I was about to explain more, about how I’d sat in my car outside Helen’s shop for a bit, doing some genealogy work that linked several things together. And how I’d called Camilla and tried to tell her the update. Helen’s mind was elsewhere, though. She was frowning at the scrape on my cheek. “Do you think she followed you to Little Stacy Park? Savannah, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but my gut is actually saying she didn’t. Savannah must have been staying in the area because of her talk at the Hamilton Center”—I checked the time—“which should be over in about thirty minutes, by the way. Anyway, I think she simply saw an opportunity and took it.” I scowled. “If she’d planned it, I have a feeling I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Helen’s tone was fierce. “Well, the police had better find out after they arrest her.” Then her expression switched to uncertainty. “You’re sure she’ll come?”
I remembered the way Savannah had looked at me while I’d rambled on, giving her details she needed to find out where the painting was—if she didn’t already know—and warning her, without acting like I intended to do so, that she had a finite amount of time before the painting went to a secure location. “I’m pretty darn sure,” I said.
“So, then, do you think she killed Charlie Braithwaite, or do you think her half brother did?”
I was about to say I didn’t know, but paused at a knock at the shop’s front doors.
Helen checked the security cameras, then looked at me with a slightly panicky face. “It’s Camilla. Did you not call her and tell her this was going down?”
My eyes shifted from Helen to the screen where I could see Camilla standing outside, having changed from her earlier exercise outfit into a pair of jeans, ankle boots, and a bright fuchsia sweater. Her dark red hair had been let down and was framing her face in a becoming way.
“I mean, I called her and said I had news for her about the painting and she should sit tight and lock her doors, but she was in a seriously bad mood. She cut me off, telling me she was safe, that she was finalizing plans for Charlie’s funeral, and she would call me back. Before she hung up, I told her that Dupart was sending a cruiser to her house, just in case. She said fine and hung up. Dang it.” I huffed for good measure.
“Well, what should we do?” Helen asked as Camilla knocked again.
Sighing, I threw up my hands. “Seriously, this whole mess is driving me to drink, but water will have to do for now.” I gestured to the screen. “If you let Camilla in, I’ll go grab us some bottles of water and explain what’s happening. Since she’s here now, I’ll get one of Dupart’s officers to escort her home, though she might want to stay and watch with me from a safe distance. I’d say she deserves to.”
Helen nodded and I walked to the back, passing the security vault, and into Helen’s office, where she had a small refrigerator.
“Camilla,” I heard Helen say brightly as I grabbed three waters. “Nice to see you again.” There was a pause, then she said, “Oh, I didn’t see your friend on the cameras. Hello, I’m Helen Kim.”
On the tablet on Helen’s desk, another security camera was rolling. I watched, shocked, as a familiar tall man with light brown hair and a close-cropped beard I knew hid a cleft chin sidled up to Camilla and threw an arm around her shoulders. His voice was amiable and charming.
“Hi, Helen, I’m Trent. Camilla’s cousin.”
Stunned at his casual pronouncement, anger flared in me. Had they pulled the wool over my eyes? Was Camilla actually colluding with Trent and Savannah and I hadn’t yet figured that out? Then Camilla gave that familiar stiff jerk of her head to push her hair back, and I knew right then. Something was very wrong.
Luckily, Helen kept her composure. “It’s nice to meet you, Trent. What can I do for y’all?”
I saw Camilla open her mouth, but it was Trent Marins’s voice I heard out in the main part of the shop as they walked in. “We’ve come to collect our ancestor’s painting. We’ve opted to have it restored in Houston instead.”
I could no longer see them on the security camera, but I could hear how Helen’s voice had become strained. “Camilla, is this true?”
“Yes, it is. I’m so sorry, Helen,” she answered.
Helen paused. “I see. Would you at least tell me why?”
Trent began, “The three of us have been talking this over for some time, Helen.”
“The three of you?” Helen echoed, as I noticed I could change the security view. I tapped on the screen that showed the main workroom as Trent nodded. They were standing just inside the door.
