He set off along the left hand wall, checking behind large pottery urns, under tapestries hanging against the surface, tapping at the baseboard.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for another door or some type conduit like a ventilation shaft. They had to have planned for air flow.”
Julia moved to the right wall. “Do you think that was the plan all along? To collect the incoming art and at the last minute take the Malevich?”
“I don’t know.”
She threaded her way down an alleyway of partition walls toward the exterior wall. As she went she glanced at the art hanging on either side of her. There was nothing but solid masonry to greet her at the end of the row. She had gone down three such alleyways when it struck her. “Mitch.”
His voice came back to her from the far side of the room, hollow sounding because of the distance and the variety of objects between them. “Yeah?”
She turned and made her way toward the sound of his voice. “I know why he chose the storage room.”
Mitch came from behind a huge statue of primitive man. “Yeah?”
“Come with me.”
They returned to the rows and rows of framed artwork. “What do you see?”
“A bunch of paintings.”
“Where do you hide something when you don’t know how long you’ll need to keep it hidden?”
Mitch rocked back on his heels and looked down first one alleyway and then another. “In plain sight.”
“I think he came back here to collect the two paintings and the clothing. It was here all along. Mounted in the last place anyone would think to look.”
“And convenient, too. He’s known about the Malevich all along and then when he learned of Trip’s latest painting and the Fechin, he decided the time was right. I think the clothing was just opportunistic.”
Julia felt the hair stand on the back of her neck. “Someone in our inner circle has been lying in wait, possibly for years.”
“It would seem so.”
“And he’s going to get away with it.”
“Not on my watch.”
“But there’s nothing we can do if we can’t get out of here.” As soon as the words were out of Julia’s mouth they heard a mechanical grinding and the sliding of bolts.
They ran to the door and found the custodian standing there, though a bit wobbly on his feet. His head was bleeding but not excessively.
Mitch took him by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Go. The rotunda.”
Julia glanced at her watch. They had been cooling their heels in the security vault for over fifteen minutes. Time enough for someone familiar with the facility to grab the Malevich and make a get away. The only hope was that the need to transport more than one piece of art to his vehicle had slowed him enough for them to catch him.
The space on the wall of the Rotunda where they had studied the painting only minutes before was blank.
“Which way?” Mitch had his phone out and had hit the speed dial.
“The docent locked the front door before she left. There’s the back exit by the security panels and several others that lead out of rooms where special events are held. Delivery doors as well.”
“Gerty…” After a moment’s pause Mitch said, “Good,” and closed the phone. “They’re already on the way. Your message got through.” He hesitated a moment longer. “Think, Julia. If you wanted to get in and out as inconspicuously as possible, what route would you take?”
“The West President Street exit. The landscaping creates a screen of sorts and the buildings on the other side sit back from the street and are only open on weekdays. At this late hour he’ll have plenty of camouflage.”
Even as she spoke she ran out of the rotunda and through the museum in the direction of West President Street with Mitch hard on her heels.
* * *
“What’s wrong with you, cat?” Aunt Ethel tries to pull me into her lap but I resist and continue to ride with my front paws on the top of the driver’s seat, staring ahead at the total lack of traffic in front of us. Our blazing snail’s pace is certainly no threat to automobile or pedestrian but it might give me a heart attack. I realize I’m panting with anxiety.
It apparently occurs to our Charioteer that the falling night is a call for him to activate the headlamps. In the process of doing so we slow to a crawl that can hardly be called movement.
“Yeow!”
That seems to perk him up and as we turn a corner and travel a few feet, Aunt Ethel suddenly decides to become the navigator. “Turn here, Regis. Quick!”
There’s nothing quick about Regis but he does in fact turn quickly, so quickly that he is unable to maintain control of the automobile and we glide to a not quite gentle halt against a dark gray Land Rover parked halfway onto the sidewalk. Not only have we hit the SUV square on, but we have trapped between the headlamps of our Mercedes, a tall, dark haired man holding aloft a painting.
In the background is the wail of sirens and I know that what we are seeing is the great escape. I leap over the seat and paw at the door handle. Regis seems to come out of his stupor and opens the door. I scramble onto the hood of the Mercedes and stare down our culprit. Even if he weren’t trapped between two bodies of British and German steel, he wouldn’t get away from me.
Aunt Ethel gets out of the back seat, this time without waiting for the assistance of the Charioteer. “Chappie’s butler. Well, I’ll be.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mitch and Julia raced along the pathway between the trees and shrubs on the South side of the museum to be greeted by the sight of Aunt Ethel, Regis, and Trouble staring at Adoni Bunin trapped between two vehicles when they arrived on the sidewalk of West President Street.
Cars with wailing sirens and blue lights skidded to a stop blocking off both ends of West President Street and the surrounding streets. Armed deputies and FBI agents converged on the elderly couple and cat as they stood guard over the thief.
“Well,” Aunt Ethel said, “I haven’t had this much fun since I went skinny dipping with Jack Kennedy.”
