Ripped From the Pages (22 page)

I looked at Derek. “I forgot that Robson told me you hired your own team for Trudy.”

“Gabriel’s men are busy at the caves, so it made sense to recruit a few of my own
people. George is in charge of the security detail for as long as Trudy’s hospitalized.
He’s doing a great job.”

“Of course he is.” George had worked undercover with me at my television studio gig
last month. I had complete confidence in his abilities and knew Trudy was in good
hands. It didn’t surprise me a bit that Derek had gone the extra mile on this. But
it did make me love him even more.

Smiling at his boss’s words, George greeted me with a hug. We talked for a moment,
then turned to leave, just as a woman dashed up the hall toward us in a state of complete
panic.

I did a double take. “Elizabeth?”

She skidded to a stop. “Brooklyn?” She whipped her head around, looking for something.
“Where’s Trudy? I have to see her.”

I stood my ground, unwilling to let her pass. “Where have you been for the past thirty
hours?”

She seemed taken aback. “I was . . . I was out of town for a few days. Trudy knew
I was going away. I was supposed to return tomorrow but . . .”

“But you’re here now.”

She shook her head as though confused. “Yes, because I
happened to check my voice mail and heard a cryptic message from a police detective
that something had happened. I rushed back home to Trudy’s and saw the crime scene
tape and called the detective back. She refused to tell me where Trudy was, so I tried
to contact you, but there was no answer. So I called your mother.”

“My mother?” I was getting dizzy from the twists and turns of her story. Frankly,
I hadn’t checked my messages since the attack occurred, so I rifled through my purse
for my phone. Sure enough, there was a missed call. “Okay, it looks like you tried
to call me. But where were you? When did you leave? How did you get my mother’s number?”

“From, um, your sister Savannah.”

“Savannah?” That was weird, but possible, I supposed. She’d met Savannah when we all
had dinner at her restaurant the other night. “And my mother told you what happened?”

“She just told me that Trudy was in the hospital, so I raced over here as fast as
I could. Will she be all right? I want to see her. What happened?”

“She was shot,” I said bluntly. “Why did you disappear?”

She shook her head a few times as though she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Brooklyn,
I didn’t just
disappear
. I’ve been out of town since Saturday. What in the world happened while I was gone?”

“Somebody shot Trudy and killed Amelia,” Derek said. “Can you confirm where you were
on Monday?” He was being blunt, too.

“Monday?” Elizabeth swallowed nervously. “You mean yesterday?” Her gaze was diverted
to something behind us. I turned and saw Robson standing at the door to Trudy’s room,
listening to every word she said.

Elizabeth blinked and looked back at Derek. “I—I was out of town. I told you.”

“Can you be more specific?”

She scowled. “No.”

“So that’s all you have to say?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you accusing me of something?”

“Not yet. I’m simply gathering information. Can anyone corroborate your story?”

“You mean, do I have an alibi?”

“Yes.”

She stared at the floor for a long moment, then glared up at Derek. “It’s none of
your business where I’ve been or who might’ve seen me. I don’t have to tell you anything.
You have no authority over me.”

I almost sputtered. The man had
authority
written all over him. And as far as the town of Dharma went, Robson Benedict was
the supreme authority, although the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department might’ve balked
at that description.

“True,” Derek said mildly. “You don’t have to tell me a thing. But you will have to
tell the police.” He pulled out his cell phone and made the call.

*   *   *

D
erek dropped me off at the house and drove off to keep his rescheduled appointment
with Noland Garrity. After all the excitement at the hospital, I spent the rest of
the day sleeping and recuperating. I barely managed to do much else but sip from a
bowl of soup that night.

The following afternoon, Derek returned home from yet another meeting with Garrity.
As he fixed a pot of tea, we returned to the topic of Elizabeth’s brief disappearance
and her reluctance to tell us anything.

“She was right, of course,” Derek said as he pulled two teacups out of the cupboard.
“We can’t force her to talk to us. But we weren’t exactly interrogating her. We just
wished to know where she’s been for the past few days.”

