“Tristan?” she said.
She heard not a sound from inside, so she peeked through the gap, but the room was too dark to see much of anything.
“Tristan? It’s Monica Reyes.”
When that failed to garner a response, she pushed the door open wide enough to stick her head inside.
“Anyone here?”
There were a pair of beds inside. On the one farthest from the door, she could just make out what appeared to be a person lying under the covers.
“Tristan?”
The lump didn’t stir.
She found the switch and flipped it on.
The lump was definitely Tristan. She recognized his face, though there seemed to be something wrong with his nose.
She stepped toward the bed. “Are you okay?”
She was still a few steps away when she jerked to a stop.
It wasn’t just his nose that was wrong. His eyes were half open and dried blood covered his cheeks and chin.
She hurried to his side and checked his neck for a pulse. His skin was unnaturally cold and there wasn’t a beat to be found.
She covered her mouth and backed away.
That’s when she saw the feet sticking out of the bathroom.
As much as she wanted to get out of there, the investigator in her wouldn’t let her go yet. She crept over for a better look.
The bathroom light was off, making it hard to see the body on the floor. Thankfully, the switch was on the outside. She turned the light on and nearly screamed.
Staring up at her was Dalton Conroy, his eyes as dead as Tristan’s.
She backpedaled into the wall and shoved her hand into her pocket to get her phone, only the phone wasn’t there. She remembered then that she’d been holding it when she walked in. She whirled around, scanned the room, and spotted it on the floor next to Tristan’s bed, where she must have dropped it.
As she unlocked the screen, the buzz she’d been hearing since realizing Tristan was dead began to recede, only to be replaced by the wail of sirens.
She shot a glance toward the front of the room. Red and blue lights reflected off the door and walls.
She focused back on her phone, but instead of calling 911, she called Stone.
From the parking lot, an amplified voice said, “Come out of the room with your hands on your head.”
The call connected. “Hi, we were just about to—”
“Stone, I think I’m in trouble.”
Chapter 33
Fifteen minutes earlier, Simon paced the gallery’s office, waiting for a call from Phillip.
When his cell finally rang, he snatched it up and said, “Is it set?”
“Mr. Duchamp?” said a voice that did not belong to Phillip.
“Who is this?”
“Nico Savage.”
“My apologies, Mr. Savage. I thought you were someone else.”
“Mr. Petry would like an update.”
“You can tell him the second Matilda Stone will be in my possession within the hour.”
“And the third?”
“By Friday, as promised,” Simon said, more confident than he felt.
Simon heard muffled voices on the other end, then Savage came back on and said, “Mr. Petry asked me to express his appreciation for your efforts.”
“Pleasing my clients is always a priority. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have a rather busy afternoon.”
“We understand you’re in Los Angeles.”
“Well, um, yes.” Simon hadn’t told them that, but it wasn’t like his presence in the city was a secret.
“So, today’s delivery will be happening in L.A.”
“It will.”
“Excellent. Mr. Petry and I arrived a few hours ago and would like to be there when the painting arrives.”
“Well... that... um... I don’t think—”
“Didn’t you just say pleasing your clients is a priority?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Mr. Petry insists we be there.”
“That was never part of our agreement.”
“It is now.”
“You can’t simply change the terms on the fly.”
“One moment.”
More muffled voices, then Nico said to Simon, “Mr. Petry says that he understands the inconvenience, but if you refuse, the deal is off, and he expects our deposit to be returned immediately.”
Simon wasn’t about to refund a half million dollars even if Petry wanted to call the deal off.
But before he could say anything, Nico continued, “And Mr. Petry wants to make sure you understand that if you don’t refund the money, he will honor you with a lovely wreath at your funeral.”
Simon had resources, but he had no doubt Petry had even more. “There’s no need for threats. I would be happy to have you both join me for the delivery.”
“I thought you might. Where shall we meet you?”
“I have a gallery in town.”
“On Melrose. Coincidentally, we’re parked in front. Would it be all right if we come in now?”
“No,” Simon blurted out. “I mean, not through the front. There’s a parking lot in back. Pull in there and I’ll meet you at the rear door.”
As soon as they hung up, Simon called Phillip. “Well?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about the Monica Reyes problem anymore.”
“When can you get back here?”
“An hour, hour and a half. Why? You need me?”
“Petry and Nico will be here in a minute.”
“If I leave right now, I might make it in forty-five.”
“That will probably be too late. Wait until they arrest her, then come back.”
“Will do.”
“Wait here,” Benji said to Devin and Sticks.
He climbed out of their car, jogged to the back door of his brother’s gallery, and pressed the buzzer.
Within seconds, Simon yanked the door open and peered out. “Finally.”
“You want us to bring it inside?”
Simon lowered his voice to a whisper. “Of course I want you to bring it inside. What are you? An idiot?”
Benji signaled Devin and Sticks to fetch the painting.
“The client is here,” Simon said, his voice still low. “None of you say anything. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I mean it. Not one word.”
“I said I got it.”
Simon held his gaze for a moment, then headed away, forcing Benji to catch the door to keep it from closing again.
Devin’s right, Benji thought. Simon really is a prick.
When Devin and Sticks arrived with the container that held the stolen painting, Benji told them what Simon wanted.
“Whatever,” Devin said.
Sticks acted like he hadn’t even heard, but he never said that much anyway, so Benji took his silence for a yes. He pushed the door all the way open, and they carried in the painting.
Simon waved Benji and his flunkies over to the sitting area, where he, Petry, and Nico waited. “Hurry up.”
They carried the package over and laid it on the coffee table.
Simon tried to pull off the Bubble Wrap, but there was too much tape.
“I got it,” Benji said, pulling out a pocketknife.
Simon shot his brother a glare to remind him he wasn’t supposed to speak, then snapped, “Be careful!”
Petry snorted. “Like it really matters.”
“Excuse me?” Simon asked.
Nico forced a smile. “Mr. Petry is excited to see it, that’s all.”
That was not what it sounded like to Simon, nor was the sneer on Petry’s face helping to sell the excuse.
After Benji finished and stepped out of the way, Simon peeled back the wrapping. For a second, he lost himself in the beauty of the piece until Petry jerked him out of his reverie.
“That’s it?”
“Were you expecting something different?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought it would be more impressive.”