At the front door, they hugged her like old friends and said they might be back tomorrow. When they were gone, Noelle tried to remember a sale of that magnitude. She could not.
At 10:05 the following morning, Luke and Carol breezed back into the store with bright smiles and high energy. They said they’d spent half the night looking at photos and mentally moving pieces around their unfinished home, and, well, they wanted more. Their architect had e-mailed them scaled drawings of the first two levels and they had sketched in designs and placements of where they wanted Noelle’s furniture. She couldn’t help but notice that the house covered nineteen thousand square feet. They went to her second floor, spent the entire morning measuring beds, tables, chairs, and armoires, and in doing so wiped out her inventory. The bill for the second day was over $300,000, and Luke again whipped out the black credit card.
For lunch, Noelle locked the store and took them to a popular bistro around the corner. While they ate, her lawyer checked the validity of the credit card and learned that the Masseys could buy whatever they wanted. He also dug into their backgrounds but found little. Why did it matter? If the black card worked, who cared where the money came from?
Over lunch, Carol asked Noelle, “When will you get more inventory?”
Noelle laughed and said, “Well, obviously sooner rather than later. I was planning a trip to France in early August, but now that I have nothing to sell I need to move it up.”
Carol glanced at Luke, who seemed a bit sheepish for some reason. He said, “Just curious. We are wondering if perhaps we could meet you over there and shop together.”
Carol added, “We love Provence, and it would be a blast hunting for antiques with someone like you.”
Luke said, “We don’t have kids and love to travel, especially to France, and we’re really into these antiques. We’re even looking for a new designer who could help with the flooring and wallpaper.”
Noelle said, “Well, I happen to know everyone in the business. When would you want to go?”
The Masseys looked at each other as if trying to recall their busy schedules. Luke said, “We’re in London on business in two weeks. We could meet you in Provence after that.”
“Is that too soon?” Carol asked.
Noelle thought for a second and said, “I can make it work. I go several times a year and even have an apartment in Avignon.”
“Awesome,” Carol said with great excitement. “It will be an adventure. I can just see our home filled with stuff that we find ourselves in Provence.”
Luke raised a wineglass and said, “Here’s to antiques hunting in the South of France.”
3.
Two days later, the first truck was loaded with most of Noelle’s inventory. It left Camino Island bound for a warehouse in Houston where a large space was waiting. A thousand square feet had been leased to Luke and Carol Massey. The bill, though, would eventually cross the desk of Elaine Shelby.
In several months, when the project was over, for better or for worse, the lovely antiques would slowly reenter the market.
4.
At dusk, Mercer went to the beach, turned south, and drifted along at the water’s edge. The Nelsons, from four doors to the south, stopped her for a quick chat as their mutt sniffed her ankles. They were in their seventies and held hands as they walked the beach. They were friendly to the point of being nosy and had already extracted the reason for Mercer’s little vacation. “Happy writing,” Mr. Nelson said as they left her. A few minutes later she was stopped by Mrs. Alderman, from eight doors to the north, who was walking her twin poodles and always seemed desperate for human contact. Mercer wasn’t desperate, but she was enjoying the neighborhood.
Almost to the pier, she left the water and approached a boardwalk. Elaine was back in town and wanted to meet. She was waiting on the small patio outside the triplex she had leased for the operation. Mercer had been there once before and seen no one but Elaine. If there were others involved in the surveillance, or if someone was shadowing her, she was unaware of it. Elaine had been vague when quizzed about it.
They stepped into the kitchen and Elaine asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“Well, we can order a pizza, sushi, or Chinese takeout. What will it be?”
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Neither am I. Let’s sit here,” Elaine said, pointing to a small breakfast table between the kitchen and the den. She opened the fridge and removed two bottles of water. Mercer took a seat and looked around. “Are you staying here?” she asked.
“Yes, for two nights.” Elaine sat across from her.
“Alone?”
“Yes. There’s no one else on the island as of today. We come and go.”
Mercer almost asked about the “we” part but let it pass.
Elaine said, “So, you’ve seen Noelle’s store.” Mercer nodded. Her nightly report by e-mail was deliberately vague.
“Tell me about it. Describe the layout.”
Mercer walked her through each display room, upstairs and down, adding as much detail as possible. Elaine listened carefully but did not take notes. It was obvious she knew a lot about the store.
“Is there a basement?” Elaine asked.
“Yes, she mentioned it in passing, said she had a workshop down there, but had no interest in showing it to me.”
“She’s holding the writer’s table. We tried to buy it but she said it’s not for sale. At some point soon you’re going to buy it, but perhaps you’ll want it painted. Perhaps she’ll do this in the basement, and maybe you’ll want to take a look to see a sample of the new color. We need to have a look in the basement because it adjoins the bookstore’s.”
“Who tried to buy it?”
“We. Us. The good guys, Mercer. You’re not alone.”
“Why is this not comforting?”
“You’re not being watched. We come and go, as I’ve said.”
“Okay. Suppose I get into her basement. Then what?”
“Look. Observe. Take it all in. If we’re lucky there might be a door that leads to the bookstore.”
“I doubt that.”
“I doubt it too but we need to know. Is the wall concrete, brick, wood? We might need to go through it one day, or night. What about the store’s video surveillance?”
“Two cameras, one aimed at the front door, the other in the back above the small kitchen area. There could be more but I didn’t see any. None on the second floor. I’m sure you already know this.”
“Yes, but in this business we triple check everything and we never stop gathering information. How is the front door locked?”
“Dead bolt, with a key. Nothing fancy.”
“Did you see a rear door?”
“No, but I didn’t go all the way to the rear. I think there are some more rooms back there.”
“To the east is the bookstore. To the west is a realtor’s office. Any door connecting to it?”
“None that I saw.”
“Nice work. You’ve been here three weeks, Mercer, and you’ve done a superb job of blending in and not arousing suspicion. You’ve met the right people, seen all you can see, and we’re very pleased. But we need to make something happen.”