Four-Patch of Trouble (25 page)

"Keely's got it under control," Matt lied with an impeccably straight face.

"I need to speak with you a moment," I told him, nodding toward the front door. "In my office."

"I finally get to see the vault?"

I waited until we'd gone through what used to be the ATM lobby to my office space, well out of Dee's hearing, before saying, "I'm going to lock you in the vault if you don't behave. You know I can't do anything to help Emma before tomorrow morning. I'm going to be lucky if I can help her attorney get her out before she's sentenced for a murder she didn't commit."

"I've got confidence in you."

"Since when?"

"Since my one big lead fizzled." Matt sighed. "Look, I know you don't trust me, and it doesn't help that Stefan keeps hinting at some deep, dark secret in my past, and I didn't want to get into it yet, but our best shot at getting Emma out of jail is if we work together. How about if I level with you, and then you can stop doubting everything I say?"

I'd never found it easy to trust. My natural tendency to question everything had been reinforced by my legal training. Still, Matt was right that we could do more for Emma as allies than as enemies. I leaned against the wall next to the window and prepared to at least hear him out. "It's worth a try. I'm listening."

He gave me a wry smile. "Always the lawyer, with the weasel words and no commitment. But it's a start, I suppose. It's not that big a deal, really. Remember how I said Dee and Emma were supportive a few years ago when I was going through a tough time?"

I nodded.

"I wasn't always an arts reporter." He glanced out the front window, as if hoping for an interruption. "A lot of people get the wrong idea about me. I started out as a fashion model, see, and everyone treats me differently if they know about that first. They usually assume that all models are brainless, vain, and superficial."

So that was why he downplayed his good looks. If he did something with his unruly hair and wore more flattering clothes, he would definitely be right at home on the pages of a fashion magazine.

I could understand why he was so reluctant to talk about his past, and I appreciated his willingness to share it with me now. Maybe we could work together after all. And I might just agree to show him the bank vault if he called me after this whole mess with Tremain was over. "I never thought you were any of those things."

"Just a con artist like Tremain," he said with a touch of unexpected bitterness.

Matt seemed so accepting of Stefan's criticism of him that his apparent need for my approval surprised me. I could honestly say I didn't care about his old career or the fact that he'd given it up for a less lucrative one, but I was still a little concerned about his current job and what that said about his trustworthiness. "A lot of reporters these days are, if not exactly scammers, at least manipulators."

"Not me," he said, more serious than I'd ever seen him before. "I don't need to manufacture stories or embellish them. I like my work, but it's not the only thing I care about, and I don't really depend on it for my financial well-being. Stefan's right that if I wanted to go back to my old work right now, I could earn more in a week or two than in five years of reporting. I'll be too old in a few years, when I hit forty, but right now I could still get some solid bookings. I still do events for charity occasionally, and I could use those contacts to get some paying gigs."

It didn't sound like he was bragging. If anything, I had the impression he was downplaying how easy it would be to go back to his old line of work. If I were him, I'd have really resented Stefan's insistence that he was wasting his talents. I'd heard enough of that sort of criticism from colleagues who didn't know about my syncope and kept digging for explanations for why I'd quit my old firm. I hadn't wanted to admit my weakness, much like Matt hadn't wanted to risk being negatively stereotyped.

"The only thing I don't understand is why you let Stefan keep giving you such a hard time about your decision."

"We've known each other for years, ever since we took some summer photography classes together when we were kids," Matt said. "He was the one who first noticed how much the camera loves me, and he convinced me to go out for my first audition. He hates making mistakes, so he can't accept that it wasn't the right career for me. I can't entirely blame him. Quitting doesn't look like a rational decision. I gave up a financially rewarding career when I was at my very peak, with no prospects for any other kind of work. Dee and Emma understood though. I met them at their quilt show when I was trying to see if anyone would be interested in my thoughts on the local arts scene. They told me I should do whatever I was passionate about. And I wasn't passionate about my old work. Especially after—"

Matt's eyes suddenly flicked toward the window, and his eyebrows furrowed. "You've got a visitor."

