Chapter 19
NINETEEN
It took a few more minutes and a promise to look for Anton and call Mr. Swanson immediately if we found him, in order to get the older man to leave Charlie’s room.
As soon as the door shut behind him and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, I turned to Charlie, who caught the expression on my face.
“What are you thinking?”
“Anton’s fine. He’s with Lacy, has to be.
” As I said the words, I started toward the door, certain of where I was headed next, although unsure of what I would say when I got there.
Would I need to convince Anton that his family’s business—likely criminal business—wasn’t his responsibility?
Would I need to reassure him that he could have a life separate from them?
I hoped not. If Anton wasn’t the kind of man who could see that truth for himself, then he didn’t need to be marrying my friend.
“I’m coming with you,” Charlie said. I could see that he didn’t want me wandering the halls of The Rose alone at this hour.
A minute later, with the door locked, Charlie trailed behind me, glancing back and forth over his shoulder to make sure no one was following us as we made our way to the opposite wing of the estate and up a flight of stairs.
“Mr. Swanson didn’t seem that dangerous. Grumpy, but not terrifying,” I said, though I kept my words to a whisper.
“The worst criminals never do,” Charlie answered.
I thought back to the ones I’d met over the past few months.
They were everyday people, people who seemed reasonable and friendly enough before planning—or actually committing— murder.
Thankfully, no one had died tonight, but plenty had gone wrong and plenty reeked of suspicion.
Patty Swanson, the priest, Bella Rivera, and now Anton’s father—all of them seemed capable of something nefarious, if not downright illegal.
When I reached the guest suite that Lacy and I were sharing, I knocked lightly, not wanting to just walk in on whatever might be going on inside.
No one responded, so after trying one more time and getting nothing, Charlie motioned for me to use my key and then stepped in front of me so he could enter the room first.
We walked in to find the room empty and the windowed door to the balcony open. I wrapped my arms around myself and hurried toward the cold night air—just in time to see a gun pointed straight at me.
“Oh my God. What the hell are you doing?” I screamed as I stared down the short barrel of the pistol that Lacy held.
She lowered it immediately, muttering curses under her breath. “I thought… I was afraid you were someone else,” Lacy said, obviously flustered as she practically shoved the gun into my hands and moved toward me, shivering in her silk pajamas.
“Like who?” I asked, as I passed the gun to Charlie. Within seconds, he’d disarmed the weapon. I suddenly understood the fear he’d felt when he’d entered Todd Anderson’s room earlier this evening to find Mr. Swanson with a gun held high.
“Oh my goodness,” Lacy said, moving toward the gas fireplace. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” As she grabbed the remote from the mantel, I noticed that her hands were shaking.
I went and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
“It’s like I need a Bride’s Guide to Happiness and Homicide just to get through this weekend,” Lacy said, her voice shaking. Then, she stared at me. “A gun, Dakota. I was holding a gun. I’ve never done that before.”
“It’s okay, you’re safe,” I said softly, before pulling back and meeting her gaze. “But where in the world did you get a weapon?” I thought of Bella’s pink bag of deadly tricks. Surely Lacy hadn’t confiscated it from there?
Lacy huffed out a long breath and her shoulders shivered one more time as she moved closer to the fireplace, stretching her hands toward the warmth. “Anton gave it to me,” she admitted quietly.
“What is it with his family and guns?” I asked, as Charlie closed the door to the balcony, keeping more chill from stealing into the room.
“Anton was here tonight when I got back.”
I nodded, knowing I’d been right.
“He gave it to me then… just in case,” Lacy continued. “I didn’t want it, told him I’d never even fired a gun, but he said his dad had been blabbering on about something going down this weekend and he would feel better if I kept this in the room.”
Anton must’ve come straight here from the Billiards Room, where he and his father had been “talking business.” His first thought had been of Lacy. I was glad for that at least.
“Do you know where Anton went after he left you here?” I asked. “With a loaded gun,” I added.
“I assumed he went back to his room.” Lacy considered. “But actually, I have no idea. He said he only came here to make sure I was safe.”
