The minutes slid past as Zaria paced the floor, her steps echoing through the cavernous room. She wished she could have brought Jules along today; Kane was taking up too much space in her head. Hell, he was taking up too much space in her life.
It seemed like no time at all before he was back, accompanied by two well-dressed older men Zaria didn’t recognize. Both glancedaround the warehouse as if perturbed, taking in the high-beamed ceiling and wide expanse of unused space.
“It’s in here?” one of the men said, brightening as he caught sight of Zaria and the pianoforte. “Ah! This must be your wife.”
“Yes,” Kane said, shrugging at Zaria behind the first man’s back as the second one trailed a finger over the ivory keys. She shook her head in disbelief. “Anyway, what do you think, Mister Quincy?”
Quincy withdrew his hand. “Beautiful. Excellent craftsmanship, at least to my untrained eye. If it’s what you say it is—”
“It is. I told Mister Roberts all about it.”
The first man—Roberts, presumably—nodded. “The pianoforte Chopin practiced on before his last concert at Guildhall, nearly three years ago now. I’m sure it will make a fine addition to the Broadwood & Sons display. Of course, I’m not an expert.”
Zaria tried not to react. They’d stolen this pianoforte from a recently deceased widow, and Kane was trying to say it had been played by Chopin? He was bold—she’d give him that. Bold, but possibly mad.
“I assume you brought one?” Kane said smoothly. “An expert, that is.”
Quincy nodded. He was a stout little man, spectacles poised on the edge of his nose, facial hair obscuring his mouth. “Yes, yes. As I’m sure you can understand, the commission relies upon third-party expertise. Someone from Guildhall should be here shortly. He should be able to confirm that this is, in fact, the instrument you claim.”
Horror settled in the pit of Zaria’s stomach. She chanced a sideways look at Kane, but he appeared unconcerned. Why wasn’t he concerned? Any so-called expert would know at once that he was lying.
“Speak of the devil,” Roberts said, turning toward the entrance as a shadow loomed in the doorway. “Here’s Mister Walsh now.”
Zaria mimicked him, tension in every part of her body. Walsh was tall, broad shouldered, and something about the way he moved struck her as vaguely familiar. When he removed his hat, lifting his head, she understood why.
“Lovely to meet you,” Quincy said to Walsh, who was, in fact, Fletcher Collins wearing an expensive suit.
Becauseof courseit was.
Fletcher offered a tight-lipped smile, shaking Quincy’s hand with a delicate air that was very unlike him. “Honored to be here. I’m rather short on time, though, so—is this the instrument?” After releasing Quincy, he clasped his hands behind his back, performing a slow walk around the pianoforte.
“So I hear.” Roberts gestured to Kane. “This is Mister Garrett, whose late father was in possession of it.”
Fletcher nodded thoughtfully. “It’s definitely a Broadwood pianoforte. Recently made, rarely used.” To Kane, he said, “A collector or a musician?”
Kane came to stand beside him, maintaining the distance of two people not yet well acquainted. “My father? Only a collector.”
They were good at this. Eerily good.
Zaria tried not to be offended that Fletcher ignored her entirely. He placed his fingers over the keys, plunked out a chord that resounded through the warehouse, and nodded again. After that, he bent at the waist, squinting at what was surely the manufacturer’s mark on the front of the instrument. He walked around to the other side, brow furrowed. “A collector’s piece indeed. It’s in excellent shape.”
“Exhibition-worthy shape, though?” Quincy demanded. Hisvoice was rather nasal, Zaria noted for the first time. “We’re tight on space, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Roberts held up a hand, silencing his partner. “More important, is it the instrument Mister Garrett claims? No offense intended.” This last sentence was directed at Kane. Turning back to Fletcher, he said, “Mister Garrett believes it to be the instrument Chopin rehearsed on prior to his last concert. If that’s the case, it would have stood in your practice hall a few years back.”
Fletcher chuckled. “This is precisely the pianoforte Mister Garrett says it is. And frankly, gentlemen, I would consider it an offense if youdidn’tinclude it in the Exhibition.”
Roberts’s brows ascended toward his hairline, a feat considering how far it had receded. “Is that so? Well then. It’s a late addition, to be sure, but consider it done. We’ll have movers pick it up this evening.”
“Excellent.” Kane grinned broadly. “My father would be thrilled to know someone besides him will finally be able to appreciate the instrument’s splendor. Wouldn’t you agree, my darling?”
It took Zaria a moment to realize he was addressing her. “Oh—yes. Positively thrilled.”
Quincy and Roberts each shook Kane’s hand once again, nodded in Zaria’s direction, then made their way to the exit. Roberts threw a glance over his shoulder at Fletcher, as if waiting for him to join them.
“Mister Walsh,” Kane said loudly as Fletcher feigned walking away, “I’d love for you to stay a moment longer, should you be willing to let me pick your brain.”
“Of course,” Fletcher said, and his assent must have satisfied Quincy and Roberts, because the next moment they had disappeared. He blew out a breath. “It worked.”
