Caress (21 page)

Michael cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to you about this, sis, but you have to promise me that anything I say is off the record.”

“Off the record? Off the record?”

“Yes, off the record.”

“What does that even
mean?
”

“It means that I don’t want to be pressured about putting anything I’m about to tell you into the
Tribune
.”

“I won’t promise that. What are you, crazy? If you’ve got something worth tellin’ ‘off the record,’ it’s probably exactly what we ought to lead with.”

“Claude, I need you to be my sister right now.”

Claude raised an eyebrow in a look that people always said they both could give. “Fine, off the record, what’s up?”

“Nya Seymour went to Norfolk to research a lead she found in the Art Sentries case. While she was there, she went after hours to their warehouse at the dock. While there, she discovered a photograph linking Rinaldo Mandolesi to the scholarship recipients who died, as well as to other crimes. Someone attacked her in the warehouse and stole the photograph. I went over to see about her today. She got back last night.”

Claudia nodded patiently. In a soft voice, she asked, “And you don’t think we should put this in our paper?”

“Not yet, Claude. Not yet.”

“Right.”

“But there’s more.”

“More that we can’t publish?”

“Right.”

Just then her doorbell sounded. “Hold that thought,” she told him as she went to answer it.

Claudia returned with tension around her eyes and mouth. She was followed by her ex-husband.

Derrick started into the den but was stopped in the doorway by his daughter, who hugged him tight before disappearing from the room again. Then he came forward and sat in a rocking chair near the sofa. His eyes lazily scanned Claudia, taking in her yoga pants and t-shirt. Michael did not want to even imagine what the man was thinking.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I saw you called, Mike, but I was trying to get some information. You can’t call and ask me the questions you asked me and not expect me to start digging.”

“Yeah, well, he expects me not to publish it,” Claudia complained.

“Listen, both of you. I can’t risk Nya being hurt again. It’s quite possible she’s still in danger because of what she’s seen.”

Both of them waited for Michael to explain. He stood up and paced around the room as he told them all he knew. After recounting what Nya told him, he asked what they thought about the information he had shared about Elphonse Deklerk.

“Deklerk doesn’t matter,” Derrick concluded.

“How’s that?”

“He doesn’t matter. Regardless of whether he set you up or not, whether he’s a liar, a killer, or a thief, he’s still not the big fish. That continues to be Mandolesi. What’s important are those photos. We’ve got to get them back.”

“I’m sure Mandolesi has had them destroyed by now.”

“Yeah, probably, but depending on how the boy took the photos, we need to be on the lookout for digital files or negatives. I guarantee you Mandolesi is out looking for the same. He won’t have been satisfied with a hard copy.”

Michael opened his mouth to argue, but realized quickly that his brother-in-law was exactly right. “I need to go back to St. Thomas.”

“You need to stop spending the company’s entire travel budget. We do have other reporters that have to travel, you know.”

“I know, but Claudia, think about us publishing the only photos ever to catch Rinaldo Mandolesi red-handed.”

“Michael,” Derrick said and held up a hand. “You do know that I’m going to have to report this. This is a Bureau investigation and it is their responsibility to interview Ms. Seymour, to comb the crime scenes, and to search for the proof.”

“I get that, I’m not planning to get in the way. What I want is your opinion on this Elphonse Deklerk. I know you say he doesn’t matter, but I know there’s a link. I know he’s a liar, and I’m not going to let him hurt her.”

Claudia started to speak, but Derrick interrupted her. “Then I’ll see what I can find out about him.”

Derrick understood. Michael was thankful that Derrick understood. He just wondered when his sister would understand how much her ex-husband wanted his family back.

Nya sat riveted to her computer. For the past couple of weeks she had thrown herself into her work in an attempt to drive all thoughts of her father and the Norfolk issue out of her mind. Her father had issued an executive order that she stop her investigation after Elphonse told him that she had been assaulted. Nya wouldn’t put it past him to have his minions within the company
and
the FBI report back to him if they witnessed her doing anything that could be construed as dangerous. He was treating her like a foolish child, and Nya was bound and determined to prove him wrong. There was much to do at work with a major company event coming up, and the majority fell on Nya’s shoulders as Elphonse was more MIA lately than normal.

Most times she actually succeeded in getting El off her mind, but lying in wait was a subject even more threatening to her mental stability: Michael Harrison. If he was killing her with kindness, then she was nearly dead. He had been around finishing up his piece on Hatsheput and behaving so much the gentleman that was ridiculous. He hadn’t asked after the investigation or even made an accusation regarding Elphonse since that day at her house. In fact, he barely spoke to her, but when he did he was exceedingly polite, frustratingly charming, and not once had he tried to kiss her. Secretly, she thought about him all the time, him kissing her, his superb body open to her for exploration.

Once she’d come into an office filled with roses. Her heart had begun to thud uncontrollably to the point where she could barely breathe. She’d reached for the card hoping…hoping for what she didn’t know. She’d read the platonic, “It’s been nice working with you. Your feature has gone to print. Michael,” and had nearly been crushed, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she were involved with him.

But
wasn’t
she involved with Michael? She remembered the night after she’d met with the Art Sentries mothers. He had held her hand and comforted her while she cried. Then she had let him take her upstairs where God knew what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted by the phone call about Marshall Ellis. It wasn’t like her to get that carried away, but she couldn’t deny the connection she felt to Michael Harrison. Something about him drew her.

