"I've got the day planned out."
"Franks sells insurance," said Missy.
"Wow, sorry to hear that," said Clark.
"I don't really sell insurance." Thorpe reached into his jacket, pulled out the federal ID that Gavin Ellsworth had made him, and flipped open the wallet. Showed the six-pointed star, the tips worn as though it had been in use for years. "My name is Frank Antonelli. I'm an investigator with the Import-Export Division of the U.S. State Department."
Clark stared at the badge. "Yikes."
If Missy was surprised, she didn't show it, her eyes so hard that you could have struck sparks off them. "I don't see any warrant."
"I didn't see the need for a warrant. You're not the focus of my inquiry." Thorpe flicked the wallet shut, tucked it back into his jacket. He had practiced that insouciant open and shut flip for fifteen minutes before driving over this morning. A quick show of the tin and the official seal, and that was it. No big deal. The lazy mannerisms of authority were crucial, almost as important as the credentials themselves. Thorpe could have made do with an off-the-shelf badge and ID, but he trusted Ellsworth's skill. He never knew when a citizen would want to give his wallet more than a cursory glance, and Missy appeared to be someone who wouldn't be cowed by a federal officer. Or anyone else.
Missy knotted her robe tighter. "Just who is the focus of your investigation?"
"Should I call our lawyer, Missy?" asked Clark.
"That's up to you," Thorpe said to Missy, "but I think it's unnecessary. I'm looking into possible violations of the 1987 Federal Antiquities Act by Douglas Meachum."
"Antiquities?" said Clark. "Like the History Channel?"
Thorpe smiled. "Some dealers import historically significant art-works into the United States without the proper release forms from the country of origin." He looked at Missy. "Meachum never filed paperwork for the Mayan plaque you bought last week."
"That's why you're here?" said Missy.
"I'd like to take a closer look at the plaque," said Thorpe. "I was hoping to get your cooperation without a subpoena."
"See Clark," said Missy, watching Thorpe, "that's the polite way to put your foot on somebody's neck." She stalked off, led him through the house, and finally stopped in front of the cabinet. On her tiptoes now, she retrieved the key hidden on top and unlocked the glass doors, stood there with her arms crossed, daring him to make a move. "I thought we hit it off, Frank, I really did. You must have gotten a good laugh."
Thorpe could see a vein pounding in the hollow of her throat. "I never laughed at you," he said quietly.
"Come on, you can be honest now." Missy patted his jacket pocket. "You're the man with the badge; you don't have anything to worry about."
"I used you to get at Meachum," said Thorpe. "I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed, either. It's my job. I had a good time last night."
"See, that wasn't so hard." Missy roughly pushed her hair back, her eyes warming slightly. "It was a good party, wasn't it?"
"A very good party." Thorpe carefully took the limestone plaque out of the cabinet, the Mayan king in noble profile, his earlobes elongated in the early classical manner. "If it makes any difference, I could have done this last night, but I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your guests. There was that skinny brunette with the diamonds and the fake boobs… Jackie. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction."
"That skank," said Missy. "Yeah, that would have given her the first orgasm she's had in years."
Thorpe examined the plaque, taking his time. The surface was lightly pitted, every tiny crevice rimmed with moss the color of raw emeralds. It was so beautiful, he didn't want to let it go. "What kind of provenance did Meachum give you?"
"Provenance?" asked Missy.
"A declaration of authenticity," said Thorpe. "A history of the piece. Where it's from, who its previous owners were, all the appropriate documentation."
"It's from… Mexico or Guatemala," said Missy. "Someplace in the jungle. It's old, that's all I know. We got a receipt."
Thorpe turned the plaque over, noted the chisel marks where it had been hammered off a wall in some dead city where it deserved to stay. It made him angry. He slipped it back into the cabinet. "I'm sorry to have taken up your time. We had a complaint about Meachum, and our office had to investigate, but he's in the clear. At least regarding this piece. Have a good day." Thorpe took a couple steps before Missy stopped him. He could barely hide his smile.
"What's going on?" asked Missy.
"It's not Mayan and it's not old, so it doesn't fall under the Antiquities Act," said Thorpe. "It's a very good fake. I'm sure your guests will never know the difference."
"You're saying that Meachum ripped us off?" asked Missy.
"I deal strictly with federal crimes, so it's not really my business, but…" Thorpe leaned closer. "Speaking unofficially, if you paid for a genuine artifact, you got ripped off."
"You're sure?" Missy's mouth was thinner than a fishhook. "You know what's real and what's not? You're an expert on this stuff?"
"I'm an expert," said Thorpe. "If it's any comfort, this sort of thing happens all the time, so you needn't feel embarrassed. Meachum may not have done it deliberately-a lot of dealers aren't particularly knowledgeable about pre-Columbian art, and, like I said, this is a good copy."
"I didn't pay a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a fucking copy," said Missy.
Thorpe pretended to think about it. "Take the piece back to Meachum. I'm sure he'll return your money. He won't want to be taken to court. A sale like this constitutes fraud. You would win easily."
"If I take him to court, it's going to be all over the papers. I'll look like a fool."
"Meachum has his own reputation to consider. He'll want to avoid publicity as much as you do." Thorpe took out his wallet, handed Missy his business card. "Just in case he gives you a hard time, slip this to him when you return the plaque. Tell him I was checking on his paperwork. Let him know I was the one who told you the piece was a fake. He won't argue. The last thing he'll want is to draw attention to himself."
Missy ran a finger over the raised lettering on the business card, circled the gold federal seal next to his name and cell phone number. She looked up at him. "I don't like being taken advantage of. Not by you, and most definitely not by Douglas Meachum."
"I can see that."
Missy nodded. "I appreciate your trying to make things right… and not blowing things in front of Jackie Simpson at the party." Her eyes flashed. "I would never have forgiven you for that, Frank."
Clark snickered. "Lucky for you, dude." A glance from Missy and he was conciliatory. "See, babe, in a way, you were right about Frank's energy. He's a good guy."
Missy watched Thorpe, and it took everything for him not to blink.
12
Missy didn't waste any time. It was barely five hours since he had told her that the Mayan king was a fake. Thorpe put away his pager, called the number on the State Department business card he had given to her, then keyed in his message code.
"Hey, Frank, this is me. Just wanted to let you know that Douglas Meachum pissed all over himself apologizing for selling me a fake, and wrote a refund check on the spot. I can't tell if he's more afraid of me or of you, but I guess it doesn't matter. Just between us, I don't think he's got any of that… provenance that you told me about. Like you thought, he doesn't want anybody to know about the fake art, either, so I guess everything has worked out. I'm still a little pissed at you for telling me you were an insurance salesman, but thanks for wising me up about the art world, and don't be a stranger. Clark says his offer to teach you how to surf still stands. Ciao!"