Foxy Roxy (27 page)

“I don’t know. If their stuff stays in their country, isn’t it in danger of getting blown up?”

“Should that be our concern?”

“Hell, yes,” Sage replied. “If it’s gone, nobody gets it.”

In time to save Arden from flubbing another attempt at explaining, Kiryn returned with one cup of chai, which she set in front of her friend. She said, “The others will be ready in a minute.”

Arden tried to form a reasonable argument. “The question of whether or not antiquities might be destroyed isn’t really the point. It’s the provenance that matters.”

“You’re saying a country has the right to preserve its heritage. But what about those horses in Venice? The ones that have been on top of the cathedral of San Marco since, like, the year 1200? Back then, they were stolen from Constantinople. Should they go back to where they came from originally? Or stay where they’ve been for almost a thousand years? Which country can claim them as part of its heritage? Both, right?”

“Well, that’s—”

Kiryn caught the thread of their discussion easily and said, “I’m half Colombian. Why should Colombian artifacts stay in Colombia when half the Colombians like me have moved elsewhere?”

“Yeah,” Sage agreed. “The world is more global now, you know?”

Arden said, “Colombia is such an interesting country! And beautiful artifacts.”

“Yeah, but the real growth industry is actually kidnapping. So maybe it’s not the best place for artifacts right now.”

Arden said, “You could see it that way, I suppose. Ancient civilizations belong to all of humanity—the whole world. At least, that’s the argument of some of the big international museums.”

“It’s like musical chairs,” Sage said. “Everything moves around. Maybe somebody needs to pick a time when the music stops and that’s when everything stays where it ended up.”

Kiryn whistled a few bars of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

Arden said, “Wasn’t there a specific sculpture you were interested in learning about?”

“Oh, right.”

Kiryn went back into the coffee shop, and once again Sage typed on her keyboard, then turned the computer so Arden could see the picture on the screen. “Yeah, maybe something like this.”

Arden felt a thrill of recognition. Sage’s statue wasn’t the one from Dodo’s garden, but it had surely been done by the same artist. Only a careful inspection by an expert like Tiki would confirm that, however. “It looks familiar. What do you know about it?”

“Some archaeologist dug it up on a Greek island a couple of years ago. At least, that’s what it says here.”

“Had it originated on that island? Or had it been made elsewhere and stolen? Moved to that location?”

Sage shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought you’d know that kind of stuff. How much do you think it’s worth?”

“It’s priceless. That’s why it belongs to its homeland.”

“But if it wasn’t going back to its homeland,” Sage insisted. “How much?”

“Depends on the provenance,” Arden said. “If you can prove its origin—”

“Here we go again,” Sage said with a grin.

Arden’s face got warm. “What I’m saying is, if it was legally removed from a licensed dig, it’s more likely to find a legitimate home for a lot of money. But if it was looted—dug up and stolen, then smuggled somewhere, London or New York, say—you’d be dealing in the black market, where the prices vary.”

Sage looked interested. “There’s a black market?”

“Of course. Collectors who don’t care about how they acquire their pieces drive a thriving black market now. Their money is incentive for looters to keep digging and stealing important antiquities. It’s very cutthroat. People have died.”

“Died? Really?”

“We’re talking huge sums of money.” Arden thought fleetingly of her uncle Julius. Maybe he died because of his foolishness with women, but he could just have easily been killed for art.

“Wow,” Sage said, frowning.

“The commercial market for ancient objects should be curtailed. At least, that’s my view.”

Sage reached for the cup in front of her. “Cool.”

Arden’s buzz was definitely wearing down now. She wondered if the coffee shop had a bathroom she could slip into for a quick bump. Just a little one. She felt outgunned by Sage, who was only a kid, really. But a kid who was very observant.

Kiryn returned with two more cups and a sugar cube, which she fed to the dog. Arden accepted one cup and sipped the hot liquid. It was very soothing, she decided. But she didn’t need soothing right now. She needed zing.

Sage’s phone began to play the Darth Vader music again.

Kiryn giggled. “Your mom’s relentless.”

Sage laughed ruefully. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Arden watched the two teenagers. What had happened to all the smart girls in her classes at school? Had they outsmarted her then, too? Only she hadn’t realized it? Arden wondered if maybe she’d been one of those people who peaked in high school. Or in a dorm room at Brown. And now a lot of other forces seemed poised to overwhelm her.

