Marked Masters (23 page)

"What's stopped others?"

"Yeah, what's stopped others?"

"As much as Nico hates to speculate…" Cassie
paused a moment, as if working this carefully. I figured he might
be close-by. "When persuaded, he did admit this probably is the
work of an organization of some kind. Too well executed and too
well hidden to be done solo or by an amateur. Of course, he
immediately qualified and said we couldn't do or say anything until
he'd conducted more research to verify his very preliminary
theory."

I thought back to Jack's and my recent
discussion.

"Laurel? You still there?"

"I'm sorry, Cassie—my mind went off on a
tangent. Jack said some duplicates were found to be great fakes.
I'll get that information to you and Nico. It might help the
research. I forgot to send it to you earlier when I sent the other
data."

"Sounds great. No worries."

"Thanks for getting in touch. You and Nico
know what to do."

"Yes, we'll keep looking."

Seeing my reflection in the mirror, wearing
a camisole, reminded me that I had a ball to go to tonight. "By the
way, fairy godmother, did you and Nico have any luck securing me
some clothes for tonight?"

"Oh, we did indeed. Check with your
landlady. If you don't have boxes downstairs yet, you should very
soon. Enjoy! And that's an order coming from your financial
watchdog."

"Why do I get the feeling Max is going to
replace you in that role?"

Cassie giggled. "Nico promised no slip-ups
this time. I think he's taking great pleasure in this new challenge
to his computer skills."

"You two are scaring me."

"Just a warning never to cross us, boss."
Cassie laughed then added, "Be sure to send me that info Jack had
on the duplicates. Don't get excited about an extra Christmas
downstairs and forget all about us slogging away here in the
trenches."

"Never." Thank goodness she said that. I'd
already forgotten again. We signed off, and I let my thumbs fly
over the text screen. I was really missing the laptop I lost when
the Honda guys stole our luggage with the rental Mercedes. I needed
to at least see about getting a tablet to use if this phase of the
job lasted much longer.

When I hit Send, I considered my next
option. Clothes, no contest. Although I could have slept a little
longer, within minutes I was dressed in a pair of designer jeans
and pink silk overtop, and downstairs hoping for coffee while I
searched out my new wardrobe. For the price of the room, I never
expected any food served, but coffee would have been a godsend.

No fragrant hint of the wished-for aroma,
but I found several boxes of various sizes stacked on the large
round table in the entry. A white embossed card with my name
printed on it stood propped on top. Inside, a note Cassie asked the
store to add read:

Enjoy yourself tonight, Cinderella. Hope the
shoes fit. If not, don't leave them behind. They're my size, too. ~
Cassie

Now for the hard choice. Coffee, food, or
boxes with the names Armani and La Perla? The packages won hands
down, and within minutes I was back in my room, boxes and tissue
strewn all over.

A stunning black sleeveless knee-length
sheath that offered new meaning to the concept of the little black
dress, and a luxurious silk shawl in ivory with silver Lurex accent
thread embroidered throughout added the finishing shimmery
elegance. Silk stockings, a pair of barely there heels, and a
perfect clutch covered the essentials. Exquisite and understated
matching silver earrings, necklace, and bracelet rounded out the
ensemble. Plus undergarments to die for. The goodies covered my
unmade bed.

Leaving everything where it was, I grabbed
my bag and scooted down the street to the nearest coffeehouse and
ordered Americano and a couple of
bomboloni
, quickly
scarfing down the Italian donut holes while standing like every
other patron around me. I had a few tasks of my own to complete
before I met with Jack.

The smell of a bakery reminded me of France,
and France reminded me of Rollie, since that's where we'd first
met. Back when I thought he was just a nice guy. Weird how I
couldn't wrap my brain around his connection with Moran or Tony B.
Briefly, I wondered if he would be at the show and quickly
admonished myself. No matter which way I looked at it, he had to be
on the wrong side. For a second, I wanted to call Flavia, but I
knew she'd be too busy with last-minute details to talk. I
deliberately pushed Rollie out of my mind. The man who I thought I
might want to know didn't exist.

