The Collector
Page 32

He stopped her, turned her, moved in just a little. “It’s possible somebody’s keeping tabs on us—or one of us. So let’s make this casual. Running errands.”
“That was the plan of the day.”
“Stick with the plan. Buy something, and when I finish in the bank, we’ll walk to the apartment. A nice easy stroll.”
“You really think someone’s watching us?”
“It’s a possibility. So.” He leaned farther in, brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Because I bought you red underwear,” he reminded her. “Go buy something.”
“I . . . I’m going to the little market, just there.”
“Poke around until I come for you.”
“Okay.”
It was all like some strange little dream anyway, she told herself as she walked toward the market. Posing for a painting, red underwear, notes from dead brothers, being kissed on the sidewalk because someone might be watching.
So she might as well buy the wine, and see where the strange little dream took her next.
Eight
It didn’t take long. Ash often thought Oliver could have made a living as a forger. The signatures matched—as would Oliver’s version of their father’s signature or countless others. The key worked, and once the bank official used her own, removed the box, stepped out, Ash stood alone in the private room staring at the box.
Whatever was in it had cost Oliver and the woman he might have loved, at least in his way, their lives. Whatever was in it had brought a killer into his home, and into the home of a friend.
Ash was sure of it.
He opened the box.
He glanced at the stacks of banded hundreds, crisp as new lettuce, at the thick manila envelope. And the box within the box carefully snuggled between. The deeply embossed rich brown leather case with gold hinges.
He opened it.
And stared at the glitter and shine, the opulence tucked perfectly into the thickly padded interior.
For this? he thought. To die for this?
Ash took out the envelope, slipped the documents out, read what he could. He thought again, For this? Pushing back the anger, he closed and fastened the box again. He took the tissue-wrapped purchases out of the shopping bag, laid the box inside, tucked the excess tissue over it, wedged the dress in the mail bag. He shoved the envelope, the money, in the shopping bag, making sure the tissue covered it. Hefting both bags, he left the empty safe-deposit box on the table.
He needed a computer.
Lila poked around as long as seemed reasonable. She bought wine, two large and lovely peaches, a little wedge of Port Salut cheese. To string it out, she debated over olives as though they were her most important purchase of the day. Perhaps the year.
In the end, she filled her little basket with odds and ends. At the counter, she winced at what the poking cost her, made sure to smile at the counterman, then kept the smile going as she turned, glanced at the striking Asian woman in emerald-green sandals with high, glittery wedges.
“I love your shoes.” She said it casually as she lifted her shopping bag, exactly as she might have under any circumstances.
“Thank you.” The woman skimmed her exotic gaze down to Lila’s pretty multicolored but seen-many-miles flat sandals. “Yours are very nice.”
“For walking, but not for styling.” Pleased with herself, Lila wandered out, strolled back toward the bank.
Boring shoes, Jai decided, for a boring life. But just what was the brother doing in the bank for so long? It might pay to watch a bit longer, and since the pay was good and New York appealed to her, she’d watch.
Ash came out of the bank just as Lila debated with herself whether to go in or just wait.
“I couldn’t shop anymore,” she began.
“It’s fine. Let’s just go.”
“What was in the box?”
“We’ll talk about it when we’re inside.”
“Give me a hint,” she insisted, again lengthening her strides to keep up. “Blood diamonds, dinosaur bones, gold doubloons, a map with the location of Atlantis—because it’s down there somewhere.”
“No.”
“It is, too,” she insisted. “Oceans cover most of the planet, so—”
“I mean none of those were in the bank box. I need to check some things on your computer.”
“Nuclear launch codes, the secret to immortality, the cure for male pattern baldness.”
That distracted him enough to have him look down at her. “Really?”
“I’m grabbing out of the ether. Wait, he worked in antiquities. Michelangelo’s favorite chisel, Excalibur, Marie Antoinette’s tiara.”
“You’re getting closer.”
“I am? Which? Hi, Ethan, how are you today?”
It took Ash a beat to realize she was speaking to the doorman.
“Oh, getting there, Ms. Emerson. Did some shopping?”
“New dress.” She beamed at him.
“You enjoy it. We’re going to miss you around here.”
Ethan opened the door, exchanged nods with Ash.
“He’s worked here eleven years,” Lila told Ash as they walked to the elevator. “And knows everything about everyone. But he’s very discreet. How would anyone know it was Michelangelo’s favorite chisel?”
“I have no idea. I’m having a hard enough time following the maze of your brain.”
“You’re upset.” She rubbed a hand up and down his arm. “I can see it. Is it bad? What you found?”
“He died for it. That’s bad enough.”
No more trying to lighten the mood, she ordered herself, even if it helped calm her own nerves. She took out her keys as the elevator opened, said nothing more as they walked to the apartment door.
She took a moment for Thomas, who rushed over to greet her as if she’d been gone for weeks. “I know, I know, I was longer than I thought. But I’m back now. They should get a kitten for him,” she said as she carried her bag to the kitchen. “He hates being alone.”
To make it up to Thomas, she dug out the cat treats, cooed to him as she offered them. “Can you tell me now?”
“I’ll show you.”
In the dining room, he set the bag on the table, took out the tissue, set it aside. Then took out the leather box.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “Special. That means what’s inside is beautiful and special.”