Bodies Of Art Mystery: Marked Masters Part 12

"I know what you're doing," I said as we neared the spot to trade our euros for gaining entrance to the two-hundred-and-seventy-seven-foot bell tower.

"You do, do you?" Jack dropped my hand and pulled out his wallet.

"You don't want to be overheard when you read me the riot act and then try to find out how much I know that you don't."

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at me, then he put a hand at the small of my back, and we walked to the entrance. "Or I'm going to throw you over the side once we get up there because I'm tired of you giving me a heart attack nearly every day."

I laughed. "I still have a portable chute in my purse. I may break a leg, but I wouldn't die."

"One more thing I have to thank Nico for doing."

The bell tower, like the dome staircase by the way, can feel a little claustrophobic, especially if there's a pack of people climbing along at the same time. For that reason, I was happy to see the closest tourists gamely attempting the trek were quite a distance above us. I shifted the Fendi on my shoulder and grabbed the handrail to start the circular journey skyward. "I take it Nico provided our reasoning for the split flights, and you disapproved."

"Hard to disapprove of a plan when one isn't given the option."

I straightened a bit taller. "Max told me Ca.s.sie is my keeper now. I never received the memo I report to you as well."

He took hold of my arm and pulled me around. Though he was a step down, we were eye to eye. "This isn't about you spending too much money, Laurel. That's between you and Max. This is about watching each other's backs. We need to back each other at all times, and I can't back you up if I don't know where you are or how you're going to get there until you've already disappeared."

"In that case, where did you go yesterday morning after you left the yacht?"

"What?"

Oh, good. He saw the trap he waltzed himself into. "You know, Jack, back in Miami? Before you met me outside Tina's condo building. The errand you had to leave for so early, despite the fact you said we needed to talk?"

A French couple entered the tower below us, laughing and chattering as they mounted the staircase. I pivoted and resumed our trek. But I did say over my shoulder, "I do appreciate your choosing the bell tower instead of the dome. The double dome always feels a bit close to me, and this route saved us about fifty steps."

"It costs the same, whichever view I'd chosen," Jack said. "Figured there would be fewer people heading up the tower since the dome is the better bargain for the euros."

"Don't mention the extravagance to Cecil. If he's anything like Max, he'll give you a money monitor like Ca.s.sie."

"That's really bothering you, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't it bug you?" I looked back at him as the stairs turned.

He nodded, looking skyward as he spoke. "Probably. I'll speak to him on your behalf if it would help."

"Just the fact you suggest the possibility increases my distrust of you."

"But-"

"Max is the reason Tony B knew I was in Miami." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Trust me. That will be one of the first items discussed when we reach the top. Oh, and what about the Welshman at Gatwick?"

"Last I heard, he's not talking. But good catch on your part, spotting him."

"We Beachams have always been a sharp-eyed bunch. Hopefully he'll spill something on Simon."

I wasn't a virgin at climbing the Florence fifteenth-century version of a StairMaster, so I knew to pace myself. I also took advantage of the lovely little rest stops conveniently placed every couple of stories and remained grateful the crowds in the piazza hadn't followed us for our tower escapade.

"Could give one a touch of vertigo," Jack said at our final rest stop. I saw the way his hand clutched the railing, and I smiled. Big, tough Jack Hawkes bothered by a tightly wound staircase a couple of hundred feet high. I could have taken pity on him. After all, he'd probably had less sleep than I, and it had to affect the lug. Nah, no pity from me.

I clapped my hands. "Come on, Jack-last one to the top has to tell a truth the other person doesn't know." Then I took off like a shot. I wasn't going to lose after suggesting that kind of wager.

Views of central Florence unfurled from the windows at the top. Personally, I preferred the panorama of this tower as opposed to the top of the dome, though a host of visitors would likely disagree. Both views are awe inspiring; however, here the sights were not only more spectacular to my mind due to its closer proximity to the ground, but the vistas included the dome as well. I stood at one of the openings and just breathed in the majesty, putting one hand up to the rough wall to help contain the adrenalin coursing through my veins. I wasn't afraid of heights. On the contrary, I knew their genius for offering new information from a previously thwarted angle. We'd had so many things. .h.i.tting us to this point, things that seemed to herd us from one exciting end of Florida to the other, then across the ocean, and now to the most singular city of Florence. I wanted the disparate parts to make sense. I wanted to hear what Jack had learned and to put his intel together with what Ca.s.sie sent. We needed to agree on a connection. The change in alt.i.tude couldn't hurt.

