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“Thanks, Aria. See you Monday.”
“See you Monday.” I follow her to the door and lock up after her, keying in the alarm.
The minute it’s in place, I rush forward and grab the messages, looking for Sofia, or anyone who might be helpful, but I know all the customers. There’s nothing in those messages that helps. I walk to my small office and set my bag on top of the old wooden desk that takes up almost the entire room. I round the desk and sit down, trying to figure out what to do.
When Mom died, the police were involved, but they knew who killed her. They’d caught it on camera. No one investigated Mom or our family to set off any alerts to the wrong people. Finding a missing person is another story. I set up my MacBook and do some research. The police take a lot of pushing to even help on an adult case such as this one. A PI is a suggested avenue for answers, which I expected.
I’m just going to have to stretch our money and do it. I bring up the bill spreadsheet I keep and decide what to trim and where. I have three thousand I can put down if I skip the mortgage. Another three if I do that again.
I pull up the company bank account just to check my numbers and it’s not good. The figure is half what I’d expected, but now I’m more confused than ever. It’s not all gone. Part of it is gone, which tells me that Gio took it, expecting a payoff big enough to make it up. He left by choice. I’m not sure what to do with that information.
He’s chasing our past, looking for answers, chasing our father’s disappearance, and looking for the formula to create the Stradivarius violin. Clearly, when he told me he’d stopped, he did not and this shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always wanted to find it, to recreate our family legacy.
Did Gio shut me out because of my disapproval and fear? He might have, but for this long?
Not by choice. I don’t believe that for a minute. Not unless he found trouble and he’s trying to shield me until it passes, but there’s no way he’d leave me without that money. He’ll be back before it’s due or he’ll make a deposit to tell me he’s okay.
That’s about two weeks from now. I grab the cookies left over from my encounter with Kace today, and nibble on the delicious treats, comfort food, I welcome as I check the date of the VIP auction. It’s one day before the mortgage is due. That’s too big of a coincidence not to matter. Maybe he’s going to be there. No. If he was on the list, Crystal would have told me, unless of course, he’s using another name. I don’t know how he’d pay for the violin unless he’s found a buyer, which might be Sofia or who knows who else. He’s up to something, I decide, and it’s dangerous enough to believe he might cut me off. And he thought I was too scared to dive into this myself.
Hope fills me. That VIP auction night is the night. If Gio is safe, I’ll know then.
This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I don’t hear from Ed or Alexander on Sunday.
And considering I really have no idea what trouble brews between them and how it affects what I’m doing, I move on to what I hope will be greener pastures. I spend the day calling clients, creating wishlists for each that I can begin working on. Come midnight, the building creaks with the inhuman sounds of settling but there is nothing else but silence. There was a time when I would lay in my bed and feel the cold emptiness of a life in hiding, of a life with few people I trust, and secretly fill that space with music, with the violin in my headphones.
Tonight, there are no headphones.
I lay on my bed with the letter from Sofia on my chest and Kace’s truly stunning version of “Bitter Sweet Symphony” lifting in the air, seducing me to a heavy, drugged near-slumber. Drifting off and away, I land in the not-so-distant past. To a month ago—
Ed Stewart is standing in our store, eager to pick up a bottle of wine Gio had picked up for him in Washington. I hurry into Gio’s office to grab the bottle and our receipt book. The wine is an easy find, as is the documentation validating it that Gio has in a folder marked with Ed’s name. It’s in the safe behind Gio’s desk. The receipt book not so easy. His desk is a mess, but that’s my brother. All about the treasure, not the paperwork. I sit the wine on the desk and open a drawer only to freeze at the photo of a violin. Panic rushes through me and I grab the stack of papers it covers to find obvious research about the known existing Stradivarius violins.
