Bodies Of Art Mystery: Marked Masters Part 20

I nodded and climbed over the railing before giving the grappling hook another good tug and reaching a hand out to Jack. He clasped my fingers, holding onto the railing as I guided his hand toward the rope. Then we descended in a kind of reverse piggyback style so I could keep Jack from an accidental free fall.

The sirens were close by the time we hit the gra.s.s.

He gave me a careful hug. "Thank you. Now, get back up there."

"In a minute." I pulled my cell phone out of the side pocket of the f.a.n.n.y pack and started thumbing through my contacts. "Do you have a pa.s.sport?"

"Yes, I have a pa.s.sport. I'll get away. Don't worry."

I held up a finger for silence as my call started ringing at the other end. "Clive? Can you hear me?"

"Laurel, love, are you ready to fly with us again? We're leaving Rome in a few minutes and heading back to England," the roadie replied.

I smiled. "Not yet. I have a little more business to take care of first. But I have a friend who could really use your concierge service."

"A friend, you say?"

"Yes, and you might recognize him. You snapped enough pictures of him at Gatwick," I said.

"That bloke? The one what got 'em?"

"Yes, the very one. His name is Jack Hawkes," I said. "I'm giving him this phone. Call my number when you get to the Florence airport so he'll be able to find the right gate."

"Will do. Gotta go, Laurel. Still a few things to do before takeoff."

"For me too, Clive. And thank you."

I cut the connection and handed the phone to Jack. We could now see the flas.h.i.+ng lights coming up the road.

"You heard what I said."

"Yes."

"Be careful," I warned. "And you'd better be in London when I get back there. Any more disappearing acts and I'll get seriously p.i.s.sed off at you."

He gave a tired laugh. "I'll try."

"Do better than try. You want me to trust you. Give me a reason to. We have a lot of work ahead of us, and if I'm short Nico while this all gets dealt with, I'm going to be counting double on you."

I knew he hated being told what to do, but I didn't care. When he gave me his stubborn-jaw look, I reflected it right back at him until he said, "I'll do my best."

Squad cars filled the circle drive, producing a carnival air as Jack disappeared into the shadows. I scrambled back up the rope and slid next to Nico just as Detective Roblo entered the bedroom. Five more Italian officers following close on his heels.

I pointed to Tina. "Glad you could make it, Detective. There's your dead girl, alive and breathing."

Too many hours later I finally returned to the hotel room alone. Jack and Clive both texted me when their plane landed in London: Jack to say he was home and feeling fine, and Clive to tell me that Jack needed medical attention. I set Ca.s.sie to work making sure the big lug saw a doctor. The objective was both to take care of Jack and to keep her busy so she wouldn't worry as much about Nico. I was worrying enough for both of us.

Nico was allowed to call Max, and then he told me to leave after my interview was over. I wanted to stay, to camp out, to yell, and to scream-but I did what he asked since it truly was for the best. Max would take care of things. He was good at dealing with these kinds of messes. Primarily because it gave him terrific ammunition to use when he wanted to yell about something later.

In all, we'd made a good second step. We'd found the snuffbox and learned Simon had possession of it at some point after the Greek was killed. We still didn't know the significance of the number from the safe-deposit box, but we had it in our possession, so when our searches eventually turned up the mystery it could unlock, we were good to go. I had to believe that anyway.

Tina awaited extradition to Florida as an accessory to murder, and Roblo was set to escort her back on the first available flight. Tony B was fighting extradition at the moment, probably because they wanted to charge him with Phyllis's murder, and he faced a death penalty risk in Florida. But I really wondered if the killer wasn't actually Tina. I still remembered her "Who cares?" and s.h.i.+vered a little at the memory. I said as much to Roblo, and he agreed.

However, Tony B wasn't just letting his lawyer do his fighting. With the knowledge that Jack was free, the thug realized he didn't have the clout he'd originally thought, and Roblo said the slimy toad was making quiet noises about trading information for a suspended sentence. I wondered who Tony B was turning on, but it certainly didn't surprise me that he chose this route. He had to know about the counterfeiting operation, which would likely intrigue Italy enough for officials to try to keep him. His suggestive actions also put a finer point on what Jack and I had already decided-that he wasn't in charge. I just wondered if any evidence he gave would be the truth.

Who would Tony B finger as the top man? I thought about Jack and my rooftop excursion, and the dead body, the guns, and the counterfeits in triplicate that we discovered there. Had Moran branched out into more than masterpieces? Or was it like Jack suspected, and Rollie was spreading his wings?

Or was it what we'd thought originally, someone or some group that had no affiliation with Moran and who would be harder to catch because they were unknown?

Roblo promised to share any information he could with me, and I urged him to push the interrogations extra hard. I think he was feeling guilty about Tony B getting tipped off by his coordinating with the Pisa police. I forgave Roblo for the misstep as soon as I saw Jack on the balcony, but I wasn't going to admit that to either of them. I needed all the intel I could get, and Tony B might actually let something important slip. I also needed to learn what Jack discovered when I thought he was in jail but was actually staking out Tony B's Italian organization.

