“Sourpuss.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
The ringing stopped and the receiver’s webcam turned on to show the image of a hand adjusting the camera. Then Aubrey Grant sat back and smiled at the screen.
Aubrey is not the sort of guy one assumes to be remotely involved with the antiquing world. You come to expect older people or crotchety shits like myself. Aubrey looks like a kid, which made it all the more horrifying when I learned he was actually five years older than me. Dark eyes, dark eyebrows, but really light hair, which he explained was bleached white. He had a nose ring and those gauged ears too, which I didn’t like but Max always complimented him on.
“Hey guys!” Aubrey said, waving at the screen. “Long time, no see!”
“Seriously,” Max answered. “When are you coming back to New York?”
“Maybe this summer for the antique fair at the Javits Center.”
“Want to be my plus one?” Max asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Aubrey laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“How’s the island life?” I asked after shushing Max.
“Good. Hot as hell. I’ve got the AC running.”
Aubrey lived in Key West and worked at one of the local historical homes. I’d always wanted to go down and visit the place, but outside of going on tours of old buildings, Key West didn’t exactly appeal to me. I was definitely not a beach-goer, and just thinking about that much sun made my eyes ache.
“How’s the urban jungle?” Aubrey asked in return.
“Rainy with a chance of murder.”
Aubrey made a face and laughed awkwardly. “Come again?”
“Aubs,” I said, unfolding a piece of paper from my pocket. Calvin had made a photocopy of Richard’s driver’s license and “accidentally” left it where I’d conveniently find it. “I know you’ve got some—er—history with the FBI guys who work in Art Crime….”
Aubrey pursed his lips together. “History withaguy. Don’t make it sound like I fucked the entire lot of them.”
“Right, sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Does the name Richard Newell sound familiar?”
Aubrey’s bitter expression slowly transitioned into one of thoughtfulness. “Hmm… should it?”
“I was hoping so. He may have been involved with a number of museum thefts. About four years ago. And possibly a murder.”
“Jesus.”
“My boyfriend says the FBI got involved.”
“I knew this wasn’t a house call when I saw your name.”
“I don’t mean to stir up unwanted memories, but I was hoping you might know something. Calvin’s a detective, but getting paperwork from the FBI is going to be a waiting game for him.”
“Wait, who’s Calvin?” Aubrey asked.
“Seb’s new beau,” Max provided.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “About Richard?”