I let my gaze sweep again over the Florentine landscape below, wishing I had X-ray vision to penetrate the hidden sights under the terra-cotta roofs. I wasn't a voyeur. Rather, I wanted vindication of how our reasoning for coming here was sound. Ca.s.sie's data not only included the info on the forger brought back from the grave, but detailed bills of lading furnished by those whose imitations received the dreaded spotlight when the fakes were revealed. Each time, the stepping off point for all of the found frauds began in Florence, regardless of where the works were ultimately headed.

Jack arrived just before the French couple. I think he stopped to plan his argument since he knew I couldn't be beaten. I played the grownup and didn't mention the wager. It wasn't like I believed he would honestly answer any question I really wanted to know anyway.

"It is nice," he said softly. He stood behind me and reached a hand to the stone opening, placing his just above the one I used to brace myself, so he leaned into me a little. "Play along. Make sure we look like a couple to anyone watching. Anyone who might be questioned as they leave."

d.a.m.n! He was right. I hadn't thought of that. After zoning out with Ca.s.sie, I should have known sleep was more important than reconnaissance, yet here I was playing Miss Scarlet in the bell tower. Or, no, I guessed Mata Hari offered a better a.n.a.logy, since Miss Scarlet was a killer, and the only person I'd thought of killing lately was Max. I pasted on my fake happy grin and said, "Yes, I knew we needed to come up here to see the city."

One of the couples who came ahead of us chose to leave right then. The other remained to take pictures and point at landmarks below. The French couple stood close enough to be conjoined, and I worried they might be a problem as they seemed more interested in the dark corners of the s.p.a.ce than they did the city view. I inclined my head to the farthest corner from them and Jack nodded.

I pulled a guidebook out of my purse to use as a prop as we spoke. I briefed him on what information Ca.s.sie provided, then we walked back to a window and pretended to take pictures with my phone so we could scan the e-mails together undercover. When the French couple became the only hangers on, Jack pulled out his phone and said, "Here, let's get some shots of you with the view behind. Make a perfect photo for my desk back home, love."

No way could I keep from raising an eyebrow, but I did control the laugh bubbling inside me as I moved to look thoughtfully out at the horizon. There was a lot of activity on the flat roof of one of the neighboring palazzos, but I couldn't really get any detail without pulling out binoculars, and I'd left the mini-but-mighty lenses Ca.s.sie thoughtfully added back in my luggage at the pension. Besides, most of the roof was covered with dark awnings. But I could see busy workmen flitting back and forth under the canvases. Probably nothing. But still...

I turned and smiled as Jack continued snapping digital photos. The French couple watched us and giggled, and I started to get a little nervous about the interest of the pair. Leaning close to Jack's ear, I whispered, "I'll note the characteristics of her face. You take his."

"No need." Jack's voice rumbled as he kept the volume low. "I've never seen them before. It's not likely they're from either camp."

"How can you be sure?" I shot back, stepping away to cross my arms.

Jack took two slow steps closer. "I know for the same reason I could track you on CCTV. I remember faces. It's a gift. Trust me when I say those two have no previous connection with Moran or Tony B."

I kept walking toward the other end of the s.p.a.ce. "You've memorized every confederate either of them has?" I whispered.

"Yes. I've been following the careers of both men for some time. You're not the only one who knows every crook in the art world."

I stared into those teal eyes. "Yeah, but am I the only person right now looking at one?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it again without speaking. Instead, he started flipping screens in his phone until he found his own saved e-mails, and we resumed the charade of oohing and ahhing over e-mails as if they were photos of me and Florence. The French couple finally chose to leave, kissing and squeezing until they got to the edge of the first step. I could hear voices coming from down below and knew there wasn't much time before the next set of tourists arrived. I took the opportunity to give him the scoop on Max's role in Tony B kidnapping me.

Jack's face reddened. "Of all the stupid-"

I shushed him. "Max doesn't see Tony B as a hood. And we've all been at benefits together. As irritated as I am with my boss, I can't blame him for answering what he obviously felt was a simple question. I don't doubt Tony B was very smooth."

"So Ca.s.sie has your back on this?"

"Everything from me goes through her to Max. And we'll make sure his knowledge of my location is at least a day late."

"Good."

"What info do you have from your sources?" I asked.

Jack tensed his shoulders, then let them drop and pulled me back to one of the openings. He flipped three screens very fast, but I recognized two sculptures and the painting as ones Ca.s.sie included in my e-mail info dump.

"Are those the real works or the fakes?"

He sighed. "That's just it. These works were recently deemed frauds but were in place instead of the originals. And they're brilliantly done. If not for the cursed mark, they would likely still pa.s.s all tests. Which also makes the task of determining when the switch was made infinitely more difficult."

