Not in Time

by Shawna Seed

  “I’ll wait across the street if you want, but I’m driving you there. No debate.”

  “You’re impossibly stubborn, you know that?”

  Julien edged past her. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The cheap coffee place was a deli tucked into the bottom floor of a rundown 1950s office building around the corner from the Hilliard.

  Genevieve and Thomas liked it because it was inexpensive, the Greek family that ran it was nice, and the only other museum employees who went there were the guards.

  Genevieve ordered her usual turkey sandwich and one the way Thomas liked it, and secured one of the two tables outside. Julien took one of the three counter seats inside. She thought he was being ridiculous, shadowing her, but he would not be deterred.

  While she waited for Thomas, she said hello to some Hilliard guards dropping by to pick up sandwiches – Romesh and Keisha and some guy she didn’t know whose badge said “Darren.” She had just finished catching up with Keisha, who was always one of her favorites, when Thomas showed up at 12:40.

  “I had trouble getting away,” he said as he dropped into a chair. “Was Keisha telling you about the guards’ latest grievances?”

  Genevieve had zero interest in that topic, but she let Thomas tell her how Darren, who was new, had managed to get on day shift, how Victor, who had been bounced back to nights, had conspiracy theories about Bill’s accident, and how all the guards were nervous about a sudden influx of temps.

  Eventually, Thomas ran out of steam. “But you didn’t call me to catch up on Hilliard gossip,” he said. “What’s up?”

  Genevieve pushed the remains of her sandwich away. “I need the name of Philip’s lawyer,” she said.

  “Are you thinking of suing the Hilliard?” Thomas asked, clearly surprised. “I think this guy specializes in sexual-orientation cases.”

  As gently as she could, Genevieve explained about the anonymous emails she’d received and their possible connection to Philip’s situation.

  She produced a pen and piece of paper, and Thomas wrote down the lawyer’s name for her.

  “What I don’t understand,” Thomas said, “is why anyone would think getting Philip fired would make any difference.”

  “I don’t understand either,” Genevieve said. “Maybe they want you distracted by this so you can’t help me, although I’m not sure how you could help me.”

  Thomas crumpled his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “I really do not want to think anyone at the museum is mixed up in this. Assaulting you? Sending you pictures of dead cats and sexual threats? What the hell is wrong with people? It’s a drawing. By a minor French romantic, for God’s sake. If nothing else, you’d expect museum people to know it’s not worth it.”

  “Somebody thinks it’s worth it,” Genevieve said.

  Thomas scooted his chair toward Genevieve and leaned close. “So, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a guy at the counter who’s been watching you the whole time we’ve been here. Don’t turn around.”

  “I don’t need to,” she said. “Dark hair, grayish-green shirt? That’s Julien.”

  Thomas swiveled his head around. “That’s Julien? Oh my. He’s a tall drink of water, isn’t he?”

  “Just friends,” Genevieve said.

  “That sounds definitive,” Thomas said.

  “Sadly, yes,” Genevieve said. “How are things with you and Philip?”

  Thomas smiled. “Better, I think. We’re going to try couples counseling, which is probably just him humoring me, but that’s a good thing, right?”

  Julien joined her outside after Thomas left.

  “Your secret agent skills need work,” Genevieve told him. “Thomas spotted you.”

  “I want people to know someone’s watching out for you,” Julien said. He pushed aside the plate that held her half-eaten sandwich. “Was your lunch not good? The moussaka was outstanding. Too bad this place is closing.”

  “It’s closing?”

  “That’s what the guy at the counter said. New owner bought the building and they’re losing their lease.”

  “Our other favorite lunch place closed, too. Just over there.” Genevieve pointed out the building. “Thomas tried to go Monday and there was a sign on the door.”

  “Did you get the name of his boyfriend’s lawyer?”

  Genevieve showed him the piece of paper.

  “How did the news go over?”

  “Thomas doesn’t think it makes any sense, either. The drawing just isn’t worth that much. I keep coming back to the idea that the drawing must lead somewhere else, but I can’t think... Oh.”

  “Oh?”

  Genevieve reached for her phone. She scanned the area around her and then quickly called Thomas.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “Restoration?” Genevieve said.

  Then she hung up without saying another word.

  “That was cryptic,” Julien said.

  “Just a thought,” Genevieve said. “Probably nothing. He’ll know what I mean.”

  Genevieve shouldered her purse, and they started toward Julien’s car.

  “Thomas said he and Philip are going for couples counseling. He seemed happy about that.”

  “Ah, so they can learn all about ‘when you X, I feel Y,’ ” Julien said. Then, seeing Genevieve’s expression, he said, “One session. Erica refused to go back.”

  Genevieve pondered that bit of information while they waited for the light to change. “Thomas and I always called this corner ‘Coming Soon,’ because there was always some plan to tear down this apartment building and build something fancy here, and then it always fell through. We’d be like, ‘Oh, I saw Keisha and Romesh at Coming Soon on the way back from lunch.’ ”

  Julien pointed to a notice posted on the wall around the mock-Tudor complex. “Looks like Coming Soon is finally coming – that’s demolition paperwork.”

