The Collector
Page 11
“He bought me a lemonade,” she continued, “and I told him what I’d seen.”
“You . . . you had a drink with him? For God’s sake, Lila, for all you know he and his brother are both homicidal maniacs or made men, or serial killers who worked as a team. Or—”
“We had the drink at the coffee shop across from the police station, and there were at least five cops in there while we did. I felt terrible for him, Julie. You could see him struggling to come to grips with it, just trying to make some sense out of what’s just not sensible. He doesn’t believe his brother killed Sage, or himself, and he actually made a pretty good case against.”
“Lila, nobody wants to believe their brother’s capable of this.”
“I get that, I do.” She blew lightly on the runners to clear off the dust from the sanding. “And that was my first reaction, but like I said, he made a pretty good case.”
She slid the drawer back in, out, in. Nodded in satisfaction. Everything should be so easy.
“He wants to come over here, see his brother’s apartment from this perspective.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Just wait. He suggested I have somebody here with me, and I wouldn’t consider it otherwise. But before I decide anything, I’m going to Google him. Just make sure he doesn’t have any nefarious deeds in his past, any wives who died under mysterious circumstances, or other siblings—he said he had twelve, half and step.”
“Seriously?”
“I know. I can’t imagine. But I should make sure none of them have a shady past or whatever.”
“Tell me you didn’t give him the address where you’re staying.”
“No, I didn’t give him the address, or my number.” Her brows drew together as she reloaded her makeup in the drawer. “I’m not stupid, Julie.”
“No, but you’re too trusting. What’s his name—if he gave you his real name. I’ll Google him right now.”
“Of course he gave me his real name. Ashton Archer. It does sound a little made up, but—”
“Wait a minute. You said Ashton Archer? Tall, rangy, blow-up-your-skirt gorgeous? Green eyes, a lot of wavy black hair?”
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“Because I know him. He’s an artist, Lila, a good one. I manage an art gallery, a good one—and we’re his main venue in New York. Our paths have crossed a number of times.”
“I knew the name was familiar, but I thought it was because I had the brother’s name on my mind. He’s the one who did that painting of the woman in the meadow playing the violin—ruined castle, full moon in the background. The one I said I’d buy if I actually owned a wall to hang it on.”
“That’s the one.”
“Does he have any wives who died under mysterious circumstances?”
“Not to my knowledge. Unmarried, but was linked with Kelsy Nunn—American Ballet prima ballerina—for a while. Maybe he still is, I can find out. He’s got a solid professional reputation, doesn’t appear to be completely neurotic, as many of them can be. Enjoys his work, apparently. There’s family money, both sides. I’m doing the Google just to fill in the blanks. Father’s side real estate and development, mother’s shipping. Blah blah. Do you want more?”
He hadn’t looked like big money. The brother had, she decided. But the man who’d sat across from her in the coffee shop hadn’t looked like money. He’d looked like grief and temper.
“I can check for myself. Basically, you’re saying he’s not going to throw me out the window.”
“I’d say chances are slim. I like him, personally and professionally, and now I’m sorry about his brother. Even though his brother killed one of our clients.”
“I’m going to let him come over, then. He has the Julie Bryant seal of approval.”
“Don’t rush this, Lila.”
“No, tomorrow. I’m too tired for all this tonight. I was going to beg you to come over again, but I’m just tired.”
“Take a long soak in that fabulous tub. Light some candles, read a book. Then put on your pj’s, order a pizza, watch a romantic comedy on TV, then cuddle up with the cat and sleep.”
“That sounds like the perfect date.”
“Do it, and call if you change your mind and just need the company. Otherwise, I’m going to do a little more checking on Ashton Archer. I know people who know people. If I’m satisfied, then he gets the Julie Bryant seal of approval. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“That’s a deal.”
Before she took that long soak, she went back out on the terrace. She stood in the late afternoon heat, looking over at the window, now boarded up, that had once opened into a private world.
Jai Maddok watched Lila walk into the building—after the skinny brunette stopped for a brief chat with the doorman.
She’d been right to follow the woman, right to trust her instincts and keep Ivan on the idiot’s brother.
It wouldn’t be a coincidence the brunette and the brother came out of the police station together, had a long talk together, not when the woman lived, so it seemed, in the same rich American complex as the idiot and his whore.
The police had a witness—this was her information. This woman must be the witness.
But what had she seen?
Her information also indicated the police were investigating a murder-suicide. But she had little hope, even with her disregard for police, that would hold up long, witness or no. She’d had to cobble that ploy together quickly due to Ivan’s overenthusiasm with the whore.
Her employer was not happy the idiot had been disposed of before he’d given a location. When her employer was unhappy, very bad things happened. Jai usually made those very bad things happen, and didn’t want to be on the receiving end.
So the problem must be resolved. A puzzle, she decided, and she enjoyed puzzles. The idiot, the whore, the skinny woman and the brother.
How did they fit, and how would she use them to reach the prize for her employer?
She would consider, study, resolve.
She strolled as she considered. She liked the wet heat, the crowded city. Men glanced at her, and those glances would linger. She agreed with them—she deserved much more than a second look. And still, in the hot, crowded city, even she would not make a lasting impression. In affectionate moments, her employer called her his Asian dumpling, but her employer was . . . an unusual man.
