by Terri Reed
Colleen’s cute mouth tightened and frustration radiated from her blue eyes. “Alessandro. Did you catch the man you and Sam went after?”
“Nothing escapes you, does it, bella?”
Her chin lifted. “No, it doesn’t.”
In other words, she wasn’t going to give up digging into his life, and she definitely wasn’t going to stay away from Dahlia. Admiring her tenacity but deploring her stubbornness, Alessandro ground his back teeth. “I’m sure Sam can fill you in. Ms. Sainsbury and I were just leaving. Can we give you a lift somewhere?”
Colleen’s gaze darted between him and Dahlia. “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude.” She turned her back to him. “Ms. Sainsbury, I hope that we can continue this conversation another time?”
“Perhaps,” Dahlia intoned with a slight incline of her head.
“Yes, well.” Colleen backed away. “Goodbye.” She turned and hurried to where her parents waited at their big luxury car.
“She’s got it bad for you.”
Dahlia’s amused tone scraped across his nerves. Alessandro shook his head. “No. She’s just after a story.”
“Is she going to find one?”
“Not if I can help it.” He gave her a sly, conspiratorial smile before offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
Dahlia placed her cool fingers on his arm. He forced Colleen out of his mind and turned his concentration to Dahlia. He hoped if she believed he could present her with a profitable opportunity, she would begin to let down her guard.
He had to find Escalante soon. He didn’t know how much longer he had until either Colleen outed him or he was officially pulled from the case. Either way, he would succeed.
Failure was not an option.
Colleen arrived at the Vance family home at exactly three o’clock. She hadn’t changed out of her navy tailored pantsuit, since she was making this visit in a professional capacity to interview the mayor. She hated this weakness in herself that wanted to seek everyone’s approval, but here she was and she’d do her best. As always.
She parked her compact sedan on the street and walked up the cobbled walkway to the front door. The grand Victorian home graced Canyon Drive, located on the west side of town, like a beautiful painted lady.
Triangular gables, a tower that peeked over the roof from the back of the house and the stunning wraparound front porch made one think of stepping into a different era. Passersby on the street could see the delicate lacy curtains adorning the large front bay window.
She’d recognized several cars as she’d driven up. Her parents’, Sam’s, Michael Vance’s truck, Lucia’s go-cart, as Colleen affectionately called her friend’s little two-door. And Alessandro’s red convertible parked alongside Travis Vance’s rig. A good old family gathering.
She wondered how the Vances got along with their cousin from Lidia’s side of the family, aside from suspecting that Alessandro had something to do with Max’s shooting.
Obviously, if they really thought he had been involved, they wouldn’t allow him in the house. Did they know about his hero complex? If nothing else, his presence affirmed her instincts that he wasn’t what he seemed.
She rang the bell, and a moment later the door was swung open by Peter Vance. Tall, with blue-black hair and killer blue eyes, Peter was the kind of man who made you feel comfortable with his easy smile.
She could see how Dr. Emily Armstrong had fallen twice for her husband, but Colleen wondered how Emily coped with the risk of losing Peter, not through normal marital problems but through Peter’s work at AdVance. A P.I. still took a chance when working.
“Hey, Colleen, come on in,” Peter said.
“How’s it going, Peter?” she asked as she stepped across the threshold.
“Great. Emily’s working at the hospital today but Manuel is here, running around like a wild horse.”
From down the hall, she heard the distinct sound of a pretend whinny. “Literally, I take it.”
Peter grinned, the obvious love for his adopted son glowing in his eyes. “I’ve got kid duty. Manuel and Sam’s trio are all in the family room. Everyone else is upstairs visiting. Go on up.”
“Thanks, Peter,” Colleen said as she made her way up the impressive wide staircase.
She loved the homey, old-fashioned feel that Lidia and Max had created with striking antiques and family heirlooms. At the top of the stairs she followed the sound of voices coming from the last room on her right. She knocked softly and was admitted by Lucia, who squeezed her tightly in a warm embrace.
Colleen’s gaze swept the room and landed on Alessandro. He’d changed out of his dark suit and into pressed khakis and a striped button-down shirt that molded nicely to his tall form. He leaned against the wall a bit away from the rest as if he were merely an observer.
Something sad shifted in Colleen.
It must be so lonesome to be a part of a family yet not. But he did have a family of his own. At least a child.
Did the Vances know about Alessandro’s offspring? Or was he keeping her a secret from them as well? Now was not an appropriate time to ask, but she would eventually, after she had more information on Alessandro.
She began to turn away, but Alessandro’s dark gaze met hers. She started to form a smile but stalled. There was something odd in the way he looked at her. A reserved, polite detachment that hadn’t been there before.
As if the conversations and the flirting they’d shared had never happened.
Just two acquaintances in the same room.
Was that because his relationship with Dahlia was growing deeper? All the more reason to question the museum curator for the answers she sought.
Lidia waved Colleen in from her place beside her husband’s bed. Puzzling over the lack of…sparks…from Alessandro, for want of a better word, she moved forward with nods and murmurs of greetings to the others in the room. Mayor Vance lay on a hospital-style bed, still hooked up to monitors, but his color looked better than the last time she’d seen him a few weeks ago.