Sage said, “You okay, Arden?”

Arden snapped back to the present. “Sure, why?”

“You looked kinda—I don’t know.”

Arden pretended to check her watch. “Wow. Look at the time. Is there anything else you needed to know? Because I should get going.”

Sage and Kiryn exchanged a glance, and Arden worried. She’d missed a point somewhere. Her meds were fading. She needed something to help her think straight.

“Sure, we don’t want to keep you,” Sage said. “But can I call you again sometime? If, you know, I need more information?”

“Okay.” Arden tried to wrangle Samson. The dog had wrapped his leash around Sage’s chair. “If I’m still in town. I just—I need to get away right now. I mean, I need to get home. To feed the dog.”

“Need any help? With Samson, I mean?”

Arden let Sage coax Samson into the backseat of the SUV. Then she helped Arden into the driver’s seat, too.

The two tall girls stood on the sidewalk and waved good-bye.

Arden drove away. She wasn’t sure where. Next time she talked to Sage, she’d write a script for herself ahead of time. To ask the right questions. Right now, all she knew was that she’d failed to learn anything useful to deflect Tiki and the Ministry of Antiquities.

20

On her way to face Kaylee about witnessing more than just the murder of her boyfriend, Roxy tried phoning Henry Paxton. He didn’t answer his cell phone, so she left a voice mail.

“I think you have something of mine, Paxton. My necklace? Did you take it to prove something, you slippery son of a bitch?”

Nooch waited until she hung up before saying, “You’re cussing again.”

“I’ll go to confession.”

Roxy parked the truck in an open space just a few doors down from her current crash pad. Evening light had just started to slant over the roofs of the tightly packed houses, which meant it would be dark in a few minutes.

“Stay here,” she said to Nooch. She didn’t want him to hear the talk she intended to have with Kaylee. “I’ll be back soon.”

She got out onto the sidewalk. A second later, somebody opened the driver’s door of the parked car in front of her. Since she’d been approached by would-be muggers a couple of times, Roxy reached into the open door of her truck and put her hand on her pry bar. Then Zack Cleary got out of the car.

Roxy considered using the pry bar on her daughter’s boyfriend, then decided against it. Nooch would disapprove. She tossed it back into the truck. “What are you doing here?”

Rooney jumped out and ran over to Zack, barking like he wanted a hunk of fresh meat, pronto.

Zack had good instincts. He jumped up onto the trunk of his car. “Hey, call off your dog!”

Roxy kind of liked seeing Zack on the run. Served him right, the little horndog. “He’s just being friendly. Aren’t you in the wrong neighborhood?”

Zack had automatically covered his family jewels and now sheepishly moved his hands away. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“Don’t you have a leash for that animal?”

Roxy whistled, and Rooney reluctantly sat at Roxy’s feet, panting.

Zack carefully climbed down to the sidewalk. There, he managed to regain his cocky cool. “You’re looking good, Mrs. A. As always.”

“I hereby give you permission to stop calling me Mrs. A. I’m not married.”

“I know, but—”

“Call me Roxy.”

“Okay. Roxy.” He bobbed his head nervously. “Thanks.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Oh, Sage showed me once. We were driving around, you know, and she showed me the house you’re fixing up. I thought I’d try to catch you here.”

Although the afternoon light had faded, Roxy finally noticed that Zack’s face was swollen. The beginnings of a black eye showed purple along his cheekbone.

Roxy stepped closer to take a look. “What happened to you?”

Zack reached to touch the bruise gingerly. “This? Another guy in my class and I had a disagreement. Nothing important.”

“Does he look worse than you?”

Zack allowed a grin. “The sergeant broke us up before any real damage was done.”

“The police academy allows fistfights?”

“It was no big deal. We just got a little hot. We’ll get a lecture tomorrow. They discourage losing your temper at the police academy. No swearing, either.”

“That’s a fucking tough gig,” Roxy said.

Zack laughed. “Yeah, it is.”

“Don’t disappoint your daddy.”

His face sobered up. “No, I won’t.”

“What do you want with me?”

Zack glanced up the street, as if gathering his courage. “I guess I need your help. Is there someplace—? Could we go inside? There’s something wrong with Sage all of a sudden. She’s—I don’t know. Weird.”

“And you think I have some insight?”

