Chapter 10
Ishrug. It’s done now. I keep to the trees until I reach the side of the house with no windows in view. The coast is clear. One. Two. Three. I run to the house, flattening against the outside wall, and then tiptoe around to the corner. On my hands and knees, I crawl to crouch under the open window of the living room and then shift to sit in a cross-legged position.
“It’s too hot to handle right now.”
I still upon hearing Vinnie’s voice.
“Wait until it cools off.”
I knew it! I sit up straight to get as close as I can.
“Do you want milk and sugar with it?” Vinnie asks.
Tea. They’re discussing tea.
The ground is hard and damp. Bits of their conversation float through the open window. Vinnie recently bought a crab shell fountain pen holder on Etsy. The claws of the crab hold the fountain pen. He’s very pleased that it matches the rest of his decor.
That pat on my arm when William said I could go back and listen under the window was sweet. I feel like he understood my need to listen in on Edmund and Vinnie’s conversation.
The pine tree I’m stuck behind is prickling me. I swat at a mosquito. The air smells fresher here than in New York City.
“I’m so happy to meet another aficionado of fountain pens,” Vinnie says.
“Have you tried Graf von Faber-Castell?” Edmund asks. “That’s my new favorite.”
“I will try it,” Vinnie says.
They don’t sound like they are in cahoots stealing art. Unless maybe fountain pens is code for the Kimimoto or Playing Around 1:30. If I substitute Kimimoto for fountain pen, it doesn’t make sense: “I’m happy to meet another aficionado of the Kimimoto” or “That’s my new favorite Kimimoto.”
Unless the names of the fountain pen brands are potential purchasers. But I pull out my phone, and Google confirms that the companies mentioned are real. I should probably give up and text William. I sigh and check my phone for his location. He’s at the parking lot.
“You’ve had the Versal for a year already, and you haven’t been able to sell it,” Edmund says.
“But you want it. And when you want something, Edmund, you really want something. As far as I’ve seen, you become obsessed. Your collection proves that.”
He knows Edmund well.
“I don’t deny that collectors tend to be obsessive, but that’s not why I collect,” Edmund says.
“Why do you then?” Vinnie asks.
“Undoubtedly, I love my art collection, but it’s so much more than that. I meet so many people who share my interests, and I get to go to all sorts of out-of-the-way places that I would never go to normally if not for this. And I like meeting artists and hearing about their passion and what inspired them. Isn’t that why you became a dealer?”
Vinnie murmurs something that I can’t hear, and then he says, “But there are paintings that I must have.”
“This isn’t one of them for me. I’ve offered what I’m willing to pay,” Edmund says.
Oh no, what if he is coming out?I shift to rise, but my foot has fallen asleep, and the tingling pain almost makes me cry out.
“Sold,” Vinnie says. “Can I show you some others? I have others you may like.”
The water of the wet earth is now seeping through my pants into my underwear. I stretch out my legs so I can get up to leave.
My foot tickles. I look down. And shriek. Some huge, slimy, sluglike thing is crawling on my foot. I jump up and shake my foot.
Shit.
I dash around the side of the house—only to bump straight into a hard chest.
William.His hands reach out to steady me, and then he pulls me closer to him.
“What happened?”
“Slug on my foot.”
“I know I heard something.” Vinnie’s voice. Crunch. They are outside. They must be on the footpath leading to the house.
William flattens me against the wall behind a pine tree that’s close enough to the house to hide us. His chest is against mine.
Our glances meet. We’re inches away. He smells of windy air. I tighten my grip on his biceps. He doesn’t release me. We stare at each other. His eyes widen. He must hear my heart beating. It’s like an electromagnetic force field pulling us together, a connection sparking, that has locked us into this embrace. He grips me tighter. It feels zingy.
He puts his finger to his lips and holds me tightly, and he feels so warm and comforting. His glance flicks to my lips. His ears redden. My heart races. I want to kiss him.
Crunch again.
Edmund says, “I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it was those kids shouting from that house over there. It couldn’t have been Miranda. Their car is gone.”
The front door bangs shut.
We keep still, nerves taut, waiting to see if that’s just a fakeout.
There’s only the sound of some birds chirping.
