Another Day, Another Dali

by Sandra Orchard

  Numerous colleagues were congregated around the punch bowl, and one by one their gazes snapped our way, followed by fevered whispering. Aunt Martha stood with Nate beside an easel featuring one of the silent auction items. She cast me a sour look, but that didn’t bother me as much as Nate’s frown. What must he think of me—showing up with Tanner after I declined his offer of a ride with the lame picking up donations excuse?

  Mom and Dad crossed the dance floor toward us. Dad thrust out his hand to Tanner. “Good to see you.”

  Mom beamed at me with a knowing smile.

  I shifted uncomfortably. Clearly she thought I’d drunk her find-a-man-and-get-married Kool-Aid. Maybe I shouldn’t have whitewashed the details of my recent “collisions.” Then she wouldn’t be so pleased to see me with a fellow agent. Not that I was with him.

  She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You two make a handsome couple.”

  Tanner’s dimple winked.

  At least he didn’t embarrass me by busting a gut laughing. I glimpsed Nana instructing one of the waiters. “Excuse me,” I said to Mom, Dad, and Tanner. “I need to speak to Nana about the donation she was expecting.” I headed her way, greeting guests as I passed.

  Aunt Martha and Nate intercepted me before I reached Nana. Aunt Martha wore a stylish lavender dress suit with a floral blouse that made her look fifteen years younger. Nate wore a tuxedo and looked like a movie star walking the red carpet. Namely, Bradley Cooper.

  “You look stunning,” Nate said.

  “Thank you. You clean up pretty nice yourself.” I bit my lip. Oh man, was I flirting? His wide smile did funny things to my tummy.

  Nana materialized at my side. “There you are. Where’s the clock?”

  “It’s coming. I had a bit of a concern about the way it was tick—uh, working, and asked an expert to have a quick look at it before we set it out.”

  Aunt Martha’s eyes flared as if she’d guessed what the concern might be. Not surprising since she’d had a front-row seat to my pickup truck encounter. Even Nate seemed to sense I was sugarcoating, if his furrowed brow was anything to go by.

  Nana let out an unladylike snort. “Russell would’ve ensured it was working to perfection before handing it over.”

  I didn’t doubt it. The question was to whose perfection. “Then I’m sure my friend will arrive with it in no time.”

  The music swelled, and Nate extended a hand. “Care to dance?”

  I must’ve nodded, because he swept me onto the dance floor before Nana could say anything more. “Thanks for the rescue,” I whispered. Oh, wow, did he ever smell good—a spicy, masculine, forest-like scent.

  His fingers splayed across my back and drew me a fraction of an inch closer. “I suspect I wasn’t the first rescue of the evening. What happened with the clock?”

  “I was probably being paranoid, but between the collisions and drive-by shooting and—”

  “Wait. Collisions? There’s been more than one?”

  I let out a humorless laugh. “Aunt Martha didn’t mention it? A guy in a black pickup took off my door. So needless to say, when I heard the ticking, I had a sudden vision of a bomb.”

  He stiffened. “So I take it your expert friend is a bomb specialist?”

  I grinned. “You’re quick.”

  His grip on my hand tightened. “Is that why you arrived with Tanner?”

  “Yes.”

  “And these”—his voice seemed to get squeezed off. He cleared his throat—“these incidents, are they all connected to the art thefts you’re investigating?”

  My mind did a sort of double take. Were they? We’d assumed the threat left scrawled on a restaurant napkin on my door had been courtesy of one of Dmitri’s goons. And we knew the Lexus that followed me belonged to one of his companies, although maybe it really was stolen. After all, two of my suspects in Gladys’s case—Ted and Lucas—were connected to the pawnshop. Not to mention, the Lexus driver had picked up my tail outside Capone’s—the suspected forger supplying the thief. And the pickup driver targeted me after I met with Pete—another suspect in the case. Maybe the scares were meant to derail my investigation.

  24

  “You know you can’t string them both along forever,” Zoe oozed in a hushed whisper as Nate left me at the edge of the dance floor.