“Are you all right, Aunt Ethel?” Julia asked as she lifted Trouble from the hood of the Mercedes and came to stand by her.
“Of course I’m all right.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The cat,” she said. “I went by to see you and he was pitching a fit among your papers. I figured out you had to be at the museum because he wouldn’t leave the receipt alone. He was hell bent on getting to the address on that piece of paper so here we are.”
“How did you know to stop Adoni?”
“Well, that just sort of happened. Regis’ reflexes aren’t what they used to be.”
Gerty and another deputy stood at the ready and when an FBI agent backed the Mercedes away from the trapped Adoni, she cuffed him and led him limping away to a waiting car.
Julia and the custodian verified that the Malevich was indeed the possession of the museum and handed it off to the authorities to take into evidence. She was also able to identify the Serov stolen from the Youngblood residence and that the third painting already in the back of the Land Rover was a Fechin. Presumably it was the one stolen while in transit to the Peltiers from the gallery in Miami. There was no sign of the king’s clothes.
Once the dust had settled, Julia got into the back seat of the Mercedes with Aunt Ethel. “Someone is going to drive you and Regis home.”
“We can manage on our own.”
“I know you can but it will make all these law enforcement agents feel better if the man who almost committed vehicular manslaughter didn’t get behind the wheel so soon after the incident.”
“Very well.”
Julia studied her and realized that for all her bravado, the excitement of the early evening had taken its toll. “Why did you come to visit?”
“I thought we’d plan a shopping excursion. You know, for the wedding.”
“Maybe we should hol
d off on that for a while. He doesn’t know about the wedding yet.”
Aunt Ethel rested against the seatback and sighed. “Well, don’t leave it too long. I’m not a spring chicken any more and I can’t shop like I used to.”
Julia leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I won’t.”
* * *
Mitch closed the door to the interrogation room behind him to find Julia standing in the hallway waiting for him.
“I thought you’d be home by now,” he said as he took her arm and led her toward the incident room.
“Really?”
He laughed. “No. You’re much too nosy.”
“I wouldn’t call it being nosy. I’m investigating these thefts and it’s my job to solve the mystery.”
Mitch couldn’t pass up such an opening. He looked down at her, his expression completely serious. “The butler in the library with a candlestick.”
“Oh, you are a funny man.”
“Yeah?” He grinned.
“Yeah.” She kissed him.
Gerty cleared her throat as she closed the door rather more firmly than necessary. Julia and Mitch broke apart and stood staring at the murder board.
“Did he really act alone?”
“Yes and no.” Mitch turned her toward the rear door of the office and handed off the file he had to Gerty as they passed her. “He saw Viktor when he came to Chappie’s house to have the insurance forms signed and he recognized him. After that he made it a point to befriend Debbie. Apparently she likes dark, handsome men with accents.”
“Viktor didn’t have an accent.”
“Okay, she likes dark, handsome men and the accent didn’t hurt.” Mitch opened the door to the back stairs and they started down to the street below. “She was flattered and didn’t realize Adoni was pumping her for details of Viktor’s activities. He was biding his time, trying to decide when to turn Viktor over to his former associates.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Money. Free untraceable transport out of the country. He was going to be traveling with rather bulky stolen art pieces. You can’t just buy a ticket on Delta.”
“I see your point.”
Mitch walked her to his car at the corner of the block. “The idea was to steal the Malevich from the time he became aware of it. He knew the Russian billionaires were hungry for that type art and he wanted to get back to Europe and a lifestyle he enjoyed.”
“Then why did he ever come to Savannah? He was riding on Tallulah’s coattails from what Chappie said. What made him ditch that in the first place?”
“He didn’t ditch Tallulah. She ditched him. She picked him up at a high end art gallery where he worked but in return she expected exclusivity. That’s not his strong suit.”
“So he latched onto Chappie.”
“He thought Chappie would remain in Europe, allow him to continue the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to, and not make too much fuss over his errant ways.”
“But Chappie came home.”
“Yes.” Mitch drove through the streets of the historic district in the quiet of a late Sunday night. “He learned about Trip’s painting through overheard conversation with Chappie. And the Peltiers made no secret of their purchase. He decided life would be much sweeter with more pocket money so he broadened his scheme to include them. And you were right. He hid them in the museum storage room until he was ready to make his move.”
“How did he manage to move so freely past the museum’s security?”
“He knew all the details of the facility. Chappie was the force behind the coming Russian exhibit but Adoni was the grunt. Initially I thought Chappie might be behind it all. He seemed so intent on casting Adoni in the role of his everyman. Turns out it was the truth. Adoni handled everything and everyone at the museum gave him access to what he needed because of it.”
“What happened to the king’s clothes?”
“They’re still in the museum. Our arrival interrupted him in the process of moving the items from hiding to Chappie’s Land Rover. He decided they weren’t worth the risk. With the Malevich he had the real money items.”
Julia sighed. “And two people are dead.”
