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It’s been awhile since I stopped by to check on the gallery and it’s been months since I’ve ordered any maintenance on the building, but damn if our security system isn’t totally state-of-the-art. I haven’t received a single alert about a break-in which means that whoever did the job is good.
Really good.
“I’m sorry,” the police officer standing in my office says. He’s short and plump. He looks tired. I get the feeling that this is the last thing he wants to be doing today, which is funny because I feel the exact same way. I’d much rather be burying myself in work or in one of the minx shifters we have on staff.
Anything to dull the boredom and monotony that is my life.
Not that there’s anything really wrong with my life. Not particularly. To be fair, most of what I do is really fun and interesting. Buying houses, fixing them up, selling them? It’s an art form and it’s a challenge. Then there’s the other side. Sometimes I get to help people find their dream home, which is its own reward. Not that I’d ever admit selling real estate is an emotionally satisfying job. Not out loud, anyway.
“We received a report from a neighbor who saw someone leaving the building late last night through a second-story window. When we went to investigate, we found that it does, in fact, appear to have been breached through the second floor. There is no other point of entry.”
“Fuck,” I growl, slamming my hand on my desk. The officer doesn’t jump, but his eyes go wide. Yeah, so I’ve got a little bit of a temper. I’m working on it. With a sigh, I run my hands through my hair. “What do you need from me?” I finally ask.
“We’re going to need you to come and see if there’s anything missing,” he says carefully.
What a shit show.
“Yeah,” I say. “No problem. I can come now.”
I grab my jacket and slip it on as I follow the officer out of the office. I ask my secretary to cancel all of my meetings for the day. Unfortunately for me, it’s a lot of meetings. Fortunately for me, I’m Lee Claw: real estate monster of Starton. No one is going to give me a hard time for needing to reschedule a meeting, especially not anything that has to do with real estate. If anything, this will only make business better since it’s going to show my clients just how in-demand I really am.
There you go.
I follow the officer out of the building and tell him I’ll meet him on-site. The art gallery is only a few blocks away. He came in his cruiser, but I’ll walk. I can use the exercise. Besides, my inner-wolf is just begging to run free. Being locked up in a cop car is the fastest possible way to ensure that I lose control of my inner-wolf and let him out.
/> I hurry to the gallery, texting my brothers on the way. They’ll want to know what’s happened. I reach the building and look up at it. It really is a lovely place. It looks fairly ordinary from the outside, but that was a purposeful decision. My father wanted people to think they were going into an ordinary building, an ordinary place.
Then he could wow them with excitement and wonder when they walked through the doors.
I go inside the building and move to shut off the alarm system, only to find it doesn’t seem to be working. I jab at the buttons a few time, but the screen of the security alert system is down. Great. I suppose that’s why I didn’t receive notification that there was some sort of intruder.
Turning back to the front part of the gallery, I take a look at what’s around me. The lobby appears to be greatly undisturbed, save for a painting that’s on its side. It’s knocked completely over, but is still covered with the heavy fabric we placed over some of the work when we shut the gallery down.
I move to the painting and lift it, surprised at just how heavy it is. Did someone knock this down? Somehow, I doubt it could have moved on its own. That would be just my luck, anyway. My brothers and I have been talking about selling this place for months now. This might be just the push we need to start the process of finding a buyer.
My mother will be disappointed, but that’s something we’ll have to deal with. Mother can’t have everything she wants, much as she tries.
I look around the space and sniff discreetly. The officer actually isn’t here yet. Maybe he’s looking for a parking space. I know he was inside already. Even if the security system hadn’t been shut off, I can scent his notable smell just by opening my nostrils and breathing in.
Musky.
I can smell something else, too, but I’m not quite sure what it is. Vanilla, maybe? Perhaps our little thief wasn’t a big, surly man. Maybe our thief was a delicate woman who has a fondness for vanilla body spray.
Interesting.
Why would a woman come into the gallery?
And why now?
The officer comes in then: loud and surly. I know he just wants to assist us, but I can’t help but wonder how much of the area he’s already had his hands on and what he’s touched. Did he shut off the alarms or did the thief? Did he get his prints all over the gallery? More importantly, did he get his smell all over the gallery? Tracking a thief, no matter how skilled, is going to be easy if I can get a solid lock on their scent.
“Where all have you looked?” I ask him.
He blushes, and I realize that he’s definitely broken proper police protocol. He’s not supposed to investigate the inside of the building without following the right steps. Something tells me this guy wasn’t exactly wearing gloves or booties over his shoes when he was prancing around before.
“Uh, over there,” he says, motioning to the ballroom behind me.
“Anywhere else?” I ask, curious.
