22. Amelie
22
AMELIE
The next morning at dawn, I call our client and agree to meet them in person with Nautical Abyss.
I rarely—if ever—meet clients in person. It takes the anonymity away from it, and the risk multiplies an insane amount. If I’d been thinking last night, I would’ve just left the piece at Bondi’s and told our client to get it from there, but I’m not taking any chances.
Instead, we’re meeting our client at Grand Arts before the doors open. It’s not far from the apartment—ten, fifteen minutes on a bad day, but it seems much longer this morning. Meg has been listening to some 2000’s band the whole drive, but neither Jen nor I have asked her to lower the volume.
“What did you tell Henry last night?” Jensen asks me under his breath.
I look over at him. “What do you mean?”
He snorts. “He punched through a few chefs to find you and still didn’t get the piece he wanted. Surely he had questions.”
“I just told him it wasn’t there,” I murmur. “I told him that someone is screwing with us. He didn’t seem all that shocked.”
“Why would he be?” Meg says. “He probably thinks you’ve got a plethora of enemies up your sleeve.”
“After last night, I do. Put Bondi’s on the DO NOT ENTER list.”
Jensen chuckles, but I really don’t find it that funny. It’s not like I haven’t been in sticky situations before. In fact, I sort of thrive in them. They give me something to do. Something to think about, a solution to plot. But last night threw me completely off kilter. It has me anxious. Who is doing all of this? Am I being dramatic about it? Is it all a coincidence?
I don’t think so. I don’t believe in coincidences, not with things like this.
“Meg and I ran into Henry last night,” Jensen says casually, as if he’s discussing tax rates or something. “He asked what piece we got.”
“Did you tell him?”
“He already knew, Ames,” Meg says, eyeing me through the rearview. “It was obvious. Besides, do you really want him to think we lied about his Ophelia ? That sounds like a good way for him to end this scheme by getting us booked.”
I sigh. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Meg suddenly slams on the brakes and throws me into a window. I yelp and grab onto Jen, who does little to steady me. The two of us nearly end up on the floor.
“Please learn to drive,” I say through my teeth.
She sighs. “You drive, then.”
“I’m too busy actually taking the paintings, thank you.”
She mumbles something I don’t catch as she pulls into the parking lot.
I hold my breath while we drive around Grand Arts. There’s a limousine parked by the dumpster, complete with blacked out plates and tinted windows. It’s got to be our guy, though I can never be too sure. Not after last night.
“Who wants to go out?” Meg asks, turning to look at Jen and me.
I stand. “I’ll do it.”
“No, I will,” Jen says, standing as much as he can under the roof of the van. “I don’t want a repeat of last night.”
“I can hold my own, Jen,” I tell him.
He nods. “Okay, yeah, but I don’t want you to. Good enough?”
“No.”
“Perfect.” Jen opens the side door and steps out before I can.
Obviously, I follow him. He sighs when he notices me but doesn’t make a scene. He won’t overreact in front of a client, and I’m taking advantage of that.
We open the back doors on the van, and as we do, a tall man steps out of the limousine’s driver side. He’s decked out in a three-piece suit, dark glasses on his eyes. He looks like he should be in Mission Impossible rather than my dad’s parking lot.
“That him?” Jen whispers.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Keep it hidden.”
He drags the painting further out of the hatch, keeping all but the corner out of sight. I don’t know the correct way to go about this, but I know not to offer it up at first pass. What if this man is here for legal business at the hall? Giving up my cover would be the most amateur move I could make.
“Hey there,” I say, leaning my hip against the van. I cross my arms and flash the man a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. The expression on his face tells me that I’ve failed. He looks constipated. “You wanna tell me what you’re here for?”
“I’ll ask you the same,” the man says, and I fight back an eye roll. His voice is similar to the one I heard over the phone, but it’s unlikely that the actual buyer would even leave his house. Most of them have lackeys to do this part of the job.
“Just say the words, and I’ll leave you alone,” I tell him.
His jaw clenches, and I can see the wariness in his body language. He’s careful—that’s why he won’t just come out and say it. But I’m careful, too, at least today.
