Ty operated on automatic. The time had come to tell all. Sonia wasn’t there, but now that Nel’s health had improved, he could carry the burden no longer. Must be that new-man business. He’d had to bite his tongue to keep from telling them over the weekend.

  After the waitress brought their drinks and salads, Ty cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been needing to tell you folks for a while.”

  The chatter around the table slowed. Joe put his hand to his heart. “If you want our permission to ask Sonia to marry you, you have it.”

  Laughter rippled around the circle, and Ty felt warmth creep into his cheeks. Only Aunt Nel gazed at him with steady blue eyes, signaling her readiness to hear whatever he had to say.

  “It’s not that. Besides, I believe it’s traditional to ask her father’s permission first.” He chuckled briefly. “No, it’s nothing so happy.”

  Michelle leaned forward. “What is it, Ty?” She looked at the others for support. “Are you leaving Ulysses?”

  “I may have to. Look, I don’t know how to say this except to come out with it. I arranged to have Joe’s store robbed.” He looked at his plate, unwilling to meet their eyes, but he couldn’t avoid hearing the disbelieving gasps.

  “You what?” Joe leaned back in his chair, away from Ty. “But that’s not possible.”

  “Tell us about it, Ty.” Nel’s gentle voice cut through the stuttered reactions. “I suspect you need to unburden your heart as much as we need to hear your story.”

  One look into his aunt’s calm blue eyes stiffened Ty’s resolve. “It began when they discovered the fraud in Dad’s company.” He told it all. How his father blamed him for not discovering the fraud earlier. How he banished him to Colorado. How Ty wanted to return home a hero—a real Knight. He allowed himself a black laugh at that.

  The family picked at their food and listened in silence, except for an occasional question for clarification. Ty’s food grew cold as he continued his narrative. He didn’t think he could stomach food in any case. Not while he explained his grand scheme to “discover” the artwork and take credit for it. How he figured no real harm would be done since he planned on returning the merchandise.

  “But then I came here and met all of you and Sonia and Max and. . .at last. . .came face-to-face with the Lord.”

  Joe maintained a neutral expression. Brian tilted his head to one side, as if weighing the evidence. Aunt Nel gave a slight nod of her head. “There’s more.”

  “Here’s the truly bad news. While I was waiting for the right moment for discovery, my associate sold the art. All of it.”

  “Was it the man you were talking to after the concert last week?” Joe asked. Ty didn’t know he had observed the exchange.

  Ty shifted, uncomfortable with pointing the finger at Kent for a theft he had initiated. But he wouldn’t lie. “Yes, that was him.”

  “Where is it now? Do you know?” Michelle asked.

  Ty sipped his now-cold coffee. “He wouldn’t tell me. He, um, tried to split the profits with me and call it even, but I refused.” He looked up. “I’ve looked into it. I think he might have gone to a dealer named Tony Cipoletti.”

  “Cipoletti. I’ve heard of him.” Joe’s face tightened in concentration. “In fact, I believe I met him at the Cherry Creek Arts Festival this summer.”

  Ty set down the coffee cup, unwilling to drink any more. “I’m not sure what to do next. Whether to go to the police and confess or go after Cipoletti and try to get the stuff back or what. I’ll do whatever you think is best.” He looked at each person, one at a time. “What I’ve done is terrible. I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me.” He almost choked on the words. He let his gaze linger on Aunt Nel, sensing the others would follow her lead.

  She didn’t return his gaze, instead closing her eyes. He chastised himself. You’ve gone and tired her out, and she’s just recovering from pneumonia.

  But when she opened her eyes, they were clear, and her cheeks bloomed a healthy pink. “Stuff and nonsense, Ty. Of course we forgive you. How can we refuse to forgive you when Christ has already paid the price?” She looked at the gathered family. “I assume I speak for everyone here?”

  “Of course.” Michelle spoke first.

  “I have to agree,” Brian said.

  “Cousin?” Ty waited for Joe’s response. Of the gathered family, Joe had the most reason to resist.

  When he spoke, though, his words surprised Ty. “Back when the store was first robbed, Sonia said maybe the thief needed the message of her painting more than any of us did. And I guess she was right. In a roundabout way, it brought you to the Lord.” He smiled. “But I’m glad to know the full story.” He started to speak, stopped, and then continued. “You’re my cousin by your first birth and my brother by your second. Of course I forgive you.”

  Feeling lighter than he had for days—weeks—months—Ty signaled the waitress. “Could you box up this food for me?”

  After they settled their bill a few minutes later, Joe asked Ty, “Do you mind if I ride with you?”

  “Sure.” Maybe Joe wanted to share what he had started to say at the table.

  “Head for the highway.” Joe buckled in. “We’re going to Denver.”

  Ty found the northbound county road and headed out. “What about Aunt Nel?”

  “I asked Judy to stay with her until we get back. She’s a nurse. She’ll probably take better care of Mum than either one of us could.”

  Ty adjusted the rearview mirror. “Why Denver? If you want to take me to the police. . .”

