Chapter 8
While Natalie drove home, Gabe called Kevin Knoppfler, the detective who was looking after his case. The results from the fingerprint search still hadn’t come through. With no new leads or incidents, no one was holding out much hope of the stalker ever being found—unless the break-in at the cottage wasn’t as random as they assumed.
Natalie gripped the steering wheel so tight that her hands were white. “I think I’m cursed.”
Gabe glanced across the cab. “What do you mean?”
“This is the third time my home has been broken into. The odds of that happening are so low there must be more to it.”
Kathleen leaned forward from the back seat. “You only told me about one of the burglaries in Venice. When was the other one?”
“About a month before my paintings were stolen.” Natalie looked in the rearview mirror at her mom. “The only thing they took the first time was my laptop.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
Kathleen sighed. “Next time anything like that happens, tell me.”
“It worked out okay. Lorenzo was great. I stayed with his family on the night of the burglary. The next day, he found a company who could install a monitored security alarm.”
Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “How did the burglars break into your apartment the second time?”
“They short-circuited my alarm and the security camera in the front entrance. The police didn’t find any fingerprints and no one saw them enter or leave the building.”
Gabe had to stop his mind from working overtime. Natalie hadn’t said much about Lorenzo, apart from him not being her boyfriend. He had no idea if the gallery owner could be trusted, but he would find out.
“What did the police say about the first burglary?” he asked.
“They said to be extra careful. Sometimes burglars come back if they see something of value in the apartment. That’s why I had the alarm installed. I made sure it was on whenever I wasn’t there, but it wasn’t enough.”
Natalie had kept a low profile in Italy. Most people wouldn’t have known where she lived or that she was an artist. And most people, except for Lorenzo, would have no idea that each of her paintings sold for more than fifty thousand dollars.
Lorenzo had the means, motive, and opportunity to stage the burglaries. In Gabe’s world that was too much of a coincidence.
“What’s Lorenzo’s last name?”
Natalie frowned. “Ricci. Why?”
“Did the police ever consider him a suspect in the burglaries?”
Natalie’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious? Lorenzo didn’t have anything to do with what happened. He’s a good man.”
“Good men do stupid things. You haven’t answered my question.”
“I don’t know who they interviewed.”
He picked up his phone and texted Kevin. If the NYPD couldn’t pull the reports on Natalie’s burglaries, Gabe’s next call would be to Fletcher Security.
If Lorenzo Ricci was even remotely involved in the Italian burglaries, they needed to know.
* * *
Natalie turnedinto her driveway and parked beside a big black truck. Because of the Cherry Festival, the drive back to Sapphire Bay had taken three times longer than it usually would.
From the outside of the cottage, nothing seemed different from when they’d left this morning. Gabe’s front door was closed. His truck was still parked beside the house and the front yard was spotless. Whoever had broken into the cottage hadn’t disturbed anything on this side of the building.
“That’s Tanner’s vehicle.” Gabe took off his seatbelt.
