Darkwater Lies Page 16

  Today the neighborhood was run down, full of low-income housing, with buildings in varying stages of dilapidation. This and surrounding neighborhoods were made up of more people of African and Czechoslovakian ancestry than nearly any neighborhood in America—over fifteen percent.

  Addy held her cell phone as she made her way into the building the message had given an address for. Sure, the parking was aplenty, and these warehouses sat on good concrete foundations that had withstood hurricanes and swelling from the Gulf, but the investment would be wasted in this part of town.

  Claude had been furious with her the last time they’d spoken, so maybe this was . . . No, she couldn’t even think what was going through his mind to even consider turning this place into a bed and breakfast.

  She opened the door to the warehouse. It moved without resistance, other than a creak from a hinge that cried out for oil. The dimmest of lights blazed in a room off to the side of the main space. Cold and damp, the place had the lingering odor of dead fish and mold. Not the best combination.

  “Hello? Mr. Pampalon?” Addy made her way toward the room with the light.

  No response. Not that she’d expected one. He was probably sitting in there enjoying what he knew had to be an ordeal for her.

  A rat scurried across the floor. Addy’s heartbeat instantly raced. Rats were filthy things, and Addy was very much afraid of them. The place was probably crawling with water bugs, too, being this close to the water. Definitely spiders with the darkness and mustiness. She shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation that creepy crawlies were sliming all over her. Just the kind of setting her father would write about in one of his thriller novels. The murder scene.

  This was ridiculous. Did Claude just need to prove he could put her in an uncomfortable position? That he had the power to make her go into dirty, stinky, rat-infested places on his command? Prove he could dictate to her like he did his own children?

  She gripped her cell tighter and marched faster toward the room with the light. No job was worth this, no matter how much she loved it. Addy intended to give Claude Pampalon a piece of her mind. He might get his kicks ordering Dimitri and Lissette around, but Addy wasn’t going to play this game.

  Addy marched into the room. “Mr. Pamp—”

  No sense continuing as she was all alone, save the furniture, sparse as that was. An old card table and one wooden chair. One of the arms had been broken off the chair. The light emanated from an electric hurricane lamp sitting on the table’s corner. The fake flame danced against the glass of the lamp, sending flashes off the walls and revealing their peeling paint.

  Where was he? When she found him, she was going to—

  A sudden bolt of force just behind her right ear.

  Hot, blinding pain. Her legs no longer supporting her.

  She dropped to her knees, something digging into her skin. She toppled to the ground. Cold, wet concrete against her cheek.

  The pain was too much. Darkness swallowed her.

  Dimitri

  “I’ll be in the office if you need me,” Dimitri told his sous chef, Yvette.

  She nodded. “I’ll find you if you’re needed.” Yvette went back to spooning gumbo into the white square bowls popular at the Darkwater Inn Restaurant.

  He smiled to himself as he made his way to the little office just off the kitchen. It had been a long day, and he was thankful for Yvette’s talent that allowed him to do what he needed to do.

  Right now, he needed to figure out what his father had stolen that Edmond Jansen frantically wanted.

  Adelaide had described it, if his memory was right, as maybe more than a foot or two long, tubular in shape, and maybe three or four inches thick. The possibilities of what it could be were endless. Dimitri thought back to the conversation between his father and Edmond. If Edmond and his father were having an auction to sell it, the item had to be worth quite a bit of money.

  What was it Edmond had said? Dimitri struggled to remember. Edmond had just threatened Adelaide. Claude had assured him that he had everything under control. Edmond had told Claude that he hoped he recovered the vase and flowers. Vase and flowers.

  Edmond had said that earlier in their conversation too. He’d told Claude it seemed too coincidental that the hotel was robbed when the princess’s tiara was in the safe along with the vase and flowers.

  There wasn’t room in the safe’s drawer for a vase and flowers. The description of the black pouch from Adelaide certainly couldn’t contain a vase and flowers. That had to be code for something.

  He opened the laptop sitting on the desk, then opened the browser. He ran a search on vase and flowers for which a multitude of florist listings was returned. Page after page. He tried again, this time using a vase and flowers in the search bar with quotations. This time, in addition to a few floral listings, several still-life painting sites loaded.

  A painting could fit Adelaide’s description. A canvas cut from its frame could be folded and/or rolled and put inside a pouch to be put in a safe to be kept secure until such time when it could be sold. But to go up for auction it had to be a very expensive painting.

  None of the ones listed on the search results looked to be worth enough to warrant so much planning and trouble.

  He sat back in the chair and closed the laptop, thinking. After a moment he pulled out his cell phone and called Adelaide. She loved art and recognized all the pieces in the hotel’s collection. His call went straight to voice mail. “Hi, Adelaide. Please call me when you get this. Thanks. It’s Dimitri.”

  Surely his father wouldn’t take one of the hotel’s paintings and sell it. No, that just didn’t make sense. Besides, as far as he knew, none of the paintings from the hotel were worth a large amount of money. All were insured, and to sell one would open them up to insurance fraud. Claude knew this and wouldn’t put himself at risk. Dimitri might not know about paintings, but he knew who did.