  Joe shook his head. “We’re not going to the police here. My priority is getting the art back. Not just for me, but for the artists. Not to mention shutting down a dishonest dealer. And Denver is the place to go for that.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” They reached the interstate and headed west.

  ❧

  Sonia met Lydia at one of the several coffee shops dotting Larimer Street. Now that the time had arrived to check out Cipoletti’s gallery, she found herself lingering over a cup of coffee that was big enough to float a small battleship. She took advantage of the time to describe the theft in greater detail—not Ty’s part in it, but the rest. She owed her friend that much. “For now, I only want to verify that Cipoletti has the remaining pieces from Joe’s store.” She spread computer printouts in front of them. “These are from Joe’s records. Go ahead and study them. I’ve pretty much committed them to memory.”

  Right after the robbery, long before she met Ty, Sonia had pored over the records. She needed to remind herself she wasn’t the only victim. The affected artists had met once, to grieve their losses and debate what to do next. Since the police had no leads, they concluded they couldn’t do much, except to pursue their next projects.

  “I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of these.” Lydia laid down the pages. “If we’re going to do this. . .”

  “We should get going.” The weather had warmed during the past couple of days. Sonia still wore her red woolen coat, but no longer needed her hat or scarf. They could see Cipoletti’s gallery—called simply Cipoletti’s Fine Arts—a couple of blocks away.

  They made their way through t
he stream of people scurrying about on business here in the center of the city. Sonia glanced up at the loft apartments, which many of the city’s upwardly mobile population called home. They must have a fantastic view of the mountains from their aeries. Before she left town today, she’d treat herself to a drive down a westbound street to soak in the soaring Rockies before she returned to plains-bound Ulysses.

  Ulysses might be bound by the plains, but she had found herself again during her stay in the small town. Today’s venture meant one more step on the way. Spirit lifting, she picked up her pace and headed for the store with a simple yet elegant sign, a large C with an F on the left and an A on the right.

  They paused to look at the display in the front window, in case Cipoletti had chanced such a public display. He hadn’t. Peering inside, Sonia spotted a young woman sitting atop a high stool. No sign of Cipoletti—she relaxed a smidgen. “Let’s do it.”

  Lydia pulled the door handle and held it open for Sonia.

  The clerk, a young woman, perhaps a college student from the nearby Auraria campus, looked up, but when Sonia didn’t signal her, she returned her attention to her textbook.

  “Feels like coming home, doesn’t it?” Lydia paused in front of a painting where a blue columbine exploded on the canvas.

  “Cipoletti does have a knack for display.” Sonia allowed herself a moment to study the brushwork that brought the flower to such vibrant life. But this wasn’t her reason for coming, and she moved on to the next painting. They circled the showroom but found no sign of the missing pieces.

  Sonia whispered, “Am I missing something? They can’t all be gone.”

  The clerk may have sensed the customers’ waning interest. She closed the book she was reading—a math workbook—and slid off the stool. “May I help you?”

  “When I was here on Friday night, I saw this absolutely adorable wood carving of a couple singing a duet. But I don’t see it here today.” Lydia blinked as if expecting the piece to magically appear.

  “Oh, I know the one you mean. I liked that one, too. It has sold, but we have others by the same artist. Would you like to see them?”

  “Oh yes. My parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up, and I’d love to get them something special.” Lydia followed the clerk into a back room, with Sonia tagging along behind. As soon as they passed through the door, Sonia spotted several items from the stolen inventory.

  “My boss isn’t sure if he’s ready to part with these pieces, but I’m sure we can reach an agreement if the price is right. I especially like this one.” The clerk gestured to a carving of a bride and groom dancing.

  While the clerk made her sales pitch, Sonia wandered the room. In all, she counted twelve of the missing pieces.

  A door opened, and Tony Cipoletti came in.

  Too late, Sonia realized her danger.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sonia Oliveira. How kind of you to stop by.”

  Fifteen

  “We’ve been aware of Mr. Cipoletti’s activities for some time, but we’ve lacked sufficient evidence to bring about a conviction.” A petite Latina detective sat straight in her chair, tapping the file in front of her with the end of a pencil.

  Ty and Joe had decided they needed to involve the Denver police to succeed in tracking down Cipoletti. They hadn’t expected to learn the dealer was already under investigation. The receptionist at the central police station directed them to Detective Yolanda Torres as soon as they mentioned art theft. The detective frowned at the interruption, ready to dismiss them as a waste of time, until they had uttered the magic words: Tony Cipoletti.

  “What do you know about Cipoletti?”

  Joe looked at Ty and gestured, as if to say, “It’s your story.”

  Ty sucked in his breath. “I, um, know someone who used Mr. Cipoletti to fence several pieces of art.”

  Detective Torres’s perfectly penciled eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Who is it?”

  Ty looked at Joe, who said, “We’re willing to tell you, of course, but it’s in connection with a theft that took place in Ulysses. So who has jurisdiction over the robbery?”

  Torres shook her head. “I need his name. If he brought stolen goods to someone in this city, that crime took place in my jurisdiction.”

