Chapter 4
Serpent in the Garden
CARL KNEW how to keep his face absolutely impassive.
The son of a middle-class businessman and a chain-smoking harpy, Carl had found his center long before he’d become his company’s most highly sought after insurance investigator.
Yes, he’d had to spend a month in rehab to figure out what it was, and another month in Danny Mitchell’s bed, but even at the time he’d known that for what it was.
Danny had been using him to get through rehab and missing Felix, and Carl had been using Danny to reassure himself that his life and his profession weren’t a waste.
Long before he’d been part of the Salinger crew, he’d been solving cases that exposed the bad guys and protected the ones who were just trying not to get screwed by their company.
He did it with a fountain pen, some misdirection, and a lot of damned hard work.
He’d never considered himself a grifter or a con man, but after more than a year with Danny’s crew, he was proud to call himself both.
And he had more than enough confidence to walk into Celeste Buenaventura’s loft gallery and shoulder his way through the crowd.
Neither Julia nor Leon let on by so much as a whisker that they knew him, but Carl detected something—was it a slight tremble in Julia’s lip or a certain grim set to Leon’s jaw?
—that told him things were not going well.
“Ms. Buenaventura?” he inquired politely, although Celeste’s garish outfit pretty much announced her the bright red zinnia in the garden of black orchids.
“I’m Carl Kohlcroft, your insurance investigator.
I was nearby when your young art dealer, Mr. Morgan?
” His company provided him with pseudonyms and backstopped IDs, but this was one that had been provided for him by Felix and Tienne, who, like his father, forged not only paintings but also some excellent identification papers.
If anybody queried Serpentus, he’d say he’d heard Kadjic was there and had wanted extra-deep cover.
Which was pretty much the God’s honest truth—Carl Soderburgh had been forced to disappear after an incident on an island off the coast of Barbados the summer before.
And his delivery must have been flawless. Celeste nodded, some of the tension from her shoulders relaxing.
“Yes,” Carl said. “He called our office, and they asked if I could get here ASAP. Is the FBI investigator here yet?”
“Not yet,” said the ruddy middle-aged man standing rather awkwardly by Celeste. “I’m Harvey Merritt, head of security—”
“And I’m Andres Kadjic, the man who must bear this insult,” snarled the man himself.
Carl didn’t allow himself so much as an eyebrow raise for the man’s rudeness. “Kadjic,” he murmured. “Have I heard that name before?”
Kadjic’s crusty eyebrows shot up, and Carl could see the exact instant it occurred to the man that he should have kept silent.
“No,” he muttered, giving the two goons flanking him the side-eye so they’d stand down. “I am a businessman is all.”
“Then why would you suspect this—was this a theft? Was it fraud? I’m afraid my dispatcher was sketchy on the details.”
Celeste appeared absolutely baffled. “It was just so odd,” she said, almost to herself. “I… I could swear it’s the same painting we mounted and examined this morning, with J.D. And Harvey and I gave it one last peek this evening before the party. If it wasn’t for that one little―”
“It was my name,” Kadjic snapped, obviously forgetting his resolution to not make waves. “And it was Lightfingers!”
Carl gave a soft, fond laugh. “Oh, we do like to hear about Lightfingers,” he said, in such a way as to make it sound like he enjoyed a good fairy tale or scary campfire story.
“But here. You three stand over here, and allow me to get the names and numbers of your guests for the FBI when they arrive, and then we can start our investigation.”
Carl was quick and good at his job, and while the plan had been to save Leon and Julia for last, appearing to get their statements in an official capacity when they all knew those statements would be conveniently lost when it came time to talk to the other authorities, he could tell that, while normally poised and able to stand for hours, Julia’s night was taking a toll.
In fact, her pallor became more and more pronounced, and he turned from the group of people he’d just spoken to and gone to the couple’s side.
“I’m sorry,” he said, in character, “is Ms.…?”
“Dormer-Salinger,” Julia said tightly.
“Are you all right, Ms. Dormer-Salinger?”
Julia swallowed, her face turning the same color Josh’s had been before Liam had hustled him out. “Not really,” she mumbled. “I didn’t get dinner, and….”
Leon was there to catch her as she actually swooned into his arms.
Carl stared, nonplussed for the first time all night.
With a clearing of his throat, he shook himself and asked Leon for a business card so they could be interviewed later, and then he pretended to take one from him so Leon didn’t have to root through his wallet.
As he was doing that, he murmured, “Are you okay?”
“Next time,” Julia said, and he could tell she was struggling for tartness, “I’ll eat dinner before I attend. You never know when art theft is going to derail your evening.”
Carl nodded and gestured for Leon to take the elevator, Julia still nestled in his arms. As he turned back toward the last of the people waiting to give their information, he shuddered hard and glanced up.
Andres Kadjic was glaring at him, an expression so ugly on his craggy face that Carl had to work to keep his naturally stoic expression up and running.
In his ear, Grace and Hunter were going off in panic.
“She fainted? Mrs. Josh’s Mom fainted? I can’t do this again, Mr. Insurance Asshole Man, I can’t—”
“Calm down, Grace.”
“But she fainted. Oh my God—”
“Hush,” Carl said, his back to Kadjic as he moved across the room. “We’ve got bigger problems than Julia fainting.”
“How could it get worse!” Grace’s voice was high enough to short out the earwig.
“Kadjic suspects,” Carl told them both softly. “Now shut up and let me get through this night, and have Stirling hack all his comms to see who he talks to and what he says.”
And with that, they clicked off, and Carl began his night in earnest.