I turned to look, and when I didn't recognize the car, I did what I always did, ducking back out of the visitor's line of sight. "Some of the bank's customers forget that the branch closed. There's a little sign out front telling them where the nearest open branch is. Just ignore them, and they'll go away."

"I don't think so." He continued looking out the window until a car door slammed. "It's not a bank customer. It's Gil Torres."

I headed back through the ATM lobby to let Gil inside.

She greeted me with, "They fired me."

"That's crazy! Why would they do something like that?"

Gil couldn't seem to find the words to explain. She was probably in shock. If she were going to sing anything right now, it would probably be "Day Is Done."

"Never mind." I opened the door between the ATM lobby and my living room. "Come inside and tell me what happened. Tell all of us. Matt Viera is here, and so are Dee and her granddaughter. If anyone can help you, they can."

As I stepped inside, I said, "Gil needs our help. She's been fired."

Lindsay jumped up from where she'd been kneeling next to her grandmother and went into the kitchen to grab a collection of sodas and carry them out to the coffee table.

Dee patted the wingback chair next to hers. "Come sit with me."

Matt made himself at home on the sofa, and I joined him there while Lindsay leaned against the back of Dee's chair.

Once Gil was settled, Dee reached over and took her hand. "They're not going to get away with this. Keely won't let them."

Another expectation I couldn't meet. So much for following doctor's orders and living a quiet, stress-free life. As soon as the quilt show was behind me, I was going to have to get serious about relaxing.

"I'm sorry to be a bother." Gil chose a can of orange soda but couldn't seem to find the energy to pop the top. Lindsay took it from Gil, opened it, and handed it back.

Gil just stared at it without drinking. "I don't know what to do. They didn't even let me pack up my desk. I'm supposed to go back tomorrow to do it under supervision of a board member."

"Don't worry," Dee said. "Keely will go with you in the morning before the quilt show opens."

"Keely may not want to have anything to do with the museum after she hears the rest of the news," Gil said. "They also voted not to acquire any quilts for at least six months, until the publicity over Tremain's frauds dies down."

"Stefan will be disappointed," I said, "but I'm more concerned about you right now. What happened?"

"I don't know exactly." Gil's head was bent, and her beautiful voice kept cracking. "They told me they were holding an emergency meeting, and they wanted me there. They asked me a few questions about the Tremain situation, and then without any warning, Nancy told me I was fired. No explanation, nothing."

"They can't do that," Dee said. "You deserve an explanation, at least."

"It's not that simple, legally," I said. "I can refer Gil to a specialist in employment law if she wants."

Matt spoke up. "I've been through a few employment-contract squabbles myself, and Keely's right. Gil's going to need a specialist. I bet this was a political move, and it's not going to be fixed easily. We already know that someone's been pressuring everyone involved about Tremain to whitewash his reputation. This could be part of it."

Gil nodded. "That makes sense. They asked me what I knew about Tremain's business practices. It almost sounded like they'd been prepared with specific questions to ask me."

Identifying the board members who had succumbed to the pressure might lead to the politician connected to Tremain and possibly even to the killer. "Do you know who spearheaded this?"

"No idea. I thought the board was happy with how I'd been doing my job. I hadn't heard a single complaint, and they seemed enthusiastic about expanding the quilt collection. I don't even know what the actual vote was, so I don't know if it was close or unanimous." Gil looked up with the glimmer of a smile. "No, wait. I do know one person who disagreed with the decision to fire me. Nancy Grant caught up to me afterwards. She tried to save my job, but there was too much pressure on the other board members for even her to counterbalance. It figures. The one time she couldn't get her way with the board, and it had to be when they voted to fire me."