  “What?” I spluttered, turning my attention away from watching him saunter to the punch bowl to fetch me a drink. “I’m not stringing anyone along.”

  “Uh-huh. None of my colleagues would escort me into a room the way Tanner did you. And let me tell you, he was shooting daggers at Nate’s back the entire time you two were dancing.”

  “You’re imagining things! We’re just friends. Both of them.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Then you won’t mind introducing Terri to one of them.”

  “What?” My voice might’ve spiked a tad high. “Aren’t you worried about taking your life into your own hands standing so close to me?” I deflected in a whisper.

  Zoe laughed. “With every male FBI agent in the place watching you? Not a chance.”

  I glanced around and shrank a little at the realization she wasn’t exaggerating. Even Tanner, his curious gaze straying my way, seemed to be only half listening to my dad. Whereas Nate, two punch glasses in hand, had gotten snagged into a conversation with Aunt Martha and . . . was that the governor?

  “Terri’s latest internet date reneged on coming tonight,” Zoe went on. “So the instant she saw you come in with Tanner, she started drooling and it got worse when you started dancing with Nate.” Zoe’s gaze shifted, and her voice quieted. “Here she comes.”

  Nate chose that moment to start our way too, with my glass of punch.

  “I scarcely know Terri,” I hissed to Zoe. “I can’t fling someone I scarcely know on Nate or Tanner.”

  Zoe’s eyes twinkled. “Uh-huh.”

  “I can’t!” I waved over Ron, from the terrorist squad. When he’d bought the gala ticket from me, Yvonne said he’d expect a dance for the favor.

  Zoe must’ve clued in to my plan because she headed Nate off, allowing Ron and Terri to reach me at the same time with no Nate to complicate the introductions. “Hey, Ron, I’d like you to meet Terri Weldon, my fellow bridesmaid in my best friend’s upcoming wedding.”

  At the mention of a wedding, interest flared in his eyes. Apparently Mom’s Kool-Aid was getting around. Ron clasped Terri’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. Would you like to dance?”

  For a couple of seconds, her mouth pulled a guppy routine, and I thought she was going to blow it. But she rallied and, after a quick glance in Nate’s direction, gave Ron her full attention. “I’d love to.”

  They swirled off, and Zoe returned with Nate in tow. “I’d better go find Jax before he sends out a posse for me.”

  Nate sipped his punch as Zoe scurried away. “Your friend is quite a character.”

  My heart seesawed. “What did she say to you?” If she said something she shouldn’t, she’d better keep that twenty-foot perimeter, or I might be the one to hurt her.

  “She mentioned you were her maid of honor and—”

  “I wasn’t going to invite a date to the wedding because it wouldn’t be fair with me stuck at the head table,” I rushed to explain, then gulped down my punch to cool my heated face.

  “O-kay. She didn’t mention—”

  Tanner plucked the empty punch glass from my hand. “Care to dance?”

  “Oh. I—” I looked at Nate.

  He smiled magnanimously and relieved Tanner of my glass. “We’ll talk later.”

  Tanner prodded me onto the dance floor before I got my tongue untied.

  “What are you doing?”

  Tanner drew me close—waltz-style. “You looked like you needed backup.”

  I did? He must’ve noticed my mortification when Nate brought up his conversation with Zoe, which meant Tanner had been watching me. I shoved away the thought that it could be for any other reason than he was watching out for me�
�safety-wise. Physical safety. Not emotional.

  Tanner chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. Your expression. What’s the matter? Didn’t you think I knew how to dance?” He twirled me under his arm and then drew me back against his rock-hard chest. Oh boy. I shouldn’t be noticing things like that.

  “You all right?” Serious concern shadowed his gaze.

  “Yes. Absolutely. You just surprised me is all. Have you heard from Douglas?”

  “Yes, the clock was clean. No bomb. I handed it off to your grandmother.”

  The heat returned to my face. “So I overreacted big-time.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” He swung me in a circle, making me feel more breathless than safe.

  As one song transitioned into the next, another field agent tapped Tanner on the shoulder. “My turn,” he said.