“Camilla, my sister, Savannah, and me,” Trent said. “Well, she’s my half sister, but we’ve always been close.” I saw him pause and smile, then say, “She and I, and Camilla here, are the only cousins who care about our ancestor’s triptych, and we want to see it put together again. Savannah has had one piece for years, stored away at her place in DC. I was helping her move last summer, and”—I heard him emit a chuckle—“I said something that displeased my sister, and she threw a shoe at me. A four-inch stiletto heel, to be exact. Well, I hid behind the painting, and the stiletto heel slammed into that godforsaken top painting like a dart hitting the bull’s-eye.” He raised his hand and made a motion like he was throwing a dart. “When we pulled her heel out, it had made a pretty decent hole.” I could see Trent gesturing toward the table holding Camilla’s piece of the triptych as he said, “And I think you know what we found when we looked through that hole.”
“What did you do with it after that?” Helen asked.
“We took it to an art restorer like you, of course,” Trent said, beaming. “After that, we began searching in our family line for cousins who might own the other two pieces.” I saw him bring a stressed-looking Camilla in for a side hug as he said, “Turns out, I was already applying for a job that would put me working with Camilla here, and in no time at all Cam and I then started talking and making plans. She helped us acquire the third painting, owned by our older cousin, who recently passed away, bless his heart.”
Helen said, “Okaaay,” and from the screen I saw her address Camilla. “So, why did you send Lucy to Houston to get your piece of the triptych? And why did you then agree to have it evaluated at Morris Art Conservation and brought back here for me to do the restoration work?” Helen pointed to herself for emphasis.
Camilla looked uncomfortable. “I’m really sorry, Helen,” she said. “I’m happy to discuss this with you later, but for now, could we have my painting back? I’ll pay you for whatever work you’ve done, plus extra for being so patient. Um, is Lucy here, too? I saw her car outside.”
I was starting to see red now. I could tell Helen was angry as well and she didn’t answer Camilla’s question about me. Instead she said, “It’s your painting, Camilla, so of course you can have it, but first I want to know why you used Lucy this way.”
When Camilla didn’t reply, Trent did, his tone one of embarrassment. “She doesn’t want to say, but it was because of her ex-husband. Gareth had researched the painting, too, and wanted to try and make a claim for it since he’s the father of her two sons. Cam here felt that Lucy going to get the painting would be the simpler solution.” I saw him crane his neck. “Where is Lucy?”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I was out the office door in an instant and striding into the main room.
“Oh, I’m here, and I heard what you said,” I snapped, slamming the bottles of water down on Helen’s worktable.
“Lucy,” Camilla began in a somewhat strangled tone, but I just glared at her.
“I’m not the simpler solution, I’m just the more naive, trusting one, aren’t I?” My fists were clenched in anger, but I pointed at Camilla as I came within steps of them. “How could you? How could you be in cahoots with those two and hurt your uncle Charlie like that?” Now I jabbed my thumb at myself as I got up almost in Camilla’s face. She and Trent seemed to be mesmerized by my fury. “And how could you use me like that?” I heard my voic
e crack. “Good God, Camilla, do you really hate me that much?”
When she opened her mouth and began, “Lucy, I’m—” I didn’t hesitate. I pivoted toward Trent and slammed the heel of my hand up into his nose.
We heard the crunch, then came the blood. Trent released Camilla as a reflex, howling with pain while he did so and drowning out Camilla’s and Helen’s gasps.
“My nothse!” he wailed thickly, and then I stomped my three-inch heel into the soft top of his shoe. He dropped to his knees, one hand over his nose and the other reaching down for his foot, and I called back to Helen, “Find something to tie him up with!”
Helen was around the corner in a flash and I turned back to where Camilla had been standing, frozen in place. I pointed at Trent, ready to tell her to knee him in the groin if he tried to get up, but what I saw made me go still, too.
Savannah Lundstrom had appeared in the doorway. She grabbed Camilla from behind, yanked one of her arms up and back, eliciting a gasp of pain from my former coworker. Then she encircled Camilla’s neck with the crook of her other arm, so tightly that her left hand was hidden in Camilla’s hair.
