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“Art Crime Team? So you’re not here about Mike?”
“Only as far as your husband’s death may be related to the theft of his collection.”
“Of course it’s related to the theft of the collection. And it’s our collection,” Minerva added. “I paid for at least half that collection. Mike hasn’t—hadn’t—had a steady gig in four years. Not once word got out that he was the one going around spoiling everyone’s acts. I warned him he would ruin his own career, but as usual he knew best.” She lit a cigarette. “Look where it got him.”
“You can’t smoke in here, Minerva,” the bartender said. “You know that.”
In reply, Minerva blew a stream of smoke in his direction.
The bartender shook his head as if at a naughty five-year-old sticking her tongue out. “It’s bad for your health.”
“Really, Arturo? Have you seen my act? You think I’m worried about my social security going to waste?”
Arturo shrugged. “It’s bad for my health too, you know.”
Jason couldn’t help asking Minerva, “Have you ever been shot?”
“Once. When I was first starting out.” She pushed her platinum hair back, and he saw the faded white line of a bullet scar along her jaw. “It was just a graze.”
Not really. Not ju
dging by that scar.
He had to hand it to her. She’d nearly had her head blown off, but here she was years later, still pretending to catch bullets between her teeth. Jason had been shot once—well, four times on one occasion—and he still got night sweats dreaming about it. Not as bad as it had been right after Miami, but bad enough.
Jason asked, “What makes you think your husband’s death is connected to the theft of your art collection?”
“Are you kidding?” She exhaled thoughtfully. “It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. Right? I know damned well Mike was behind the robbery. And, as usual, he got greedy. Obviously, his partner or partners decided to knock him off.”
“How do you know he was behind the robbery?”
She gave him a deliberate look from beneath her false eyelashes. “Believe me, I spent ten years watching that man perform lousy magic. He didn’t have many secrets from me.”
“I understand. Do you have actual evidence?”
“Evidence.” She shook her head at the idea, took another drag off her cigarette.
Jason cocked his head. “Forgive me for saying so, but for someone who spent ten years of her life with the guy, you don’t seem overly grief-stricken.”
Her lip curled. “Oh please. I’m sure you know perfectly well that Mike and I were in the middle of an ugly divorce.”
“Why was it ugly?”
She glared at him. “What are you? Some kind of idiot savant? Because Mike’s the kind of guy who would rather go to the trouble of fake-stealing his junk collection than fairly splitting our assets down the middle. That’s why. He had no honor. As demonstrated by the fact he went around spoiling people’s magic acts.”
“Can you take us through the events of Friday evening?” Dreyfus inquired.
“Sure, although I’ve already given my statement to the police.”
“Sometimes people remember things they forgot to mention the first time around.”
“Not me. I have total recall.”
“Is that so?” Jason asked politely.
“Yes. That’s so.” She glanced at Dreyfus. “I left the house at five thirty to do a show at Miller Insulation. One of the biggest companies in Wyoming, for your information.”
“Were you performing the bullet catch?” Dreyfus asked.