Yes, Mr. Hawkes had a number of things he needed to explain when I got back to London. I counted on the hope at least some of them offered a lead to our next piece in this puzzle. Not that I'd forgiven him yet for keeping me in the dark when he was already freed from custody. I was holding him to an explanation in that regard as well.

I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and slid out of my black suit. The last thing I did was look at the picture of my mother. So lovely, and the very image of an ingenue. I smiled at how much I favored her, but I knew I didn't possess her innocence. I stared at Margarite. I pondered the man who looked like Moran, and I let my thoughts drift for a bit. Then I turned out the lamp.

All the information in the world could wait. If I wanted to solve anything in the future, I had to catch up on about twenty-four hours of sleep. Starting immediately.

Author's Endnote I would like to thank you for reading MARKED MASTERS. If you like this book or series, please take a moment to write a review at any online bookseller. No matter how brief or how long, reader reviews can truly help a new author like me reach a larger audience. Seeing that you took a chance on my books will help others do the same.

The further adventures of Laurel and Jack are in the works. If you want to know when new sequels are scheduled for release, I hope you will consider following me on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/ritter.ames or Twitter @RitterAmes. You can find more information at http://ritterames.com, or subscribe to my monthly newsletter at: http://ritterames.us9.list-manage1.com/subscribe?u=7d7795b4ee0efe6e071e30af9&id=60c766820e You can also subscribe to my publisher's newsletter at http://www.gemmahalliday.com/Halliday_Publis.h.i.+ng/about/#newsletter for news about new books from all the fabulous authors at Gemma Halliday Publis.h.i.+ng.

Again, thanks for your interest in my work, and happy reading!

~ Ritter Ames * * * * *

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

Ritter Ames is the USA Today best-selling author of the Organized Mysteries series and the Bodies of Art Mysteries series, both published by Gemma Halliday Publis.h.i.+ng. When she's not writing or brainstorming new mysteries, Ritter is usually trying to get her favorite yellow lab to stay out of the pond, or keep her grouchy black cat from trying to give the dog away on Freecycle. Ritter would love to live on a boat and write from far-flung locations around the globe, but the dog would constantly have to be fished from the water, and her husband and cat would just complain endlessly about the dog's smell, so staying on land seems to be the only good option to keep her sanity and not get sidetracked from writing.

BOOKS BY RITTER AMES.

Organized Mysteries: Organized for Murder Organized for Homicide Bodies of Art Mysteries: Counterfeit Conspiracies Marked Masters * * * * *

SNEAK PEEK.

of ORGANIZED FOR MURDER.

by RITTER AMES.

KATE MCKENZIE'S 5-STEP ORGANIZATIONAL START METHOD.

BEGIN ANY DE-CLUTTER PROJECT BY COLLECTING AND LABELING FIVE LARGE BOXES:.

REJECT-items un-repairable, missing parts, past expiration, or like half-a-dozen others already in the house.

RECYCLE-gently used, unwanted items for charitable organizations or Freecycle.

RESELL-through consignment shops, tag sales, eBay, Craigslist, or newspaper ads.

RETURN-sporting goods, toys, books, tools, etc. that belong to family members, neighbors, or friends.

REVIEW-things requiring extra thought before fate is determined.

Completely unload the room or closet, distributing discarded items into correct boxes. Return only "keepers" to the target area.

CHAPTER ONE.

STACKED IN YOUR FAVOR, LLC,.

KATE MCKENZIE, PRES.

BUSINESS PLANNER FOR JOB # 1.

DATE Wed., April 7th 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. -- Meet with Miss Amelia Nethercutt at her mansion to organize her and her late husband's exotic collections. Magnificent sprawling home and grounds. On phone seemed eager to learn organizational techniques. Says she sc.r.a.pbooks and keeps a daily journal. Spend time telling how to develop her vision, to make a date with herself each day to keep living s.p.a.ce organized and de-cluttered. Also, since she's a collector, offer the "One-in/One-Out Rule" so old replaced item always goes out when new item is purchased.

"On the second day, I decided widowhood was infinitely better than divorce."

"Miss Amelia!" Kate McKenzie caught herself, and her teacup, an instant before the Lapsang Souchong escaped over the gold rim and onto the Aubusson rug. While the cream and sienna tones of the carpet would have accepted the tea stain like a distant relative, such an accident threatened to be an uneasy alliance. Especially as Kate courted this new, and particular, client.

Amelia Nethercutt took the still-clattering china from Kate's hands and settled the pieces on the gleaming rosewood coffee table, then said, "It isn't as if I don't know the pros and cons of both marital dissolution options, my dear. My marriage to Daniel was my fifth, no, sixth marriage. I keep forgetting Joey. And receiving an inheritance is much more liberating than monthly alimony."

Kate stiffened on the white-on-white Victorian sofa and hoped her smile didn't look like a grimace. She again swatted the irritating peac.o.c.k feather and gilt-streaked twig arrangement that invaded the personal s.p.a.ce around her left shoulder. Where had common sense fled when she agreed to work sight-unseen in this procurement madhouse?

