Four-Patch of Trouble (26 page)

"Was it all a lie? You didn't actually see Matt in his truck?"

"No, no." He emerged from behind his hands with a credibly indignant expression. "It was just like I told you, except I saw everything from the Monograms side of the street. I wasn't hiding from Matt here in my shop but over in the alley outside Monograms. I couldn't stand the suspense after you all disappeared inside for your meeting. I knew Alyse left the back door unlocked for her cigarette breaks, and I figured I could open it just a crack and listen for the end of the meeting so I'd be able to question you before you left. That's as far as I meant to go, but the door was propped wide open with a contractor's pail, and I couldn't resist going inside. The next thing I knew, I was halfway across the shop, and then the door to the conference room flew open and Tremain stomped off to his office. I ducked back into the corridor and saw everyone else leave. I was partly hidden by the side door, and Alyse was so distracted by her need for a cigarette that she didn't even notice me when she went by. I waited until she was gone and then slipped through the shop and out the front door to go back to my own gallery. I was practically right behind Matt and Dee and Emma. When I saw Matt start over here a couple of minutes later, I thought he'd seen me at Monograms, and he was going to tell me how stupid I'd been. I stayed out of sight until he left, and when I looked again, I saw Wolfe going into Monograms, and Matt was heading for his truck, just like I told you before."

That chronology put Stefan at the crime scene right at the time of the murder.

He buried his face in his sleeve-covered hands again. "The police are going to arrest me now, aren't they? It's my punishment for clinging to my obsession with seeing Tremain punished."

"No one's arresting anyone right now," I said. "The fact that you were at the scene is troubling, but it's not enough to get Emma released or to put you in jail in her place. You ought to talk to your attorney though."

"I will." Stefan's fingertips emerged from his sleeve as he reached for the phone. "And I'm going to let go of my remaining anger at Tremain right now. He's dead, and it won't do anyone any good to prove I was right about his frauds all along."

"Good idea." Unfortunately, I knew how hard it was to let go of stressful emotions.

"What about you?" Stefan asked. "Are you going to tell the police about me?"

"Not until you've had a chance to do it yourself. Between the quilt show and what's happened to Gil, I'll be too busy to go to the police station until at least tomorrow afternoon. I'm on my way now to talk to Nancy Grant at the museum. She's been made the interim director."

Stefan shook his head. "I can't believe they think Nancy would make an acceptable director. For one thing, she doesn't know anything about antique textiles, or she wouldn't have spent more than two minutes at Monograms."

"Are we talking about the same person? Nancy Grant, from the museum's board? She told me she'd never met Tremain."

"Then she lied. She's been visiting Monograms at least once a week for the last month or two."

If Nancy had lied about knowing Tremain, had she lied about knowing any politicians who might have been scammed by him? That didn't make any sense though. Neither her name nor her husband's had been on Tremain's list of clients. Still, I needed to know why she'd lied, just in case it was useful to the murder investigation.

*   *   *

The woman at the museum's ticket desk had her back to me, closing out her register. Without turning, she said, "The museum's closing in a few minutes."

"I'll be quick."

The woman glanced over at her shoulder at me. "Oh, sorry. Gil isn't here."

"I know. I'm looking for Nancy Grant."

"She's in Gil's office."

I started for the stairs.

"Wait! Ms. Grant isn't seeing anyone."

"I'll only take a minute of her time. We'll be done before the museum closes." I hurried up the stairs, grateful that the security guards were apparently off doing their closing routine and wouldn't get in my way.

As I approached the director's waiting room, the official closing announcement was broadcast through the museum. I didn't recognize the voice, although it was obviously not Gil's, or there would have been at least a few musical notes included in the message.

The inner office door was ajar, and Nancy, like the woman at the ticket counter, was engrossed in the paperwork in front of her and didn't look up before speaking. "Is everything secured?"

"I have no idea." I pulled my messenger bag strap over my head and set the bag on the chair in front of me. "We need to talk."

