Chapter 29
twenty-nine
AMANTHA
The access chirp to the service elevator was music to my ears, the indicator light on the black box shifting from red to green.
I had always hated the color green, but that light was the most beautiful shade.
The mechanics whirred as the elevator doors invited me in.
A security camera jutted from the corner, glaring accusingly from above the buttons.
Well, that’s stupid.
The placement and angle of the camera seemed absurd. I could have pressed any of the elevator buttons and security wouldn’t know what floor I got off on? I hid my smirk behind my hand, feigning a yawn for the camera. That oversight was my gain.
The doors opened to a shadowy basement hallway. I tentatively stepped out, startling as the flighty automatic lights sensed my movement. I scanned the hall. No discernible cameras were anywhere to be seen.
Was security more concerned with public spaces than the dusty basement? Or had Kendra pulled some strings?
The clang of elevator doors slammed shut behind me, making me jump. I breathed out a shaking laugh.
At least I’m not dodging red laser beams.
I cringed at the thought of myself in a black catsuit, my ample bottom setting off alarms left and right.
My sight caught on a door I hadn’t expected, just to the left of the elevator.
A keycard scanner was stationed beside it.
Peeking through a small glass pane, I found an industrial stairway zigzagging out of sight.
The rest of the hallway stretched out. Three other doors lined the corridor, just like my co-worker-turned-boyfriend-turned-ex had said.
I approached archive room number one. A nondescript black box protruded above the handle. I waved my new keycard across it and pushed the door. It didn’t budge. The eerie quiet unsettled me.
Maybe I used the wrong keycard? I scanned my other one. No chirps. No clicks. Frustrated, I rapped the stupid box with my knuckle. A ten digit display illuminated, its blue touch screen activated.
The four digit code.
I slapped a hand to my forgetful brain. How was I supposed to know what it was? Would it have been that hard for Val to have casually mentioned what it had been?
Frustration overcame me, resulting in a tiny temper tantrum. I did not come this far to fail.
I knew enough about digital locks to know that after a few misfires, they would probably freeze or alert someone. My face contorted in a grimace. Sliding down the wall, I rested my head on my knees.
During the two years I worked alongside Barbara, I had never visited these doors, let alone known what the code might be.
“Think.” I thumped my forehead against my kneecaps.
Maybe I was overthinking this. After all, these locks were probably set by humans. Humans had passwords. While the code likely wasn’t the lock setter’s childhood pet, maybe it was a significant date?
My eyes grew huge.
I fumbled for my phone and googled the year the museum had been built. 2004.
Scrambling to my feet, I gulped a deep breath and prepared to type. My fingers hovered just millimeters above the cool black surface. I tried to formulate an excuse in case an alarm blared or a security guard came running, but I just had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.
The keypad illuminated with a tap of my finger, the eerie blue lighting my translucent fingertips.
“Two, zero, zero, four, enter.”
A small beep sounded. “Input user error” scrolled across the modern technology.
Crap.
I braced for the alarm or pounding footsteps, though neither affronted me. After a few minutes, my posture softened, my poor lip chewed raw.
I huffed out another obscenity, tempted to give up. Maybe I could figure out the code later and come back?
But my keycard would have turned into a pumpkin by then.
I closed my eyes, recalling Val’s voice. “The service elevator opens into a hall with three doors, each of whose locks require a four digit code that changes almost daily.”
Changes almost daily? How could the staff keep track of all those passwords? Did they have to continually ask for the updated codes every day? That would be super annoying, unless they could somehow know them automatically…
A literal lightbulb flared to life above me, the temperamental motion sensor lights reactivating after going dark.
“Today’s date. Month. Day.” I gulped. It was worth a shot.
The blue light shone again through my glowing fingertips as I pressed the digits for July twenty-seventh.
“Zero, seven, two, seven, enter.”
To my utter astonishment, a mechanical hum reeled within the metal door. A distinct click sounded within the lock, rusty hinges creaking as I pushed the door open.
Sunlight filtered through high-placed windows, pooling on the wooden floor in geometric patches of gold.
A few particles of dust swirled amidst the glowing beams at my unexpected presence.
Even the humidity-controlled air seemed offended, affronting me with a cool wave of precisely seventy degrees, as indicated by the thermostat by the light switch.
I swept the area for surveillance and found nothing. Maybe my assumptions had been correct? Or had Kendra planned this blind spot as well?
My footsteps creaked against the wooden floor, the tired sound absorbed by the multitude of crates filling the room.
Rows of smaller artifact boxes lined floor-to-ceiling shelves.
The storage crates grew larger with each row, ending with the telltale painting crates.
These crates were wide, shallow, and slotted on top of each other between metal rungs.
“Okay, Val. Tell me how you did it…” I paced the floor, folding my arms as I perused the rows.
