“I have no idea where he might have gotten treatment. Maybe from a small-town doctor? Not associated with any hospital?”
“Maybe.”
“The police would also have been keeping an eye out for a dark gray Audi,” Zander continued. “So the three men must’ve found a safe place where they could get Frank’s leg sewn up and where they could switch out the car.”
In record time, Britt had gone from wanting to poke out her eyeballs to suspecting she may have missed her calling as a detective. “I can’t imagine how we’d be able to find either the doctor or the Audi now.”
“Neither can I.”
They sat without speaking, Britt’s brain assessing the new information from every angle.
“After the heist,” Zander said, “Frank continues to visit the Pascal. Eventually he asks Carolyn out. They date for several months, then get married in the summer of 1986. Shortly after that, they move to Merryweather.”
“And the rest is history.”
“So ... help me think.” Zander scratched the back of his neck. “Why would someone who’d stolen a painting from a museum return to that museum after the fact?”
“To set his sights on more art? If he was successful there once, he may have developed an appetite for more.”
“Except that another heist never occurred.”
“Could he have returned to the museum because of Carolyn?” As soon as Britt voiced the suggestion, it struck her as absurd. It was too far-fetched to think that a person in possession of a multimillion-dollar masterpiece would return to the scene of his crime for a girl. Doing so was altogether too dangerous. “On second thought, I can’t imagine why any man would be willing to risk so much for a woman.”
Zander’s blue eyes met hers with intense steadiness. “I can.”
In that moment, sitting inside a marvel of a library, Britt’s stomach tightened with a sweet-hot tingle of physical longing.
For her very good friend Zander Ford.
His handsomeness had not, of course, escaped her notice for thepast thirteen years. His angular face was both aloof and observant. Young and hard. His body communicated a casual, effortless grace. Proficiency had been woven into the fabric of him.
Everywhere Britt went with Zander, women eyed him with proprietary interest.
His attractiveness wasn’t up for debate.
That didn’t mean, however, that she should allow hormones to hijack her body. Over the years, she’d experienced twinges of jealousy over him and flashes of silly infatuation. There had been times when she’d suspected him of experiencing twinges of jealousy and moments of silly infatuation over her, too.
Whenever a rogue romantic notion for Zander had overtaken her, she’d simply steamrolled it. Fortunately, he’d dealt with whatever rogue romantic notions he may have had for her in the same way. They’d never said anything to each other on the topic, thank God. A conversation about it would have been incredibly awkward, for one thing. It might have hurt their relationship, for another.
She’d handle this current pang the same way she’d handled those that had come before. She’d steamroll it.
“Frank may have returned to the museum after the robbery specifically so that suspicionwouldn’tswing his way,” Zander said.
Britt considered that. “If so, he must have waited a few weeks before returning. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have been limping?”
Zander dipped his chin in agreement. “There are things about the heist that make me doubt that Frank could have been involved.”
“But there are other things that point to his involvement.”
“The main one is that we can put both Frank and Carolyn at the Pascal the summer of the robbery.”
“And let’s not forget that Frank had been convicted of robbery in the past.” Still, it seemed like a stretch to imagine that Zander’s uncle Frank, who’d sat across the table from Britt a month and a half ago at a guest chef night in the village, had once pulled off a world-class art heist.
A monotone voice flowed from the speakers. “The library will be closing in fifteen minutes.”
“Ready for dinner?” he asked.
“Yep.” They’d made a reservation at Place Pigalle, a Pike’s Place Market restaurant within walking distance of the library.