Jensen steps forward and leans against one of the open doors, letting more of the painting show. It’s enough to let him know what we’re here for, but not enough that we couldn’t backtrack if needed.
The man pulls out his phone and begins swiping at the screen. I bite my lip, starting to get antsy, but he finally says, “Nautical Abyss.”
I let out a breath. “Give me the number.”
He rattles off my burner phone number like he’s memorized it, and Jensen nods. “We have a winner.”
Letting loose a sigh of relief, I move to the left and let Jensen unload the painting with the unneeded help of Mystery Man. I watch like a hawk as they carry it to the limousine, and right when they settle it in the back, I notice something. It’s hard to see with the sun shining directly onto it, but my mouth drops open when I get a glimpse.
It’s a playing card.
An ace of hearts, tucked neatly against the canvas’s frame.
My parents are in my living room when we get back from the hall.
I let out a huff as I hang up my purse, pulling my sleeves over my palms so they don’t see the scrapes. Giving my mom a key when I moved in was a foolish move in general, but I never expected her to show up at seven thirty in the morning.
Now isn’t the time. Actually, now is the one time I really don’t need this.
“What is it?” I say, forcing an ounce of humor into my tone so they don’t think I’m angry. I am, but not at them. This is botching my nap time. I’m exhausted—I was up until two last night, trying to sort through all the happenings. Trying to find any sort of pattern in what’s going on. I failed miserably and ate seven chocolate chip cookies before falling asleep.
And now, I know exactly what’s going on.
It’s the Dealer. Of course it is.
But why ? What did I do to get their attention?
Mom stands and walks up to me, an adorable smile on her face. Her and my dad are matching today, as they often are. His sweater has Rudolph on it, and my mom’s has Clarice. They sent me photos on Christmas when they received them as a gift. Apparently, they’re going to be wearing them year-round.
“Honey, we aren’t here to pressure you into a decision,” Mom says slowly, and I am acutely aware that that is exactly what she’s going to do. “But…Margot is asking for a final answer today.”
“I’m trying, Mom,” I tell her, letting guilt settle into my stomach. “Really. I’m trying my hardest to get everything finished up. I just don’t know…” I let my voice trail off as I plan my next words. I need to give her a solid reason and answer: no. I can’t. Why? I don’t know yet, but I’m going to figure it out.
“Please, Amelie,” Mom says, her voice softer than usual. “It would mean the world to me. I just want us all to be together again. It’s been years.”
She’s right. It has been years.
And for some reason, her saying it makes it all the more real. For the first time, I’m realizing that the no-contact didn’t just go for Margot and me. It affected Mom and Dad, too.
“I’ll be there,” I hear myself say, even though the words feel wrong. “Promise. I’ll figure things out.”
“Really?” Dad says, his voice bright.
“Really.” I nod. “I may have to skip out early, but I’ll be there.”
“Will you still bring your boyfriend?”
I grit my teeth. Now’s the time to back out. Now’s my chance, and yet ?—
“Yes. He said he’d come.” My smile is so tight that my eyes water. What am I doing? Seriously? I should’ve had this talk over the phone. I can’t look my parents in the eyes and disappoint them, but I can over a phone call. I’ve done it many times. “We’ll drive up together that morning.”
Mom claps her hands and literally cheers. “I can’t wait! Packs lots of warm clothes, honey, and make sure he does, too. What’s his name?”
What’s his name? What’s his name? I don’t know his name! HE DOESN’T EXIST.
“You forget the boy’s name, pumpkin?” Dad laughs when I don’t answer right away.
“What? Come on now.” I force a laugh. “I didn’t forget. His name is?—”
“Henry,” Jensen says, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder. “Name’s Henry. I’ve met him a few times. Seems like a great guy.”
I am going to slit Jensen’s throat in his sleep. He won’t even see it coming.
Mom’s eyes widen, and she looks at Dad before looking back at me. “Henry? The same Henry?—”
“The same one!” Jensen gives me a clap on the back. “They’re reunited, Ames tells me.”