Nancy leaned back in the chair that was far too large for her, a visual reminder that she did not belong in this office. "I'm sorry the board decided not to go forward with the acquisition you recommended. I was hoping we could expand our quilt collection, but now is not the right time."

"I don't care about that." I unzipped my bag and withdrew my camera. "I need to talk to you about Randall Tremain."

"Now is not the time." Nancy reached for her desk phone, presumably to call the security guards. "The museum is closing, and I have other commitments this evening."

"I know. I looked up your itinerary on the way over here. You can either be late for your appearances, or I can ask my questions at those public events instead of here in private. And before you start thinking there's no way a simple appraiser can get into those events, you should know that until recently, I was a partner in a Seattle law firm. If I can't get tickets myself within minutes, I'm sure one of my erstwhile colleagues can."

Nancy hesitated before placing the phone back in the receiver. "That's not necessary. I'd be glad to tell you whatever I know about Tremain. It shouldn't take long, since I don't have any firsthand knowledge."

One of the tricks to cross-examination was knowing when to call a witness on a lie. I thought it would be better to let Nancy dig her hole a bit deeper before confronting her on her relationship with Tremain, so I simply said, "Thank you," and I pulled up the picture of the stolen quilt on my camera. I placed the camera on the desk so the screen was facing Nancy. "Have you ever seen this quilt? Maybe someone in your husband's political circles has one like it?"

Nancy's eyes flickered in obvious recognition, but she shook her head in denial.

"You have seen it," I said. "Where was it?"

Nancy took a moment to look at the picture more closely. "I'm not sure. Isn't that the quilt you appraised? The one the museum declined to purchase?"

"I appraised it, but it's not the one that was offered to the museum."

"That's too bad. It's got some of the same prints as another quilt already in our collection."

She was right, but there was no way she could have recognized the prints from that tiny picture. No, Nancy had seen this quilt before, up close and in detail. The final lie convinced me that Nancy definitely knew something about Tremain and his death and was covering up the truth. Emma's freedom could depend on my getting some truthful answers.

At the thought, I felt the first indication that my system was reacting badly to the stress. My head grew light, and my stomach rolled, the precursor to nausea. It was time to take the metaphorical cotton gloves off and get some answers before my symptoms worsened and I had to stop or pass out.

"You're lying." I placed my hands on the edge of the desk and leaned over it. "You lied about not knowing Tremain too. Did he scam your husband?"

"My husband has nothing to do with any of this."

There was something about Nancy's voice that convinced me she was finally telling the truth about something. "If not your husband, then who are you protecting?" I straightened and delved into my back pocket to get my phone. I found the file with Tremain's clients and set the phone in front of Nancy. "Maybe someone on this list?"

"I'm not covering up anything for anyone. And I haven't done anything. I'm as much a victim of the events as Gil is." I could tell that Nancy truly believed she'd been a victim, but her concern for Gil was less credible.

"That's another lie." I was about to violate a critical rule of cross-examination—never ask a question without knowing the answer first—but sometimes it was worth the risk. "You got Gil fired, didn't you? She thinks you were lobbying on her behalf, but you actually rallied the rest of the board to fire her. You've always gotten your way with them in the past. I can't believe they would have gone against you this time if you'd really thrown your full weight against Gil's firing."

"That's ridiculous," Nancy said. "I respect Gil, and I was looking forward to supporting her efforts to expand the museum's quilt collection. Why would I want to get rid of her?"

Why, indeed? I really wasn't any good at winging an interrogation.

My glance fell on the camera screen showing the stolen quilt. The one that had not been offered to the museum. Unless, perhaps, it had been offered indirectly through a certain board member.

"How were you planning to help Gil's acquisition program? Did you buy a quilt from Tremain, intending to donate it, only to find out it was a fake? You must have been furious, especially if you'd already promised Gil a quilt for the museum and you couldn't find a comparable one to donate. Was that why you got her fired? So you wouldn't have to look bad for backing out on your offer? Once she'd been terminated, anything she said about the board members, including you, would be viewed as sour grapes. No one would believe her."

