Chapter 6
At my uncle’s apartment, the security footage replays images of guests entering and leaving the apartment during the party. Kimberly leaves with a shopping cart, as Takashi remembered. Vinnie arrives with a large art portfolio and leaves with one, as Takashi told us. None of us can tell from the video if the bag looks heavier when he leaves. And then my stepsister Annabelle leaves with two painting-size packages.
She only arrived with her purse.
My mouth drops open in shock. Why would Annabelle steal the paintings? I can’t believe that of her. Granted, we are no longer close, but she’s fond of Uncle Tony.
She’s not stupid. She’d know there were cameras.
And she doesn’t need money. She’s a corporate lawyer; she just made partner. Her husband is wealthy.
The waitstaff also leave with a cart. Everyone else leaves without any packages. Our suspect list just narrowed down to these five people. One of them took the paintings out of the apartment.
The doorbell rings. The video camera at the entrance shows it’s Annabelle and her shadow, our childhood friend Edmund. I’m not ready to talk to her yet. But it’s better to hear her side immediately rather than wallow in any doubts. Takashi lets her in. Cleo rests her snout on my knee as if to console me. William sits next to me on the couch.
As Annabelle enters, trailed by Edmund, she says, “I didn’t steal the paintings. Officer Johnson just interviewed me and asked me if I stole the paintings. I didn’t.”
She looks at Edmund. “Edmund gave me that package to carry out. It was two large, framed photos he gave me.”
Edmund jerks his head back, and his mouth falls open, but he quickly covers it, saying, “Yes, exactly. I just picked them up from the custom framing store. And I thought it was easiest to give them to her at the party.”
Edmund didn’t arrive with any packages, per the footage replay.
He’s covering for her.
Annabelle runs her hand through her brown, pageboy-cut hair and sits on the chaise closest to me. Her perfectly manicured, red toenails pop out against the tatamiand especially next to my bare toenails—except for the one dab of paint I missed removing. She’s wearing a silk blouse and pencil pants. Even after a police interview in which she was suspected of theft, she looks immaculate.
Edmund perches carefully next to her. He is her match in his blue Oxford and dark-blue pants, his brown hair gelled into place. He’s attractive in an Aidan Gallagher kind of way.
But I can’t believe it of her. Because we were like sisters when we were kids. We even insisted on sharing a room together until we got to high school. And she wouldn’t risk her legal career to steal a painting.
“You’ve got no motive,” I say. “You definitely don’t need the money.”
So much for any “I’m keeping my cards close to my chest and will reveal all at the end” approach. William shakes his head.
“I wouldn’t steal Tony and Takashi’s painting for the money,” Annabelle says. Her hands grip her knees. “But at the moment, I am not flush with wealth. I had to buy into the partnership. I don’t want to mislead you. I actually do need money because I need the best divorce lawyer possible. I’m leaving David.”
I gasp.
Edmund shifts closer to Annabelle and pats her hand on her knee.
“I’ve asked Dad for money,” Annabelle says.
“Why are you divorcing David?” I ask.
Annabelle looks at Edmund. Edmund nods. So Edmund knows, and she’s asking Edmund whether she should tell me? Please.
“He’s cheating on me.”
“He’s a fool,” Edmund says.
I’m gobsmacked. Annabelle and David seem well suited. He’s not the type to cheat.
Maybe I shouldn’t have deterred her from dating Edmund. I find Edmund creepy, but he is absolutely devoted to her. He’s been such a good sport, remaining friends even after she broke up with him and married David. I stay friends with my exes, but I’m not hanging around the happy couple like their puppy dog.
But his strategy may work yet.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle. That’s awful. He’s a fool to cheat on you.” I get up to hug her. We hug awkwardly. Other than me, the members of my family are not given to expressive displays of affection.
The gray rain outside casts a dark pall over the room, the corners shrouded in shadows. We’re all just there, curved shoulders, heads down. Not Takashi, though. He’s sits straight in his chair, head up, taking it in. Not William either. He’s leaning back against the couch.
“I’m sorry too. But I definitely didn’t steal the Kimimoto, Takashi,” Annabelle says.
