The Collector
Page 39

“The uncle is in the business of antiques, and successfully,” she continued. “It was the uncle’s business that led the idiot to the egg.”
“And the uncle knew dick about it.”
“Then,” Jai agreed. “Perhaps now he knows more. The brother visited this bank, then the uncle visits the brother. I think the brother who’s f**king the skinny bitch who saw the whore fall is learning more. Maybe Oliver wasn’t as much of an idiot as we believed, and put the egg in the bank.”
“You said the brother didn’t come out with the egg.”
“That I could see. If it was in the bank, he may have left it in there. Or he brought out information on the egg and its location. This would be good information. He consults Oliver’s uncle, Oliver’s boss. Why is this?”
She took a wedding ring set out of a box. She thought it a shame the diamond—square cut, five carats—was fake, but it was a very good fake. She slipped it on.
“The uncle has more knowledge of Fabergé. The uncle is older and not so fit as the brother. The uncle had much contact with the idiot. So I’ll visit the uncle.”
“Waste of time.”
“Our employer has put me in charge,” she said coldly. “The decision is mine. I’ll contact you if and when I need you.”
She took a long, careful study of herself in the mirror. The cheerful summer print of the dress with its conservative lines, the candy-pink heels, buff-colored bag, understated jewelry revealed nothing of the woman within.
It all said just as she wished. Wealthy, traditional Asian woman—married woman.
She checked the contents of the bag one last time. Wallet, card case, cosmetic bag, mobile phone, her compact combat knife, two pairs of restraints and her 9mm Sig.
She left without a backward glance. Ivan would do what she told him to do, or she’d kill him—and they both knew it.
What he didn’t know was she fully intended to kill him anyway. Being obedient only prolonged the inevitable.
For Vinnie, concentrating on work, the clients, the staff helped get him through. His heart and his mind were torn between grief over a sincerely loved nephew and excitement over the lost egg.
He’d sent his copies of the documents to an old friend who could translate them. He considered texting Ash, but decided against it. They’d see each other the next day at the funeral. Best to keep as much of their communication regarding the egg verbal and private.
He hated not sharing it all with his wife. Once they knew more, he would, but again, for now, it seemed best not to speculate. Not to blur things. Oliver, whatever he’d done, deserved a memorial where those who loved him could grieve without the added weight.
Vinnie carried the weight. He’d barely slept the last two nights, and all that wakeful time, the pacing time, had added more.
He had loved his sister’s boy, had seen the potential in that boy. But he wasn’t blind to the flaws, and now he believed Oliver’s tendency to look for the quick score, the shortcut, the big and shiny had lured him to his death.
For what? he thought. For what?
Discovering the lost egg would have boosted his reputation, would have brought him accolades and money. Vinnie feared his nephew had wanted more, just more. And so had gotten nothing.
“Mr. V, I wish you’d go on home.”
Vinnie looked over at Janis, gave her a little head shake. She’d worked for him for fifteen years, always called him Mr. V.
“It helps keep my mind busy,” he told her. “And the fact is, Janis, my sister would rather have Angie than me right now. So I’ll go up tomorrow, give her time with Angie. I’d just rattle around the place at home.”
“If you change your mind, you know Lou and I will close up. You could go on up tonight, just be with your family.”
“I’ll think about that. I will. But for now . . . I’ll take this pretty young lady,” he said as Jai strolled into the shop. “She’s sure to keep my mind off my troubles.”
“Oh you!” She gave him a giggle because he wanted one, but she watched him cross the shop with worry in her eye. The man was grieving, she thought, and should give himself the time for it.
“Good afternoon. What can I show you today?”
“So many lovely things.” Jai released the accent she’d so carefully bound, added the polish of education. “I see this piece as I walk. But now, so much more.”
“This piece caught your eye?”
“Caught my eye.” She laughed, touched a finger to the corner of her eye. “Yes.”
“You have an excellent eye. This is a Louis the Fourteenth bureau. The marquetry is very, very fine.”
“May I touch?”
“Of course.”
“Ah.” She ran her fingertips over the top. “It is very lovely. Old, yes?”
“Late seventeenth century.”
“My husband, he wants the old for the apartment in New York. I am to find what I like, but what he likes. You understand? Please excuse my English, it is not well.”
“Your English is very good, and very charming.”
Jai did a little eyelash flutter. “You are so kind. This, I think he will like very much. I would— Oh, and this?”
“This is also Louis the Fourteenth. A brass-and-tortoiseshell Boulle marquetry commode. It’s beautifully preserved, as you see.”
“Yes, it looks new, but old. This is what my husband wishes. But I must not pick all the same? Do you understand? They must be . . .”
“You want complementary pieces.”
“Yes, I think. These are complementary?”
Vinnie looked at the bureau that had “caught her eye,” and smiled. “Very complementary.”
“And this! We have a small library in the apartment, and see how this pretty table has what looks like books, but is a drawer. I like this very much!”
“This is tulipwood,” Vinnie began.
“Tulipwood. How pretty. This I like so much. And this lamp. This lamp to see on the . . . commode, you said.”
“You have exceptional taste, Mrs. . . .”
“Mrs. Castle. I am Mrs. Castle, and very pleased to meet you.”
“Vincent Tartelli.”
“Mr. Tartelli.” She bowed, then offered a hand. “You will help me, please. To select the pieces for our apartment. So many lovely things,” she said again, with a dreamy look around. “My husband will come. I cannot buy without his approval, but I know he will want much of this. This.” She turned back to the first piece. “He will like this very, very much. This is possible?”