“Louise Wilson over at the diner mentioned there were a couple of guys wandering around Bonnett Harbor asking if anyone had seen her,” Ian commented. “They’re promising a big payday for information. Ten thousand for a tip that leads to a photo of Eden Ross. I’m thinking I ought to be out looking for her.”
“She must be close by, then,” Dec said.
“Why do you say that?” Marcus asked.
Ian walked over to the picnic table and grabbed another beer from the cooler, taking the chance to glance at his watch. Dinner would be ready in a few minutes, a half hour to eat, another half hour to hang out and he could be over at Marisol’s by six or six-thirty.
“I gotta go,” Marcus said.
Ian frowned. “You haven’t had anything to eat.”
Marcus shrugged. “The wind is supposed to pick up later tonight and I’ve got to set another anchor.”
“So how’s the job going for you?” Dec called. “What did Ross think about the work?”
“He thought it was great,” Marcus yelled.
“He’s an odd one, that boy,” Declan said, staring after their younger brother.
“I can never quite figure what’s going on in his head,” Ian commented. “You really think he’s found himself a girl?”
“Nah,” Dec said. “All Marcus cares about is his work. Besides, who would he meet staying out on the boat?”
They sat outside for the next hour, enjoying their dinner and chatting about work. Ian avoided talking about Marisol and the painting, and instead, pumped Dec for information on Eden Ross. In the end, Dec enlisted Ian’s help in the search, asking him to keep an eye out for Eden, as well.
He finally left at seven and Ian hurried upstairs to change out of his uniform, pulling on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He noticed the covers on the bed had been tossed back, and smoothed them in place with his hand. Slowly, Ian realized someone had been in his bedroom.
He dropped to the floor and peered under the bed. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. The painting was gone. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who had it. She must have been here before he returned home from work. He tugged on a pair of Nikes, tucked his badge in the back pocket of his jeans, then raced downstairs.
If Marisol had any thought to switch those paintings tonight, then it might already be too late. He jumped into his car and threw it in gear, backing down the driveway and swinging the Mustang out into the street.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of Gallerie Luna. Marisol’s car was parked out front, but she wasn’t answering the buzzer. For a brief moment, he felt a prickle of panic, then decided that there was no need to jump to conclusions. Maybe she’d gone for a walk, maybe she was waiting for him at his house right now.
He tried the buzzer once more, then returned to his car, double-parked in front of the gallery. He’d just take a drive over to Newport and check in with the Templetons. And if she wasn’t there, he’d put out an APB on her and have the rest of the Bonnett Harbor police force helping in the search.
As he sped across the Newport Bridge, his thoughts returned to the meeting in Declan’s office. Though he didn’t want to believe the worst in Marisol, there was a tiny voice that told him she could be lying about the painting. For all he knew, she was aware that the painting in her possession was a fake and her intention all along was to steal the real painting. Hell, she could be working with David Barnett on this scheme.
The gates to the Templeton mansion were open when he approached on Ruggles Avenue. He parked on the circular drive and turned off the car. But as soon as the engine stopped, he heard a loud siren sounding from inside the house. “The burglar alarm,” he murmured. Maybe he was too late?
He grabbed his badge from his pocket, then jogged up to the front door. Ian rang the bell once, then opened the door. Cheryl Templeton stood in the foyer, her hands pressed to her ears as he held out his badge.
“Oh, thank God you’re here. I can’t remember the code to the system. The security company is on the phone and they won’t switch off the alarm until I give them the code.” She held out the phone. “You talk to them.”
“Where is your husband?”
“He’s out of town on business,” she said. “Please, tell them they can turn off the alarm. Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”
“I’m undercover,” Ian said. She seemed to accept the answer, to Ian’s relief. “Is there anyone else in the house?”
“Yes. Sascha Duroy is here and Marisol Arantes. Marisol was in the library and I’m not sure where Sascha is.”
“Let me check around first,” he said, taking the phone from her hand. “Why don’t you wait out front, just for your own safety. When I find the other two ladies, I’ll send them out. And once the house is clear, I’ll tell the security company to turn off the alarm.”
“Tell them the power went off and that’s what set off the alarm. There aren’t any burglars.”
Ian waited until Cheryl Templeton was outside, then tried the library door, but found it locked. Cursing, he rapped sharply. “Marisol!” He knocked again. “Marisol, let me in.”
A moment later, the door swung open. She reached out and grabbed him, then dragged him inside. “What are you doing here?”
“The question is, what are you doing here?”
“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered. “Did anyone see you come in? How did you get in the house? Where is Mrs. Templeton?”
“Mrs. Templeton let me in. She’s under the impression I’m responding to their security alert. I don’t think she realized I’m not the Newport police.”
Marisol hurried back to the painting on the wall, grasping the frame as she tried to lift it off the hook. “You could give me a hand here. I don’t have much time. Did you lock the door behind you?”
Ian grabbed his handcuffs and snapped one side on her left wrist, then reached across and caught her right. She didn’t realize what he was doing until she couldn’t move her arms.
“This is no time for games!” she cried above the alarm “Take these things off me.”
“Not until you look me in the eye and tell me what you’re really doing here. I know the truth, Marisol.”
“Of course you do. I told you.”
He grabbed her hands and forced her to face him, looking deeply into her eyes, watching the emotions play across her expression. She looked frightened and frantic. “The painting on the wall is the real one,” he said.
Her eyes went wide and she gasped. In that moment, Ian knew she had no knowledge of what was really going on. “But it can’t be. How do you know?”
“I took the one hidden under my bed to an expert this morning. He verified it was a forgery. He knew Emory Colter. He was sure, Marisol. You were going to replace the real painting with the fake.”
She fell back in the chair as the revelation sank in. “And then I was going to give David the fake. But it would have been the real painting. And I would have never known.” She paused. “Why did you handcuff me?”
“Because I wasn’t sure whether you knew or not.”
“Of course I didn’t know. How could you think-” She paused, anger flashing in her eyes. “Get me out of these.”
He unlocked the cuffs. “Straighten things up in here. I’m going to get the alarm switched off. Where is Sascha?”
“In the bathroom. Blowing out the electricity.”
“Can you do this?”
Marisol nodded. “Just go.”
Ian turned for the door, holding the phone up to his ear. “This is Police Captain Ian Quinn from the Bonnett Harbor Police Department. I’m a guest here at Mrs. Templeton’s. My badge number is 743. I’m checking the house now.”
He made a cursory search of the mansion, knowing there weren’t any burglars. He found Sascha standing outside the powder room beneath the stairs, water dripping from her oversize handbag. “I think you better go out front and wait for me.”