He smiled and held out his hand. “Lidia tells me you agreed to write up a blurb for the paper.”
His hand felt comfortably warm to her touch. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Basically, we need the people of Colorado Springs to know I’m recovering, that I’m in my right mind and the doctors say I should be back to good health before too long. I want to thank everyone for their prayers and the overwhelming love and support the town has given to my family and me.”
“Consider it done, Your Honor.”
Max squeezed her hand. “Now, while the time of this gathering has proven unfortunate because of what happened to Neil, I still think we should have a toast.”
Colleen looked to Lidia with surprise, but smiled as bottles of sparkling apple cider were served.
Sam held up his glass. “To my father. May God bless your recovery and bless this family.”
“Hear, hear,” agreed the others as they took sips of the bubbling juice.
Colleen moved around the room chatting, but her mind and gaze kept straying to Alessandro. What had changed between them?
She shrugged off the question and realized this would be a perfect opportunity to head over to the museum to talk with Dahlia, since Alessandro was now engrossed in a conversation with Travis and Sam.
She said some quick goodbyes, though Lidia seemed the most reluctant to let her go. Colleen promised she would bring an advance copy of her article for their approval.
Colleen managed to leave relatively quickly and headed as fast as the speed limit allowed across town to the museum. She parked on a side street where she had a clear view of the entrance so if Dahlia wasn’t there, Colleen would be able to see her arrive.
The guard at the door assured Colleen that Ms. Sainsbury was in her office. Colleen walked through the museum, now fairly empty and quiet as opposed to the night of the gala. A movement in her peripheral vision stopped her cold.
She glimpsed the retreating back of a man with a familiar
cut to his shoulders as he entered another section of the museum. Alessandro? Colleen scoffed.
Alessandro wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. He was still at the mayor’s house. She shrugged off the insane thought that she was seeing him around every corner.
Really, she didn’t have a thing for the man; it was just that his undiscovered story was percolating in her brain.
At the door marked Curator, she knocked. Dahlia’s voice held a note of frustration as she said, “Enter.”
Colleen stepped into the office. The Spartan space was a study in shades of cream and made a striking backdrop to the woman in charge. A colorful Persian rug graced the floor and a beautifully preserved sideboard resided against the far wall.
Dahlia had changed out of the black dress she’d worn to the funeral into a vivid yellow flowing two-piece suit that accentuated her elegant frame and made her pale complexion glow. Her dark hair was in its traditional twist, but long black sticks with gold scrolling on them pierced it.
“I told you I’d be a minute, Mr.—” Dahlia arched an eyebrow as she looked up. Clearly she’d been expecting someone else. “What can I do for you, Miss Montgomery?”
“I’d like to continue our conversation from this morning.” Colleen walked farther into the room, determined not to be put off.
“I’m very busy and I have meetings scheduled.” Dahlia shuffled the papers on the desk into a pile and shoved them in a drawer.
“This won’t take long, I promise.”
Dahlia sighed and relaxed into the high-backed leather chair. “Please, have a seat.” She indicated the stiff, no-frills chair opposite the desk.
Colleen obediently sat. Obviously the chair was designed so the occupant wouldn’t want to stay for long. “I’ll get right to the point. What is your connection to Alessandro Donato?”
“Business. What is your interest in him?”
“Professional. I’m doing a piece on newcomers to our town and he’s a fascinating subject.”
Dahlia’s painted lips curved upward. “Indeed. I told him you had a thing for him, but he didn’t believe me. You do have a thing for him, don’t you?”
Colleen pursed her lips. Her immediate instinct was to give a resounding no! Yet that wasn’t the complete truth. Thing was too strong a word, and had the wrong connotation.
But if it would help her get the story, she could play up her interest in Alessandro. “There are rumors that he’s a bit of a playboy, but I haven’t seen much evidence of that, other than his close association with you. Are you romantically involved with him?”
Dahlia steepled her fingers and clicked her French-manicured nails together. A beautiful diamond tennis bracelet twinkled in the muted light. “I can assure you I am not.”
Colleen didn’t detect any guile in Dahlia’s response.
Relief at that news caught Colleen by surprise, but only because she couldn’t envision such a passionate man with such a cold woman. Yet…she remembered the remoteness in his eyes earlier. He seemed to have two sides. “What can you tell me about him?”
A knowing look entered Dahlia’s gaze. “Beyond that he’s extraordinarily handsome, charming and, as far as I know, extremely available? Nothing.”
“He can’t be too available if he has a child,” Colleen muttered, wondering how he could be so blithely going about his business here in the United States when he had a little girl waiting for him in Italy. And where was the child’s mother?
Dahlia straightened and leaned forward. “What did you say?”
“Uh, well…” Colleen tried to backpedal as she realized she’d spoken her thought out loud. “Where did you grow up as a child?”
Dahlia narrowed her eyes. “You said he has a child.” She sat back and tapped her lips with the end of her index finger. “Very interesting.”
