"But that's not the case," Garvin said.
Ethan shook his head. "I'm not saying Cynthia won't want to help her out if she proves legit. It's just the kind of thing she'd do. But right now, I think she's afraid Annie Payne's up to something."
"Like what?"
"Who knows? It's that painting, Garvin. Five thousand dollars-"
Garvin pushed his mug of coffee away. "I know." Ethan looked uncomfortable. "I have a feeling this thing's not going away anytime soon. Something's not right. I stopped by Annie's Gallery before coming over here. The police were just leaving. I didn't go in. Look, Garvin, I don't want to put you on the spot, but if you know anything—" He blew out a sigh. "I don't know why the hell I don't just mind my own business. Cynthia can take care of herself."
"You think Annie would do something to hurt her?"
"Hell, I don't know. Jesus. I just don't like how this thing smells."
Garvin jumped up, suddenly restless. So Annie had talked to the police. Would they want to question him as well? He raked a hand through his hair and turned back to Ethan. "Vic Denardo's been in touch with Annie."
Ethan took a breath, then muttered, "Holy shit."
"Apparently he thinks she can lead him to Sarah."
"Can she?"
"You're talking to the wrong person, Ethan."
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Garvin deliberately didn't answer.
Ethan stared at him, then heaved another sigh at the ceiling before shifting back to Garvin. "All right. You'll tell me what you can when you can."
"It's decent of you to worry, but none of this is your problem."
"Yeah, it is." He smiled sadly, his dark eyes misting. "I worked for Thomas Linwood, and Haley was a friend. I wish I could have done something to save them. If I'd known Denardo was coming that night, if Haley had told me she was going to the house alone
Garvin clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know. I've
played it out a thousand different ways myself. If any of us could
have prevented what happened, we would have."
"It sucks, you know, Garvin? You'd think after five years..." Garvin nodded. "I know. It might help if we can finally get
some answers. Then again," he said, heading outside with Ethan,
"it might not."
Annie had the flowers in, the courtyard swept, and was starting the framing of Cynthia Linwood's old map of San Francisco when Garvin came into her workroom just before six. He had changed into a black suit that was elegant, masculine, and as right on him as his torn jeans. He seemed equally at ease dressed for a dinner party as for mucking about at his marina.
He swept a brisk, efficient glance over her, quickly dispelling any notion that he might be feeling a little warm-hearted toward her—or at least willing to admit it. "You're ready?"
"Just have to lock up. This isn't necessary, you know. Otto and I can walk home on our own. We've been doing it all week. Last night—"
"Last night was different. Vic Denardo wasn't out in the open."
"He's afraid of Otto."
"Annie, I don't want to argue with you. I need to do this, okay?"
"You're overreacting. Don't smother me, Garvin. It won't work." Ignoring the tension twisting her insides into knots, she put away her framing supplies and carefully stored the map. Otto had roused himself from her feet. "And why are you in such a big hurry?"
"I've decided to go to the foundation dinner tonight."
Her expression softened. This explained his curt mood. "I see."
But it was clearly nothing he wanted to discuss. He tilted his head back and gave her a long look as she finished up in her workroom. "Ethan Conninger said the police were here earlier."
"I didn't see him—"
"He didn't want to interrupt."
"It wouldn't have made any difference." She breezed past Garvin into the gallery, determinedly not reacting to him. A visit with the police had sobered her. She grabbed her tapestry bag from behind her desk. "The police weren't uninterested in my story, but there's not a whole lot they can do."
Garvin wandered out from her workroom. His manner was deceptively casual, the evening shadows darkening his eyes.
Annie hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "I don't have any evidence. I can't give them a license plate number. Frankly, they didn't seem too convinced the man I talked to is Denardo. I guess they've had false reports, people looking for publicity."
"They think this could be a stunt to promote your gallery?"
"They didn't say that. But I'd say they believe it's within the realm of possibility."
"You told them about Sarah?"
She nodded. "They said they'd notify the lead detectives in the case and that they'd probably want to talk to her. In the meantime, I'm to be careful and skeptical. This guy claiming to be Vic Denardo could be a reporter or someone out for the reward or even one of the private detectives John Linwood hired—someone who just got suspicious after I bought the painting." She started toward her workroom for Otto's leash. "For the same reasons you did."