Page 69 of Over Her Dead Body

“The lender has no intention of selling,” Hale said. “The work will return to Lisbon when the exhibition closes.”

Still no photograph. No biography.

But someone using that name arranged the loan. Someone answered a reporter’s questions.

At twenty-four, Reid and I were counting grocery money and pretending the check-engine light was more of a suggestion.

He was not advising European collectors.

He was not arranging museum loans in Brussels.

Someone named Martin Hale was.

I could tell Celeste we have a personal history.

This would be true. It would also produce a follow-up question, because Celeste has never allowed an interesting adjective to pass without an explanation.

How personal?

At that point, I could explain the funeral or explain Lisbon. Neither feels like the opening of a successful partnership discussion. Together, they feel like something HR would want a second person in the room to hear.

I rub my eyes.

There has to be a version of this conversation in which I remain employed. I might be better equipped to find it if I had slept, or eaten something that required a plate, or taken off this dress before it became evidence of how the week was going.

I could ask her to give him to Owen. Owen likes clients. He has already expressed some disappointment that this one landed with me, and I could make his morning considerably better by explaining that he is welcome to him.

Then Margot would have Bauer, Owen would have Hale, and I would have the satisfaction of having handled a difficult situation maturely.

I wonder whether the partners would accept that in place of revenue.

Probably not. They have been disappointingly literal about the money.

What I need to know is why Reid walked into that gallery and let my boss introduce him to me. He could have stayed in Lisbon. He has apparently been doing perfectly well without my professional assistance.

Instead, he stood beside Celeste while she explained how useful I could be to him.

He must have enjoyed that.

There was plenty of interest in the Voss. There was also plenty of talking around what anyone actually intended to buy. I do this for a living. I know the difference between a collector considering a purchase and a man enjoying being attended to.

Last night, I was too busy trying not to say his real name to do much about either. Keeping my face pleasant while my boss recommended my dead husband had apparently used up the portion of my brain normally available for sales.

I open an email to Celeste.

Please forward Mr. Hale’s contact details and any notes from your conversation. I’ll follow up with him today.

I read it once before sending.

Nothing about Lisbon. Nothing about our marriage. Just her senior specialist getting on with the job she was given.

I can ask what he wants to buy, what he intends to spend, and what, exactly, he needs from me.

For once, he can be the one having trouble explaining himself.

CHAPTER 27

EMMA