  He searched through his contacts list, found whom he was searching for, and made the call.

  Zoey Naure answered on the second ring. “Hello, there, Dimitri. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Were you?” He smiled even though she couldn’t see him.

  “I was, truthfully.” She laughed, her husky voice sounding like smooth whiskey. “Because I’m pulling up to your hotel right now.”

  The smile slipped away. “You are?” He remembered how not too long ago Zoey had frequented the Darkwater Inn’s bar a little too often with a variety of men. A variety of men who paid for her company.

  “I’m actually delivering a print to one of your guests.” She laughed again. “Don’t panic, I’m not going back to my old ways. I’m just dropping it off, and then I’ll be on my merry way.”

  Dimitri whispered a silent prayer for God’s perfect timing. “Actually, I need a favor.”

  “Name it. You know I owe you big time.”

  Last year, he’d learned that Zoey was a single mother in need of a steady, respectable job. He’d reached out to various friends and was able to get her a job in one of the warehouse district’s art galleries. She’d been grateful, but his friend had been even more grateful, telling Dimitri that Zoey had a natural eye for art and was a great asset to her gallery.

  “You don’t owe me, but if you could spare a few minutes, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Of course. Like I said, I just have to drop this off at the client’s room. I’m walking to the elevator now. Love your valet parking, by the way.”

  He grinned. “Come on to the restaurant when you’re done.”

  “I’ll see you in less than fifteen, my friend.”

  Dimitri wove through the labyrinth of pathways in the kitchen and restaurant itself to the hostess’s station, stopped many times by regular guests and diners who wanted to say hello. Normally he enjoyed the conversations and feedback on his creations, but tonight . . . Tonight everything felt off to him. Nothing felt right.

  Arriving at the front of the restaurant, Dimitri p
ulled out his phone. No missed calls. He tried calling Adelaide again. His call went immediately to voice mail again. He left another message, a niggle of worry bubbling up inside him. She never turned off her phone, and it was unlikely she’d be on a call so long. He lifted the in-house receiver and dialed her office’s extension. It rang four times.

  “Hello, stranger.”

  Dimitri hung up the phone and turned.

  Zoey’s hair was red and straight, and she had those big, round, dark eyes, but it was her almost transparent skin that made her truly stunning. She smiled wide as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. When she released him, she laid a hand on the side of his face. “You look really good, Dimitri.”

  “As do you.” That wasn’t just lip service—she looked amazing. She’d always been a head turner, but instead of the clingy dresses she’d once worn, she now wore a clean-cut, tailored pantsuit. Her eyes that had once boasted rings of makeup were now softened with just the slightest use of mascara. “It’s really good to see you, Zoey.”

  “You too.” She smiled. “What can I help you with?”

  Apparently she was still all about the value of her time. Then again, he remembered she had a young child she was probably anxious to get home to after work. “Come on and I’ll show you.” He led her back to the tiny kitchen office.

  “Well, this is a downgrade from your other office.” She shut the door behind them.

  Dimitri glanced at the confined space. “Yeah, but I like this one better.”

  “It shows.” She shrugged. “And it suits you.”

  He opened the laptop and pulled up his search history. “I overheard someone talking about a vase and flowers so I was searching which painting they might be referring to, but there are so many. The one I’m looking for would be very valuable and—” He stopped as Zoey shook her head. “What?”

  “I think the painting you’re referring to is sometimes called Vase and Flowers, but its real title is Poppy Flowers. Could that be what it is?”

  Wait . . . He’d overheard one of them talk about poppy flowers. What had they said? They were arguing about the auction. Yes, that was it—Edmond had told Claude they would need poppies in hand. “Yes, that’s it. What can you tell me about it?”

  Zoey perched on the edge of the desk for lack of anywhere else to sit and pulled out her smart phone. “Well, it is very valuable. About fifty million or so. It’s a Van Gogh.”

  Dimitri’s hopes were deflated. There was no way his father owned a real Van Gogh to sell. They had to be referring to a different painting.

  Zoey read from her phone. “‘The painting, which is of a vase of yellow and red poppies, is contrasted against a dark background. It is said it’s a reflection of Van Gogh’s deep admiration for Adolphe Monticelli, an older painter whose work influenced him when first he saw it in Paris in 1886.’”

  While interesting, it wasn’t what his father and Edmond had been arguing about.

  Zoey continued. “‘Interestingly enough, the painting was stolen twice from the Mohammed Mahmoud Khalil Museum in Cairo, Egypt. The first time was in 1997, and it was recovered ten years later in Kuwait. It was stolen again in 2010, during which, according to sources, the painting was cut from its frame and was just walked out of the museum. At the time, police blamed poor security since none of the alarms at the Khalil Museum were working and only seven out of forty-three security cameras were, and though the museum had only ten visitors that day, the thieves remain at large.’” She looked at Dimitri. “And the painting is still missing.”

  Dimitri’s stomach tightened as his pulse raced. His father had had the stolen Van Gogh.

