Charlie cleared his throat, interrupting the moment between Lacy and Anton. “I’d like to get an official statement from you.” His tone of voice had shifted, his words direct and his gaze steady as he turned to me. “I assume you’ll be pressing charges about the stolen painting, and I’ll need to bring in the woman you found in here.”
Lacy’s eye caught mine. There was no way I could press charges against anyone—particularly Anton’s family—during her wedding.
“I’ll need to discuss it with Savilla,” I said, buying myself time.
Charlie narrowed his gaze as he studied me. He didn’t like my response, but it was all he was getting for now.
“It’s just…” I let the sentence linger as I considered Lacy above all. “Can’t all of this wait until after the wedding?”
“It’s much easier to deal with people when they are still here in town,” Charlie answered, in a tone that seemed to question whether I’d actually lost my mind.
Anton’s head swiveled between the two of us as he kept his hand on Lacy’s. “Look, I know I’ve told you a lot about my family tonight, but I do think you need to wait on pressing any charges.”
Charlie lifted his chin. “Why?”
It was a simple question—and a fair one. After all, Anton hadjust revealed years of crimes his family had been committing. He’d offered no proof, except for the missing painting in this very room, but presumably finding that proof wouldn’t be hard to do.
“Because something else is going down this weekend, and I’m afraid it’s worse than theft.” Anton bit his lip before speaking again. “I’m afraid it’s murder.”
TWENTY
The three of us sat stunned for a long moment.
“Murder?” I finally repeated. Then the questions came fast. “Who? When? How? Why?”
Anton shook his head. “I don’t know the details, but my mother… she said that she thinks someone on the inside is working against us—God, I swear, I mean againstthem—this weekend.” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly upset. “She said that one of the primary buyers on the black market sent her some kind of warning about a person in our family’s organization offering a piece at a discount to work directly with them, said something about taking down the Swansons from the inside this weekend. The buyer didn’t like the idea, thought something sounded fishy, so he contacted my mother.”
I tried to wrap my mind around this claim. Someone inside the Swansons’ art heist business was trying to break off, to do their own thing, to take money for themselves.
Anton continued to grip Lacy’s hand as he spoke.Buyer, black market, warning, taking down—these were not the words I’d expected to hear this weekend.
“If we’re dealing with the black market, does that we are in danger?” I asked.
Anton simply stared at me before swallowing hard and answering, “I assume anyone who gets in the way of the person who wants to sell the painting could be considered a problem.” He took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts.
“Do you know exactly who here this weekend is involved in your family’s business?” Charlie asked.
Anton lifted his shoulder. “They haven’t given me names, but I would suspect all of them.”
“I think I can narrow it down,” I said, beginning to list people on my fingers. “We know Bella Rivera took a painting from this very room, and we strongly suspect that the priest isn’t actually a priest. He also somehow knows Will Hurt. Anton’s mother and father are the ringleaders, but Charlotte Swanson seems to have some kind of heavy sway and she seems to know Will too—not to mention that Myrtis loves to gossip about the vagaries of the family business.” I lifted my hands. “That’s at least seven people who are likely involved.”
“Sounds like you know my family better than I ever have.” Anton stared at me, dumbfounded. “Speaking of which… I forgot about this.” He pulled out his phone, opened his camera, and passed it to Charlie.
Looking over his shoulder, I could see photos of a series of scrawled messages on torn paper, all in the same handwriting.
Take the Perry during the festivities, but watch your back.
Keep an eye on the sheriff. He’ll be around.
The gun is in your bag. Wait until the right time.
I’ll give the cue during the ceremony.
When you hear from me, pull thetrigger.
“Who wrote these?” I asked.
“Mother found them in her boyfriend’s… ugh, I hate using that word,” Anton said, interrupting himself before regaining his footing. “They were in Todd Anderson’s things. She found them when she was in his room waiting for him to finish getting ready.”
