Stealing the Countess (34 page)

“You never filed an insurance claim, did you?” I said. “That's why Midwest Farmers wasn't all that concerned about getting back the violin.”

“What are you saying?”

“You were in Duluth on Thursday evening—with the Jacob Stainer violin. You knew that the Maestro wouldn't have the Countess for Friday night's concert with the chamber orchestra; you knew at least one full day before it was taken. Didn't you?”

Peyroux refused to answer. I could hear the Maestro's footsteps drawing near.

“I need to know right now,” I said. “Do you love your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him so much that nothing else matters?”

“Yes.”

“We'll see.”

Duclos entered the room carrying a small suitcase. He set it on the table and opened it. The money was inside.

“Put it on the table,” I said.

He did what I told him without asking why. It made for an impressive pile, sixty stacks of a hundred twenty-dollar bills and twenty-six stacks of a hundred fifty-dollar bills heaped on top of each other.

“Just for the record,” I said, “the money came from Heather Voight, didn't it?”

The Maestro's eyes found Peyroux's. He quickly looked away.

His voice was soft. I had trouble hearing it.

“She's my friend,” he said.

“More than a friend, I think, going all the way back to high school.”

“Renée wouldn't help…”

“Yeah.”

I put both hands on the bottom of the pile so the stacks wouldn't spill and pushed it toward Peyroux.

“What are you doing?” Duclos asked.

“Here—$250,000 for the safe return of the Countess Borromeo,” I said. “No. Questions. Asked.”

Peyroux stared at the money.

“Renée?” Duclos asked.

Peyroux rose from the table and left the kitchen.

“McKenzie, what's going on?” Duclos asked.

Even as I answered, I remembered what Chief Neville told me in Bayfield—was it already nine days ago?
You can't discount the nitwit factor.

“Payback, you dumb sonuvabitch,” I said. “You cheated on her, cheated on your wife with your high school sweetheart. You didn't think she knew?”

“It wasn't like that,” Duclos said.

“What was it like? Tell me before she comes back.”

He didn't. This time it was Peyroux's footsteps I heard nearing the kitchen.

“Do you love your wife?” I asked.

“Of course I do. This thing with Heather…”

“Do you love her so much that nothing else matters?”

“McKenzie…”

“It's a simple question.”

“Yes.”

“Then you might have a chance.”

Peyroux returned to the kitchen. She was carrying a violin case. She set it on the table in front of Duclos and moved behind her chair. He hopped to his feet and actually stepped backward away from the table.

“It's not…” he said.

The Maestro slowly returned to the table and opened the case. He sucked in his breath; it seemed to take a long time before he exhaled. From where I was sitting I could see Harry Potter's lightning bolt scratched into the maple between the F-hole and the corner. Duclos reached out his hand. It was as if he wanted to touch the violin but was afraid.

“It's all right,” Peyroux said. “You can keep it. Consider it part of the divorce settlement.”

The word forced his head up.

“Divorce?” the Maestro repeated.

“I'm done, Paul.”

“Divorce—you can't mean that.”

“I was willing to share you with one mistress, but not two. I went to Bayfield to tell you that.”

“You were in Bayfield?”

“No questions asked, remember?”

“Please, Renée. Please…”

“I knew about you and Heather in Chicago; knew that you drove up to Wisconsin when she opened her new restaurant that time I was in New York. I knew about Bayfield, too. You didn't tell me you were giving the concert until right before it happened because you didn't want me to go, but I knew. Herb Voight told me, Heather's husband. He had had enough just like me. I drove to Duluth, and he met me there; took me to Bayfield on his boat. I brought the Jacob Stainer with me because—I wasn't going to steal the Countess, that wasn't my intention—I was going to…”

Peyroux stopped speaking as if she was confused by her own story. She took a deep breath and started again.

“It was my intention to confront you and Heather in flagrante delicto so there could be no denials, no lies. It was my intention to force you to choose between her and me, and if you chose her, I was determined to take the Countess Borromeo home with me—it was mine, after all. I only lent it to you. But I didn't want to hurt you, either. I did, but I didn't want to hurt your music, the SPCO, so I brought your old violin, the Jacob Stainer, with me. I couldn't leave you without a violin. I couldn't do that to you.

“Only when I was about to knock on Heather's door—I became sick, Paul. Physically ill. I thought it was from seasickness, from bouncing around on that damn boat; why we even had to come by boat, I don't know. It made Herb comfortable, I guess; gave him the sense of being in control. Yet once we reached land it became worse. And standing outside Heather's door—I was terrified, Paul. Terrified that you would pick her over me. I could barely stand, I felt so ill.

“I convinced Herb that we should leave, that what we were doing was crazy. I stumbled down the driveway; I had to stop and lean against a car because I felt so dizzy. That's when I saw it. The violin. In its case. I couldn't believe it. You left the Countess Borromeo on the front seat of your rental? The door wasn't even locked. I was so angry. I was angry at you. Angry at me. Angry at the damn violin. I grabbed it. I took it out of the case because—I know you told me about the GPS thing, but I didn't think of that. I thought—I don't know what I thought. That I was going to smash it. That I was going to throw it into the lake. I don't know. I didn't, though. I didn't do any of those things. All I wanted to do—I wanted to punish you.

“I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't fully appreciate how much you loved her. I didn't appreciate how much you needed her. I didn't know that you would react to her loss the way you did; that it would hurt you so much. I would have returned the Countess right away, except I was afraid if you found out what I had done, you would have left me. And because I was still angry—you told people the Stradivarius was stolen from the B&B instead of admitting where you really were.”

“I did that because I was afraid you would leave me,” Duclos said. “I was more afraid of that than I was of losing the Strad.”

