I wasn’t that type of woman.
Frederick drove away from the curb, and I checked through the rear window. Just as I expected, the Crown Vic followed, staying a few car lengths behind. I monitored its location all the way to work, and it remained constant in our wake. When we got to Beaumont Antiquities and Fredrick pulled over, the car passed us and kept going. While that might be a relief, I was almost certain it wouldn’t be the end.
I exited the car and thanked Frederick, letting him know to come get me at 4:30pm.
I spent the day staring into the brilliant facets of the ruby necklace, hungering for a cherry lollipop. The elaborate piece was nearly finished, appearing as though it had been crafted and set in place only yesterday. Once completed, I could start on the matching bracelet and earrings.
The earrings were by far my favorite part: huge, pear-shaped rubies hung from gold settings, each topped with the most exquisite canary diamonds I’d ever seen. I loved the way the gold and red played with the subtle yellow of the canary diamonds. It was exquisite.
As the day wrapped up, I said goodbye to the remaining restorers and headed for the elevator. Exiting the building moments later, I looked both ways, but no Frederick yet. I rummaged in my pocket and applied a fresh layer of lipstick, tucking that away and looking up at the street again.
The light turned green, and the traffic flowed, with the delivery truck in front of me pulling forward. Not at all to my surprise, there it was. Across the street, the blue Crown Vic sat parked, its engine running, dark windows concealing a shadowy figure.
My jaw clenched.
My first thought was to call Clementine, the best hacker I knew. Maybe she could help me solve this mystery. I searched my Birkin bag for my phone, finding it just as Frederick pulled up to the loading zone. I’d have to wait to call her until I got home. Glad to see him, I quickly slipped into the back, shut the door, and exhaled slowly.
Frederick eyed me from the rearview.“You seem stressed lately. You sure everything is okay, Betty?”
I didn’t want to alarm him and tip off my father, so I offered him a saccharin sweet smile.“Yes, Fred. All is good. Just a little work stress is all. With Nash gone, there are a lot of questions to answer that aren’t my department. It’s leeching my energy.”
He nodded in understanding.“If anyone can do it, you can, my dear. You’re a tough cookie,” he said.
He pulled us away from the curb, merging into traffic, heading toward the West Village. The Crown Vic also pulled away from the curb opposite, heading in the other direction. It didn’t fool me. I knew he’d circle the block and follow us home.
Someone was orchestrating this, but who was responsible?
My mind hurried through the list of my recent heist victims, of which there were many. The ones that stood out included a French financier and a miserly old man. However, on deeper consideration, they were rather whiny and weak—not the type to hire someone to follow or threaten me.
Tapping my finger on my knee, I almost hated to think it: This felt an awful lot like a mafia movie.
It was infuriating how much that made sense. The oily, goon-like vibe the guy was putting off—not to mention the threatening flagrancy of the whole thing? All it needed was some old-fashioned Italian opera music, and it would slide right into place.
Attention back on my phone, I pulled up my Ghost web app and sent a message to Clem.If I couldn’t talk to her, at least I could send her a message.
WhatsUpButtercup: Hey! I think someone’s following me. Could you do me a huge favor and check around for anything suspicious? Texts, chats, whatever you can find? I’m thinking it’s organized crime, honestly. It’s the only thing that makes sense, you know, the whole Rembrandt thing.
She didn’t immediately reply, and I wasn’t expecting her to. If she were in the middle of taking down an epic video game boss, it could be hours. She had a tendency to check out with her gaming, especially with the big World Cup Gaming tournament coming up.
Clem was apparently this big-wig in the gaming world, a top player with an unbelievable score record in some game I knew nothing about.I’d set a reminder on my phone to check out the tournament live. I couldn’t wait to see just how much of a badass she was.
My hand slid the phone back into my purse, shaking a little. I cursed myself for it. I was a strong girl, but I knew that if it was organized crime, this was some major shit.
Nash and I were prepared for such a day when a bad guy would retaliate—given our illicit dealings—and we had plans and securities in place. There was even a ransom fund if it came to it, but to have to think of using it? I doubted it’d be enough.
The scariest part was that the mob almost never negotiated, not if it risked revealing their operations. They preferred to eliminate loose ends rather than profit from them. A flash of the research I’d done on mob killings and witness protection came to mind, eliciting a shudder.There was so much violence.
At home, I got out of the car with a quick, falsely reassuring goodbye to Fred before rushing up my steps. Fred waited until I got my door unlocked and I was safe inside before he pulled away.
I set my purse on the bench. Phone in one hand, I started a video, wanting a record in case someone jumped out of a closet at me. My other hand rummaged in my purse for my taser. I was going to sweep the house.
I chose to start in the basement, dreading that dark and creepy level the most. I checked every window and door, peering into every nook and cranny. The lower-level windows had bars, as was pretty normal for New York, so everything seemed secure.
Moving upstairs, I scanned the main floor, including the back suite where Sybil used to stay. I shook and checked the patio doors, though I didn’t dare go outside. The second floor, my old apartment, was fine, and so was the third. Finally, the top floors. I was tired and out of breath, reminded why having a smaller house was so enticing.
Mr. Beans joined the search, relishing the adventure. It was ridiculous, but I felt a little safer with him along. He’d yowl occasionally and rub his face on every doorway, his fluffy tail swishing behind him. If anything nefarious were truly afoot, he’d go ballistic and alert me.
Reaching my room, I closed and locked my bedroom door. Mr. Beans walked back and forth through the cat door a few times as though it were a carwash. My room was simple to clear as the bed was the only piece of furniture, and it sat in the middle of the room. There wasn’t space under the bed for anyone to hide; the frame was solid and barely high enough for Mr. Beans to shimmy under as it was.
