“I saw her in the gallery, talking to one of your employees.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“I wish.”
“Which one?”
“Which one what?”
“Which employee was she talking to?”
“Oh, the skinny guy with the perfect haircut. He was sitting at the desk.”
“Tristan?”
“How would I know his name?”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“A word or two, but nothing that made any sense.”
Simon took a deep breath. “So, let me make sure I’ve got this right. One of your employees was looking into pieces that my people have obtained, and now she’s come into my gallery.” He cocked his head. “Hold on. Was she aware of the anonymous tip?”
“She might have been.”
Simon groaned and looked at the ceiling.
“But I told you I fired her,” Dalton said quickly. “We don’t need to worry about her.”
“You also started this conversation by saying we might have a problem. So, do we or don’t we?”
Dalton had no answer for that.
Simon stood. “Show me who she talked to. I want to be sure.”
They went into the showroom.
Dalton pointed the guy out and whispered, “That’s him.”
Simon clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times, then motioned for Dalton to follow him back into the employee area.
“Are you going to talk to him?” Dalton asked.
“Not yet.”
“He might be the guy who sent in the tip.”
“He’s not. That person has already been taken care of.”
“Really? How?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Right, okay. But what are we going to do about Monica?”
“That’s her name?”
“Yeah. Monica Reyes.”
“You are going to tell me everything you know about her, then you’re going to take a walk, while Phillip and I figure out how to clean up your mess.”
Chapter 27
After lunch, Stone and Dino met with Ben in his office to go over the agenda for the board meeting, so it was nearing four p.m. by the time they returned to the Arrington.
They found Monica in Stone’s private pool, floating on a raft.
She shaded her eyes and smiled. “I was wondering when you were coming back.”
“We would have returned sooner if I’d known you were waiting. Can I interest anyone in a vodka gimlet?” Stone had made a pitcher before leaving for the studio that should be perfectly chilled by now.
“That sounds divine,” Monica said.
“What she said,” Dino replied.
“Coming right up.”
By the time Stone made it back with the drinks, Monica had left her raft and was sitting at the nearby umbrella-shaded table with Dino.
“Any luck with Tristan?” Stone asked.
“He wasn’t home, so I went to the last place your friend said his phone had pinged. You’re never going to believe where I found him.”
“In an art gallery?”
She looked at him, surprised. “How did you know?”
“It seemed a logical leap.”
“I’ll have to give you that one.” Her disappointment turned into a devilish sneer. “But I bet you can’t guess the name of the gallery.”
“Duchamp Gallery.” It was the first gallery name that came to mind, only because it was the last one he’d visited.
She crossed her arms. “I’m never playing this game with you again.”
“You mean I’m right?”
“You are, but don’t you dare try to rub it in.”
Dino looked back and forth between them. “I feel like I’m missing a crucial piece of information.”
“Monica and I met at the Duchamp Gallery in Santa Fe. If memory serves, she was there to meet a contact for her investigation.”
“That’s correct,” she said.
“The art theft ring you were telling me about?” Dino said.
Monica nodded.
“What happened to your contact there?” Dino asked.
“Remember that fatal car crash I asked you to look into?” Stone said.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what happened to him.”
“Now I’m starting to get it.”
“What did they say when you talked to them?” Monica asked.
“That they didn’t suspect foul play. But maybe I should suggest they take a closer look.”
“Not a bad idea,” Stone said.
“Did he work at the Santa Fe gallery?”
“No idea,” Monica said. “He only said he’d contact me at the opening night of the exhibit. I assumed he would have been just another guest, but given where Tristan works, maybe I was wrong.”
“I’ll check that, too,” Dino said.
“What happened when you found Tristan?” Stone asked.
“As soon as he realized who I was, he told me to leave.”
“Not happy to see you, no doubt.”
“More like terrified, I think. It was like he couldn’t get me out the door fast enough. I did try to make an alternative meetup.” She explained about telling Tristan she would wait for him at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel that evening.
“Did he agree?”
“No, but I made sure he knew I’d be there, if he changes his mind. Hopefully, he’ll show.”
“Would you mind some company?”
“He might get scared off if I’m not alone.”
“I can sit nearby. He’ll never know we’re together.”
She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Actually, that’s a great idea.”
“Dino, you’ve never been to the Roosevelt, have you?”
“I haven’t.”
“You want to join us?”
“Let me check my social calendar.” He took a sip of his gimlet. “You’re in luck. My evening is free.”
“It’s settled, then.”
“Thank you both,” Monica said. She took a sip of her gimlet. “That was my afternoon. What kind of trouble did you two get up to while I was away?”
“We had lunch with our sons, at Centurion Pictures.”
“I bet she’d be interested in what Billy told us,” Dino said.
“Billy who?” Monica asked.
“Billy Barnett, Peter’s producer,” Stone said. “He joined us for lunch, too.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“He recently purchased a painting by my mother. It was to be delivered yesterday, but the delivery van was intercepted en route, and the painting stolen.”
“That’s horrible. But that’s not the MO of the people I’ve been investigating.”
“I haven’t told you the pertinent part yet.”
“Please, go on.”
“The thieves redirected the van onto a road that was blocked off by a wall of fire.”
“Fire?” That had her attention.
“When the van stopped, the robbers sprayed them with a knockout gas, took the painting, and left. The fire had begun to spread to the surrounding brush by the time Billy found them. If the fire department hadn’t reacted so quickly, dozens of homes could have been destroyed.”
“You said Billy Barnett is the owner of the painting?”
“Correct.”
She thought for a few moments. “I don’t think he’s insured by Vitale.”
“You know all Vitale’s customers?” Dino asked.
“The ones with expensive art pieces, I do. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out. Thanks for the tip.”
“Leaving early?”
Tristan jerked in surprise, then glanced over at Mr. Duchamp’s ever-present bodyguard, Phillip.
“My shift ended at seven, so I’m actually late.” It was 7:45.
“I see. My mistake. Heading home then?”
Tristan nodded.
“Have a nice night.”
“Thanks.”