Faades could be most deceiving; Amelia's and the mansion's. The woman's exterior resembled that of her home-sweeping luxury and professional styling. Even Kate's first look inside of the house, the foyer with its elegant mahogany collectibles cabinet standing guard against taupe-colored gra.s.s-cloth, fooled her.

Then she'd seen this parlor, the study, the bedrooms, the conservatory, the library, and...well...all the other "treasure rooms."

This first workday revolved in a repet.i.tive nightmare of list making, supply ordering, prioritizing, and attempts to stem the overwhelming need to hyperventilate. Even her never-fail categorizing system of Reject, Recycle, Resell, Return, and Review periodically failed to keep Kate's panic at bay. Finally, for the first time ever, she gave up and began dividing the upstairs by what rooms were wholly trash and which might be salvageable. Of course, this never meant she would actually be allowed to throw out anything, but she persevered. Until Amelia had called from downstairs and said it was time for a "tea moment."

Kate's last ally disappeared as Mrs. Baxter, the Nethercutts' cotton-haired cook, had bustled in bringing the tea tray and placed it near Amelia. "Nice meeting you, dearie," Mrs. Baxter said, before straightening her pink pillbox hat and telling her employer, "I'm going to the market and the drugstore. There's a cab waiting. I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Amelia nodded, pouring tea as she spoke, "That's fine. I left some budgeting papers on the front table for the garden club vice-president. Please drop them off while doing your errands." She had smiled at Kate then and added, "I'm president again this year, you know."

Kate a.s.sumed the comment was rhetorical, but offered a smile for insurance.

"The material is out in the foyer," Amelia called to Mrs. Baxter, and as she waved toward the front door her spicy, nose-tickling scent perfumed the air. "I've made some exciting suggestions and changes. They will require a few club members to reflect a bit before complete acceptance, especially our esteemed vice-president, Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker. Your taking the packet will expedite matters admirably, so everyone has adequate ruminative time."

Mrs. Baxter rolled her eyes heavenward behind her thick lenses. She left via the front door, just as Kate performed her teacup juggle in response to Amelia's disturbing p.r.o.nouncement. A statement particularly unsettling in light of her late-husband Daniel Nethercutt's recent demise.

Amelia picked up the sugar bowl and offered, "There's nothing like a few minutes for tea."

The smoky smelling brew looked dark. Kate added a liberal dose of milk and worried about the exquisite teacup, musing whether the liquid was capable of eating through the fragile porcelain.

Once more she should have listened to her instincts, but, as usual, decided to focus on the positive side and be nice and agreeable. Landing a rich client seemed a G.o.dsend for her new organizing business, Stacked in Your Favor. Besides, it wasn't difficult to believe her initial unease due to the fact only a week had pa.s.sed since Mr. Daniel drifted off to whatever heavenly reward a compulsive collector deserved. At first, Kate worried Amelia was one of those bereaved spouses who too quickly decided to "clean house." But Amelia insisted. Amelia insisted on everything, and Kate's backbone turned to b.u.t.ter.

In this room alone, the front parlor, majolica plates competed with marble busts and conch sh.e.l.ls. A stuffed and seriously flaking crocodile, missing its right gla.s.s eye, crouched in one corner. Beside the door, a stack of piano sheet music stood as high as Kate's waist, but she'd yet to find any kind of keyboard instrument in the house. The outdoors was brought inside with a collection of faded garden gnomes simulating hopscotch near an overgrown spider plant.

Jeez! What had she gotten herself into? Could she even finish the job by the time her first-grade twins graduated from high school? Amelia didn't need an organizational expert as much as a designer with the b.a.l.l.s of General Patton. Or a bulldozer.

And how should she respond to a comment contrasting spousal death with divorce? She decided to ignore it and try wiggling out of the mess she'd let her size eight flats walk into. "Miss Amelia, I'm not sure I'm the best person for this job. My business is organizing s.p.a.ces and archiving items. However, you have many precious treasures here needing-"

"Nonsense, Kate. I picked you because you are perfect for this ch.o.r.e." Amelia rose to her full six-foot stature and glided to the bookcase by the door, the silvery silks of her caftan trailing like the wake behind the QEII. "I first met your mother-in-law at college," she said, flipping pages of a ragged yearbook as she navigated back. "You couldn't find a woman more in control of things than Jane, whatever the task. So, I knew I had to hire you."

Kate's mother-in-law, Jane McKenzie, did indeed know how to keep things in their place, but this did not mean her son's wife possessed superhuman talents. With the elder McKenzies currently finis.h.i.+ng a Caribbean cruise, Jane had been unavailable for consultation prior to her daughter-in-law accepting this a.s.signment. Kate opened her mouth to try to explain family ties and genetic capabilities to Amelia, but stopped as the scent of Chanel No. 5 preceded a voice in the hall.

"Yoo-hoo, Mummy, where are you?"