"We won't let them do this to you," Dee said, pushing herself up from her chair with renewed energy. "Come on, Lindsay. We need to let the guild know about this. If the board members think they were pressured before, it's nothing to how they'll feel once the local quilters start calling them."

Dee's determination was contagious, and Gil finally began to drink her soda. I could stop worrying that Gil's emotional shock might transition into physical shock.

"We just need to know the names and numbers of the board members," Dee said.

"I don't have the full contact information with me," Gil said. "It's all back in my office."

"I can get it," Lindsay said. "It's the sort of thing I do for my job. I bet most of the information is on the museum's website."

"I'm not sure how current the information there is," Gil said. "A revamp was at the top of my priorities, but not until after the quilt show. You could check with Nancy Grant, though, for updates. She's going to be taking over as the interim director until they can find a permanent replacement."

"They won't need a replacement," Dee said firmly. "They've got you. Come on now, Lindsay. We've got work to do."

It was amazing the way Dee had changed from the exhausted, frail old woman she'd appeared to be when Matt had escorted her in from the car a few minutes ago. Now that she had a mission, she looked ten years younger and as fresh as if she hadn't already spent eight hours at the school, preparing for the quilt show. Still, a close look revealed the lingering exhaustion and sadness around Dee's eyes. She wouldn't be completely back to her usual imperious self until Emma was released from custody.

Gil tossed back the rest of the can of soda. The sugar from the earlier sips seemed to have reinvigorated her too. "I'd better get going. My dogs don't care if I'm employed or not—they just want their evening walk."

"I've got to be at the quilt show tomorrow morning by 11:30," I said, "but I can meet you at the museum when it opens at 10:00 to retrieve your belongings."

"I'll see you then." Gil strode out, looking more like her usual self, although I wouldn't be completely reassured until I heard her singing something cheerful.

Matt lingered until everyone else was gone. "I'll work on rallying the rest of the arts community behind Gil. This may actually give us some more leads on Tremain's killer. I didn't think to ask if anyone on the client list had ties to the museum."

"Good idea."

"What about you? Anything else you can do?"

I glanced longingly at my laptop and the notes for my speech. It could wait a little longer. If Dee could go out and rally her troops, then I could do a little more investigating. It was only a few minutes before 6:00, almost an hour before Stefan's gallery's closing time. "If you can give me a ride, I've got some questions for Stefan that might shed some light on what happened to Tremain. I never got the chance earlier."

"Let's go, then. I want to hit the newsrooms before the day shift leaves."

Stefan was closing out the cash register when I arrived.

"I just heard about Gil," he said. "It's a travesty. They'll never find anyone better for the museum than she is."

"Did you also hear that they've put the brakes on acquiring any quilts?"

"It's a shame," he said, nodding. "The museum really is the right place for my four-patch, but I can't wait six months for them to change their mind. I have to place it on the open market now. Unfortunately, other buyers are going to be just as skittish about the risk of fakes as the museum is. That's going to drive the price down."

Assuming Stefan didn't have anything to do with Tremain's death, it seemed particularly unfair that Tremain was still able to damage Stefan's business from the grave. "I'll see if the museum will release their rights to my appraisal so you can have it."

Stefan brightened. "Thanks. If there's ever anything I can do in return, just let me know."

"There is, actually." I couldn't have asked for a better setup if I'd prepared our conversation as thoroughly as I used to prepare for a cross-examination. My cell phone rang, and I glanced at it just long enough to see that Matt was calling. I let it go to voice mail so I wouldn't lose the leverage I had on Stefan right now. I gave him a moment to dwell on the fact that he was indebted to me and then went in for the kill. "Tell me what you were doing inside Monograms when Tremain was killed."

His eyes went wide, and I thought he might faint. He glanced at the door as if he might make a run for it, but then seemed to realize he was trapped, both by the counter that hemmed him in and by his own failure to be forthright about his having been near Tremain's office at the time of the murder.

He slumped back onto the stool and buried his face in his sleeve-covered hands. His voice was muffled. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before."