Lake Attersee was a large painting. It wasn’t like Val slipped it into his pocket.
Plus, this room seemed like a major security blindspot.
If the perpetrator had any brains at all, they wouldn’t have risked a traditional exit.
Which begged the question: how did they get the painting out and the forgery in?
Hairs bristled on the back of my neck, rising as though a lightning storm had approached without me noticing. I froze mid-step, blood rushing through my ears as my heart threw itself against my ribs.
Footsteps.
Muffled, but unmistakable.
A whispered yelp strangled from my throat. My eyes darted around the room, landing on an oversized wooden crate in the farthest corner. I launched myself toward it. Seconds raced by, my body infuriatingly slow.
The lock on the door clicked one second before I dove behind the crate, balled my legs, and ducked my head. I willed my breathing to slow, concentrating until my heavy panting faded into shallow breaths.
Hinges creaked before a set of heavy footsteps fell against the floor. They slowed to a stop, thankfully far away by the painting crates. A few deafening heartbeats passed.
“Yes, Kendra? I found it. Slot 294.”
Val’s deep voice caused a flutter even as my blood froze. That velvety tone assaulted me with memories of darkened living rooms and empty declarations. The ghost of Val’s finger lifted my chin. “I hope you know how much you mean to me.”
Liar.
I swallowed the lump, anger churning in my belly. My hands clenched with an urge to wrap around him, though I wasn’t sure if they’d encircle his waist or his throat.
The impulse to peek over the crate felt almost impossible to ignore. Idea forming, I wiggled my phone from my pocket and unlocked it. A soft ping sounded from the device.
I froze, not daring to breathe.
Silence stretched on, giving me no indication if Val had heard it or not.
I silently cursed and set the phone to silent.
Toggling the camera to video, I angled the phone’s lens just past the barricading crate and pressed record.
Since I couldn’t see the recording screen, I patiently laid my head against the wooden slats and listened with all my might.
All I needed was one incriminating phrase.
“Yes, Kendra. I found it. I’m looking at it as we speak. No, I don’t know why he said that. The log said archive room one, not two. Yes, I’ll make sure to—” Val huffed out a sharp breath. Three annoyed toe taps sounded before he spoke again. “Of course, Kendra. That won’t be a problem. Okay, bye.”
A silent minute passed. Then another.
What was he doing?
His heavy footfalls began again, sounding louder than before. My mouth ran dry as I shrank against the wooden crate, fumbling in my brain for some bizarre excuse if he saw me.
I'd never been so glad to hear squeaky door hinges in my life. Even after the door thudded shut, I remained cramped for a few extra minutes. Once I could be sure the coast was clear, I stood, a groan accompanying the crack in my spine. Maybe yoga class with Kate was a good idea after all.
I replayed the video I recorded of Val. His broad shoulders and dark curls forced my eyes closed in a moment of pain. Taking a deep breath, I pried them open again.
Val’s back faced me, blocking whatever he had been sent by Kendra to find. I still didn’t know what he had been looking at or why.
Stepping quietly across the room, I slid the crate from the slot Val had mentioned. Slot 294.
Lifting the wooden lid, I found a gorgeous abstract painting, unassuming and untouched. Swirls of daffodil yellow were threaded with earthy browns, contrasting the angles of the shapes in the foreground. Stunning. Was it their next target? Or was this one already a forgery?
A frustrated growl emanated from my throat. How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t found evidence to prove a thing. All I could think to do was snap a photo, close the crate, and slide it back onto the shelf.
At this rate, Felix and I would receive justice sometime next February.
I resumed the stupid investigation. If the exit point could have revealed itself sooner than later, that would have been great. My head tipped back with a frustrated sigh. Fluffy summer clouds, drifting beyond the windows, taunted me and my grim situation.
The windows!
They weren’t very tall, and maybe only wide enough for an adult to escape in case of emergency. The high placement of the glass panes kissed the ceiling, well out of reach. How in the world did the criminals not break a leg?
I snapped my fingers. This had been a two person job. If one thief fed the real Lake Attersee through the open window, someone else had to have stood outside to receive it. The forgery could be snuck in the same way, but from the outside.
The thief would have remained inside this room, shut and locked the window, reframed the forged painting, then hid the evidence. A stack of chairs stood suspiciously close to the windows.
My heart soared, then dropped. Knowing how the crime was committed didn’t do anything if I had no proof of who. I sank to the floor, elbows resting on my knees. I came to the archives to find answers, not more questions.
Did I want to avenge Felix? Absolutely.
Was I angry at Val? Most definitely.
Was there a part of me that longed for him? Unfortunately.
Lumbering to my feet, I lamely snapped more pictures of the room, the windows, and the chairs. The chill of the metal door seeped into my ear as I strained to hear anyone lurking beyond. After a moment, I left the room with not a speck more evidence than I had going into it.