  Although he hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Ty had known he would have to reveal the truth. “His name is Kirby Kent.” He paused a long beat. “I should also tell you that I hired Kent to commit the robbery.”

  Torres rocked back in her chair. “You were involved with the robbery?” Her eyes swung between Ty and Joe. “Insurance fraud?”

  “Nothing like that.” Worse and worse, if they start suspecting Joe of any part in the robbery. “I had a crazy plan that I was going to ‘find’ the stolen merchandise and return it to the family. Crazy, I know. By the time I realized I needed to come clean, Kent had sold the stuff without my knowledge.”

  “To Cipoletti.”

  “Yes.”

  Torres turned hard eyes on Ty. “And you are coming to me now because. . . ?”

  “I recently became a Christian. I want to make this right, if I can.”

  Torres looked skeptical, and Joe took up the tale. “We want to recover the stolen items. Before they disappear again into private collections. We know one painting at least has already passed into private hands. Here.” He extracted a sheaf of papers from a briefcase. “Here are the photos and descriptions of the stolen pieces. The one that’s reappeared is the painting Light Shining through Darkness.” He explained the discovery of the sale.

  Torres went through the pages without speaking, taking her time with each one. When she finished, she picked up her phone, keeping her eyes on the two cousins. “I need a search warrant for Cipoletti Fine Arts.” She listened. “Of course today.” She made a note and hung up the phone. “We’ll take it from here. Mr. Knight—Joe—I’ll let you know if we find your inventory.” She rose to her feet, and Ty and Joe stood with her. “I’m sure you gentlemen have other things to do with your day. Although, Mr. Knight? Mr. Ty Knight?”

  Ty resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Don’t make any plans to leave Colorado anytime soon.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  She escorted them to the elevator. When they reached the first floor, Ty’s mouth dried. Surrounded by institutional gray walls, metal detectors, and officers with guns strapped to their belts, he couldn’t help but think of a possible future in prison. God, give me courage to face my crimes.

  Joe checked his cell. “Michelle called. Marked urgent. I’ll call as soon as we get outside.” He grinned. “If they find the inventory today, we’ll have all kinds of reasons to celebrate tonight.”

  Ty would find it hard to celebrate with the possibility of jail time hanging over his head. Maybe Joe didn’t realize the fear gripping him.

  They walked into sunshine and a temperature hovering around forty degrees, fairly temperate. Joe flipped open his cell. “Hi, sweetheart. You called?”

  Joe stopped walking and raised his hand, signaling Ty should stop moving forward. “She’s not?” He listened some more. “And she’s not answering her phone either?” Another pause. “Yes, please pray.”

  Joe turned concerned blue eyes on his cousin. “Michelle found a note Sonia wrote on the phone pad.”

  Ty’s blood stopped flowing, and he felt light-headed. “What did it say?”

  “Three words: Lydia, Cipoletti, Monday. Lydia is one of the students who comes from Denver to Sonia’s master class. Michelle thinks the two of them went to confront Cipoletti. She’s not at the studio. And there’s more.” He put his hand on Ty’s shoulder, a lifeline offering support. “She’s not answering her phone either. Michelle has been trying to reach her for two hours.”

  ❧

  Cipoletti turned to the college student. “Kimberly, go ahead and take your lunch break. I’ll look after the store. I might be gone when you come back.”

  Kimberly look
ed resigned to missing out on a sales commission, which suggested her innocence in Cipoletti’s shenanigans, and left as requested.

  “We’ll just be leaving then.” Sonia’s voice sounded high and strained to her own ears. “I heard such wonderful things about your gallery, I had to check it out.” She pivoted on her right foot.

  “Not so fast.” Cipoletti interposed his body between the two women and the exit and reached behind him. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Really, that’s not necessary.”

  Cipoletti held up an X-ACTO knife, the tool of choice for cutting mats for paintings—deadly sharp. “Don’t make me use this.”

  “Do as he says, Sonia,” Lydia pleaded.

  Sonia lifted her chin. “At least let my friend go.”

  Cipoletti looked amused. “She’s the one who led you to me. I saw her in my store the other day. I want both of you.” Holding the knife in his right hand, he rummaged through the drawer with his left and extracted packing tape. His eyes glinted with pleasure as he flicked the blade open and swished it inches away from their wrists as he cut the tape before wrapping their hands together. For a final touch, he added strips across their mouths. “This way.” He pointed toward the back door where Sonia saw a panel van with the fCa logo on the side.

  Run, Sonia, run. Don’t climb in like a helpless victim. She took a single step backward. The knife flashed, and Lydia cried out. He had nicked her forearm with the knife. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Swallowing, Sonia stopped moving. She couldn’t climb into the van without the use of her hands. Cipoletti opened the door to the back of the van and half lifted, half pushed her in after Lydia. She fell onto the floor beside her friend. He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

  Sonia prayed, keeping her eyes open to communicate encouragement to Lydia. Her friend looked downright terrified, and who could blame her? The nick on her arm bled freely and looked terrible, but it wasn’t. . .fatal.