“Did Anton give you anything else?”
Lacy thought for a moment and then went to the end table between our queen beds and picked up a stack of pamphlets. “He left these. Said the last thing his dad needed was an invitation.”
I came to her side, took one of the pamphlets from her hand, and turned on the nearest lamp.
Words showcasing the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts—the same museum I’d seen a link to moments earlier—were splayed across the front in tall, blockish font, each letter a different color.
Inside was information on their permanent exhibits: a mixture of Native American, African American, and Asian, as well as modern and contemporary art.
There were several pictures of the art as well, including one that looked very familiar.
I held it close to my face, studying the image: a winter road with two travelers set against a dusky sky.
I’d seen a similar one before—here at The Rose. I was sure.
I closed my eyes, mentally traveling the rooms that I’d been trying to get to know since discovering I was half-owner of the place.
“You all right?” Charlie asked.
I put up a finger and told him to hush for a minute. I went floor by floor, room by room. My eyes popped open. I knew where we needed to go.
“Come with me,” I said, hurrying to the door with one of the pamphlets in my hand. “And Charlie, bring the gun.”
Lacy’s and Charlie’s expressions were hesitant, but they’d both learned that when I was on a mission, I would not be thwarted.
We made our way past other guest rooms, down dark hallways, and down a flight of stairs to the Salon, where I’d found Bella earlier that evening.
The lights were dimmed to a low yellow glow at this time of night, so when we entered, I told them to be careful around the overturned Christmas tree and the glass ornaments on the floor.
Still, I heard the crunching of glass behind me as they followed me.
I headed straight toward Lacy’s tulle and satin wedding dress, pulling the swath of fabric I’d found earlier that evening from my pocket.
“Help me move the dress,” I told Lacy and Charlie: the train was too long for one person to do it properly on their own.
“Are you sure?” Lacy asked. “Aunt DeeDee’s friend is fixing it tomorrow. We don’t want to mess it up even more.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure of anything at this late hour. Still, I was fairly confident the dress was covering something important on the wall.
With a bit of hefting and tugging, we transported the bridal apparel from hangers to couch without further damage. And as soon as the wall was visible, we saw the real crime that had been committed here: An ornate gold frame hung on the wall, empty.
Someone had stolen a piece of art from The Rose. My guess was that this someone was none other than Bella Rivera, and I’d unwittingly caught her in the act much earlier this evening.
I stepped forward, inspecting the frame and motioning for Charlie to shine a light on the back of the frame until we could see the heavy-duty nails on the wall.
Sure enough, at the edges on the back of the frame was evidence that someone had hastily cut the fabric directly from it, leaving bits of canvas behind.
“But why would someone steal something from here?” Lacy asked, as the three of us stood staring at the empty frame.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” I murmured, trying to think of any other possible reason she would’ve taken it.
“Wait. What?”
I handed Lacy the pamphlet. “It looked a lot like the painting in this.”
Lacy squinted at the description in the painting. “Snow at Argenteuil by Claude Monet,” she read. “But surely The Rose didn’t have a Monet.”
“I highly doubt it, but we do have art by Anna Perry, winner of the second Rose Palace Pageant. Charlie and I looked her up, and her pieces are worth a decent amount.”
“We could ask Savilla about the painting,” Lacy suggested.
Charlie checked his watch. “Except that it’s 4 a.m.”
“Which is why I’m about to fall onto that fainting couch and sleep for days,” Lacy said, as she fell back onto the settee.
I felt her pain. I was so tired that I could barely think straight.
As I was contemplating what to do next, Anton suddenly rushed into the room, looking over his shoulder as if someone might be hot on his trail.
When Lacy saw him, she burst into tears.
Her reaction jarred me. My friend, who rarely cried, was suddenly sobbing.
In fact, I’d only seen her this way two other times in my life: once at Momma’s funeral and once when her high school boyfriend had threatened to end his own life.
Tonight was nowhere near that magnitude of emotion, but I supposed this entire weekend was now a loss of sorts.