Kate James - A Priceless Find

“That would be appreciated.”

Mr. Hadley’s solicitousness and offer of transport seemed to appease Mr. Anderson, at least temporarily. The two men shook hands, neither paying much attention to Chelsea. She felt it was deliberate and wondered why this had become her fault, when she didn’t have any responsibility for acquisition, valuation or authentication.

She stayed back and waited until Mr. Hadley had seen Mr. Anderson out. When he came back, Joel and Tina were both with him. Mr. Hadley’s brow was furrowed, his mouth a thin, straight line.

“Can anyone venture a guess as to how this could’ve happened?” he demanded.

Joel seemed to know what he was talking about, but Tina looked perplexed. Chelsea gave a brief overview of the situation. Tina grabbed the file folder from the table and leafed through it. “Ridley’s did the authentication. They’re one of the most respected houses in the state. They wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Well, someone did. Anderson used Murphy & McGuire. It’s equally unlikely that they’d make such an enormous error. If this leaks out, especially before we get to the bottom of it, our reputation will take a huge hit.” Mr. Hadley turned to Joel. “I’ll need you to prepare for a media onslaught.” At Joel’s nod, he continued. “I’m going to have to tell your grandmother about this. I’d much rather she hears it from me than other sources—like the press.”

Joel raised his hands. “I have to agree. She won’t be pleased, I can tell you that. You know as well as I do that the gallery is her passion, and she cares deeply about it. This gallery is everything to her.”

“Other than you,” Chelsea added softly.

Joel shifted his gaze to her. “Yes. Thank you.”

* * *

MR. HADLEY DECIDED it would be best to deliver news of this import to Mrs. Sinclair in person. Joel went off somewhere shortly after their meeting, and Tina was arranging for the top authentication expert in New York State to have a look at the Babineux.

Chelsea and Deborah were covering the showroom. Not that there was a lot of walk-in traffic. Frankly, Chelsea wanted to go home. A headache was beginning to pound behind her temples and she was facing the possibility of losing a substantial commission. A commission she’d already spent on her car for the much-needed maintenance work.

As the front-door chime sounded, she sincerely hoped Deborah would take the customer. With the mood she was in, it was highly unlikely she’d be able to make a sale, anyway. When she saw Detective Sam Eldridge, her heart did a little skip. She glanced at Deborah, who was already sashaying over to greet Sam.

Chelsea felt an unexpected and unreasonable pang of jealousy as she watched Deborah turn on the charm for Sam. She really couldn’t blame Deborah, since a man’s looks were a priority for her, and Sam had them in spades. But she didn’t have to hang around and watch this, she thought, and turned to go.

“Chelsea!” She heard Sam call her name. “Do you have a minute?”

She swung around and saw the mildly annoyed expression Deborah gave her. “Yes. Certainly.” She walked back toward Sam.

“Is there somewhere private we could talk?”

“Sure. The sales office.”

Sam glanced over at it. “Somewhere without glass walls?” he asked.

It had been a long day, and the throbbing behind her temples was intensifying. “Can we—”

“Let me buy you a coffee,” he interrupted. She was about to refuse, but before she had a chance, he added, “official police business.”

It must’ve been loud enough for Deborah to hear. With a satisfied smirk, she tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and walked back to the office area.

“All right. Give me a minute to get my things.” And take an aspirin.

Chelsea went to her desk and pulled her handbag from the bottom drawer. She took the painkiller first. With the drawer still open, she noticed the high-heeled pumps she’d worn to the gallery’s gala. Headache be damned, she took off her more practical shoes and slipped on the pumps. Using the small mirror she kept in her desk, she touched up her lipstick. Sam might want to talk police business, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look her best.

By the time she spritzed on some perfume, her headache was fading.

* * *

THE FIRST THING Sam noticed when Chelsea walked out of the back was that she looked...taller. He slid his gaze down and saw the shoes. Unless he was mistaken, they were the same shoes she’d worn the night of the exhibit, but they worked even better with the skirt she wore today.

Caught in the act, he realized when he looked up and saw Chelsea’s amused smile. “Ready to go?” he asked, proud of how smoothly he managed to recover from his lapse of professionalism. He helped her with her coat and walked her to his vehicle, having agreed that he’d drive her back to the gallery to get her car when they were done. “How was your day?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

She leaned back against the headrest. “Don’t ask. One of the worst.”

He thought of Joel Sinclair and how unpleasant he’d seemed and glanced at her. “Boyfriend trouble?”

“What?”

“Sorry. Too personal.” And where the heck did that come from?

“Oh, no. It’s not that at all. Just something...unusual happened at work today.”

He glanced at her again. She had her eyes closed and seemed unwilling to elaborate.

He drove into The Coffee Shoppe’s parking lot and took a spot close to the entrance, and let her precede him into the café

They both had coffee and Chelsea ordered an enormous cinnamon bun.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him after swallowing a generous bite.

He watched her tear off another sizable portion. “Where do you put all that food?” he asked.

“I get plenty of exercise walking around at work, and I try to do yoga a couple of times a week,” she explained. “Fortunately, I’m also blessed with a high metabolism,” she added with a flash of even white teeth. “But you said this was official police business. Do you know who’s responsible for the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines?”

“I did say it’s police business,” he replied, although he’d nearly forgotten, enjoying her company as much as he was. “It’s about the robbery, although regrettably we haven’t caught the responsible person yet.”

Chelsea had been about to put another bite of the pastry in her mouth but paused. “Does it usually take this long with a robbery of this sort?”

“Generally not. The longer it takes, the lower the odds that we’ll be able to catch the perpetrator. This case is somewhat out of the norm. And that’s part of the problem.” He preferred not to tell her outright what he was considering, for two reasons. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily; she looked troubled enough as it was. Also, if he was going to share his theory with anyone, it should be the curator or owner of the gallery. His purpose in meeting with Chelsea was to get her take on whether there’d been anything out of the ordinary that could indicate the gallery might be a target.

Or so he told himself.

“What’s unusual about it?” Chelsea probed. “Is it that Mr. Rochester was hurt? There aren’t many incidents like that in Camden Falls. Not that I’ve heard of, anyway.”

“You’re correct. We don’t see a lot of crime like the jewelry store break-in. Generally, that makes my job a lot easier,” he said with a smile. “But since it did happen, we don’t want to see a recurrence. Catching the perpetrator will not only keep him or her from a repeat performance, but it’ll also act as a deterrent to other potential thieves.”

“Sounds like a plan. How can I help?”