“Get the painting, Lucy,” Savannah said in a cold voice, seemingly oblivious to the wailing of her brother on the floor. With a push at Camilla’s back, she and her cousin stepped just out of his reach. Jerking her head toward the table, Savannah said, “Do it now. We’re going to walk it out back, nice and easy. Once it’s in my car, I’ll let my sweet cousin here go.”
“They’re going to kill me, Lucy,” gasped Camilla. “Trent told me.”
To this Savannah tightened her hold around Camilla’s neck, hissing, “Shut up.” Then she glared at me. “I said, get the painting. Now.”
I held up my hands in surrender, taking a step backward. “What about him?” I said, indicating Trent.
“Him. He’s lived off me for far too long,” she said in a poisonous tone. “I did all the work on this—all the research, all the planning, not to mention the writing of the article that would question our ancestor’s war record and integrity. I’m the only one who did anything to help devalue the paintings if Camilla here and Charlie decided to get their pieces appraised. I also worked to convince my editor to run the article early, and even found our buyer …” She glanced disdainfully down at Trent. “And he still wanted half of the massive payout we would get.”
“You already had a buyer in place?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.
She sneered, not looking half so pretty now. “Do you honestly think I would have gone through this without one?” Giving Camilla’s arm another jerk and seeming to enjoy the cry of pain from her cousin, she said, “The guy’s a major collector of Civil War art, an American expat and rich as Croesus. He’s been visiting family in Houston, but he’s going back home the day after tomorrow. He’s promised us an unbelievable amount for all three paintings.”
Something Helen had said to me the other day came floating back. “He lives in Japan, doesn’t he?”
Savannah’s lips curled up in a smile. “Your friend Helen told you about countries with no extradition treaties, did she?” Then, from under Camilla’s hair, Savannah’s grip shifted, giving me a look at what she’d been pressing into her cousin’s neck. It was a dark red cylinder, about four inches long and two inches in diameter, that had blended into Camilla’s russet-colored hair. Savannah’s middle finger also ran through a square protrusion in the middle with two small silver spikes. There were two more lethal-looking inch-long spikes on the end of the cylinder. Camilla, I could see, was trying hard to get a look at what weapon was being used against her, but she couldn’t, since it was being held against the side of her neck.
“That’s some stun gun,” I said, hearing my voice go high with dread. I didn’t know how much stunning would injure Camilla, but there was no doubt that jamming those spikes into her neck could do some serious, possibly fatal damage. I saw Camilla’s eyes go wide as she looked at me, but I looked at Savannah, whose green eyes stared coldly back into mine.
Strangely, it was at that point, when the two women’s faces were next to one another and Trent just a few feet away, that their one common physical trait, their cleft chins, was the most obvious. It was almost nothing more than a slight dimple in Savannah’s chin. Trent’s, though covered by a scruff-length beard, was more visible as he held his hand over his bloody nose, whimpering, his lower jaw tight with pain. Camilla’s I’d noticed the very first day I’d met her at the Howland University library. It linked all three of them, and had been passed down from their ancestor, Charles Braithwaite.
Savannah brought me back to reality, tilting the stun gun up and down so that the long red spikes on the end seemed to be waving at me. “Yes, it is a nice little number. I wish I’d been running with it this morning in Little Stacy Park.” When my hand went involuntarily to my scraped cheek, she said with a satisfied snarl, “Now get the painting, Lucy.”
I put both my hands up again, backing away toward the table where the painting lay. Savannah shoved Camilla forward again, glancing briefly at Trent, who was moaning loudly in the fetal position on the floor. Momentarily, I was at a loss as to what to do next.
Then Camilla did something shocking, something I never thought I’d see her do. She imitated me.
It happened in the blink of an eye. Camilla raised up one of her ankle boots and slammed it down on Savannah’s toes. I saw Savannah’s eyes close with the pain as she yelled, “You bitch!” But her grip on Camilla had loosened.