“It's too late. What I did to you…”

“What I did to you … It's not too late. It can't be too late. You taking away the Countess—I deserved that and more, but please, oh God, please, Renée, don't leave me.”

“We can't go on like this. I can't. Heather…”

Peyroux brought her hands up and covered her face. She began to weep; her cries were loud and filled with anguish. Duclos pushed the violin away and rounded the table. He took his wife in his arms.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he chanted.

He began to cry, too.

The Maestro and his wife embraced each other and slowly sank to their knees as one. The sound of their weeping blended into harmony.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Over and over again.

I don't know if they could hear me, but I told them anyway—“Whatever happens between you kids, please, at least keep the money.”

I left my seat at the table and crossed the kitchen.

“I'll let myself out,” I said.

*   *   *

An hour later, I set the nine-millimeter Ruger I had borrowed in the center of Maryanne Altavilla's desk. She stared at it for a long time.

“He's dead,” she said. “I read it in the paper. Three paragraphs on page two; no explanation.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Is this what killed him?”

“No.”

“Did you…”

“No.”

She opened a drawer, placed the gun inside, and closed the drawer.

“I suspected it was him,” she said. “I suspected Mr. Donatucci from the very beginning. I just didn't want to be the one…”

“When did you know he was involved?”

“I suspected him on Friday, the day the violin was stolen. You think I'm lying.”

“I didn't say a word.”

“Your expression.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn't know. I suspected. I went to Bayfield as soon as I heard about the theft. I ingratiated myself with the FBI, Special Agent Beatty. You might not believe me, but when I want to, I can be awfully charming.”

“I don't doubt that for a moment.”

“I meant what I told you, though—if you had recovered the Stradivarius violin, paid off the thieves, I would have had you arrested for receiving stolen property and aiding and abetting an offender.”

“I don't doubt that, either.”

“I read the Queen Anne's ledger. I recognized Trevor Ruland's name. He had attempted an art theft in Omaha several years ago, one of Mr. Donatucci's old cases—I told you I studied his files at some length.”

“Did you tell the FBI about Ruland?”

“Yes, although I didn't offer anything else, my early suspicions. I kept those to myself. After all, it was an improbable leap from Ruland's name to Mr. Donatucci's.”

“Intuitive thinking is difficult to explain to those linear types.”

“What happened next, though—I received a phone call after Midwest Farmers and the Peyroux Foundation announced in Bayfield, at the scene of the crime as it were, that they would pay only a nominal reward for the return of the violin and only upon the conviction of the thieves. It came within the hour, the call, Mr. Donatucci telling me what a catastrophic mistake it was.”

Heavenly told him about the announcement; told the Voice,
my inner voice reminded me.

“His outrage was shocking,” Altavilla said. “His demeanor, his language, echoed his behavior the day he learned he had lost his job. It was—disheartening. It also convinced me that my earlier conclusion had been correct—Mr. Donatucci had stolen the Countess Borromeo and was now angry that he would not receive the payday he had anticipated. Soon afterward, however, I discovered that Ms. Petryk had also arrived in Bayfield. I knew of her from Mr. Donatucci's files as well, of course, the ones concerning the Jade Lily. It caused me to take a step back and reevaluate my position. If Mr. Donatucci had already acquired the Countess and Petryk was working with him, what was she doing in Bayfield? I became confused, a state in which I am not at all comfortable.”

“That's when you sent the invitation.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted me to point the finger at Mr. Donatucci?”

“I wanted you to discover what happened to the Countess Borromeo. You knew Mr. Donatucci. You knew Heavenly Petryk. You enjoy tilting at windmills. The fact that he convinced you to undertake the identical task would seem to support my decision.”

“The scene you played in the parlor of the Queen Anne…”

“I wished merely to introduce myself.”

“Sure, and keep me motivated. What about the suggestion that Midwest Farmers didn't want me or anyone else to actually recover the violin?”

“Ms. Peyroux—I contacted her, informed her that I was investigating her claim personally. I must admit I found her cool and calm deportment during this affair quite impressive. I told her it was necessary to complete a certain amount of paperwork before we could process her claim, and yet she seemed almost indifferent to my request. As far as I am aware, she never officially filed a claim.”

“There's a reason for that, but put it aside for now.”

“Then tell me—why? Why did he do it, Mr. Donatucci? Why did he kill Trevor Ruland, have him killed? Why did he try to kill Petryk? Why continue working with Doc Young even after his original plan failed and the reward was taken off the table?”

“He did it for the money he thought he might make.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Pride, then.”

“Is that so important?”

“He lost his wife; he had no family, just his job. Something he was extremely good at. They took that away from him. Pride was all he had left.”

“You're suggesting it was all to prove that even at his age he was still smarter than everyone else?”

“It's as close as I can get.”

“Where's the violin, McKenzie? You know, don't you?”

“Yes, but do you really want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

“With no one going to jail? With no money changing hands?”

“What are you telling me, McKenzie?”

“Without charges for filing false police reports, without even a whiff of insurance fraud?”

Altavilla stared at me. Her eyes became large and bright with surprise, then narrowed considerably as she thought it through. She was one of those rare people—you could actually see her think.

“The violin was never actually stolen,” she said. “That's why Peyroux didn't file a claim. How did I miss it?”

Wow, she really does think intuitively,
my inner voice said.

“Apparently, I'm not nearly as smart as I think I am,” Altavilla said.

“None of us are.”

Altavilla stared some more.

“Favors.” She spoke the word as if it were the answer to a question. “Favors for favors—that's the coin of your realm.”

“I only do favors for my friends. Are you my friend, Maryanne?”

“What exactly do you want from me, McKenzie?”

I gave Altavilla a rough idea.

“You're asking a lot,” she said.