  Tanner halted our movement but didn’t relinquish his hold on me. “Is cutting in still a thing?” he asked me, brows raised.

  The agent, whose name I couldn’t remember, held out his hand to me. “Afraid so, buddy. She promised us each a dance.”

  “Did you now?” Tanner said, releasing me slowly. A teasing glint slipped into his brown eyes. “All of them, huh?”

  “K-kind of,” I stammered, inwardly sighing. I couldn’t admit in front of Agent . . . Whatshisname that I’d shamelessly hustled the charity tickets any way I could, but Tanner knew me well.

  Tanner stepped back. “Okay, she’s all yours.” His lips twitched into a smirkish smile. “You kids have fun.”

  Six dances with six different agents later, I begged for a reprieve and headed for the punch bowl.

  Mom was there and handed me a glass. “You’re popular tonight,” she said, not sounding as if it made her happy.

  “Colleagues,” I explained.

  “Hmm.”

  I took the punch and meandered around the silent auction tables but had the flesh-crawling feeling I was being watched. And not in a can-I-have-this-dance kind of way. I surreptitiously glanced around.

  Gladys’s son, Pete, stood at the far end of the auction tables, leaning against the wall, and nodded as our eyes met, not betraying a stitch of discomfort at being caught staring. In fact, he kept right on watching me.

  Remembering the misleading description he’d given the 911 operator after the hit and run, I bristled.

  Tanner came up behind me and whispered close to my ear. “He’s not the only one who’s watching you.”

  I sighed, pretty sure he intended to tease me about bribing our colleagues to buy gala tickets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, all innocence.

  Tanner jerked his head toward my grandmother sitting at a table near the front of the room. Her friend Gladys, Gladys’s daughter Tasha, and Tasha’s husband, Lucas, were all seated with her but diverted their attention toward the musicians when my gaze drifted their way.

  “It feels a little like an Agatha Christie novel,” I quipped.

  Tanner gave me a blank look.

  “You know. She gathers all the suspects in one room for the great reveal.”

  “But you don’t know who done it.”

  I snorted. “I’m not even sure I know what all’s been done.”

  Tanner slanted a glance at his cell phone screen, and his face clouded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He scanned the room. “Two of Dmitri’s guys are here.” He steered me behind a statue being auctioned off and jerked his chin toward three guys standing in front of an art easel.

  Dmitri’s bouncers in the black polos . . . “Isn’t that Ted?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Tanner practically growled, “and he’s talking to them.”

  Ted pointed to the bottom corner of the painting on the easel.

  “Whose painting is that?” Tanner asked.

  “Tyrone’s. I don’t like this. Ted showed an interest in his art the day he showed up at the drop-in center too. What’s going on? Does Dmitri deal in art?”

  “Not that I’ve observed. Although you know as well as I do that it can be a convenient currency.”

  Ted pointed to someone across the room, and Dmitri’s guys’ gazes followed the direction of his fingers.

  I scrutinized the throng of people. “He’s pointing out Tyrone to them.”

  The men said something to Ted, who then crossed the room in Tyrone’s direction.

  Malgucci—an enigmatic member of an Italian mob family who’d wiggled his way into my aunt’s good books (okay, probably mine too) by donating a kidney to a dying woman—sidled up to Dmitri’s men and started talking.

  “Since when do Russian crime families chitchat with Italians?” I asked.

  “Since I asked him to question them,” Aunt Martha interjected, joining us.

  “Why?”

  “I noticed their interest in Tyrone’s painting and pointed them out to Malgucci. I’m so proud of how well Tyrone’s doing.”

  “Only Malgucci questioned the nature of their interest,” Tanner guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s heading this way,” I whispered, pulling Aunt Martha out of view of Dmitri’s men. It was bad enough they were going after me to control Tanner. I didn’t need to give them any more targets—especially my loved ones.

  “What did they have to say?” Tanner asked, turning his attention toward the silent auction tables instead of Malgucci.

  Malgucci glanced at Aunt Martha, who gave him an encouraging nod, then followed Tanner’s lead and placed a bid on a nearby auction item as he answered. “They said the guy’s name is Ted—a wannabe criminal who’s tried to brownnose up to them before.”

