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“Your show is in two days. Can it go ahead?” Rylan asked.
Bree squared her shoulders. “It has to.”
Kasey gave a forlorn cry. “Without your work?”
“I won’t let the other artists down, so if that’s what it takes, yes.” She hooked her arm through her assistant’s. “We have our work cut out for us, so let’s get started.” She walked toward the door, turning to look back at Rylan. “What will you do now?”
His expression was grim. “Talk to your brother, then do some background checks on the people who have access to your basement.”
* * *
Trey was furious to learn the details of what had happened to his sister’s paintings and promised to send a deputy over to the gallery to investigate. Rylan ended the call, secure in the knowledge that the sheriff would play it by the book. Luckily, he wasn’t bound by the same constraints.
Although he’d sold his private security consultancy—and made a hefty profit from the proceeds—Rylan still had friends in the business. He knew they would come through for him whenever he needed a favor. Police background checks were bound by strict legalities and took time. Rylan’s former colleagues could cross lines that law enforcement didn’t even know existed.
A few calls later and he sank back into his seat, feeling some of the tension in his limbs ease. If anyone connected to this gallery had secrets, his PI friends would find them. He was sure of that. In the meantime, his mind returned to the information Bree and Kasey had revealed. He couldn’t criticize the security of the gallery, since there had been no reason in the past for it to be tight. There was no doubt, however, that a number of people had access to the basement.
“Maybe a visit to the coffee shop is in order?” He addressed the words in the general direction of his feet. “Seems as good a place as any to start.”
Papadum, who had been doing his usual impression of a large corded rug, grunted and shook himself.
As Rylan got to his feet, the dog bounced ahead of him toward the door.
“I can see what you’re thinking.” Papadum tilted his head at the words. “It would be easy to focus on Lucas Brewer as our chief suspect. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Until we find out otherwise, we treat him the same as everyone else. Okay?” Clearly deciding something more was required of him, the canine gave a soft woof. “Yeah, I know. We don’t like the guy, so it won’t be easy. But let’s try.”
The coffee shop, Arty Sans, was located at the rear of the main gallery. It was a bright square space with eight tables inside and doors leading into a courtyard with a further six tables and a children’s play area. The walls were decorated with paintings bearing discreet price labels. Shelves and boxes of tastefully displayed goods invited patrons to browse at their leisure.
The place was half full, with a small queue at the counter. Even so, as soon as Rylan entered, a middle-aged woman behind the counter pointed at Papadum. “Courtyard.”
“Can I get a smoked turkey panini and an espresso?” Rylan asked.
He wasn’t sure if the disapproving look she sent over the top of her glasses was meant for him or the dog. “I’ll bring it out to you.”
Once outside, Papadum was on the receiving end of a rock-star welcome from a group of little girls. Swings and slide were forgotten as they rushed over to him.
“Is it real?” one girl asked, as she reached out a hand to touch him.
Children were one of Papadum’s favorite things. He panted happily as Rylan lifted up his bangs to show that yes, he really did have a face.
“Does he do tricks?”
“Can I sit on his back?”
“Can Poppy-dum share my ice cream?”
Rylan answered the high-pitched questions until his order arrived, at which point Papadum’s fans were removed by their parents. The woman from the coffee shop placed his food on the table. Papadum, still high on little-girl adulation, offered her his paw.
“It’s a sign that he likes you.” Rylan checked her name badge. “Judith.”
“I’ve lived around here a long time, and seen many things, but a dog like that?” She shook her head. “That’s a new one.”