  Now it had been stolen a third time. From the Darkwater Inn.

  21

  Addy

  Darkness enveloped her. Addy knew she was awake—coherent— but she couldn’t open her eyes. Her lashes rebelled against a blindfold pressing tightly to her face. She strained to hear. Off in a distant part of the building in which she lay, she could just make out muted voices in heated conversation. She couldn’t even tell if they were male or female.

  A sour odor wafted under her nostrils, causing her stomach to heave. She attempted to hoist herself up from her lying position but fell against the restraints holding her legs together and her hands confined.

  Fear surged as her recollection dawned—she’d been in Claude Pampalon’s old warehouse and had been knocked on the back of the head.

  Reverberations of footsteps bounced off the walls surrounding her. Addy’s palms sweated. Whoever had hit her and tied her up was coming closer. Her heartbeat echoed in her head.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step.

  Rank body odor assaulted her sense of smell as he came closer.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step.

  His breathing sounded strained, coming in bursts and pants. She could smell his brewery breath in the close room.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Step, stop.

  Panic overtook her. While she couldn’t see for the blindfold, she could feel his presence. Feel his stare. Feel the fear rising in her chest. Her body rebelled. She wanted to scream, to yell, but she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. She bit down on her tongue. The metallic taste of blood tinged her taste buds.

  Addy snorted air through her nostrils. The air was moist—stale. She took another deep breath and her nose tingled. Stirred-up dust wafted upward and settled in her nostrils. With another intake of air, Addy sneezed.

  A man’s throaty breathing filled her ears.

  She cleared her throat and assembled as much bravado as she could. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  He cleared his own throat. “That’s not important.”

  “You have to want something.” Images of her father’s face flitted in her mind. Back when he’d had the stalker who’d threatened him, Vincent had gone into “Super Dad over-protection” mode. She’d gotten irritated that he’d been so serious. Now she understood.

  “For now, you just stay put and know that you’re being watched. Don’t try any funny business.”

  Addy wheezed in the total darkness that surrounded her. “I need some water, please.”

  A moment passed. Two. Had the man left? She hadn’t heard him walk off, but she couldn’t even hear him breathing now. “Hello? Are you still there? I need some water, please.”

  A heavy sigh cut through the silence. “Stay there.” He chuckled, obviously amused at his own joke.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step.

  His movements faded to where Addy could hardly hear his broken gait. Clearly the man wasn’t Claude, but it could be someone he’d hired. That didn’t make a lot of sense, since Claude would just fire her if he wanted her gone.

  Her father’s stalker? Or another one of his rabid fans? Over the last several years, they’d relaxed their once vigilant guard and precautions. She had been at her father’s last night. If someone had been watching the house, they would’ve seen her come and go. Her father always said his worst nightmare would be someone taking her to get to him.

  But how would he have gotten her to this warehouse? No, the stalker theory didn’t hold up. Vicky had given her the message that Claude had called and wanted her to meet him at this address at six o’clock to discuss him possibly opening a bed and breakfast.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. “Here.”

  Before she could speak, a strong grip on her right shoulder brought her into an upright position. “Open your mouth.”

  She jerked backward and rammed back into a wall.

  “I thought you were thirsty.”

  “I’m not going to drink anything unless I can see what I’m drinking.” He could give her anything, something that might kill her.

  “Then I guess you’re going to be thirsty.”

  Shuffle, step.

  “Wait!” Well, to be fair, if he wanted her dead, she’d already be dead. But maybe if she could see him . . . There had to be a reason
she was blindfolded. Either she would recognize him, or he didn’t want her to be able to later. The last part boded well for her eventual release. “Please. I really am thirsty.”

  “It’s bottled water. Listen and you should be able to hear me opening it.” His voice had softened drastically.

  Sure enough, she could. A twist and a little snap.

  “Open your mouth and I’ll give you some.” The stench of his body odor nearly made her gag, but she resisted.

  Every instinct in her told her not to, but the dryness in her throat screamed for her to open her mouth. Cautiously, she parted her lips.

  A splash of cold wetness hit her mouth.

  She gulped, leaning closer to the source. Her lips touched the plastic bottle. She sucked as he poured more. Then he pulled it away.

  “That’s enough for now.” The gruffness was back in his voice.

  Shuffle, step.

  No room for argument.

  Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Shuffle, step. Step. Step.

  Panic rose in her throat as she sat alone in the darkness.

  Beau

  “Let’s do this.” Beau nodded at the translator who stood beside him outside the interrogation room at the back of the precinct.

  They had picked up Luca Vogt and brought him back to the precinct. The German translator had been waiting, but they’d had to wait for the representative the embassy sent to arrive. She had and had been afforded private time with Luca.

  Their fifteen minutes alone was over.

  Beau opened the door. He sat across from the big Liechtenstein man and the small woman the embassy had sent. Marcel dropped into the chair beside Beau while the translator took the chair on Beau’s other side. Beau handed the copy of the Miranda rights to the translator, who recited them in German.

  Luca nodded when she was done. “Ja.”

  The translator set the card on the table. “He understands his rights.”