To Catch a Leaf (33 page)

The key, Marco said, was finding out who the inside person was and getting him or her to talk. That person was the only weak link in a very slick art heist.

“It's Virginia,” I told him. “She knew Frank beforehand. She was in love with him. He was probably sizing up that art collection the evening he came to dinner, figuring out how to steal them. I'll bet Connie sensed something about him and that's why she tried to get Virginia to stop seeing him.”

“Don't forget, Abby, that Frank met other family members at that dinner. He could have made contact with any or all of them later. After all, we have only Griffin's word that the family turned down Virginia's plan. They might have said no initially, but had a change of heart later.”

Marco's cell phone rang. He answered with his usual “Salvare,” then listened for a minute before holding his hand over the speaker. “It's Sean. I'll take it in the other room.”

While Marco was talking to Reilly, I took another look at the list of flower arrangements Frank had sent. It was just too much of a coincidence that the orders had stopped when Connie died. It was also hard to believe that professional thieves would make a mistake and leave two forged copies of
Splendid Beauty
. What had happened? Had Constance noticed the missing painting? Had that discovery led to her death?

“Abby,” Marco said, coming through the curtain, “you'll never guess what Constance Newport had clutched in her hand when she died.”

“Would a piece of paper with the name of her killer on it be too much to hope for?”

“Cat fur.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“S
ay that again,” I said, trying to shift gears.

Marco straddled a chair across from me. “Forensics found cat fur in Constance's hand.”

“Does that mean she was holding on to Charity when she died?”

“No, but it indicates that her fingers were curled around an object, possibly a leash, when she fell, and there were faint marks on the insides of her fingers, as though the leash had been pulled through them. Reilly said the detectives are trying to come up with a scenario that fits the evidence. He was very interested in what we learned in Chicago, by the way. He said he'd pass it along to the detectives and that we'll probably get a call from them.”

He covered his mouth for a yawn. “Sorry. Long day. I see you've been working on your list. Did you make any progress?”

I gave him a rundown on my missing painting theory, only to have Marco yawn again.

“I'm sorry, Sunshine. It's not you. I was up late last night working on this. It sounds like you're onto something, though.”

I knew Marco needed his rest, and that if he came home with me, he'd be distracted, so I said, “Let's call it quits and work on this tomorrow, Marco. I'm exhausted, too. Go home and get some sleep.”

 

When I got to the apartment, Simon was there to greet me, giving me that innocent meow and rubbing against my legs just like the sweet little white cat I used to think he was.

“You're not fooling me, boy-o. I have your number now.”

Simon stood up on his hind legs and reached way up with his front paws, as if to say, “Hold me. I missed you.”

I picked him up to cuddle him, and he rubbed his cold pink nose against my chin.

All was forgiven.

 

When I got to Bloomers the next morning, Grace met me at the door with a worried frown. “Abby, come with me, please.”

I followed her into the parlor and sat down in front of a cup of her delicious java. “Did something happen?”

She sat down across from me with a cup of tea. “I had a call from Dave Hammond yesterday evening, and it wasn't good news.”

No wonder she wanted me to have coffee first. A shot of Jack Daniel's in it would have worked even better.

Grace took a deep breath, then said, “The chief prosecutor has called for a grand jury.” Her hand shook so hard, she had to put down her cup. “I know they're going to indict me, Abby.”

“Grace, we won't let that happen. We're making progress on the case. Let me tell you about our evening.”

Fifteen minutes later, Grace's tenseness had eased. “Oh, my! To think that an art-theft ring was operating right under Connie's nose! And, moreover, that one of her children was involved. She must have feared a plot was brewing, Abby, to have wanted an appraiser to come in immediately. Poor thing. What a dreadful shame.”

“And then you walked into the mansion and became the perfect patsy, Grace.”

Grace sighed sadly. “I did, didn't I?”

“Morning, ladies,” Lottie said, coming in to pour herself a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table, saw our somber faces, and her sunny smile turned to concern. “What happened?”

Lottie listened closely as I gave her a quick update on the previous day's events; then she got a refill for her cup and sat back down. “They're making good progress, Gracie. And I've been doing some thinking on this myself. Let me tell you what came to me in the middle of the night.

“First of all,” she said, “I agree with you that Virginia is the most likely inside person. And I'd bet any money she was responsible for her mom's death. Now, about your duplicate painting theory, Abby. Think way back to when those orders came in. Do you remember me telling you I had to substitute a red amaryllis for the hibiscus?”

“Vaguely.”

“If your hunch is right,” Lottie said, “then by substituting the amaryllis, we told the thieves to copy a different painting than what they were supposed to.”

And suddenly I saw the whole picture—or rather two pictures. Because of our error, two paintings of the same subject showed up at the house. And if I'd noticed them, they'd have been very obvious to Connie.

“But the arrangement with the substituted amaryllis wasn't completely identical to the other one,” Grace said. “One was accompanied by thyme, and the other by palm leaves. Wouldn't that have told the thieves something?”

“What if the greenery that accompanied the flower was a different type of message?” I asked. “For instance, according to your book, thyme can mean strength or courage. Palm leaves can mean victory or success. Perhaps they functioned as green lights.”

