He couldn’t think about that now. At the moment, he was more interested in retrieving that priceless portrait of Colonial Woman and said, “I suppose we should have a chat with Miss Delaney to start, eh?”
At the door of 4A, Flynn knocked. Dagne answered a moment later, but the instant she saw them, her eyes went wide and she tried to slam the door shut.
“One moment, if you please,” Flynn said, stopping her from shutting the door with a stiff-arm to the door. “I’m Rachel’s friend Flynn Oliver.”
“Flynn?” she said, her eyes getting wider. “You’re Flynn Oliver?” She suddenly smiled. “Wow. Rachel wasn’t lying when she said you were a hunk—”
“Might we have a word?” Flynn asked, pushing a little on the door.
She looked at Joe then, and her eyes narrowed into suspicion again. “Wait. How do I know you’re Flynn Oliver?” she said, pushing back. “And who’s this bozo?”
“I’m really Flynn Oliver, and this . . . bozo . . . is my American partner,” Flynn said, digging in his back pocket. He retrieved a small case and flipped it open.
Dagne squinted at it. “Lloyds of London. . . Flynn Oliver. Okay,” she said, glancing up at him. “You’re Flynn. So where is Rachel?”
“At home,” Flynn said, smiling charmingly now. “She’s quite all right, and in fact, was preparing dinner when last we spoke.” That earned him a look of surprise from Joe, but Dagne folded her arms across her middle.
“No she’s not. I just talked to her.”
“That’s great. And now we want to talk to you,” Joe said, stepping up. “Take a closer look at Mr. Oliver’s credentials. He’s an investigator with Lloyds of London. And I,” he said, pulling out his badge, “am a detective with the Rhode Island State Police. So do you want to let us in, or do you want us to haul you downtown?”
Dagne glared at the badge, then at Joe, and she held on to the door tighter, bracing herself against it. “Listen, pal, you can’t just come in here like that. I watch Law & Order! You have to have a search warrant!”
“A warrant just to talk to you?” He laughed. “You need to watch a few more episodes, because I don’t need a warrant just to talk. And I can talk to you here, or I can take you downtown. Right now I’m giving you a choice. But if you don’t let us in, I might stop being so magnanimous.”
“I’m calling the cops,” Dagne said.
“I am the cops. If you call more, they’re going to come out here and tell you the same thing I just told you. And then they are going to ask, just like I’m about to ask, what your problem is. Do you have something to hide in there? Should we go get a search warrant?”
“I don’t have anything to hide!” she said angrily. “I just don’t like being pushed around—”
“No one’s pushing, Miss Delaney,” Flynn said calmly. “This is really about Rachel. She might be in a spot of trouble, and I, for one, would like to help her.”
That softened her up. She blinked at Flynn, glowered at Joe, but seemed to think the better of it and stepped back, letting them inside. “I smell vanilla,” she said as Flynn passed her. “Vanilla!” she said again, only louder. Flynn ignored her.
Joe assumed a fairly aggressive stance—legs apart, hands on hips and coat flared back so that she couldn’t miss his gun, and that backed the poor girl up against the wall. “All right, Delaney. How is it you came to be in possession of the Joseph Badger painting?” he demanded as Flynn walked to where it was perched on the couch and picked it up.
The blood literally bled from the girl’s face. “I ah . . . I d-didn’t . . . Can you ask me that question?”
“I can ask any question I want. Why wouldn’t you answer? Afraid of something?”
“No! Look, you are not going to bully me. I was just helping Rachel out—”
“Helping Rachel do what? Fence stolen property?”
“No!” she cried, aghast. “What are you saying? Do you even know Rachel?”
“Do you?” Joe pressed.
“Yes, I do, better than anyone, and she’d never do that. She didn’t even know—” Dagne squealed then, clamped a hand over her mouth, and big fat tears welled in her eyes.
Joe eased up on her. “I think you better sit down and tell us what you know.”
She nodded slowly, lowered her hand. “It’s my fault. I should have done a spell to ward off the evil,” she said, gulping down a sob.
“What?” Joe asked, confused.
“I’ll explain later,” Flynn said, and with the priceless portrait under his arm, he put a hand to Dagne’s elbow, guided her to sit at her little dining table.
With some prodding, Dagne told them what she knew. Professor Tidwell, or Myron, as she called him, had been bringing Rachel presents from time to time, all of them, ostensibly, from the museum gift shops. “I always thought he was trying to make up for borrowing her money and eating her food,” she said, staring morosely at that table.