He started to look genuinely unhappy. “I don’t know. I thought I’d ask. You know. For advice.”

It was Roxy’s turn to laugh, but she kept it short. “Sure, tiger. Let’s go inside. I’ll give you a beer. Are you old enough for a beer?”

“Why not?”

Rooney took off and dashed up the sidewalk toward the house. Zack fell into step with Roxy, matching her long strides. He said, “This is a kind of scary neighborhood. You okay with that?”

“Sage won’t be living here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I wasn’t asking.”

“Isn’t she a little young for you?”

The question startled him. “Sage? Hey, no, we’re not really, you know, together. Like a couple or anything. But if we were, she’s—well, she seems older than she is. Older than high school, I mean. She’s smart.”

“Maybe too smart for you?”

“I’m no dummy,” he shot back.

“So what are you saying? You don’t want to be with my daughter?”

“Sure, I do! I mean, you know, as friends.”

Roxy stopped and faced him. “Friends with benefits?”

“What? No, I— Look, I like Sage. But she’s mad at me or something. I was hoping you could tell me how to make her happy.”

“Happy?” Roxy repeated. “Happy?”

“Yeah, you know. Like, do I buy her some jewelry, maybe?”

“That hasn’t been my experience, tiger.”

“Well, what has?”

Rooney barked and dug at the front door.

“Cut that out,” Roxy commanded from the sidewalk. Then she planted a finger on Zack’s chest. “Listen, kid, you don’t want to know what would make me happy right now. But Sage? She’s going places. And if she doesn’t get anchored down by some jagoff who only thinks with what he keeps in his pants, she’s going farther in this world than either one of us. Know what I’m saying?”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying what would make me happy is you keeping your distance from my daughter.”

“But—”

Somehow, Rooney managed to push the front door open with his nose, and he disappeared into the house.

The open door surprised her. Roxy went up the stoop in one leap, forgetting about securing Sage’s future away from Zack. “That silly chick left the door unlocked?”

“What chick?” Zack asked.

They could hear the dog barking inside. Roxy pushed the door the rest of the way open and went into the house. Zack hesitated behind her.

“Kaylee!” Roxy shouted.

The pitch of Rooney’s barking suddenly changed. Roxy heard it and felt all her nerves contract. She went into the hallway of the empty house. A breeze hit her in the face, coming from the kitchen. Someone had left the back door wide open.

A lamp lay on the living room floor, casting a glare at a crazy angle.

“Oh, shit.” Zack sounded like a little boy.

Roxy headed for the stairs, and when she turned the corner she could see Kaylee’s shoe on the landing. Above it, Kaylee’s bare foot.

Rooney whined. When Roxy arrived on the landing, she found him sniffing Kaylee’s hair.

The dog had tracked her blood on the staircase. The girl lay sprawled on her back, her legs awkward, one arm bent beneath her.

“Oh, shit,” Zack said again. He had followed Roxy up the stairs, but he suddenly turned and stumbled back downward. When he arrived in the living room, he kept going out the front door. Roxy could hear him gagging on the stoop.

Someone had chased Kaylee, she could see. She had run up the stairs to escape, but her attacker had grabbed her dress and dragged her down. She’d hit her head on the staircase—the blood was everywhere. She had probably fought with whoever it was. It looked as if one of her front teeth was missing in her half-open mouth. Roxy guessed by the crooked angle of her arm that it was broken.

And she’d been shot. The bullet had torn into her throat and exploded out the back of her head. The new plaster above her was splattered with something gruesome. The pillow from the bed lay on the upper stairs, the case shredded as if the shooter had wrapped the pillow around his gun to muffle the noise.

Roxy called Rooney to her, and the dog obeyed. Together, they sat down on the lower portion of the staircase. Roxy hugged Rooney, and he snuggled close. Roxy couldn’t quite catch her breath.

When Zack staggered back inside, wide-eyed and catching his balance on the newel, Roxy pulled out her cell phone and called 911.

21

Bug Duffy wasn’t the first cop to arrive, but when he did show up, he told Nooch to stay in the truck and invited Roxy to sit in the front seat of his squad car for a while. While he talked to his buddies, Roxy watched the Channel 2 people set up their remote. The on-camera girl wore a fluffy coat and a ludicrous amount of makeup. She joked around with her cameraman, then sobered up when the big lights came on, and she did her report in front of the police grimly going about their business.