Sadly, there were so many reasons she could not get involved with anyone, especially not him. For one, she had to devote too much of her time to work, and she couldn’t risk letting her personal life interfere with the future she had planned for herself as president of Hatsheput; also, maybe most importantly, she was frightened to death of the things Harrison made her feel, the way he made her act. Nya shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the entire string of thoughts from her mind but never quite succeeding. She needed to talk to someone.

As if on cue, Lysette sauntered into her office and plopped down into a chair. “There is no such file, Nya honey.”

“What do you mean?” Nya asked, wrinkling her brow and swiveling from her computer to her desk. Her fingers flew over keys even though she had already searched their personnel database and come up empty-handed.

“There’s no record anywhere of us handling any work with the name Bernard French on it.”

Nya brought her hand up in front of her mouth and sat stricken with silence. How could that be?

“Funny, ain’t it?” Lysette added, leaning back in her chair.

Nya began twirling her pen. “That’s odd. I know that’s what was on the crates, I saw it. I’m sure of it.” She moved back to the computer again and tapped the name into the company’s database. Again, she came up with nothing. “Was he new? Why don’t you check the new artists up for the scholarship this year. We wouldn’t have actually ‘dealt’ in their work, but we’d probably have some.”

“I’ve done it already, honey, and there is nothing there.”

“But there has to be something.”

Lysette responded, “What I mean is, we don’t have a file on an artist named Bernard French. If he was a part of Art Sentries—”

“We know he was. We know he shared studio space with Rossi Fontana. We saw the picture of the kid in the paper. I saw his art bundled with the other three.” Nya’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m telling you we don’t have him in the system. Wait, you said ‘the other three.’ ”

“The other three scholarship recipients that were killed.”

“They didn’t all die at the same time.”

“No.”

“And they weren’t exactly friends.”

“No.”

“And their media was all different.”

“Yes.”

“So why would their work have been catalogued and shipped together, especially if we don’t even have one of them in the system so we can pay him?”

Nya pushed back in her chair. “I don’t know. That’s a good question. It may mean something, it may mean nothing. Can you find the manifest for that shipment for me? I still have the inventories, invoices, and manifests boxed up over there.” She waved to a stack of boxes in the corner of her office.

“You are really taking this administrative assistant thing too far. I don’t know how Tasha did this
and
answered phones up front.”

Nya wrinkled her nose.

“I love you anyway,” Lysette said with a sigh. Then she perked up. “Let’s talk about something fun.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything fun.”

Nya removed the long, slender rods holding her twists in place on her head and shook her hair out. “This Bernard French thing is going to drive me crazy. Did you ever get my mother on the line?”

“Hattie’s painting,” Lysette replied and Nya frowned. If Hattie was painting, there’d be no talking to her until she was finished.

“How long has she been at it?”

“Jerry says it’s been three days now. And, Nya, you really ought to talk to your sister. I mean, I talk to her more than you do.”

“Well, if Mama’s painting I won’t be able to get through for days. Knowing her, she knows I want to talk to her and she’s just being difficult.”

“Y’all fighting?”

“No, she’s just been trying to marry me off again. Seems like everybody is. And I do talk to Jenine. It’s just that every time I do, it’s Aaron this and Aaron that. I get enough of that newlywed nonsense from you.”

“You’re just jealous.” Lysette giggled. “Oh, your father called about fifteen minutes ago. I didn’t patch him through because I didn’t think you wanted to talk to him.”

“I didn’t,” Nya affirmed.

“Thought so, even though you know he’ll be calling back demanding to speak to you in no time. He said that he knew you were avoiding him, but that you wouldn’t be able to do so for very long, especially with this weekend being Hattiversary.”

Nya knew how true this was. Hattiversary was the biggest weekend in Hatsheput’s year and fell on the date of Hatsheput’s creation, November 17. Each year, the employees and executives alike got together to celebrate the birth of Hatsheput Industries through a weekend of fun and games. It would start Friday night “unofficially,” with the company party. This party was usually held at the Birmingham house which was now Nya’s and was a place where position and title were forgotten and everyone gathered for a good time of dancing and eating. After that it was the Saturday afternoon barbecue and fish fry where they would play games and collect prizes. Then that Saturday night was the Contributors’ Ball to be held at the galleries where the “friends” of Hatsheput, upper management, and the cream of Birmingham’s social crop would gather for, in Lysette’s vocal opinion, pulling up stockings, pulling down skirts, and pulling away from married men who got handsy after a couple drinks. However, Nya knew that Lysette would be there with bells on, and anything else that would get her in the
Harrison Tribune’s
full-color society spread.

Then Nya’s mouth dropped open. What was she going to wear? She looked at Lysette, whose eyes were squeezed shut anticipating the explosion. “Lysette, did you get me that dress last week?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “See I was going to get it but there’s been so much going on these past couple of weeks what with preparation and everything. I didn’t have any time to do it until a couple of days ago and it was gone.” She smiled nervously.

“So do I have anything at all?”

Lysette shook her head.

“I can’t take much more of this, you know. I can’t. I feel like I’m going in five trillion directions at once, and I can’t waste time trying to find a dress for this weekend.” Nya pressed a hand to her neck and thought for a moment. “You get Ericka to send something to my house. She’s going to be ticked it’s so late, but I just don’t have time to pick something out. Also, call Harrison. You tell him to be there, photographer in tow. It would be perfect for his social page and the updates on the case. Did Alex send him an invitation?”