While I was explaining, Grace had gotten up to get
The Language of Flowers
, and was now poring over entries in the dictionary. “Abby, you're definitely onto something. The last order we received included oleander, which means caution or beware.”

“That was a red light,” I said. “I'll bet Frank found out that Connie was onto him and had to warn his men.”

“So what do we do now?” Lottie asked.

“Find out who the inside person is,” I said. “I think it's time to confront Virginia.”

“Not alone,” Lottie said. “You get on that phone and call Marco. I don't want to find you lying under a suit of armor—unless Marco's inside it. Okay, ladies, it's time to open the shop. Positions, please.”

Back in the workroom, I called Marco to tell him what we'd concluded.

“Let's head to the Newport house at noon,” he said. “If Virginia is involved, I have a feeling that we have everything we need to make her crumble.”

“So lunchtime, huh?”

“I'll have sandwiches waiting for us when we get back. Ham and Swiss with spicy mustard and tomato for you, right?”

“Right.” Actually, it was turkey and Swiss, but he was too adorable to correct.

 

Juanita was just driving out of the gates when Marco and I arrived at the mansion. She pulled even with him, ignored me, and blew him a kiss. Marco pretended to catch it; then, as she sped down the road with a roar of her powerful motor, he sailed up the driveway and parked behind the garage.

“Now do you see why I let Juanita flirt with me?” Marco asked.

“No comment.”

When we presented ourselves at the back door, Mrs. Dunbar seemed surprised to see us.

“We'd like to speak with Virginia,” Marco said.

“I'd be afraid to disturb her, sir,” the housekeeper said with a worried frown.

“Tell her we spent yesterday evening with Dot,” he said. “She'll see us.”

The housekeeper hustled off to deliver our request, and a few minutes later, Virginia came striding into the kitchen with her braid slapping against her back. As usual, she was wearing her artist's smock over a long skirt, and her cork-bottomed sandals.

She came to a halt with her feet splayed like a goose and glared regally at us. “What is the meaning of this? I don't know anyone named Dot and I resent this interruption.”

“I think you know Dot as Dorothy Talbot,” Marco said.

She paled, but maintained her pose. “I don't know who that is either.”

“Memory tweak,” I said. “She's Francis's mother.”

“I've never met his mother,” Virginia said with a lift of her chin. Still with those prickly chin hairs. Didn't she have a magnifying mirror?

Marco leaned one hip against the kitchen counter and folded his arms over his chest. “We had a long chat with Dorothy yesterday, Virginia. She told us all about her stay at the Donnelly place.”

“We know about the flower code, too,” I said. “And about Eamon MacShane and John J. Cole, and how you let them in to steal and replace paintings.”

With each declaration, Virginia seemed to shrink back more.

“You were talking to Frank Talbot on the phone in the sitting room,” I added. “I overheard you tell him you should have gotten rid of the duplicate painting.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, but this time with very little conviction. “Mrs. Dunbar, show them to the door.”

Fearing Virginia would walk out of the kitchen, I said, “We know about the scheme you and Frank devised,
Ginny
. Sell the paintings, replace them with forgeries, and reclaim your inheritance. Griffin told us all about your plan.”

Virginia grabbed her throat. “Griffin told you?”

“Then your mother found out,” Marco said, “and your scheme fell apart.”

“Did she threaten to call the police?” I asked.

Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

“You must have had quite an argument over the paintings,” I said, “to get so angry that you pushed her down the stairs.”

At that, Virginia collapsed into a heap on the floor.

“You were right,” I said to Marco, as we knelt beside her. “She did crumble. Mrs. Dunbar, the smelling salts?”

 

We carried Virginia into the sitting room and placed her on the sofa, then waited for her to regain consciousness.

“I don't think it would be wise to keep asking her questions,” Mrs. Dunbar said, twisting her apron in her rough hands. “Not in the state she's in.”

“We'll keep it short, Mrs. Dunbar,” Marco assured her. “Would you make Virginia some tea?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and scurried out of the room.

Virginia moaned and put her hand to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered; then her gaze focused on us. “Oh, for God's sake, did it happen again?”

“Talk to us, Virginia,” Marco said. “We're not going away.”

She stood up and walked to the fireplace, standing rigidly, her back to us. “Leave me alone.”

“If that's how you want it,” Marco said. “But we'll still have to turn your name and the names of your cohorts over to the police.”

“Hasn't my family suffered enough humiliation?”

“You can make it stop,” Marco said.

She swung to face us. “I'll pay you whatever you like. Just go away and leave us in peace.”

“We're not here to blackmail you,” Marco said. “We're investigating crimes committed against your mother. So why don't you have a seat and tell us about this plan to steal her art?”

“It isn't my mother's art,” Virginia snapped. “It belongs to the Newport family. I have every right to sell whatever I like.”

“Not against her will,” Marco said.

“She had no right to take away our inheritances,” Virginia cried, pounding the mantelpiece. “The artwork was my father's! I know he wouldn't have left it to a
cat.
”

“It was your mother's choice,” I reminded her. “She must have been very hurt by what you did.”

Virginia stared at us for a long moment; then her lower lip began to tremble.

Sensing that she was weakening, Marco said, “If you talk to us, Virginia, I can make it go better for you when it comes time to make your statement to the cops. And you
will
be talking to the cops.”