  “He’s worked for them?” I asked.

  “No, they said he’s too green.”

  But ambitious. Interesting. Between Ted’s connection to Tasha and his connection to the Russian mob and the pawnshop, he could’ve masterminded the theft of Gladys’s Dali. Maybe coaxed Tasha to pull off the switch and took care of the rest himself.

  I scanned the ballroom for Tasha. Lucas was still sitting with Nana and his mother-in-law, but Tasha had left the table. I glanced back to where I’d last seen Ted. Not with him. Restroom, perhaps? I excused myself and headed for the ballroom door. It opened to an expansive lobby. The aroma of cigar smoke—reminiscent of my grandfather—wisped from the smoking lounge to the left. A small group of people had congregated in the sitting area at the far side of the lobby. The grand central staircase that led to the powder room on the second floor was empty. I strolled past it and found Tasha and Pete just beyond the reception desk, having a heated discussion.

  Pete glanced up and immediately ended the conversation and strode out the back.

  Tasha let out a long-suffering sigh as I approached. “I don’t know why Mother favors him so. Blind to his faults, I suppose.”

  “What faults would those be?”

  She opened her beaded clutch, extracted a cosmetic case, and right there in the center of the hallway proceeded to powder her nose as she peered in the tiny accompanying mirror. “He’s a dreamer. He comes up with all these moneymaking schemes, and when they don’t pan out, he goes running to Mother for another bailout.”

  “Like when he can’t sell a piece of real estate?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And your mother always helps him?”

  “She’d never refuse her golden boy.”

  Okay, if that were true, Pete would’ve had no reason to abscond with his mother’s Dali. Unless he was too ashamed to ask for money again. But if it wasn’t Pete or Lucas, that left Tasha or Ted. Or both.

  “How well do you know Ted?”

  She snapped her cosmetic case closed. “This is hardly an appropriate time to discuss my lover,” she said, her voice low. “My husband is in the next room, not to mention my mother and umpteen of her cronies.”

  Yet, somehow I suspected she’d wandered out of the ballroom, hoping to meet up with Ted, not her brother. “He seems to have a keen int
erest in art,” I said, making it sound as if it was an off-the-cuff observation, even as I gauged her reaction.

  Her lips quirked into the slightest of smiles. “It’s not so much the art as the subject.” She stroked her neckline suggestively.

  “He would’ve appreciated Truman Capone’s work, then,” I segued and didn’t miss her infinitesimal flinch. “He did a lot of commissioned portraits. You know his work?”

  She tapped a blood-red fingernail to her pursed lips. “Ca-po-ne. The name sounds familiar.”

  “It’s been all over the papers. He was found murdered in his apartment a few days ago.”

  She flushed and dropped her hand. “That’s right. Killed while sitting in his apartment, minding his own business. Tragic.”

  Aunt Martha tootled her fingers at us from the staircase. “Did you see where Tyrone went?”

  I looked around the lobby. “No, why?”

  “He seemed upset after that Ted fellow talked to him. Stormed off before I could catch up to him.”

  Tasha started to walk away, but I caught her arm. “Do you know why Ted would talk to Tyrone?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t even know who Tyrone is.”

  I released her arm and trailed her back into the ballroom with Aunt Martha at my side. Tasha glanced Ted’s way but returned to her mother’s table. Her husband stood and escorted her to the dance floor.

  “How does she know Ted?” Aunt Martha asked.

  “He sold her jewelry.” Aunt Martha didn’t need to know it was hocked or that Tasha and Ted were having an affair.

  Aunt Martha glanced back out into the lobby. “I hope Tyrone didn’t leave already.”

  “All the pomp might’ve been overwhelming.” I looked around for Tanner but couldn’t spot him, either. “Did you see where Tanner went?”

  “No.”

  Dmitri’s goons were nowhere to be seen, either. I returned to the lobby and peeked out the front door. A few of the teens from the drop-in center were loitering on the sidewalk, passing around a cigarette. “Anyone seen Tyrone?”