He must’ve had his brain probed while I was at the bar last night, because there’s no way he’s seriously doing this.
“Where did you meet him?” Mom says frantically. “I’ve seen his name everywhere, of course, but I didn’t think?—”
“Saw him at the museum,” I say, my throat tightening. “Happened like in the movies.”
I deserve to be shot for that line, honestly.
“This is so perfect!” Mom says, giving me a tight hug. Dad joins, and I stand there like a statue, completely speechless. Their lack of questions is astounding and, quite frankly, ridiculous. “Did you two work everything out? Does he know what you’re doing now? How’s it all working out? Margot is going to be so shocked!”
Margot isn’t going to believe a thing.
“I’ll explain it all at the cabin,” I say numbly, stepping out of her grasp. Her and Dad slowly start toward the door, and I thank whatever divine power is listening for the escape. “Love you guys.”
“Love you too,” they call back, closing my front door behind them. I lock it and lean my forehead against the frame, trying to lessen the weight in my chest with deep breaths. It doesn’t work.
Jensen starts cackling, and it makes my blood pressure shoot up.
“You’d better start running,” I say, turning to face him, “if you favor any particular body parts of yours.”
He holds up his hands. “Listen to me. I was helping you out.”
“That was not helping! In what world was that helping ?”
“Listen,” he says again. “I’m not saying you’re going to enjoy it. But you need to ask the real Henry.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Jensen stares at me with an odd intensity. “He cares about you, Ames. Last night, he was asking about you like you were all that mattered. He’d do it in a heartbeat if you asked him. And offered loads of money.”
I ignore all his other comments because one sticks out like a sore thumb.
He cares about you.
He doesn’t. The man who stopped speaking to me when I needed him most does not care about me.
But if that doesn’t pique my curiosity…
“What do you mean by that?” I toy with my nails as I talk, hoping my tone is nonchalant. “That he cares? He was probably just making sure I was home and not out causing trouble.”
“No, Amelie, not everyone is convinced you’re going off the rails.” Jen leans against the kitchen counter with a sigh. “He asked if you were okay. Plain and simple. It was clear from his voice that he was worried about you.”
I drop into a chair at the kitchen table and frown too dramatically. Pouting isn’t my thing; normally, I just go straight to revenge, if it’s needed. But it’s unnecessary in this case, which brings me to the truth: this sucks, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“You needed a name,” Jensen says. “And you weren’t thinking fast. I’m sorry if I got you into deeper trouble, but just like Meg, I was trying to help you.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I mumble, leaning my forehead on my arms. “I should’ve just told them.”
He gives me a rough, dad-adjacent pat on the arm. “I don’t think it’s about them. It’s about Margot.”
I wince, because he might be slightly correct.
I want to have something to show for the years I’ve been gone. Margot will come back with her stories of success, of all the things she did, and I have nothing to show for my career—nothing that she needs to know, anyways. If I show up alone…I don’t know. It’s not bad . There’s nothing wrong with it. I just don’t want to.
But this is not any better.
“Just remember,” Jensen says, forcing me to look over at him, “that this is all Meg’s fault.”
That wrenches a laugh out of me. “It’ll be fine. I’ll see Henry in a few days, get everything dealt with, and then worry about the boyfriend thing. I’ll be okay.”
“You will,” he says. “And think about it. If worst comes to worst, you can say he got hit by a bus and he couldn’t make it to the lodge.”
I shake my head. “You underestimate my mom. She’d drive to the hospital with flowers and balloons.”
“Melinda is a good woman,” he says solemnly.
“She is,” I agree. “All the more reason that I’m literally the devil for lying to her.”
He sighs. “You panicked. And technically, Meg dug you into this.”
“I can hear you guys,” Meg calls from my bedroom. “And I already apologized.”
“She did,” I tell Jensen. “So let it go.”
“I’ll let it go if you find a solution in five days.”
He gives me a sideways glance, one that lets me know exactly which solution he advises.
I hate it more than most of the things that have been going on. And yet, I don’t hate it enough to push it completely out of my mind.