“When?”
“Twelve days ago.”
Smirking, Stone said, “If his demeanor at work was anything like his behavior at the restaurant, he must have been a delight to work for.”
“Yeah, he’s quite the prick.”
“I think you’re being too kind.”
She laughed. “Probably.”
The path narrowed for a bit, forcing them to ride single file. When it widened again, Stone moved his horse to the side to make room for Monica.
“You mentioned working in finance, but you never said exactly what you did,” he said.
“Insurance, actually. I’m a fraud investigator at Vitale Insurance. Was a fraud investigator, I mean.”
“And the prick?”
“My VP.”
“Ah, a prime example of the dregs rising to the top.”
“Why does that always seem to happen?”
“Trickle-down stupidity,” Stone said. “Let me guess, all the execs there are like him.”
“It is a boys’ club, so kind of. But he’s developed his special brand of assholery.”
“Why did Dalton think you’re working on something?”
“Because I am.”
“And that would be?”
“The same case I was working on at Vitale when he let me go. He thinks it’s a waste of time, but I know it isn’t. And once I crack it, I’ll present my report to his bosses and get him fired.”
“That’s what he meant by the going rogue comment?”
She nodded.
“What’s the case?”
“I specialize in art theft, and it’s my belief that there’s an organized ring operating in the States right now.”
“You have evidence of this?”
“It’s admittedly thin, but I trust my instincts, and my instincts say something’s going on.”
The path forked, and Stone guided them onto the trail on the left. “I would think that kind of theft would be easy to prove. I mean, a piece of art is either there or it’s not.”
“You would think so, but it’s not quite as clear-cut as that.”
“How so?”
“One client kept a pair of Picasso drawings on a yacht that, just over a year ago, sank in water deep enough to discourage salvage attempts. Authorities determined it to be an accident, and Vitale forked over a nice check.”
“But you don’t think the drawings went down with the boat.”
“I did at first. But then a few months later, a Matisse, worth millions, was lost in a house fire on Martha’s Vineyard. The only thing left was the corner of a frame.
“Before that a cargo truck that had been transporting a Frida Kahlo went up in flames. Then there was another boat that burned and sank on Lake Michigan with several expensive pieces on board. And I’ve found at least two other cases where insured artworks were destroyed in ways that made identification impossible. But while I saw a pattern, Dalton thought I was making something out of nothing.”
“Then Dalton’s an idiot, though I guess we’ve already established that. Do you have anything concrete that connects the cases together?”
“Not yet, but I’m close. That’s why I’m in Santa Fe actually. I was contacted by someone who claimed to have information about a couple of the destroyed paintings. Before I could set up an official meeting with him, Dalton fired me. I wasn’t going to give up, though. I kept pressing the source. Three days ago, he agreed to meet me at the Ivonne Cervantes opening last night. But right before Donna and I arrived, he texted saying that he needed to postpone until today. I haven’t heard a peep from him since.”
“Cold feet?”
“I’m hoping not.”
“What’s his name?”
“Honestly, I don’t even know if he’s a man. All our communication has been either by e-mail or text.”
“Has he given you anything you can use?”
She shook her head. “He was going to do that when we met in person. What do you think? Am I wasting my time on nothing?”
“Even with the little you’ve told me I can see it’s worth looking into.”
“Thank you, Stone. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
“You know, if things don’t work out with Vitale or even if they do and you’d like to take your talents elsewhere, I can be of some assistance.”
“Does your firm employ fraud investigators?”
“Not my firm, but Steele Insurance does.”
“Steele Insurance? Do you know someone there?”
“Yes. Me. I’m on their board.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. “You are a handy man to know.”
“Feel free to show your appreciation later tonight.”
“Why wait for tonight?” She turned her horse back the way they’d come and looked over her shoulder. “Coming?”
He brought his gelding around. “After you.”
Stone came out of the bathroom the next morning to find Monica sitting on the end of the bed, frowning at her phone.
“Something wrong?”
“I think my contact is officially ghosting me.”
“Have you tried calling?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“I thought you said you texted with him.”
“He texts me from a blocked number. I can contact him via e-mail. He said he wanted it that way to protect himself.”
“Then it sounds like you’ve done all you can. How about some breakfast?”
They dressed and relocated to the kitchen. Since Martha had the day off, Stone rooted around in the refrigerator to see what was available. “How does a mushroom and spinach omelet sound?”
“Divine. Anything I can help with?”
“Coffee?”
Stone was plating the second omelet when Monica’s phone began ringing.
Her face brightened.
“Is it him?” Stone asked.
“Maybe. The number isn’t blocked, but I don’t recognize it.”
She accepted the call.
“Hello?... Yes, this is she.” Her eyebrows pinched as she listened. “Good morning, Detective.” She listened for a moment and then turned on the speaker function so Stone could listen in. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
A woman’s voice came through the speaker. “Do you know a man named Joshua Paskota?”
“I’ve never heard that name before.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am. What’s this about?”
“There was an accident the night before last. A single car crash, one fatality.”
“Joshua Paskota?”
“Yes, but that information is still withheld from the public until we contact his next of kin. We were hoping you could help us with that.”
“Me? Why would you think that?”
“We found a cell phone in Mr. Paskota’s suitcase that had only one number in its contacts. Yours.”
“Mine?”
“Yes. In fact, it’s the only piece of information on the phone. The call logs are empty and there are no text messages.”
Monica shared a look with Stone. It was clear they were thinking the same thing. Joshua Paskota had to be her contact.
“You’re sure you don’t know him?” the detective asked.
Stone shook his head.
“Until you said his name, I’d never heard it before,” Monica said.
“Sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for your time.”
As soon as the call ended, Monica said, “Why would my info be the only thing on the phone?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a throwaway that he only used to contact you.”
“That makes sense. Why did you not want me to tell her he was my source?”
“Because it wouldn’t have helped anything. The detective said it was an accident, not murder. They’re not looking for suspects or motivation. They’re looking for family.”
She sighed. “I guess this means I made the trip here for nothing.”
Stone raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”