  Genevieve walked over for a closer look. “The whole time I worked here, the neighborhood was dead, because it’s too far from the water and too far from the Promenade, and now something’s finally happening. Figures.”

  After three loads of laundry, many pets for Mona and an early dinner with Julien, Genevieve was back in Santa Monica, checking into a hotel. It catered to a wealthy clientele, one that valued its privacy and, therefore, its security.

  Genevieve tried very hard not to gawk as Julien wheeled her suitcase inside.

  “This seems a bit much.”

  “I think one of the top guys keeps Henry on retainer for his divorces,” Julien said.

  Upstairs, he took a tour of her room, checking the closets and testing the locks on the balcony doors. “These stay locked,” he said. “You can enjoy the view from inside.”

  “I’m on the third floor! What can happen?”

  Julien shot her a look that suggested he would tolerate no argument.

  “Don’t open your door unless it’s me. Not for maintenance, not for housekeeping, not for room service. Nobody.”

  This struck Genevieve as over the top. “What if I get hungry?”

  “The minibar is stocked,” Julien said. “Knock yourself out.”

  “What if I want something other than $15 chocolate-covered pretzels?”

  “If you decide you need a burger at 1:30 in the morning, call me, and I will get you a burger at 1:30 in the morning. If you decide you need anything, I don’t care what it is – ice cream, tampons, whatever – call me and I will get it. Do not open this door.”

  “Yessir.”

  Julien didn’t much care for her tone, it seemed. “The hotel was your idea.”

  They were both exhausted, and it would have been easy to lapse into an argument. But Genevieve decided instead to focus on the fact that Julien, tired as he was, had just offered himself up as her butler in order to keep her safe.

  “I know you’re just looking out for me,” she said, walking him to the door. “I promise not to
call you because I want a pint of Cherry Garcia.”

  Then she shut the door behind him, put on the deadbolt and the chain, and steeled herself for a task she’d been dreading: a phone call to D.

  D was not happy, not happy at all, that Genevieve had abandoned Julien’s house for a hotel.

  “Well, there goes my frickin’ action plan,” she said.

  “Which was?”

  “Tiptoe down the hall, slip into his bed naked, let nature do the rest,” D said. “Tell me again why he slammed on the brakes?”

  Genevieve sighed. It was tricky to explain without divulging why she made Julien so uncomfortable. “I think he’s been through a really hard time in his life lately.”

  “But wasn’t that awhile ago? Aren’t he and the ex all chummy?”

  “I know he had a relationship after the divorce that got really messy, too,” Genevieve said.

  “Maybe I should call him and give him a kick in the pants,” D said. “What do you think?”

  “If you call him, I will never speak to you again.”

  “Except to ask me to be your maid of honor!”

  Genevieve picked up the TV remote and clicked through the channels. “Is there anything good on? What are you watching?”

  “That house-buying show. Girl is 24 years old, Daddy’s giving her the down payment, and she’s all ‘I have to have stainless and granite!’ Please!”

  “You have granite counters,” Genevieve said.

  “I’m over 30, and I saved up my own down payment,” D said. “OK, so back to Julien, how about this for an action plan? If he insists he has to go everywhere with you, tomorrow you tell him you need to go shopping.”

  “Because everyone knows men love to shop.”

  “First stop, panties and bras,” D said. “Since he’s so concerned about letting you out of his sight, you make sure he sees when you saunter over to where they keep the 38Ds...”

  “That’s not what I wear!”

  “He doesn’t know that... yet,” D said. “You make sure you pick one that’s leopard print or something trashy, and a lacy black one, hold them up, like you have to study them from every angle, maybe even hold them up against your chest. Then you walk real slow to the dressing room...”

  “You’ve done this, haven’t you?”

  “Because my 32As are such a selling point? Please. Now, I might have dropped by Vicky’s once when I was at the mall with Tad and I needed a new black thong.”

  “Which one was Tad?”

  “I only went out with him a couple times,” D said. “He lived clear over in Euless? Did I not tell you about him? The music minister?”

  “You took a minister shopping for a thong?”

  “He ran like a scalded cat,” D cackled. “Said he’d wait for me down at the Christian bookstore.”

  Genevieve could hardly stop laughing. “I thought sales was about knowing your audience.”

  “Well, I misjudged him,” D said. “Don’t you make the same mistake with Julien. Now, I gotta go, because I have Brazilian Butt Lift class at 6 tomorrow. Keep me posted!”

  Five minutes after she finished her call with D, Genevieve’s phone rang.

  “Hey,” she said. “I was just thinking, could I get some tacos from Tito’s?”

  “Very funny,” Julien said. “What have you been up to?”

  “Talking to D. She thinks I should make you take me shopping tomorrow.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Nothing,” Genevieve said. “It’s punishment. Because you swerved, as it were.”

  “Ah. I’m thinking it might have been a mistake to get on D’s bad side. Do I need to avoid the state of Texas from now on?”

  “It might not be big enough for both of you, and it’s pretty damn big,” Genevieve said. “So, what have you been doing tonight?”

  “Catching up on work, mostly. Erica’s business website was glitchy, so I had to fix that. One of these days I’m going to have to build her a new one. She had some stuff added to my original design that’s not very compatible.”

