10. Henry
10
HENRY
It took me about twenty minutes to get everything back to normal in the museum. I attempted to clear the alarm history without invoking my dad’s help, and the security guards helped me cover the shattered windows for the time being. That one will have to be explained, though I haven’t decided what I’ll say yet.
If he finds out that I’ve let Amelie go twice, that’ll be the end of me.
Not that he’s even caught her once.
I tried to reason with myself on the walk home. Figure out what’s going on in my brain, why I’ve let her go twice. A valid answer still hasn’t presented itself, and the choices that have are terrible.
Because I need her help, so she can’t go to jail yet.
That’s my most viable option.
Because I, myself, wanted to.
And that…that is the other.
A knock on my door drags me out of this swirl of thoughts. I look down at my attire, which has been pajamas since I returned home, and reluctantly go to the door.
I don’t know who I’m expecting to see, but it isn’t my dad.
“There was a security breach at the museum,” he says.
It isn’t a question.
“Yes,” I say. Apparently, my attempts to keep him out of it failed miserably.
He steps inside without an invitation and takes his shoes off, then sits on my couch. I refrain from asking him to leave and take a seat across from him. “What’s the matter?”
“There was a security breach, and you were there.”
I nod slowly. “Yes. That’s what I just said.”
“Did you see them? Catch their face by chance?”
I swallow. Can I lie to him? Will he know? Why am I willing to lie for her?
“Hardly,” I say, rapidly digging my own grave. “I was in your office, trying to mess with the panel. I assume the security guards dealt with it.”
This is bad. Horrible. I told the guards to let me deal with it. If he asks them, that’s what they’ll say. Then we’ll be right back here, and I’ll have to explain why I not only let Amelie go, but why I also lied about it.
You’ve really done it this time! Great job.
“I’ll ask them about it eventually,” he mumbles, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Tomorrow.”
“Wait, just—Don’t bother.” I take a breath, aware that I have to tell him. Backtracking now is better than being caught in a lie tomorrow. “I think…it may have been Amelie Benoit.”
The room falls dead silent. It stays that way until Betty falls off her cat tower and hisses at my shoes.
“What?” Dad says, voice raising slightly. “The same?—”
“Yes.”
He turns his face toward the ceiling, eyes closed, and I know.
He’s thinking of every possible way to get her caught.
My dad has always known of Amelie, back before she began her slight reign of terror over artists in the city. Back when she was just Henry’s girlfriend, brought up during meals and short car rides. They never met—Dad rarely let us have friends over—but that didn’t stop him from disliking her. Though he never tried to keep us from each other, I know he was happy when we fell off.
Dad runs a hand down his face and exhales. I’m thankful that he’s focused on this piece of information, rather than the fact that I just lied to him. “So she’s begun thieving, hm?”
“Yes,” I say, hoping I can leave it at that.
“Do we have proof?”
I swallow. Lie through my teeth. “No. It’d be her word against ours.”
He stands and begins pacing, back and forth without a word. I’ve got no idea what he’s thinking. What he’s planning. Despite him looking just like me, I’ve never been able to read an emotion on his face.
“I’ll catch her,” he says, and the determination in his voice is firm. “I will.”
“It’s not our top priority. Not right now,” I try to remind him. “Finding my piece is.”
He looks up, brows arched. “Have you started looking for it?”
“Yes.”
“And how’s that going?”
“It’s…going.” I shrug. “I’ve not found anything yet, but I’m sure I will soon.”
He just nods, like this is normal. Like asking me to conduct a search on my own while he tries to get my ex-girlfriend booked is an everyday task. Maybe this will be our new thing. I’ll stop painting and start finding ones that are stolen, and he’ll do the legal work. My trench coats will work perfectly for the part. I’ve even got a tobacco pipe somewhere that my granddad gave me.
“Have you run into her?” Dad asks suddenly, bringing us back to the subject I’d like to avoid. “Amelie. In the city.”
“No,” I say, hoping this is a lie he can’t catch me in. The questions he’s asking are too close to what’s happened, and I worry he knows more than he’s letting on. I don’t think that’s the case, though. He’s not one for tact. If he knew something, he’d make me come out and say it.
Instead of questioning me further, he just keeps pacing. “That’s fine. You work on finding the piece, and I’ll work on catching her.”
So basically, the nightmare of a partnership I just conjured up.
“And Henry?”
I look up. “Hm?”
Dad stops walking to look me in the eyes. “If you do run into that girl, you will not fall for her tricks again.”
I release a tight breath. “Yeah. No, I won’t.”
He gives a stiff nod and steps away.
I’ve never understood his dislike for Amelie. She never hurt anyone, not back then. Granted, it’s a little different now, but he wouldn’t have known that.
“I’ve got something to take care of,” Dad says, opening the door. “Find that piece, Henry. I mean it.”
So, so many words come to mind, yet the ones I say are, “I will.”
He gives me one final glare before leaving.
I exhale sharply when I hear the elevator ding outside. My breathing always comes easier when he’s gone, and it’s an odd sensation to behold. Something about his presence is incredibly suffocating.
Frustrated, I stand from my couch. Why do I get into these situations? Someday I’ll learn how to say ‘no’ . Liz is very intent on teaching me, but I’m not there yet. I’d really like to have another job lined up before I destroy Dad and I’s ‘partnership’.
At least he doesn’t know I’m working with Amelie. I’ll have to keep that one hidden extra well.
I go to my room and grab my laptop, then sit on the end of my bed and open it. Betty jumps up next to me with a disgruntled mrrp, walking across the keyboard before I gently set her aside. Once she curls up on my pillow and falls asleep, I get to work.
I click open a browser and search for reports of missing art. I’m not really expecting Nautical Abyss listed here, given that I watched it be stolen less than an hour ago, but I still give the page a once over. Maybe it’ll help me locate my Ophelia, or, at the very least, give me something else to focus on.
But it doesn’t. Each of the reports are dated back a few weeks, and none of them are even from The Gallery. They’re sparse and mostly reports of busts or vases. Only two are paintings, both abstract pieces that I can’t decipher.
I close the laptop and lay back on my bed, hands over my eyes. Betty swats at the curls of my hair, but I pay her no mind.
You will not fall for her tricks again.
What tricks? Amelie has tricks now, but I don’t think she did in high school.
Maybe everything she told me was a lie. What if this was all some long play at getting what she wanted? What if this was always her plan? She knew what my plans were—exactly this. Painting. Having my work displayed, making a living off my art. Granted, I thought I’d be away from my dad by now, but things don’t always go according to plan.
I just need to ask her everything. Questions have littered my mind since I saw her yesterday. Since I realized she was the one staring at my piece. Judging it. Hating it.
I need answers.
Are you doing this because of me? Why does my dad hate you? Was it all fake? Was this always your plan? How long did it take for you to start hating me?
Sighing, I press my fingers into my eyes.
I need to sleep. I need to tell Liz all of this so she can keep my head level. I need to clean up the paint in my studio, because I just remembered it’s there and it’s a mess, but I don’t do any of that.
With Betty still pawing at my hair, I let myself think on one more question. The question I should’ve asked myself before getting into any of this.
What if she’s playing me for a complete fool?
She could be. She’d drive a knife into my back while wearing that beautiful smile.
And still, that knowledge doesn’t tempt me to change a thing.