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“I know, I know,” she yells and rushes off.
Emma’s heart is pounding hard by the time she reaches the parking lot, still trying to make it all compute.
She’s got her phone in her hand still, and she scrolls through her contacts for Jacob Whaley, the art dealer she’s never heard back from. It takes five rings for Whaley to answer, and when he does, his voice is accompanied by background music and the sound of people chattering nearby.
Emma blurts out her name, her connection to Chris and Lilly Shelbourne, and reminds him of the message Chris sent him over two years ago, all the while scanning the parking lot with her eyes. Kyle has definitely vanished.
“Uh, yeah, I remember, and sorry not to get back to you this week. I do want to talk, but it’ll have to be tomorrow. I’m in the middle of hosting a dinner party.”
“I just need one minute of your time. My husband was murdered two years ago, and I think it’s because of the painting. The one Chris thought was a fake.”
“I’m really sorry, and I wish I could help, but I buy and sell art. You need to talk to someone who authenticates paintings.”
“Um, right. But—”
“Look, I really have to go. I could give you a call tomorr—”
“Please, this has turned into an emergency. Just tell me—how does fake art even show up in a private collection? Is it possible that a dealer sold forgeries to my parents-in-law?”
He sighs. “It wouldn’t be the first time, but Chris and I also spoke on the phone about it. And according to what I recall, the painting—a Rothko, right?—had been sold by a very reputable gallery, one that thoroughly investigates a painting’s provenance.”
The foghorn on the ferry sounds and the engine roars to life. Emma covers one ear with her hand as the boat pulls out of the harbor.
“Then what could have happened?”
“My best guess—and then I really have to sign off—is that your in-laws might have swapped the real painting for a fake when they needed cash. Or someone else did, when they weren’t paying attention.”
“Okay, thank you so much for your time.”
The line goes dead before she can say another word. But things are starting to come together. If Whaley is right about the gallery, the forgery must have occurred after the purchase of the real painting. Based on what she knows about Derrick’s parents’ very healthy financial situation, it seems unlikely they were the ones who substituted the fake.
So, that brings her back to Kyle. There had been a period early in Kyle’s business when, according to what Derrick told her, his brother had struggled to keep the firm together. When things rebounded, Kyle had attributed it to an infusion of cash from new clients, but the money probably came from sellingthe Rothko painting—or maybeallof the paintings—on the black market and swapping in forgeries.
And it wouldn’t have been hard for him to sneak the paintings out of the house. His parents liked to travel, sometimes for a couple of weeks at a time, and he was the one who kept an eye on the property.
Sure, there must have been moments of panic for him, especially when his parents died unexpectedly and the paintings were distributed to his siblings. But Heather’s two paintings went into storage and Derrick was happy with his, thrilled to show them off to the world. Kyle could relax... until, that is, Chris Shelbourne came to their party and planted the first seeds of doubt.
And then, fast and furious, the truth begins to unfurl in front of her. Thanks to Chris, Derrick was about to figure out what his brother was up to.
Which means Tom didn’t murder Derrick.Kyledid.
And his wife, Jackie, obviously covered for him, claiming he was home when he was clearly in New York, hunting down his brother.
Emma glances nervously around, wondering where Kyle has gone. Is he on the bike now, headed to the house in search of her and ready to kill her because he knows she’s closing in on the full story?
Tom.He’s alone at the house, maybe still in his office and unaware that she’s fled the scene.
She has to warn him.
With a shaky hand she searches for the number to his office landline and taps it. The call goes straight to voice mail.
“Tom, you need to get out of the house,” she says. “I’mnot there anymore. I’m down by the ferry—I can explain later—but I’ve just spotted Kyle in the marina. I think he killed Derrick and is on his way to the house to hurt me. Please, Tom, you have to get out of there.”
She tries his cell phone next but he doesn’t answer that either, and she leaves another frantic message. She has no idea where he’s gone. Maybe he returned to the house, saw she wasn’t there, and went looking for her out in the garden or along the road and doesn’t have a signal now.
Emma gives it a minute and makes another attempt. Voice mail again. Tom’s life is in danger, and she has to do something.
There’s no other option, she realizes, than to call 911. Gulping a breath of air, she taps the number.