William releases me, stepping back. It feels cold suddenly.
I look down to pull myself back together.
William grabs my hand, and we slink out behind the house toward the road.
“That was close,” I say.
“Very close.” William blushes.
We walk down the curving, black road, under the canopy of the trees, past the few houses scattered here and there.
“Did you learn anything?” he asks.
“Not really. Vinnie knows Edmund well. Edmund bought the Versal. They seem to have a dealer/client relationship. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
We reach the parking lot, and I head to the passenger-side door of the car.
William says, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Your butt looks pretty dirty from here. Sit on my coat.”
“Are you checking out my butt?” I ask.
He takes off his coat and hands it to me. “I’m protecting my car seat.”
I nod. “Right. What about your coat?”
“Easier to wash.” He lays it down on the seat for me.
“I feel bad I’m getting your coat dirty.”
The daylight dims to dusk, and crickets chirp. The car tires crunch as they turn over the dirt gravel. Another day and still no answers.
We are both silent as we turn onto the highway back to New York City. William seems to be intently focused on the road. The silence feels deafening.
“Edmund says he heard the Kimimoto is for sale through some nefarious connections.”
“Nefarious?” William asks.
“So he said—literally. But he doesn’t want Officer Johnson to know. He said I could meet them with him.”
“We should tell Officer Johnson.”
“Edmund told me not to.”
“Do you think Officer Johnson is capable?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should trust him and not go off to meet nefarious connections with Edmund.”
“Maybe,” I say. “This might be a lead.”
“Promise me you won’t go alone to meet them.”
“I’ll go with Edmund. He said I can’t bring anyone else.”
“I could trail you.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt if they find you—if this is actually a real gang.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t think they’re going to hurt a woman.”
“You think they follow some gentleman’s code?”
“Probably not. But I can take care of myself, and Edmund will be with me.”
“I don’t think you should meet with them with just Edmund,” he says. “There is such a thing as coming to a consensus and not acting unilaterally, especially when it’s not just your own interests at stake.”
It sounds like his concern is my safety. And I can take care of myself.
The traffic is moderately heavy, but we are still making good time back to Manhattan. I fish a package of peanut MMs out of my pocket.
“What are you eating?”
“Peanut MMs. I can eat in your car, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“I get grumpy when I’m hungry, so I bring a spare pack to stave off my Hyde personality.”
He laughs. “Are you going to share?”
“If I was eating a Snickers bar, would you ask me to share?”
“No,” he says.
“So just because MMs come in individual bites, I have to share?”
“Not if you don’t want to. But yes, they are shareable.”
“Okay,” I say. “Open your mouth, and I’ll put some in.”
William sputters. “You can hand it to me, and I’ll eat it.”
“You might get chocolate on your hands and then on your steering wheel. Are you sure you want to risk that?”
“Point taken.” He glances at me. “Okay.”
I smile sneakily and pop an MM into his mouth. My fingers lightly graze his lips. He’s got really defined cheekbones too. I want to touch them and ruffle his soft, black hair. For artistic modeling purposes. My stomach dances. Among other purposes.
“Let me know when you’re ready for your next one,” I say as he chews.
“It’s okay.”
“Do you get grumpy when hungry?”
“No, not really. Should we stop for dinner at this exit?” The green sign to our right announces the upcoming rest stop and the available restaurants.
“McDonald’s?” I ask.
He takes the next exit, and we park in the vast parking lot. I grab his coat, but he says to leave it. The air is chilly outside, and we run to the front door. Inside is the usual chaotic and plastic atmosphere of a rest stop illuminated by bright, fluorescent lighting; families shuttle in and out in a rush. It has got to be the least romantic place possible. I blush. Not that I’m imagining a romance with William. But the way he held me …
The person at the counter waves us forward and asks for our order. I order a Happy Meal with an extra burger.
He shoots me a look as if to say, Seriously?
Now to find an empty, relatively clean table. Wiping off any remaining crumbs with a napkin, we sit in the orange, plastic seats and unwrap our food.
“I can’t believe you bought a Happy Meal,” William says.
“Sometimes they have good toys for my friend who loves dollhouses.” I hold up a mini car.
