26. Chapter 26 – Lucy
I never expected Clay to back my play with Agent Harris. But his steady presence and easy acceptance of my drive to get to the truth deepened the soft, unguarded part of me that melted with every kiss. Clay Robertson was mine .
We spent the rest of lunch talking strategy. Our task was simple: get something Harris could use to convince a judge to issue a warrant. Chaz was just arrogant enough that it could work.
Clay and I walked into Island Muse hand in hand. His firm grasp helped me keep a lid on the excitement that wanted to buzz over. If I seemed too excited to chat, Chaz would be suspicious.
Chaz zeroed in on our togetherness, grinning. “I wondered where you ran off to last night. Now I know.”
At least if I came on strong, he might write it off as me being giddy and in love. And that was at least ninety percent true.
“It was a great night, Chaz. You really outdid yourself.”
The other man preened. “Thank you. I like to do my part for the community.” He gestured at the walls. “I’m still totaling sales from last night, but I think your students did well. Almost every piece sold.”
“That’s great news,” Clay said with a grin, extending his hand to shake Chaz’s. “Our volunteers will really appreciate the funds.”
“I should have my paperwork wrapped up by tomorrow. I will take down the pieces and package them for pickup next week.”
“Excellent. Hey, I just want to be sure you give me the full catalog listing with sales price and the invoices for every piece purchased.” Clay shrugged one shoulder. “You know government. I have to account for every penny that’s coming in or going out.”
Chaz waved a hand. “No problem. All my records are digital. I can email you everything you need if you’ve got a business card?”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Clay tugged a card from his wallet and handed it to Chaz.
“I noticed A.A. is nearly ready for another showing,” I gestured to the side room. “How are they so prolific?”
He waved a hand in the air. “You know how it is. Inspiration.”
“Inspiration or stimulants?” I asked. “I’ve never seen an artist pump things out so fast without help.”
Chaz’s gaze shifted to a photo on his counter before flickering back to mine. He lifted one shoulder. “I’m sworn to protect their identity. If they ever decide to reveal it, you can ask them yourself.”
“I admire your integrity,” I said easily.
“I think I’d crack if I were you.” The picture on his counter drew his gaze again, and I slid to one side for a better angle.
The photo was nothing special – just a shot of him with his wife and their dog.
It was a fussy little thing, more poofy white coat than body. Like a fluff of cottonwood on legs.
“Cute dog. What’s its name?”
Was it my imagination that Chaz looked uncomfortable? His chin dipped toward the picture. “That’s Mr. Wiggles.”
“Aw. He’s adorable. Have you had him long?”
Chaz shifted his weight from side to side. His smile drooped. “Eight years.”
“Nice,” I murmured, a hunch blooming. My idea was just radical enough to be plausible.
Reluctantly, we took our leave. I wasn’t sure the tidbits we’d garnered from grilling Chaz would be enough. It would all be up to Agent Harris and the judge.
Unless it wasn’t.
If I was right, even half right, I needed someone who knew more than Chaz wanted to share.
I waited until we were in the relative safety of Clay’s truck to call Vi.
“Do you have a number for Janine?” I asked when she picked up.
“Good afternoon to you too.” She paused. “If I don’t, I bet Anya does. I think I’ve seen Janine at yoga a time or two. I’ll check my phone and text Anya unless I have her info. One of us should text you soon.”
“Thanks, Vi.”
“Sure. Keep me posted. You have me curious now.”
Clay pulled onto Roche Harbor Road, heading us back toward town. “What’s going through that mischievous mind of yours, Lucy?”
The affection in his tone brought a reluctant smile to my face. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” I said, pursing my lips.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text.
Anya: Her # is 206-555-5123, but you didn’t get it from me.
I dialed Janine’s number. The phone rang. And rang. Eventually, her voicemail picked up. “You’ve reached Janine. Please leave me a message.”
“Hey, Janine. Lucy Millen here. I heard you aren’t with Island Muse anymore, and I wanted to chat more about you coming to work with me. But also… I have a few questions I think only you can answer. Give me a call when you get this.”
Clay arched one brow. “You think she’ll call?”
“Maybe she’s young enough to view listening to voicemail as torture. I’ll text her too, just to be safe.”
Lucy: Hey, Janine, Lucy Millen. Call me, would love to chat about working at Glass House .
I drummed my fingers against my knee, staring down at my silent phone.
Clay drove us back to his place, and we spent the afternoon poring over the sales records Chaz emailed. He’d been true to his word. Like he had nothing to hide.
Of course, everything tied to the Parks Department looked legit. The laundering wouldn’t be mixed in with the fundraising event. It’d be stashed where only Chaz could access it. I’d hoped for a slipup, but we weren’t that lucky.
That didn’t mean Chaz was above suspicion. If anything, it only made me more confident he’d been so willing to help with the community art show as cover for his real dealings.
Frustrated, I pushed back from the kitchen table, pacing between the stove and the fridge. Clay watched me from his seat. With each lap, he looked more and more resigned. Like he guessed what I was going to say.
“We need to go back.”
“Janine could still call,” he pointed out.
“She might, but I’m not sure we have that kind of time.” I stroked my chin. “I think I spooked him today.”
“If there’s evidence, it won’t be easy to get rid of.”
“He probably keeps his login to the rest of his invoices on his computer at the gallery. If I could just get a quick look, it’d confirm everything. The one paper stock receipt isn’t enough. Harris already shot that down. We need to get inside Island Muse again. Without Chaz.”
“Breaking in would be illegal.”
“But I wouldn’t be breaking in.”
“ We .” He arched a brow. “ We wouldn’t be breaking in. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone.”
I eyed Clay. His easy-going veneer had vanished. In his place sat a man as immovable as stone, arms crossed over his broad chest. Stern. Authoritative.
I groaned. Right. Lawman. Morals. Jail time. It was easy to forget that Clay was technically the authorities at times. Like now. I couldn’t fault him for refusing to risk his badge, but I also wasn’t ready to give up.
He was right. We had to find a legal loophole to get the information we needed.
My phone buzzed. I scanned the message, a smile drawing my lips up.
Or a willing accomplice.