“I’m glad you called the sheriff.” I was still miffed that Elizabeth wasn’t willing
to tell us where she’d gone. I’d been so worried, but now I was just suspicious.

“I’m confident they’ll obtain more information from her than I was able to get.”

“I really hate to think that she killed Amelia. I mean, she did go to the trouble
of showing up at the hospital yesterday. I suppose that’s a mark in her favor. And
she did call the local police to find out what happened at Trudy’s. If she was the
killer, she would’ve just kept running, wouldn’t she?”

“Would she?” Derek’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps she believed that coming back, showing
concern, taking all those steps, would make her look innocent. I don’t buy that angle.
Until she’s willing to tell us where she’s been, I have to assume the worst.”

We were silent for a full minute while he filled a small plate with a half dozen of
his favorite English biscuits. Normally at this time of day, we might’ve been sipping
a glass of wine and munching on cheese and crackers. But with my head injury, Derek
had automatically switched to tea and biscuits. Just one more reason to love him.
As he poured tea, I thought about Elizabeth and her lack of an alibi. Why wouldn’t
the woman talk? What was she hiding? And why?

It was all too confusing and depressing to think about, so I changed the subject.
“The good news is that Trudy is feeling better every day.” I picked up my teacup and
took a cautious sip, then
frowned. “My head is a little fuzzy still. I don’t suppose you’d like to get a pizza
delivered and hang out at home tonight.”

“I would love to. It’s my favorite way to spend an evening.”

“Mine, too.” He led the way into the living room, and we sat together on the couch.
After taking a bite of a biscuit, he remarked, “You didn’t even ask me how my day
went with Noland Garrity.”

“Oh no.” My shoulders drooped. “I must have been so out of it, I forgot completely.
How did it go?”

“I survived,” he said wryly. “But I’ve come to the realization that he has somehow
obtained access to the caves from someone besides me.”

That got me sitting up straight. “What? No way. You’re the only one he’s allowed to
go in there with.”

“Yes, and I thought I made that very clear. But he was quite eager to let me know
that he didn’t have to kowtow to me. He has other means of access.”

“He’s lying.”

“I would’ve thought so, but there were items out of place since the last time I took
him into the caves.”

I froze. “Out of place? Or missing altogether?”

“There were three silver candlesticks missing from the first cave. Originally they
were standing on top of the large ormolu dresser.”

“I remember them.”

We both sipped our tea. It was a strong, dark blend and I marveled at the difference
between this and the insipid tea bags I’d grown up with.

“I finally found them in the back cave,” he said. “Behind some of the rolled artwork.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes.”

“That’s just weird,” I said, resting my elbows on the table. “Did you ask Garrity
if he moved them?”

“He insisted that he didn’t.”

“He must be lying,” I repeated. “Who else would move stuff around? The only person
I can think of would be Robson. Or maybe Gabriel. Did you ask either of them?”

“I phoned Gabriel. He said he never would’ve given the fellow access, first of all,
and second, he would never move anything. I didn’t have a chance to ask Robson when
we saw him at the hospital today.”

“It wasn’t a good time to ask, anyway.”

“No.”

“Maybe it was one of Gabriel’s men.”

“Possibly.” Derek was frowning now and so was I. I didn’t like to think about people
coming and going from those caves.

“Gabriel assured me he would talk to his entire security team. And he insisted that
no one could breach the doors without him being aware of it. So who knows? I’ll discuss
it with Robson when the time is right, and we’ll get to the bottom of it. In any case,
Garrity will be gone within the week.”

“Thank God,” I groused. “Because I am really sick of Noland Garrity.”

“I’ll admit he does wear on a person.” Derek reached for another biscuit. “He was
in rare form yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sympathizing, but quickly added, “Do tell me everything he did
and said. All the dirty little details.”

Derek smiled, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. “He tried to convince me that
someone in Dharma has stolen something from the cave.”

My own eyes widened. “He’s right, sort of. I took the Jules Verne book, remember?
And Trudy took her bird sculpture.”

“Both of those items were already gone when Garrity arrived, so he’s not referring
to them.” Derek shifted on the couch, turning
to face me more directly. “He’s insisting that one of the paintings is missing. The
Renoir ‘facsimile,’ as he puts it.”

