“You go in?”
“Yes. Keep in mind, Mercer, we are dealing with a thief who’s hiding something valuable, something our client has insured for a lot of money. It doesn’t belong to him, and he’s always looking for a way to sell it for big money. That makes each situation rather tense. The clock is always ticking, yet we have to show great patience.” Another small sip. She was choosing her words carefully. “The police and FBI have to worry about such things as probable cause and search warrants. We’re not always constrained by these constitutional formalities.”
“So you break and enter?”
“We never break, but sometimes we enter, and only for purposes of verification and retrieval. There are very few buildings that we cannot ease into quietly, and when it comes to hiding their loot a lot of thieves are not nearly as clever as they think they are.”
“Do you tap phones, hack into computers?”
“Well, let’s say we occasionally listen.”
“So you break the law?”
“We call it operating in the gray areas. We listen, we enter, we verify, then, in most cases, we notify the FBI. They do their thing with proper search warrants, and the art is returned to its owner. The thief goes to prison, and the FBI gets all the credit. Everybody is happy, perhaps with the exception of the thief, and we’re not too worried about his feelings.”
With her third sip, the gin was settling in and Mercer began to relax. “So, if you’re so good, why not just sneak into Cable’s vault and check it out?”
“Cable is not a thief, and he appears to be smarter than the average suspect. He seems very cautious, and this makes us even more suspicious. A false move here or there, and the manuscripts could vanish again.”
“But if you’re listening and hacking and watching his movements, why can’t you catch him?”
“I didn’t say we were doing all that. We may, and soon, but right now we just need more intelligence.”
“Has anyone in your company ever been charged with doing something illegal?”
“No, not even close. Again, we play in the gray, and when the crime is solved who cares?”
“Maybe the thief. I’m no lawyer, but couldn’t the thief scream about an illegal search?”
“Maybe you should be a lawyer.”
“I can’t think of anything worse.”
“The answer is no. The thief and his lawyer have no clue that we’re even involved. They’ve never heard of us and we leave no fingerprints.”
There was a long pause as they concentrated on their cocktails and glanced at the menus. The waitress hustled by and Elaine politely informed her that they were in no hurry. Mercer eventually said, “It looks as though you’re asking me to do a job that could possibly involve getting into one of your gray areas, which is a euphemism for breaking the law.”
At least she was thinking about it, Elaine thought to herself. After the abrupt termination of lunch she was convinced Mercer was history. The challenge now was to close the deal.
“Not at all,” Elaine reassured her. “And what law might you be breaking?”
“You tell me. You have other people down there. I’m sure they’re not going away. I’m sure they’ll be watching me as closely as they’re watching Cable. So it’s a team, of sorts, a group effort, and I’ll have no idea what my invisible colleagues might be doing.”
“Don’t worry about them. They are highly skilled professionals who have never been caught. Listen, Mercer, you have my word. Nothing we ask you to do is even remotely illegal. I promise.”
“You and I are not close enough to make promises. I don’t know you.”
Mercer drained her martini and said, “I need another.” Alcohol was always important in these meetings, so Elaine drained hers too and waved at the waitress. When the second round arrived, they asked for an order of Vietnamese-style pork and crab spring rolls.
“Tell me about Noelle Bonnet,” Mercer said, easing the tension. “I’m sure you’ve done your research.”
Elaine smiled and said, “Yes, and I’m sure you went online this afternoon and checked her out.”
“I did.”
“She’s published four books now, all on antiques and decorating the Proven?al way, so she’s revealed something of herself. She tours a lot, speaks a lot, writes a lot, and spends half the year in France. She and Cable have been together about ten years and seem to be quite the pair. No children. She has one prior divorce; none for him. He doesn’t go to France much, because he rarely leaves the store. Her shop is now next door to his. He owns the building and three years ago kicked out the haberdashery and gave her the space. Evidently, he has nothing to do with her business and she stays away from his, except for entertaining. Her fourth book is about their home, a Victorian just a few blocks from downtown, and it’s worth a look. You want some dirt?”
“Do tell. Who doesn’t like dirt?”
“For the past ten years they’ve told everyone that they’re married, got hitched on a hillside above Nice. It’s a romantic story but it’s not true. They’re not married, and they appear to have a rather open marriage. He strays, she strays, but they always find their way back.”
“How in the world would you know this?”
“Again, writers are blabbermouths. Evidently, some are rather promiscuous.”
“Don’t include me.”
“I wasn’t. I’m speaking in general terms.”
“Go on.”
“We’ve checked everywhere and there’s no record of a marriage, here or in France. A lot of writers pass through. Bruce plays his games with the women. Noelle does the same with the men. Their home has a tower with a bedroom on the third floor and that’s where the visitors sleep over. And not always alone.”
“So I’ll be expected to give up everything for the team?”
“You’ll be expected to get as close as possible. How you choose to do that is up to you.”
The spring rolls arrived. Mercer ordered lobster dumplings in broth. Elaine wanted the pepper shrimp, and she chose a bottle of Sancerre. Mercer took two bites and realized the first martini had deadened everything.
Elaine ignored her second drink and eventually said, “May I ask something personal?”
Mercer laughed, perhaps a bit too loud, and said, “Oh why not? Is there something you don’t know?”
“Lots. Why haven’t you been back to the cottage since Tessa died?”
Mercer looked away, sadly, and thought about her response. “It’s too painful. I spent every summer there from the age of six through the age of nineteen, just Tessa and me, roaming the beach, swimming in the ocean, talking and talking and talking. She was much more than a grandmother. She was my rock, my mom, my best friend, my everything. I would spend nine miserable months with my father, counting the days until school was out so I could escape to the beach and hang out with Tessa. I begged my father to let me live with her year-round, but he would not allow it. I suppose you know about my mother.”
Elaine shrugged and said, “Just what’s in the records.”