Uh-oh. Colleen’s stomach knotted up as the implications of what she’d just done swamped her. She’d revealed unconfirmed information to an outside source who could jeopardize her story.
But more importantly, something inside warned her that the information could somehow jeopardize Alessandro.
Stop your probing before someone gets hurt.
When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?
SEVEN
Determined to change the topic from Alessandro’s personal life, Colleen asked, “You said you hadn’t met Neil O’Brien, but he must have had an invitation or he wouldn’t have been let in. Did you personally oversee the guest list for the gala?”
Dahlia’s expression stiffened. “I had my administrative assistant make up the list since she’s more familiar with the residents of Colorado Springs.”
Interesting how Dahlia’s manner became aloof except when the subject was Alessandro. She obviously had a “thing” for him as well. A competitive possessiveness seized Colleen by surprise. She ignored it and stayed on task. “Could I speak with your assistant?” Colleen asked.
“You could, if she were here. She left on vacation the day after the gala. She won’t be back for another week.”
Convenient. “Did she hire the wait staff as well?”
Dahlia nodded. “I don’t trouble myself with such tasks.”
Of course not, Colleen thought uncharitably. You wouldn’t want to break a nail or snag your hose. Colleen mentally chided herself for her uncharacteristic cattiness. She couldn’t fathom why Dahlia bugged her so much.
“You do have the name of the company that supplied the staff?” Colleen asked, trying to keep impatience from tingeing her voice.
“Yes. I gave all the information I had to the police. Maybe you should check with them since they probably have more time for this than I do.” Dahlia imperiously rose from the chair.
Colleen stood, but wasn’t about to be stopped that easily. “One last question. Do you know how my blue scarf got from the coat room to the crime scene?”
Dahlia rounded the desk, her immaculately made-up face expressionless. “No,” she responded curtly. “I suggest you ask the police. I assume they talked with the girl whose responsibility it was to monitor the coats and wraps.”
Colleen had asked the police, but had been stonewalled. Sam had said he couldn’t give her anything pertaining to an ongoing investigation. Which wasn’t an absolute, because he had in the past. Only this time was different.
She was considered a “person of interest.”
Hurt and anger warred whenever she thought about Sam and Becca even considering she’d had anything to do with Neil’s death. So much for loyalty.
Okay, that wasn’t fair. They were doing their jobs. But it still didn’t make the sting any more comfortable.
She’d have to work with what she could discover on her own.
So, if Dahlia hadn’t known Neil, then who could he have been looking for that night? The couple? “Do you keep records of contributors to the museum?”
That would at least give her some names to start looking into.
Dahlia opened the door. “I respect the privacy of our contributors.” The phone on her desk rang and she picked up the receiver. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She waved a hand in dismissal.
“Thank you for your time.” Colleen walked out and the door clicked shut behind her. She stopped and put her ear to the door. She heard Dahlia say in a forceful voice that she’d be right there.
Curious as always, Colleen decided she’d follow Dahlia and see if she could learn anything useful for her story. Make that stories.
Colleen moved to crouch behind a partition that didn’t reach the ceiling and waited. A moment later footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor. She peeked around the corner and saw Alessandro Donato approach Dahlia’s office. Her pulse shot up. She’d managed to go a handful of minutes without thinking about him, and in he walked.
Odd that he’d changed back into the black well-cut suit he’d worn to the funeral. And now he carried a briefcase. He knocked lightly and then disappeared inside.
Setting her jaw with absurd annoyance, Colleen folded
her arms over her chest as she stood. This was an interesting development. Maybe their relationship was strictly business?
She moved to the door again and put her ear once more against the wood. She could hear the low mumble of voices but this time couldn’t make out the words.
“Um, excuse me,” said a male voice.
Colleen jerked around to find a gray-haired guard giving her a stern look. She smiled sheepishly and hurried out of the museum.
Once in her car, she rethought her plan and decided that she’d follow Alessandro when he came out.
She settled back to wait and tried not to think about what was going on in that office.
Or why she cared.
“My buyer would like written confirmation that you’ll procure the piece in question within a reasonable amount of time, for the agreed-upon price,” Alessandro stated smoothly, wondering how Dahlia intended to produce the Caravaggio in question when he knew good and well it was locked up tight in the Louvre.
Dahlia fidgeted with the diamond bracelet on her wrist. “Paper can leave a trail. You’ll have to trust me. I’ll have the painting here by next week. You just make sure the money is in the account I’ve provided by then.”
“Trust is such a complicated issue, do you not think so?” She eyed him, clearly suspicious of his meaning. He obliged by adding. “I would trust you more if you told me how you plan to retrieve the painting.”
Her lips thinned. “I have my ways. A greased palm here and there can accomplish much.”
Including killing innocent people. A low burn started in his belly. She, along with Escalante, would be brought to justice. He’d see to that.
Casually, stretching out his legs in the uncomfortable little chair, he asked, “Where does your cash flow come from?”
A shrewdness darkened her eyes. “Art can be very lucrative.”
“Art only? Or do you have other investments that might be interesting to a man like me with connections in Europe and Asia?” The question was a gamble, one he hoped would pay off if she let slip some information useful in his quest to find Escalante.