“She really wanted to frame me?” I was shocked, and turned to Max. “That’s what you thought.” To Alverez, I added, “Max thought it was a gambit. You know, a tactic where you give up something in order to achieve a good position, but that just seems so horrible, I can’t believe anyone would do such a thing.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty logical, though, when you look at it from her point of view. Efficient. You know, businesslike. She had a business problem and, to her, you were part of the solution.”
“Jeez!” I exclaimed. “Framing me was part of her business plan? That’s completely diabolical!”
“Wait a minute,” Max protested. “What about the Renoir? Didn’t sacrificing it defeat their purpose? If they’d succeeded in framing Josie, then what?”
“They hoped that Grant’s lawyer, Epps, would hire them to dispose of the estate. Since Epps knew only about the Renoir, and not about the Cezanne and the Matisse, they figured that if they could win the assignment, they’d be able to locate them, sell them privately, and with any luck, no one would even know the paintings had ever been in Mr. Grant’s possession.”
“But how did they know about the Cezanne and the Matisse?” I asked.
“Mr. Grant showed them his wife’s ledger. Barney told me so in one of my first interviews with him. He didn’t realize what he was revealing. He thought he was just describing their first meeting with Mr. Grant.”
“I wonder why Mr. Grant never showed the ledger to me?”
“Maybe he knew you were honest.”
I smiled. “Not with Epps calling me a shark.”
“It turns out that Epps didn’t call you anything at all until after Mr. Grant was killed. I gather it was Martha herself who planted the seeds of that slander. She was determined, it seems, to get rid of the competition-you-by hook or by crook.”
I shivered. “It’s pretty scary to think about.”
“Yeah,” Alverez said. “But she didn’t succeed.”
“No, thank goodness. Still, I hope I get the chance to convince Epps that I’m not a crook.”
“From what he told me this morning, he’ll be calling you to apologize.”
“Well, well, well,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe I’ll finally get that appointment and be able to pitch my business.”
Alverez smiled. “I think that’s very likely.”
Max added, “I’ll be glad to call him for you, Josie, if you need me to.”
“Thanks, Max,” I said, touched by the beyond-the-call-of-duty tone of his offer. “I’ll let you know.”
Alverez walked us to the parking lot. The sun was trying to poke through, and I thought it might make it by the end of the day.
“You look tired,” I said as we walked slowly toward our cars.
“Yeah, I am. It was a long night.”
“Martha just walked into my place?”
“Yeah, wearing dark clothes and latex gloves. She made a beeline to the storage cabinet and pried it open with a crowbar. Our plan worked like a champ.”
He shook our hands and turned to head back inside. Max and I watched as he walked away.
Max turned to me, pulled an envelope out of an inner pocket, and said, “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“An application for a gun permit,” he said. “Fill it out.”
I smiled and accepted the papers. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”
Wes called me as I was driving back to the office. “I hear they’ve made an arrest,” he said.
“I heard something about that, too.”
“What?”
“Just that. Do you know anything?”
“Ha. What a question. Of course I know things.”
“Forgive me. I forgot myself. Of course you do.”
“So, give it up. What do you know?” he asked, his tone urgent.
“I know enough so that we can schedule your exclusive. I’m ready to honor my commitment.”
“Where are you?”
“In my car, why?”
“Where?”
“Why?”
“So we can pick a place to meet.”
“Not now. Later.”
“No way. The story’s hot now, not later.”
Alverez had said they were holding their news conference at four, so I said, “Anytime after six.”
“Come on, Josie,” Wes whined. “Don’t do this to me. We made a deal.”
“Wes, you’re making me crazy. I’m keeping my end of the deal. Jeez. Six tonight at the Blue Dolphin, okay?”
“You’re buying.”
I laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, Wes. Okay.”
Talking to Wes was exhausting. He poked and prodded and seemed insatiable. The only thing that helped me endure his picayune questioning were the ice cold martinis.
At 9:00, we walked together to the parking lot. As I stood beside his car saying good-bye, I spotted a familiar object amidst the tangle of papers and discarded fast-food containers that littered the back floor-Alverez’s card.
I tilted my head, and thought for a moment. Hmmm, I said to myself, I wonder if I’ve just identified Alverez’s leak. I pictured him yelling at me, his righteous indignation seemingly sincere. Yet maybe, I thought, he used anger to camouflage a clever strategy. What better way to control the flow of information to the press than to be the one to talk? Alverez, I said to myself, you’re a sly dog.
I spent the evening puttering and thinking. I cleaned the bathroom, changed the linen, and made a huge salad. I thought about the love Martha had for Barney, and wondered if I’d ever feel that level of devotion. Not a love that led to murder, obviously, but a passion so complete, so compelling, that striving to satisfy my lover’s needs transcended effort and became a source of contentment and a way of life. Could I find such a love without losing my sense of self or changing my values? For the first time in eons, I felt hopeful that I would.
My outrage and anxiety had passed, and was replaced, it seemed, by exhilaration. I was excited about the future. I had plans for expanding my company with Prescott’s Instant Appraisals and by finally connecting with Britt Epps, an important player in the greater Portsmouth area, a potentially powerful ally in winning new business. I smiled, allowing myself a private “atta girl.”
When I arrived at work the next morning, Alverez was waiting for me, leaning against his SUV. It was a bright, sunny day, warmer by twenty degrees from the day before. I was wearing a blue sleeveless tank top with an oversized denim shirt and jeans.
“Hey,” he said.
He looked more rested than he had yesterday.
I smiled. “It looks like you got some sleep.”
“Like someone shot me.”
“How you doing?”
“Good. You?”
“Good.”
“So, I want to change my answer.”
“To what?”
“You remember when I drove you home? You asked me in. I said no.”
I looked at him. He wore a gray-gold tweed jacket, a tan shirt and brown tie, and khakis. He looked great. His eyes were on me, watchful and kind. He was tall and strong-looking and competent. I’d always found competence sexy.
“I remember. I asked you in during a weak moment. The moment has passed. It was a onetime offer.”
“Too bad. I’m changing my answer to yes, anyway.”
“just like that?”
“Well, I was planning on buying you dinner first.”
I started laughing, and I couldn’t stop. For whatever reason, his comment, delivered with such seeming sincerity, tickled my funny bone, and sent me into paroxysms of delight. Finally, I wound down, and when I could speak, I said, “Don’t look at me that way, or you’ll set me off again.”
“So, is that a yes?” he asked earnestly.
I paused and looked at him. I memorized the moment, filing it away in my head for review whenever I wanted. And I was willing to bet that I’d want to remember this event often. I smiled, and told him, “Hell, yes.”
Jane K. Cleland