“Did the police insinuate that you had?” I ask.
“They asked me what I was carrying out, and I showed them the framed photos Edmund gave me,” she says. “And then they asked me a few other questions.” Cleo leaves me to pad over to Takashi.
“Have they interviewed you yet?” Edmund asks me.
“Yes,” I say. “Have the police interviewed you?”
“Yes,” Edmund says. “But I wasn’t even at the party that long. I just came toward the end after I volunteered at the senior center. And I had to leave at one point to take a phone call.”
I shouldn’t dislike Edmund so much. He volunteers at a senior center. Of course, he also points out that he volunteers at a senior center.
“I forgot you volunteered at that senior center,” Annabelle says.
“Get fleeced by card sharks is more like it.” Edmund adjusts his cuff links. Cuff links even on a Saturday. “Now they want to play poker every time I show up.”
“I didn’t know you played poker.” Annabelle looks bemused at Edmund, and he looks back at her with such affection. When we first met him, he followed her around like a duckling that had imprinted on her. I thought he was a pain, but she thought he was cute.
“Not well,” Edmund says. “That’s why they want to play me.”
“I can lend you some poker books,” Takashi says. “Poker is pretty key for game theory and AI.”
“It’s okay,” Edmund says. “They get so much joy every time I lose. We’re only playing for nickels.” He glances at William. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Edmund. I’m family friends with Annabelle and Miranda.” He stands and reaches out his hand.
“William. I’m Takashi’s nephew.”
“Were you at the party?” Edmund asks.
“No,” William says.
“Aw, lucky you, not to be a suspect.” Edmund turns to me. “No offense intended, but your painting isn’t exactly the Mona Lisa.”
“So you always say.” It’s like a running joke between us. Edmund always says I should stick to portraits; it’s the Mona Lisa that attracts all the crowds to the Louvre, so portraits are revered. One of my early portrait paintings hangs on the wall between the two large windows. It’s Uncle Tony and Takashi facing each other. I captured their warmth, even if the flaws in execution make me cringe now.
“It’s good enough to be in the Vertex Art Exhibit,” William says.
I glance at William. Usually, it’s Uncle Tony who stands up for me in any extended family gatherings.
“I don’t see how anyone could have stolen the paintings during the party. Your apartment was packed.” Edmund’s small shrug is followed by his usual dismissive headshake. “It’s not like they could have lifted them off the wall.” He picks at some invisible lint on his jacket sleeve. “Why do they think the paintings were stolen during the party?”
“Did the police say that?” William asks.
“They implied that. It makes more sense to me that some burglar came in undetected than that it happened during the party.” Edmund crosses his arms.
“I’m sure the police are looking at that option as well,” William says.
“Do you think you’ll still be able to participate in the Vertex show?” Edmund asks.
“I don’t know. It’s the transitional painting. It’s kind of the linchpin between the two others, and without it …” I can’t say the rest of the sentence. I rub my hand along the soft velvet of Uncle Tony’s purple couch.
“Maybe someone recognized it from the subway ads. I mean, based on that, they’d think it was valuable,” Edmund said. “Did you see the security footage? Did it show anyone else leaving with a large bag?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t want to admit we’ve seen the footage. “The catering company obviously left with carts.”
“Oh no, it can’t be Kimberly. I’ve used her several times, and she’s so sweet,” Annabelle says. “And so into her cooking.”
“Yes, I used her for my last party, the one showing off my latest acquisition, based on Annabelle’s recommendation. The staff was very professional. They cleaned up nicely and were very careful to always use coasters and to ensure that the artwork was safe,” Edmund says. “What about that guy with the shaggy beard who had the Mets baseball cap on backward? No offense, but he looked suspicious to me.”
“That’s Ryan,” Takashi says. “He used to work for Homeland Security. He’s now consulting. He’s not going to steal any paintings.”
“We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation.” Edmund puts his arm around Annabelle.
“We should go.” Annabelle looks at me. “I’m really sorry about your painting. I hope they find it.”
I nod, unable to speak. I have to find the paintings.