The man’s smile wavered around the edges. “Yes, yes. This is very good. But you must understand. You do not come to a gallery without an appointment. How do you say this? It is not done.”
Three cheers for my brain. It clicked into action again.
“But we do have an appointment. Or at least a referral.” The receipt with Drago’s writing on it was still in my hand, and I showed it to the man. “We met Mr. Kravic just recently at this restaurant. He told us to stop by. See, he wrote the address down for us. If you ask him-”
“This is not possible.” I guess he wanted to see the proof up close and personal, because he tried to pluck the receipt out of my hand. But I was faster. After I was sure he’d seen it-and Drago’s writing on it-I stuffed it back in my pocket.
He cleared his throat. “I am sorry to tell you, but Drago Kravic, he is not here.”
I managed a chirpy smile. “We can wait.”
“No, no. You are not understanding.” The man shook his head sadly. “My dear friend Drago, he is not coming back. He is dead.”
We feigned surprise. I thought Eve’s surprise was more convincing than mine, but like I said, I’ve never been much for prevarication. Still, I must have been convincing enough. The man turned a somber smile on me.
“I am sorry I have to tell you this distressing news,” he said. “I am Yuri Grul, Drago’s partner. It is a sad time for me. For all of us. If there is anything I can do-”
“Now that you mention it, you just might be able to help,” Eve piped up. She glanced around the gallery, wide-eyed and with one hand on her Kate Spade to prove to Yuri that she was serious when it came to spending money.
“That nice Mr. Kravic, he talked about a painting, and I’m just dying-” How Eve could make herself blush on command was a mystery to me. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I guess that’s not the best word to use, is it? You’ll excuse me, won’t you, sugar? What I meant to say, of course, is that the way Drago described it, why, I just know I’m gonna love that painting. We may not be able to get back here for a good, long while. So if you could just show it to me? I mean, if it isn’t too much of an imposition at a time like this.”
For a couple seconds, I thought Yuri was going to say it was. I almost wished he had-then we could get out of here and get back to minding our own business.
But mourning or no mourning, Yuri was obviously a man of business. He smiled in an oily sort of way that made me uncomfortable. “The name?” he asked.
“Why, it’s Eve DeCateur, and this is Annie Capshaw.” Eve pressed a hand to her heart and twinkled, but Yuri’s blank expression said it all. “Oh, you mean the name of the painting!” She rolled her eyes as if amazed by her own foolishness. “I just know it will come to me,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “Maybe if you show us around?”
“Of course.” Yuri stepped back to allow us to get closer to the displays. That was my cue-we’d discussed that much on the way over, though I never thought we’d actually do it. If Eve could keep the gallery people distracted, I could snoop around. The thought of it sent a chill up my spine, but then again, I’d already concocted a whopper of a story to get us this far. I might as well go all out.
Besides, I knew that if I didn’t act fast, Eve would take matters into her own hands. And who knew what might happen then!
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” I did my best to look embarrassed. It didn’t take much acting-this whole thing was beginning to feel like a scene from a bad sitcom. “Ladies’ room?”
“Of course.” What else could Yuri say? He waved vaguely toward the other side of the gallery, and when Eve wrapped her arm through his and started to chatter, I took off in the opposite direction.
I found myself at the back of the building in a long hallway that struck me as particularly gloomy compared to the bright lighting out on the floor. I saw the door marked Ladies and passed it by, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Yuri wasn’t paying attention. I heard the light sounds of Eve’s laughter echo against the high ceiling, and Yuri’s lower, more guttural replies. Knowing she’d keep him busy for a few more minutes-and hoping a few minutes was enough time-I headed off to find the gallery office.
What was I looking for?
I really didn’t know. I only knew that Eve had this crazy idea that if I could get a peek into Drago’s office, I would find something that would give us a clue to the identity of his killer.
In Eve’s mind, of course, that killer was Beyla.
Did I believe it?
Honestly, I still didn’t know what I thought about Beyla. At that moment, the only thing I was sure about was that I wasn’t cut out to be a thief or a spy. My heart was pounding like the drum line of a high school marching band. My palms were sweaty. My blood was racing so fast and hard, it felt like it was going to spurt out of my veins.
I took a deep breath, attempting to get a grip and trying to reason through the panic cluttering my mind.
Therewas the receipt from Drago with the address of the gallery scrawled on it, I reminded myself. And there were his final words to me.
“This… important. You will see.”
Maybe Drago was trying to lead me here all along. Maybe Eve was onto something after all. Maybe this trip to the gallery was significant. Maybe I would find something in Drago’s office.
If Yuri didn’t catch me snooping around first.
The thought fueled my footsteps, and I picked up my pace down the hallway. There was a brass sign hanging beside the next door on my right that said Private. The door was closed, but it wasn’t shut all the way. I peeked inside.
One look in the office told me that any chance I had of finding a clue was officially gone.
All three of the file cabinets in the room were flung open, and file folders littered the blue and red rug on the floor. The desk drawers were gaping, too, and whatever had been in them was piled on the desk chair.
There was a window on one wall and a small safe under it. That had been opened, as well. It didn’t appear to me that it had been broken into. I may not be much in the burglary department but I do know a mess when I see one. The door of the safe was hanging open, and what looked to be record books kicked to one side definitely qualified as a mess.
Somebody had gotten here before us, and it seemed as though that somebody had an advantage over Eve and me.
He-or she-knew exactly what he-or she-was looking for.
And it was obvious that he-or she-would do anything to find it.
Eight
“SMUGGLING.”
“Art forgery.”
“Fake antiques.”
“That’s almost just like art forgery. That doesn’t count.”
Eve rolled her eyes. At least she remembered to keep her voice down. We were in class (Fabulous Fruits and Vivacious Vegetables), and as we had all the way from Georgetown to Arlington, we were trying to figure out what sort of shady dealings Drago could have been involved with that would have resulted in his office being trashed-and in Drago being killed.
Eve whispered to me while she opened her can of chestnuts. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the gallery.”
“Except that Drago said the gallery was important,” I reminded her. “That’s why we’ve got to concentrate on crimes that involve art. Unless Drago wasn’t involved in anything illegal at all.” Don’t ask me why, but that was a new thought. I had been running on the assumption that Drago was a bad guy.
“Maybe he was an innocent bystander,” I suggested. “Or a government witness. You know, like on all those TV shows.”
“Of course he wasn’t!” Eve practically sneered. In a beauty queen sort of way, of course. “You saw him that evening when he was coming out of here. And you saw him when he and Beyla were arguing. He was one nasty dude. Bad as bad can get.”