“No, not money. Something else.”
Now he looked at me like I was nuts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you okay?” He was either a fantastic actor or he was genuinely worried that I was having a disassociated event. Then again, con men are good liars.
I started vamping for time. I really hadn’t thought this through. “If this isn’t a good time to talk, then we can meet later. But I know you know what I’m referring to.” Yes, I would have been a terrible spy.
“Riddles are not really my thing, Joan. I’m going to go back to my colleagues. Maybe it’s best if we don’t have any further contact.” His voice was stern.
“Wait!” I shouted, which made the cohort of nerds look our way. I lowered my voice and grabbed his arm. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never heard of the Panthéon Sketches?”
He shook his head slowly, backing away. “I have to get back to my conference. Don’t follow me or I’ll call security.”
“Please, call security and then I can ask them to search your hotel room for the valuable work of art you stole from my hotel room. I know you took those sketches. You were the only one who had access and time. Is this a side gig for you? Art theft. Does your artificial limb company need funding?” I was losing it now, but he was cool as a cucumber. I changed tack. “Why did you invite me to dinner?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard, so he answered it directly. “I asked you out to dinner because you have a wonderful laugh and I was alone. I came back to your room because”—he looked down—“you’re very pretty and a good listener, and women like you don’t come into my world very often. And because you asked me.” Then his face reddened, like a shy middle schooler.
Oh God, he was telling the truth. There’s no way he took the drawings. What a mess I’d made. “That was very nice of you to say. I’m sorry for the confusion.” I handed him my business card.
He read the card, still fully confused, and said, “The Wallace Aston Museum? I don’t understand.”
Poor Nate. “I work for the museum as an art courier. Sometimes I come up with cover stories to explain my trip to anyone who might ask—like a cabdriver. You . . . us . . . our evening together required me to carry on with my cover story longer than usual.” More silence from him, so more explaining from me. “Here’s the real story. I flew to Paris with 150-year-old drawings, artist renderings of the Joan of Arc panels at the Panthéon. The work has been in the museum’s collection for decades, but there was supposed to be an interested buyer here. I ended up keeping the sketches with me longer than anticipated when the sales agent left the city suddenly. At some point last night, they were stolen from my hotel room by someone with experience in art theft. Someone who knew exactly what they were looking for. Someone like you who had access and opportunity. Was it you? We can work something out if it was.”
He burst out laughing. “I’m in Paris trying to buy another tech company. I like art, but I don’t really have time for international art theft.” The mirth ended. “Plus, I don’t steal stuff, Joan.”
“The whole dinner, wine and dine, the dress thing—that wasn’t a setup?”
“You’re the one who wore that dress, so it kind of seems like you were trying to set me up.” Right, of course he’d get to that conclusion quickly. He was a guy who worked in artificial intelligence. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I’m starting to get offended.”
“A valuable collection of art was stolen on my watch, and I’m screwed.”
“Do you work for your parents’ dental practice and the museum?”
“My parents aren’t dentists.”
By the time I’d finished explaining the whole story in a compressed version that included highlights like my cheating husband and his secret family, my famous mom and dad, the September 11 tragedy, a down and dirty divorce, Pasadena gossip mavens, and Amy’s freaking overalls, I could see that Nate was putting me in the category of Psycho Ex-Girlfriend. As I listened to myself, I couldn’t blame him. He thought he’d had a perfect Paris night with a carefree American in a sexy black dress and soft sheets. Turns out, he’d hooked up with a desperate divorcée with a dark backstory and somehow wandered into a crime scene. From the many, many times he checked his phone during my explanation, it was clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. He hadn’t swiped the sketchbook. It was time for me to get out of there and leave the poor guy alone. “I’m sorry I had to lie. Part of the job. Then, I just had to keep up my cover story. I never expected to see you after we . . . deplaned.”
Nate stood up abruptly. “Understood. I should be getting back to my colleagues.” He offered his hand, like we’d concluded a minor business deal. I shook it. “Well, Joan, I hope this works out for you.”
Then Nate added sincerely, “I admire your father’s work. I came across an article about him and his fascination with astronomy. It’s an interest of mine, too, so I went to see one of his pieces in Copenhagen when I was there for a meeting. It was something. Eye-opening. Breathtaking.”
I nodded, remembering. “He loved that piece at Arken. It spoke to his interest in the creation of the universe. The origins of light, he used to say. It was symbolic of his version of faith, that we can know a star without touching it. I haven’t seen it in a long time.” I was sixteen when he did the installation. My mother and I had spent a few days in Copenhagen after the opening. I was more interested in cute boys than art, and I found Danish men to be extremely tall and attractive, not that I talked to many. But I remember how blue the sky was there and how my father had used that same blue in his piece to illuminate a spherical opening. Talking about my father’s work only made the reality of losing the Panthéon Sketches worse. First him, and then his notebooks, and finally these sketches of Joan that he would have loved. It felt like all my connections kept slipping away. I couldn’t seem to hold on to anything that mattered. “I’m sorry for the awkward situation, Nate. I know I must seem like a very unreliable person right now, but I did have a wonderful time last night. Take care.”
Nate softened. “Let me walk you out. Do you need a taxi?”
The valet station was a madhouse, so we wandered out onto the street to flag down a cab. We didn’t say anything. I took a step into the street to get a clearer view of any available cabs waiting at the light a half block away. Just then, a black sedan came wheeling around the corner, slightly out of control, but heading right toward me, there was no doubt about that. Complete panic washed over me and froze me in place. I heard Nate shout something and then felt him violently pull me back onto the sidewalk. The car missed me by inches, swerving back into the center lane and disappearing into traffic.
Nate recovered more quickly than I did. His eyes were wide. “What the hell? Was he trying to kill you?”
Chapter 9