"Yet duplicates were forgeries and had the 'new' makers mark of the dead forger from here in Florence," I mused. The terra-cotta roofs below offered a lovely uniform pattern to rest my gaze and soothe the challenges to my brain. For the last twenty-four hours, I'd been thinking about all of the pieces of this case and how they did and didn't fit together. This new information simply made it more complex. Or something entirely new.

"So, are we on track for something?" Jack asked. "Or is all of this a means of diffusing our attention to the point where we don't see what we should?"

At least we were thinking along the same lines. I threw out the one connection I had. "The snuffbox. You and I were both after it for vastly different reasons, but it ties to Simon through Tina, Tony B through Tina, and Florence because the forgery looks to have been made here because of the mark and the shipper's bill of lading that Ca.s.sie wrangled from Max's original source. And the mark itself is one of legend. Who has appropriated the forgery mark of a dead forger? Or is it more than one person? We know Simon was aligned with Moran, and Tony B was seen with Rollie at the art fair. So is Tony B working for Moran or just extra hired muscle? Or is it all nothing more than confidence men keeping their enemies close? And was Tina a dupe in all of this or Tony B's latest conquest gone wrong? If the latter, was her murder to stop her from giving me the snuffbox, or to keep her from also giving me information at the hand off?"

"All brilliant lines of thought," Jack said, his face contemplative. "But it still doesn't give us clear direction. There's also the number in the safe-deposit box a.s.signed to Simon in Orlando. No one has been able to crack that code either. Did he put the number into the box, or was it and the map placed there by someone else for him to pick up when he came to get the snuffbox from Tina?"

Well, h.e.l.l! I hadn't thought of that. I knew this wasn't a compet.i.tion, but I preferred to have already processed a possibility before Jack voiced it. There was another connection to all of these people and artworks. "This is the country where we first tried to get the snuffbox, and now we're led to Florence. And the Greek courier who originally was supposed to give me the snuffbox wasn't just robbed like Tina, he had his throat slashed just like hers. But his death was in Italy. Coincidence? I hardly think so."

"You think if we find Tina's killer, we'll know who killed the Greek?"

I shrugged. "You were the one who said there was no doubt the man who confessed to the murder had been paid to be the scapegoat." Something else lay in all of this, but what? An idea teased my subconscious, but I wasn't sharp enough at the moment to latch on to the answer. Another missing link that eluded me. I shook my head. "Jack, I'm tired. I know I should see something here, some real connection to truly help, but I can't."

He looked at the time on his phone. "We've made progress, and you're right. Neither of our brains is rested enough for this kind of a workout. It's lunchtime, then everything will be shuttered for riposo. Let's follow local tradition."

Ah, riposo, siesta, a nap. Sounded beautiful. But food first. "There's a trattoria just a block from here."

"What? You don't want to share bistecca Fiorentina?"

The enormous rustic Tuscan T-bone big enough to serve two. "If I shared a steak with you now, I'd be out before we hit the dessert course."

"Who said anything about sharing?" Jack laughed at what I knew was my startled expression, and I joined in just as a party of four emerged from the staircase. The problem was, we were both close enough to exhaustion that we couldn't stop laughing once we'd started. Jack motioned for me to follow him back down, and we kept our gazes diverted from each other as we made the return trek. One shared glance and hysteria would start again.

Every table at the trattoria was filled. We needed an alternative, and Jack knew a stand-up sandwich and wine place on the way back to cross the Arno River. "It's a hole in the wall," he said. That was literally the truth. The storefront had an opening at the top of the counter where orders were taken and filled. As we finished our sandwiches and wine, our gla.s.ses went onto the shelf along the side wall. Several empties already waited to be retrieved by the dishwasher. A convenient gelato vendor finished off our feast with dessert, the creamy chocolate and hazelnut giandiau for me and the decadent dark-chocolate cioccolato fondente for Jack. We continued moving out of the center of the city as we ate. Neither of us seemed to have the energy to talk, and I was getting too tired to walk, but we were in the pedestrian only zone. Parking in Florence can be a nightmare, so buses and cabs must stay beyond the city center. Once vehicular traffic again shared our s.p.a.ce, I searched in vain for an available taxi so I could return to the pension for a nap. I was tempted to flag down one of the Vespas buzzing by and try my luck playing femme fatale to any young Italian male driver to escape Jack. The motor scooters zipped by constantly.

"The sound of those things is b.l.o.o.d.y annoying," Jack fumed. "No wonder people call them wasps."

"Regardless, I'm sure there's not a one of those grouchy old men who call them wasps who hasn't enjoyed riding a Vespa at least once."