“The man refuses to suggest that it might be a genuine Renoir.” I shook my head. “He’s
probably right, but I would love it if he were wrong.”

“I’ll admit he’s not working under the most ideal circumstances, but I’m not willing
to let him take anything out of the caves. I don’t trust him. And Robson must agree;
otherwise, he might’ve arranged for him to work in a more spacious, well-lighted studio
somewhere.”

“Do you think the painting is actually missing? It might’ve been moved to a different
place. Like the candlesticks.”

“I’ll keep looking,” Derek said, but he didn’t look optimistic.

So we had thieves as well as a murderer in Dharma. Someone who had access to the caves?
It didn’t seem possible. How could they have gotten inside with no one noticing, let
alone bring out a valuable painting?

“I hate to mention a sore subject,” I said, “but what about one of the Frenchmen?
You toured the cave with them last week, right? Could one of them have slipped the
canvas under his shirt?”

“I was watching them closely. Then again, if we’re willing to believe that one of
the Frenchmen could get away with it, then so could Garrity. Although I always watch
him closely as well.”

“Good. I don’t trust him, either.” I gave in and reached for one of the sweet biscuits.
“What if Garrity stole the painting,” I theorized, “and now he’s making a stink over
it because he wants to appear above the fray while at the same time throwing suspicion
elsewhere?”

As theories went, it wasn’t a bad one. Especially given Noland Garrity’s generally
foul attitude.

“It’s possible,” Derek admitted casually, although I knew better than to think he
was as relaxed as he sounded. “Perhaps the
reason he calls the Renoir a facsimile is to draw less attention to it. If it truly
is a Renoir, the fact that it’s missing would be a massive scandal.”

“I don’t remember seeing a Renoir listed on any of the families’ inventories, so chances
are, it’s not an original.”

“Good point, darling.”

“But it’s still missing.” An idea was bubbling inside my head, and I had to talk it
out. “What if Garrity met Trudy somewhere in town and charmed her—I know it’s hard
to fathom, but humor me. He’s not a bad-looking guy as long as he keeps his mouth
shut. Anyway, he talks Trudy into asking Gabriel or Robson to let her into the cave
to visit some of her own family’s treasures. Garrity sneaks in after her. And then
maybe later, she invites him to her house to show off some of her own pieces of art.
And while they’re talking, he tells her he needs to go back into the caves, but this
time she refuses to help him. Maybe she’s getting suspicious.”

Derek jumped in. “So he pulls out a gun and shoots her, killing Amelia? Do you honestly
believe he’s capable of that?”

“I think he’s pretty awful.” But I thought it over and came to a sad conclusion. “But
no, I guess not. Even though he’s a bully, he doesn’t seem to have a killer instinct.
Cold-blooded maybe, and cowardly, but not a killer.”

Derek rose and walked to the kitchen, returning with the teapot. He sat and poured
more tea into each cup before continuing. “I don’t see any evidence telling me that
Garrity has ever met Trudy.”

“Thanks for the tea.” I took a bite of my biscuit. “We should ask Trudy about him,
just to be sure, but you’re probably right. If she’d asked Gabriel or Robson to let
her back into the cave, I think they would’ve mentioned it. Especially after she was
shot.”

“True.”

As I sipped my tea, something else occurred to me. “Wait. What if it wasn’t Trudy?
What if Amelia was the one who met him
in town? Those two sourpusses would have plenty in common. He flirts with her to get
closer to Trudy. She invites him over to the house for lunch and . . . I don’t know.
Something happens. She catches him going through Trudy’s purse, trying to find the
key. Or something. She screams bloody murder.”

“So he pulled out a gun and killed her?”

I mulled it over. “Okay, what if he was aiming the gun at Amelia, but then Trudy ran
into the room to intervene and Amelia pushed her away? What if his original target
was actually Amelia?”

“But why, darling? What could Amelia have said or done that would cause him to react
so violently? I know you dislike him. I do, as well. But I can’t see a motive.”

“I know, I know.” I slumped back in the couch. “It’s all ridiculously far-fetched.”