He shakes his head. “I thought they only sold those to kids.”
“I’m young at heart. It’s a secret society,” I say. “They can tell when I order.”
“Is there a code that you flash?”
“I can’t share that. It’s classified.”
“Did you stick your tongue out at them?”
I stick out my tongue at William. “No.”
I wind up my race car toy, and it speeds over to him. “Jealous?”
“I would be if I was five.”
“I got the boy toy for you,” I say.
William’s eyes widen, and he runs his hand through his black hair.
“I was worried you might not know the secret code,” I say.
William picks up the toy car, looking flustered.
I dip my chicken nugget into the peanut sauce. He winds the car up and zooms it over to me.
“You don’t want it?”
“No, I want it,” he says. I wind the toy car up again and send it back to him.
“I already have one. They’re good value.” I finish my fries. “I think Edmund was the one who told The Squirrel. Do you think Vinnie and Edmund could be working together? I didn’t hear anything suspicious.”
“We learned that it could be a possibility,” he says.
“Let’s put them both as having a personal motive to hurt me.” I mark it down in the spreadsheet. “But if they are working together, why would they want us to know that?” I lean back against my chair.
“If this crime is supposed to be personal, maybe they want you to know you have two enemies.”
Two enemies. Great. Just what I need. Vinnie or Edmund risking jail to sabotage my career is hard to believe, but it has to be one or both of them.
William reaches out a hand as if to reassure me, then pulls back. I don’t want him to worry.
“We should get a McDonald’s ice cream for dessert,” I say.
“Funny,” he says. “I also always skip the ice cream trucks and get a McDonald’s ice cream instead when I crave the softy ice creams in the summer. Juri always made fun of me about that.”
“Who’s Juri?”
“She was my girlfriend in business school.” His eyes turn dark, and his brow puckers a bit, but there’s also a faint shadow of a smile on his lips.
“Why’d you break up?”
“She wanted to move back to Japan, and I didn’t,” he says.
Is William still in love with Juri? Is Juri the one who is now married? That would be too obvious to ask. Does he regret letting her go?
I place my empty containers and wrappers on the tray. “Why didn’t you want to move back to Japan?”
“I lived there for a year after college, before business school. I loved it, but ultimately, I feel I’m just too American to live there for the rest of my life. I do need to visit frequently to recharge.” He stands. “I’ll go order the ice creams.”
I empty our tray of containers into the garbage and then wait by the exit. William joins me and hands me my ice cream cone. It’s dark outside now, and the air is cool.
“I know what you mean about being too American,” I say. “My dad is Dutch. I did an art internship in Amsterdam, and I loved it. But living in Amsterdam permanently … I’m too much of a New Yorker. I couldn’t even move to California when Peter asked me to.”
“Who’s Peter?”
“My college boyfriend.”
“Did you break up because you didn’t want to move to California?” He peels the wrapper off his cone and throws it out.
“No, I don’t think so. We were having problems before that, but it’s a convenient excuse for why we broke up. And lets us stay friends.”
“Is it so important to stay friends afterward?” he asks.
“If I loved someone enough to date them, I still want them in my life even if we’re not dating. You don’t agree?”
“I feel like when I meet with them, I get swamped with the memories of how it felt. I’m okay with talking or emailing, but meeting in person …” He shakes his head. “I’m very grateful for the love we had together, but I don’t want to revisit it.” William puts his hands in his pockets and scuffs his shoe.
“Did you see Juri at the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt?” I ask.
“No. It just felt like I was seeing an old friend. But isn’t that worse? I thought I might marry her.”
“No. It just means you grew apart because you broke up. It doesn’t necessarily reflect on what you had together. It’s self-preservation. It’s like you got the disease, but then you got a vaccine that gave you immunity—”
“So I wouldn’t die of the disease?” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“All right, the analogy doesn’t work that well.” I look up at him just as he looks away. Was he glancing at me?
He stares straight ahead. “I’m not sure I can remain friends after dating.”
He’s warning me, isn’t he? He’s drawing a line that we can’t date. I hope he tells any crazy chemistry cupids to behave too.
Fine. We’re just co-detectives. My goal is to the find the paintings.
My phone beeps.