"Always contrary, eh, Laurel?"

I smiled. "Since members of my family maintained that to be true, I won't bother arguing."

Suddenly Jack stopped. "Wait a second. Your family. The foundation."

I turned away from the street to look at him. "What about them?"

"The night we met, you were representing the Beacham Foundation."

"Yes." I frowned at the absurdity of the statement. "I'm always representing the foundation one way or another."

"It just occurred to me. That's exactly what we need."

"The Beacham Foundation?" I wasn't following him. "I think you really need some sleep, Jack. You aren't making any sense."

"Not the foundation. You. We need to get the word out to everyone who matters in the art world that you are here. Let the city know you're here in a big way, and see who comes out to kidnap you again."

"Set myself up? That's your best plan?" I couldn't believe it. "Stake me out like a goat and wait to see who tries to s.n.a.t.c.h me up and run?"

Jack stared at me. "Staked like a goat? A tethered goat?" He blew out a long breath, then stood back and crossed his arms. "Personally, I was thinking dangle you like a sacrificial lamb, myself."

"And one is different from the other in what way?"

"Semantics if nothing else. And a little bit of Madison Avenue. You're a beautiful woman, so..." He kind of shrugged his shoulders. "You know. Sheep are lovely, and-"

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. My grandfather had kept sheep on a marvelous place he had in Ireland. He'd kept goats there too. I knew the difference. "Sheep are stupid. If I'm going to have to live by my wits, I'd prefer the smarts of a goat."

"You do know the animal a.n.a.logy was just an expression?"

I ignored his question and smiled, giving a little dig. "So, I'm beautiful, huh?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Beautiful, long legged, smart, and the biggest pain in the a.r.s.e I know. You're right. A goat reference would be much more apropos."

We stared at one another. The more I thought about it-setting myself up, stirring the pot so to speak, not the sheep or goat thing-the better I liked it.

"I think your idea may be okay." No sense in letting him know after considering it, I thought it was actually pretty great. "I'll contact Ca.s.sie and find out what's scheduled in Florence this week and if we have tickets to anything." Unexpectedly, I yawned. "Sorry. I guess dessert was really a mistake, despite how I love gelato. All those carbs."

"Women. They blame everything on carbs," Jack said, disgusted. "You don't need-"

"Sounds like you've had some bad experiences with women," I interrupted. "You know generalizing by gender is the mark of a weak mind. Speaking of which-wait a minute! Women. Gender. I don't know how I could have forgotten. An old friend of mine is holding a big art show here celebrating women." I frowned again, thinking. "You know, I believe it's actually happening tonight, but I'm not really sure where it's being held. I didn't pay much attention since I didn't think I could attend."

"You know Flavia Bello?" Jack looked surprised. Nice to know I could pull some things out of my hat he didn't know about. "Her show's tonight."

"Yes. Longtime family friend. How do you know her?"

"We've met a few times. She's a bit older than you, isn't she?"

"A few years." In truth, probably more than ten, but I doubted she would admit to it. "We met through our grandfathers. She sent me a couple of tickets I can print out. This is the type of event you had in mind, isn't it?"

"It's exactly what we need, don't you agree? Get you out there in the art public's eye."

"Are we talking about officially attending this together? I'm okay if you want to stay more in the background." In fact, it would likely be better if I attended on my own. Working a crowd alone was one of my strong points. Jack would serve as quite a deterrent to getting people to open up, but if I made the mistake of insisting he not attend with me, I knew he'd remain glued to my side.

Or he would choose the moment to grow even more committed to remaining by my side whether I tried to psych him out or not. I was nearly able to hide my sigh of frustration when I heard his next words.

"Forget it, Laurel. We're going to attend this together," he said firmly.

It was time to throw down the gauntlet. "I'll probably get more action if I'm alone. The more action, the more possibility of leads. This is a system that has worked for me for years. Why screw up a good thing?"

His hands gently closed around my upper arms. "Because for reasons too numerous to list, we are now a team. Partners. Wriggle on the hook as much as you want, Laurel. I've always enjoyed a good fight. You know as well as I do we need each other on this."

I wanted to argue, especially with another animal a.n.a.logy depicting me on his hook instead of the other way around, but maybe this time he was right about the team thing. Maybe it was time to shut down my doubts about Jack. At least for a short while. What was one evening?

"Okay, okay, point made." I wiggled out of his grasp and took a small step backward, not a defensive move but rather a strategic one. An empty cab headed my way. "I think it might be a night to get some leads. With the list of donors Flavia sent, I have a feeling this is going to be the event of the year, even in a city known for its art events."