“You . . . you had a drink with him? For God’s sake, Lila, for all you know he and his brother are both homicidal maniacs or made men, or serial killers who worked as a team. Or—”
“We had the drink at the coffee shop across from the police station, and there were at least five cops in there while we did. I felt terrible for him, Julie. You could see him struggling to come to grips with it, just trying to make some sense out of what’s just not sensible. He doesn’t believe his brother killed Sage, or himself, and he actually made a pretty good case against.”
“Lila, nobody wants to believe their brother’s capable of this.”
“I get that, I do.” She blew lightly on the runners to clear off the dust from the sanding. “And that was my first reaction, but like I said, he made a pretty good case.”
She slid the drawer back in, out, in. Nodded in satisfaction. Everything should be so easy.
“He wants to come over here, see his brother’s apartment from this perspective.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Just wait. He suggested I have somebody here with me, and I wouldn’t consider it otherwise. But before I decide anything, I’m going to Google him. Just make sure he doesn’t have any nefarious deeds in his past, any wives who died under mysterious circumstances, or other siblings—he said he had twelve, half and step.”
“Seriously?”
“I know. I can’t imagine. But I should make sure none of them have a shady past or whatever.”
“Tell me you didn’t give him the address where you’re staying.”
“No, I didn’t give him the address, or my number.” Her brows drew together as she reloaded her makeup in the drawer. “I’m not stupid, Julie.”
“No, but you’re too trusting. What’s his name—if he gave you his real name. I’ll Google him right now.”
“Of course he gave me his real name. Ashton Archer. It does sound a little made up, but—”
“Wait a minute. You said Ashton Archer? Tall, rangy, blow-up-your-skirt gorgeous? Green eyes, a lot of wavy black hair?”
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“Because I know him. He’s an artist, Lila, a good one. I manage an art gallery, a good one—and we’re his main venue in New York. Our paths have crossed a number of times.”
“I knew the name was familiar, but I thought it was because I had the brother’s name on my mind. He’s the one who did that painting of the woman in the meadow playing the violin—ruined castle, full moon in the background. The one I said I’d buy if I actually owned a wall to hang it on.”
“That’s the one.”
“Does he have any wives who died under mysterious circumstances?”
“Not to my knowledge. Unmarried, but was linked with Kelsy Nunn—American Ballet prima ballerina—for a while. Maybe he still is, I can find out. He’s got a solid professional reputation, doesn’t appear to be completely neurotic, as many of them can be. Enjoys his work, apparently. There’s family money, both sides. I’m doing the Google just to fill in the blanks. Father’s side real estate and development, mother’s shipping. Blah blah. Do you want more?”
He hadn’t looked like big money. The brother had, she decided. But the man who’d sat across from her in the coffee shop hadn’t looked like money. He’d looked like grief and temper.
“I can check for myself. Basically, you’re saying he’s not going to throw me out the window.”
“I’d say chances are slim. I like him, personally and professionally, and now I’m sorry about his brother. Even though his brother killed one of our clients.”
“I’m going to let him come over, then. He has the Julie Bryant seal of approval.”
“Don’t rush this, Lila.”
“No, tomorrow. I’m too tired for all this tonight. I was going to beg you to come over again, but I’m just tired.”
“Take a long soak in that fabulous tub. Light some candles, read a book. Then put on your pj’s, order a pizza, watch a romantic comedy on TV, then cuddle up with the cat and sleep.”
“That sounds like the perfect date.”
“Do it, and call if you change your mind and just need the company. Otherwise, I’m going to do a little more checking on Ashton Archer. I know people who know people. If I’m satisfied, then he gets the Julie Bryant seal of approval. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“That’s a deal.”
Before she took that long soak, she went back out on the terrace. She stood in the late afternoon heat, looking over at the window, now boarded up, that had once opened into a private world.
Jai Maddok watched Lila walk into the building—after the skinny brunette stopped for a brief chat with the doorman.
She’d been right to follow the woman, right to trust her instincts and keep Ivan on the idiot’s brother.
It wouldn’t be a coincidence the brunette and the brother came out of the police station together, had a long talk together, not when the woman lived, so it seemed, in the same rich American complex as the idiot and his whore.
The police had a witness—this was her information. This woman must be the witness.
But what had she seen?
Her information also indicated the police were investigating a murder-suicide. But she had little hope, even with her disregard for police, that would hold up long, witness or no. She’d had to cobble that ploy together quickly due to Ivan’s overenthusiasm with the whore.
Her employer was not happy the idiot had been disposed of before he’d given a location. When her employer was unhappy, very bad things happened. Jai usually made those very bad things happen, and didn’t want to be on the receiving end.
So the problem must be resolved. A puzzle, she decided, and she enjoyed puzzles. The idiot, the whore, the skinny woman and the brother.
How did they fit, and how would she use them to reach the prize for her employer?
She would consider, study, resolve.
She strolled as she considered. She liked the wet heat, the crowded city. Men glanced at her, and those glances would linger. She agreed with them—she deserved much more than a second look. And still, in the hot, crowded city, even she would not make a lasting impression. In affectionate moments, her employer called her his Asian dumpling, but her employer was . . . an unusual man.