With renewed strength, Camilla grabbed the wrist that held the stun gun and pulled it away from her neck. I gasped as the two cousins began struggling. Before I knew it, they were stumbling toward me, toward the painting, grunting and growling, the flash of Savannah’s red dress and Camilla’s bright fuchsia sweater making for a colorful blur.
Yet now Savannah was flailing as the two spun. Camilla was half a head shorter, but she was strong, and she wasn’t in heels. Camilla was struggling hard to get away as they moved nearer and nearer to the table that held the triptych panel. Somehow, Savannah still held fast to the stun gun and the thought reached my brain that if she managed to jam the spikes into the painting, she could rip a hole in it several inches long.
I skirted away from them, grabbing the first thing that caught my eye, though not without a slight struggle because it was heavier than it looked. Stumbling a step or two myself, I managed to hoist myself onto my knees on top of the stool I’d been sitting on earlier. With a grunt, I lifted the heavy piece over my head, yelling, “This way, Camilla!”
Automatically, she responded to my voice and swung around, bringing Savannah with her like a two-headed spinning top. I roared with effort as I brought down the colorful majolica greyhound on Savannah’s pretty, curly head.
The earthenware dog cracked into several large shards and Savannah dropped to the floor, unconscious, just inches from her ancestor’s painting.
I quickly clambered down off the stool and whipped around, holding one of the greyhound’s legs out like a weapon toward Trent, who’d uttered a long yell.
I needn’t have worried, though. His shout was only because Helen had dashed back into the room, yanked his arms up, and begun tying his wrists together tightly with a length of baling twine and a satisfied look on her face.
Bending down, I checked that Savannah was still alive. She was, though a lump was forming on her head. Helen shoved a long piece of twine across the floor, and I picked it up and swiftly tied Savannah’s hands together, then pulled the stun gun out of her limp hand and kicked the pottery shards out of her reach.
“Sorry about the dog, Helen,” I said. “I hope it wasn’t an antique.”
“Oh, it was,” Helen said cheerfully. “But I can fix it, don’t worry.”
I turned to Camilla. She was breathing hard, one hand to her cheek where one of the shards from the vase had scraped her face. Holding up a hand, I said, “Well done. High-five to you.”
She looked at me like I was nuts
for a second, then grinned and slapped her other palm to mine.
THIRTY-NINE
Officer Park showed up about thirty seconds after I finished tying up Savannah, and when she took in the scene, she immediately called in the other undercover officers. One of them was Detective Dupart himself, looking almost unrecognizable in a pair of jeans and a tie-dyed Keep Austin Weird T-shirt.
Later, I told him I was never going to take him seriously again after seeing him in his undercover getup, and for once, I got a laugh out of him.
While Helen stood with Dupart and gave him her statement, Camilla and I waited on two stools at the far end of Helen’s workroom, both of us sporting scrapes on our cheeks and Camilla also holding an ice pack to her left knee, having twisted it in the scuffle.
Camilla herself had just finished telling Dupart how she’d been packing dishes in Charlie’s kitchen when Trent had shown up and walked in the back door, bold as brass. She’d been so shocked, it had taken her a few moments to realize he’d known the door code.
Within seconds, Trent had pulled a knife, forced her into a chair, bound her wrists with duct tape, and was planning on holding her there until he could rendezvous with Savannah after her event at the Hamilton Center. The two siblings would first use Camilla to get Helen to release the painting, then Camilla would be deadweight—literally. But when I’d called, ignoring Camilla’s snappishness and telling her that a police cruiser was heading her way, the timeline had been pushed forward. Trent had texted Savannah the news and forced Camilla into his car, and they’d driven off before Dupart’s officer had arrived at Charlie’s house.
“How did you know?” Camilla asked me. “That I wasn’t in cahoots with Trent and Savannah, I mean. He’d cut the duct tape off my wrists, so I wasn’t tied up. And I was worried that he’d hurt you or Helen, so I was cooperating with him. So what gave me away?”
Fatal Family Ties Page 27