  Genevieve walked to the windows that overlooked the ocean and pulled up a chair. “Why didn’t she just have you add the stuff?”

  “We weren’t speaking to each other at the time.”

  “But I thought you get along,” Genevieve said, then immediately regretted it.

  “We didn’t always,” Julien said. “There was a stretch...”

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” Genevieve said. “I don’t want to pry.”

  “I don’t think it’s prying if I’m volunteering,” Julien said.

  Genevieve pulled the other chair over so she could prop up her feet. “Well, I guess if you’re talking, I’m listening.”

  “The crazy thing is how fast it all went south for us,” Julien began. “Erica’s really independent and single-minded, and I loved that about her. When she wanted to quit her job and start her own business, we knew it would be hard, but I was on board. I took on a lot of freelance work on the side to keep money coming in. Then my mom got sick, and I was completely overwhelmed. And it seemed like Erica just pulled away, like all she wanted to think about was her business and her triathlon training. If I asked for help with my mom, she resented it, acted like I was being needy.”

  Genevieve listened as Julien took a deep breath.

  “She thought I was changing the rules, and she didn’t want the rules to change. She thought I needed to suck it up, get through it, and then Mom would die and everything would go back to normal. But I felt like she didn’t have my back. And to me, that’s the point of being married, knowing that someone’s always got your back.

  “So I wanted a divorce. That part was amicable. My mom died, and then... Well, let’s just say Erica and I said things we shouldn’t have and leave it at that. It got pretty frosty for a year or so. But we’re past that.”

  “That sounds really hard. I’m sorry,” Genevieve said. She stared out at the Pacific. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I was sitting here, feeling bad about snapping at you today,” Julien said. “Do you need to go shopping tomorrow? Because I’ll take you.”

  “No, I don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I feel like I should do something. I just don’t know what. Maybe a good night’s sleep will give me an idea.”

  “I’m kind of a zombie, too. Maybe you can hang out here tomorrow and convince your cat not to sit on my scanner,” Julien said.

  “Just push her off,” Genevieve said.

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Julien said. “I think she just misses you.”

  He sighed. “She’s not the only one.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Thomas called first thing in the morning, waking her up.

  “Restoration,” he said. “Theoretically, your question would be?”

  Genevieve thought about how to phrase things. She didn’t want to put Thomas on the spot. “Theoretically, if, say, a drawing, had restoration work done, would there be a record? Would photos be taken?”

  “The museum keeps a master list of all restoration work,” Thomas said. “Additionally, there’s a restoration file specific to each work, and in that file would be the details of the process used and so on. It’s typical to take photos. Does that help?”

  “Maybe,” Genevieve said. “Thanks.”

  Her next call was to Julien. He was at her door an hour later, latte in hand.

  He’d been up since 4:30, he said, and had already been to the gym. “I’m still trying to get my time zones straight,” he said.

  From there, it was back to Julien’s house, where he worked and Genevieve, for lack of a better plan, read everything she could find online about Stimson Miller while the information from Thomas rattled around in the back of her mind.

  She was desperate to do something – anything – to advance their case, but she was out of ideas. What was worse, her failure now wouldn’t just be a professional flop. She would be letting Julien down.

  For lunch, they walked
a few blocks to Culver City’s downtown and ate at a barbecue restaurant where Julien was a regular. The waitresses were clearly sizing Genevieve up, and she wanted to tell them, “Hey, we’re just friends.”

  Julien’s phone rang during lunch. “My friend Brent,” he said. “Mind if I take this?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Julien walked out with the phone pressed to his ear.

  She watched through the window as he leaned against a bike rack, chatting. At one point, Julien caught her eye and smiled at her, and Genevieve wondered, for one selfish moment, whether she didn’t need new bras after all.

  Julien ended the call and came back inside.

  “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, he had an extra ticket to the Lakers tonight, but I told him...”

  “And you’re not going?” Seeing that he was tempted, Genevieve pressed her case. “I’ll be tucked in tight at the hotel, remember? We can get my mail this afternoon, and then I’ll spend tonight getting caught up. I need to do expenses for Henry. Call your friend back.”

  Julien dropped her at the hotel after an early dinner. Genevieve tackled her stack of mail and pile of receipts. She’d just finished the paperwork when Thomas called.

  “Did you know,” he said, “that Study for Tristan and Iseult had restoration work in 2000?”

  “Really?”

  “Did you know – no, I’m certain you didn’t – that the restoration file is missing? Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  “What?” Genevieve almost dropped her phone.

  “What made you ask me about restoration?”

  “Julien’s cousin has a painting that I think was looted and returned – I felt an erasure on the back where I think the Nazis coded it,” Genevieve said. “That made me wonder whether there had been anything on the drawing, and whether anyone had ever taken photos.”

  Thomas was quiet for so long that Genevieve thought he might have hung up. But then he asked, in an oddly jaunty tone, “So, does Julien go everywhere you do now, or what’s the security procedure?”

  “He’s at the Lakers game tonight, and I’m holed up here like a princess in a tower,” Genevieve said.