First, I'd see if I could find a place to
print out the tickets for tonight. I'd discovered no hookup at the
pension
. I also wanted to rent a Vespa and drive around the
city, but I didn't have time. Maybe tomorrow. I knew Vespas weren't
allowed on a lot of the inner-city streets of Florence, which were
mostly reserved for pedestrians, but I could refresh myself with
the perimeter or drop in on some markets. If only we'd come the
last weekend of the month, I could have hit the huge Mercato delle
"Pulci." Nothing beat that time each month when the stalls overran
the famous flea market to the point where they spilled out from the
Piazza dei Ciompi and into the surrounding streets. I'd found many
historic Italian treasures after plowing through the bric-a-brac
and furniture bargains for sale during that time. One never knew
what one might discover while junking.

A brisk walk and a few minutes later, I
walked through the famous lobby of a hotel I had stayed at many
times with my grandfather and father. I recognized the
receptionist, who had grayed but changed very little otherwise, and
hoped he would recognize me.

"Buon pomeriggo
, Lorenzo. Do you
remember me?"

Lorenzo gave a small bow. "Of course,
Signorina
Laurel. I was sorry to hear about the passing of
Signor
Beacham. He was a fine man."

I knew he was talking about my grandfather,
rather than my father, even though more than a decade had passed
since Grandpapa's death. "Thank you, Lorenzo. I'm not staying, just
in and out of the city this trip, but I was wondering if I could
very quickly make use of your computer facilities?"

"Of course, of course. It is a pleasure to
serve the granddaughter of such a fine man." He gestured to someone
behind me, telling the clerk, apparently Benni, to help with my
computer needs.

"
Grazie
, Lorenzo." I pressed some
euros in his hand.

He bowed again as I followed Benni to the
computer facilities. Within moments, I had the tickets printed,
Benni tipped, and was back out on the street.

I called Nico. He answered on the fourth
ring. "Nico, I thought you were going to let me go to voice
mail."

"Believe me, I thought about it." He sounded
distracted and not himself.

"What's up?"

"I am not sure. This counterfeiting thing
may be bigger than I thought. Jack's information provided another
avenue, but the weird thing is, I have carefully dug and dug some
more for any scuttlebutt on the 'net about this but got nada."

"Carefully? So no one can spot what you're
doing?"

"Who do you think you are talking to,
Laurel?"

I sighed. "Of course, you're right. How
big?"

"Big. And I'm not sure who, what, or where.
There is literally no chatter to be found."

"Then how do you know it's big?"

Nico sighed impatiently.

I could hear his busy brain telling him to
stop explaining and get back to detecting. I fully expected the
conversation to be shut down as only Nico could—a quiet, polite
hang-up.

Instead, he began saying, "Number one, the
why is money. Number two, the how is someone somewhere is
apparently convincing and organizing great forgers to create these
masterpieces. Forgers are not known for working well together. It's
a solitary occupation because they prefer it that way. Which is how
I know this is big. Lots and lots of money to be had in
counterfeiting masters well, and there is a lot of money rolling
around. Unfortunately, the organizational details remain completely
blank. I also have not figured out what marks a masterpiece as
worthy of imitation in the eyes of these people. This is where you
say, 'Good job, Nico,' and trust me to know what I am doing."

"Of course I trust you." For Nico to talk so
much on the telephone meant something absolutely out of the norm
was going on. "Who and what could convince good solitary forgers to
band together?"

"Exactly my question, Laurel. All of them I
have found so far are good. Better than good actually. This is big
business we're talking about."

"Moran big?"

"Definitely, but I have found nothing
connecting his name nor any of the others to this enterprise. Not
his grandson, Tony B, or anyone else. And before you ask, I checked
for that dilettante idiot, Simon, too, and everything came back
nada. A mystery I know I'll eventually solve, but it is going to
take some time."

Good. Not about the time, but I didn't even
wince when he mentioned Simon's name. "You'll get there—you always
do. How's Max?" Might as well get the bad news out of the way. I
didn't really want to know. That's why I hadn't asked Cassie.

"Strangely silent."

Wow. Max silent? Gotta be a first. "What do
you make of that?"