Mitch reached across and took her hand. “Yes. After Tallulah came to Savannah to meet with Ryder about the stolen jewelry, Adoni had to kill him. When she realized Adoni was in Savannah with Chappie she accused him of being behind the robbery. If Ryder had learned of her suspicion he would have started digging into his activities. It would blow the whole plan.”
There was a parking spot open directly in front of Julia’s house. The street was empty of any traffic or pedestrians. No deputy or security guard loitered on the sidewalk. Mitch squeezed her hand. “Come on, I’ll see you to your door.”
He handed her out of the car and took her keys from her when they reached the top step.
“Why did he kill Trip?”
“He came home from the party too early. Adoni was already in the house. From his time working in an art gallery in Milan and learning the ins and outs of the museum’s security, he had no problem disarming Trip’s system. He hid out, waiting for Rocco to leave and learned of the shooting from their conversation. He knew Chappie would be raising a stink about his whereabouts and he couldn’t afford to call attention to his absence on the evening Trip’s painting was stolen. He misjudged Trip’s actions. He thought he’d turn in as soon as he let Rocco out the front door. Instead he returned to the library and caught Adoni in the act. Adoni took the heavy brass candlestick from the fireplace mantle and struck him twice. He couldn’t afford to let him live.”
Julia shivered and Mitch put his arms around her. “This is not the stuff of bedtime stories. Let’s leave it for now.” He unlocked her front door and ushered her into the foyer. He did a quick scan of the street before locking up behind them, then allowed his gaze to travel around the entryway.
“You’re not helping matters,” Julia said. “The danger is over. Stop looking in the shadows.”
“Habit of the profession, I’m afraid. Sorry.”
They went upstairs and he unlocked the apartment door. Julia stepped inside as he hovered on the threshold.
“What made Aunt Ethel decide to visit this afternoon?”
“She wanted to go shopping.” Julia smiled and the light returned to her eyes. “For shoes.”
“Shoes. Of course.” He grinned. “Where?”
“Milan.”
“Milan, Italy?”
“They have the finest Italian leather.”
“And you’re a woman in need of a pair of shoes.”
“I am. I need a pair of shoes to wear to a wedding.”
“Am I invited to this wedding?”
“There can’t be a wedding if you’re not there.”
He stood staring down into her upturned face. His heart had been lost the first time he laid eyes on her. He thought, what the hell. If the Prince of Monaco could take on Grace Kelly, a U. S. Marshals’ deputy could marry a Southern belle, crazy relatives, shoes, and all. “Where’s the cat?”
“He went home with Aunt Ethel. She lured him with promises of grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“No chaperone?”
She smiled and shook her head.
With that, Mitch stepped across the threshold and closed the door.
About the Author
Rebecca Barrett writes historical fiction, short stories of the South, and children’s stories. Her latest novel, Road’s End, is a historical novel set between WWI and WWII and is available on Amazon. She is a cat lover, first and foremost, although dogs hold a special place in her heart. Cats have distinct personalities and abilities and anyone who is possessed by a cat is fortunate indeed, even if it is only in their imagination. Trouble arrived and decided to stay. He persisted until his story had to be told. This is one of his many escapades.
www.rebeccabarrett.com
Chapter One
The ignominy of it all. Catnapped. By some idiot out of Miami with a cravi
ng for a green-eyed black cat but wholly lacking the human kindness to go to a shelter and rescue one. No, this cretin had to sweep me up and toss me into a pillow case and tie a knot, snortling as he did. He had been visiting a neighbor of my biped, Tammy Lynn, and claimed to be charmed by me. Of course, most people are quite smitten with me. After all, I’m a fine, sleek cat with an elegant tail, and even for a cat I have a high degree of intelligence and exceptional detective skills inherited from Familiar, my father.
Exceptional intelligence notwithstanding, I’ve been seized by this rude, loud person. I refuse to let the shame of it distress me. After all, even Sherlock Holmes and Agent 007 occasionally found themselves captives of imbeciles. The trick now is to extricate myself as soon as possible, and maybe teach this cretin biped a lesson.
As the miscreant speeds down the interstate, playing a raucous rap station on his radio, I set about putting my teeth and claws to work. All I need is a tiny rip in the pillow case to start with—ahh, that was easy enough to accomplish with my sharp teeth. The cheap polyester fabric gives way quickly enough. In no time at all, I have what I need: a space large enough for me to crawl through.
Poking my nose out first, I inhale. Thankfully, my catnapper is running the air conditioning full blast as it is September, which in the South is very much still summer.
And that damn pillow case is airless and hot.
Now the trick is to wait until the best time to escape the truck. After all, my catnapper has to stop sometime. In the meantime, I decide to nap, dreaming of my home in Wetumpka, Alabama and my beloved Tammy Lynn. I drift off, but wake when I feel the gears shifting and the truck slowing down. The next thing I know this wonky hominoid is exiting the interstate. I poke my head over the back of the seat and look around. Traffic whizzes by; horns honk. Neither a tree nor a house is in sight. I hunker down and wait for some place with green lawns and kind-looking bipeds to make my bid for freedom.
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