"An interesting theory," Nancy said, "but it doesn't prove anything. You're wasting my time."

"You didn't have to ruin Gil's career to protect your reputation. If you'd admitted the truth to her, I'm sure she would have kept it quiet."

Nancy shook her head. "Nothing can ever be kept quiet these days. I'm a senator's wife, so I have to be above reproach. Caesar's wife didn't have half the pressure that political spouses have today. We can't make mistakes. Ever. How do you think it would look if people found out that a senator's wife, active in the art community, got conned in her own area of expertise? People would be wondering how foolish he was to have married a woman who was that stupid. The only thing he could have done was divorce me, and trust me, he wouldn't have waited ten seconds before racing to the courthouse. He's been looking for a reason to dump me for a while now, and I've invested far too much in his career to let him go now."

"I'm sorry, but I won't let you salvage your marriage by ruining Gil's career. If she won't go to the press, I will."

"I can't let you do that." Nancy fumbled in the space behind her in the overlarge chair. "You should have listened to my friend. The one who warned you to stay out of this."

At least now I knew who had sent the thug to threaten me. "Your messenger wasn't very persuasive."

"Sad to say, you're right. He used to be my campaign manager, and he wasn't very good at that either." She tossed a tiny purse onto the desk and brandished a gun that looked several sizes larger than the purse, although that was probably just my imagination. "I thought he could handle a minor nuisance like you, but apparently I need to take care of it myself."

At the sight of the gun, nausea rose into my throat. I tried to remain calm with the logic that the gun couldn't possibly be as big as it appeared. Of course, everyone knew that size didn't really matter. I recognized my incipient descent into hysteria and forced myself to look at Nancy's face, not what she gripped with both hands. I needed to remain as calm as possible. Otherwise, incapacitating dizziness would rob me of any chance of escape.

"You'd kill someone just to stay married to someone who wants to divorce you?"

"I've already killed once to save my marriage," Nancy said. "Another death won't be that big a deal."

My syncope warning signs jumped past nausea all the way to clammy skin. It was hard to speak, and I had to lean heavily against the front of the desk to remain upright. It took a moment for my head to catch up to my body. Had Nancy just confessed to killing Tremain? It was still possible she'd been scammed, possibly even unintentionally, by another quilt dealer. After all, her name hadn't been on the list of Tremain's clients.

I needed to be sure I wasn't reading more into Nancy's statement than she'd intended. "You killed Tremain."

"I didn't mean to, but he was no big loss. He thought he could talk his way out of the situation. He showed me the real antique and then gave me a fake, knowing I planned to donate it to the museum. It was supposed to be good publicity for my husband, the philanthropist, and he'd lose all the goodwill if he filed for divorce from the person who'd arranged it. It was supposed to give me at least another six months or a year before I needed to put together something equally impressive to buy another reprieve. And then your friends in the quilt guild started talking about fakes, and I had to be sure mine wasn't one of them. I did some research in the archives here and realized he'd sold me a fake."

That was what Gil had known and that had gotten her fired. Gil hadn't seen the quilt that Nancy bought, but she'd known about Nancy's sudden fascination with the archives. Eventually, Gil would have put the whole story together. "So you took the fake back to Tremain and confronted him."

Nancy used the gun to indicate that I should back out of the office.

Through my light-headedness, I recalled hearing once that a crime victim should never voluntarily leave the place where they were first confronted. Nancy wouldn't want to kill me here. So as long as I stayed in the museum and stayed conscious, I had a chance of survival.

Instead of backing up, I let myself succumb to the light-headedness and dropped into the closest chair. "I don't feel very well."

"You can lie down when we leave here."

"In a shallow grave?"

"Something like that," Nancy said. "Now get up."

"I can't." It was only partly a lie. My legs were rubbery, and my brain was getting foggy. I made a show of trying to stand and then slipped back down into my seat. From past experience, I knew I was close to unconsciousness. I tried to focus on how important it was to stay here in the museum so I could be rescued.