"Not worrying about it at this point. Too
many other things to do."

"Jack had some things he wanted to take care
of today. Do you know anything about what he's doing?"

"No, not this time. He keeps me no more
apprised of his plans than you usually do."

I smiled at the verbal poke. "But you have
talked with Cassie," I said, curious as to what he would say.

"Do not remind me. The woman is in almost in
the same wheedling class as you."

I could forgive him his woman rant. "Why,
Nico, are you saying I have competition for your attentions?"

"Let us just say if I do not speak with
either of you again today, it will be a good one."

"All right, all right, I get the message.
When you or Cassie gets the chance, I could use some euros. She
enclosed what she had in the office when she packed my bag, but I
want to stay off credit cards if I can to avoid the tracking risk.
Paying for cabs and lodging and food adds up quick. Plus, I want to
go exploring a few hours around Florence tomorrow, play tourist. To
see what I can see."

There was a pause, then he said with a fake
Cuban accent, "What are you up to now, Lucy?"

I laughed at his Lucille Ball reference.

"Don't worry, Ricky," I said. "I won't make
you and Fred have to come and get me."

Nico returned, "Seriously. Be careful. We
know one forgery has come from Italy. Florence may be the origin or
at least a major stop along the line. The people responsible for
this aren't about to let anyone snooping around come between them
and their money."

"I told you, I'll behave like a tourist.
Don't forget I still have your magic escape bag."

"Laurel…"

"I promise. No risks, only touristy fun.
Last, but not least, would you let me know where the nearest Vespa
rental place is with regard to my housing and arrange for a rental?
I'm in the mood for something hard and fast that doesn't talk
back."

A little before seven in the evening, the
signora
who ran the bed-no-breakfast knocked on my door. "A
cab is here,
signorina
."

I looked around the room making sure I'd
forgotten nothing. I hid my Fendi inside my luggage and hoped my
landlady remained as disinterested in my things as earlier in the
day. Now, my taxicab chariot awaited, and I would soon come out in
my "Florence debut."

I walked down the stairs, breathing deeply
and visualizing calm success for the evening. The heels felt like a
dream, as did the various silks rubbing against my skin.

The leather clutch in my hand held all the
necessary accoutrements for a woman in my position: the
invitations, pink lip dew, compact, comb, tissues, mints, both
telephones, mini-flashlight, and my favorite traveling set of
various sized tools—AKA picks and weapons. I wasn't planning
anything heavy duty, but I wanted to be as prepared as
possible.

I was already running through the euros
faster than I'd planned, and it wasn't completely dark yet, so I
had the cab drop me a short distance from the bridge, and I walked
to the rendezvous point to meet Jack. It always amazed me how
sturdy heels could feel when they appeared as light and
unsubstantial as a cloud. If Max kept up the austerity plan, I
might be able to drop my gym membership. I slipped the battery into
my phone as I neared the bridge to give Jack the heads up. He
didn't answer. I didn't know if I should be concerned or if he was
still miffed at how I'd run away from him again.

The Ponte Vecchio, as usual, was packed with
people. Most of the excruciatingly expensive shops were closed, but
a few of the lights were still on, showing jewelers catering to
select clientele. I passed a shop I remembered from a trip with
Grandfather, where he knew the owner and had a special necklace and
earrings made for my grandmother. I'd have to see if I could stop
and say hello before I left Florence. The older jeweler was gone
now—he was a contemporary of my grandfather—but his son and
grandson still kept the family business alive.

The sunset view of the Arno about midway
down the bridge was breathtaking. I smiled at teenage couples more
interested in viewing each other than watching the shifting light
over the water. Their loss. I loved the romance of the bridge. Not
just the young lovers, of course, but also the fact the bridge had
stood over six centuries in that one spot and survived! Hitler
bombed all the other Florentine bridges when the Nazis retreated
during World War II, but he spared the Ponte Vecchio. I raised my
gaze and saw the upper corridor the Medicis used to keep from
having to mix with the common folk, as the upper crust traveled
from their palace to their offices, now the Uffizi Gallery and the
Town Hall. There was so much to love in this glorious city.