“Tell me, whose chances would you rate against her? The FBI? Or another devious bitch?”
Harriet didn’t answer, but she did drop her arms to her sides.
“The way I see it, you’re fucked. Rumour says your father’s made bad business decision after bad business decision, and now he can’t leverage his senate position to borrow more money. How much does this place cost to run? Ten thousand a month? Fifteen? When will the cash run out? If you sell many more horses, you won’t have enough breeding stock left for next year.”
Oh, shit. Was Emmy right? The pieces all fit, although Alaric would never have put it quite so bluntly.
Hegler’s mouth dropped open. “No, that’s not right. Tell her, Harry.”
Harriet didn’t so much sit back down as collapse into the chair. “I…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I can’t. Stéphane, I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you, but…”
“How bad is it?” he whispered.
“Daddy borrowed against this place. If I don’t find a hundred thousand dollars by the end of June, then the bank wants to foreclose. Until he got sick and I started going through his paperwork, I had no idea. I mean, I should have guessed when he wouldn’t replace Julio after he left last year, or Austin, but… I don’t know what to do. I’ve been paying people out of my savings for the last two months, but they’re almost gone. And now Kyla’s back, trying to ruin my life.”
“We’ll be homeless?”
“I’m doing my best to prevent that. Or at least to delay things. If Daddy has to leave this place before his time, it’ll kill him. He’s living in the past now. Every time I go into his room, he’s talking to Dominique.” She met Emmy’s gaze. “Please, I know you have to take the painting back, but is there any way you could wait until…until he’s gone?”
They’d broken her. Harriet had gone from strong to sobbing in the space of ten minutes. Dammit, Alaric hated this part of the job. Bringing down people who deserved it was satisfying; ruining a woman trying to hold her family’s life together hurt.
“I might have a solution.”
Everyone looked at him.
“There’s a fifty-thousand-dollar reward on offer from the Becker Museum. When we return Red, the cash is yours.”
Harriet’s glimmer of hope turned to confusion.
“But I don’t understand. Why would you give up your money?”
“Maybe we’re just Good Samaritans.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Alaric’s turn to sigh. “It’s a long story, but Red After Dark wasn’t the only painting stolen from the museum that day, and it’s not the main target of our investigation. Have you heard of The Girl with the Emerald Ring?”
Hegler nodded. “When we realised what Irvine had done, we looked up the details of the robbery. The Girl with the Emerald Ring was the most valuable painting taken, wasn’t it?”
“It was. We’ve been trying to retrieve her for a number of years, and right now, this is the best lead we’ve got. Just know that we don’t much care about Red After Dark or the reward. Our only goal is to get Emerald back where she belongs. Help us, and we’ll help you.”
Harriet’s voice rose as nerves got the better of her. “But we know nothing about The Girl with the Emerald Ring. My father’s never mentioned it, or any of the other paintings.”
“No, but whoever gave Red to your father might have information, and they must have communicated with him somehow.”
“What, and you want to interrogate Daddy? He’s gone downhill rapidly since last week. This morning, he didn’t even know who I was. I very much doubt he’ll be able to tell you anything.”
“There are other ways. If we can get into his phone…. His emails… Have you ever heard your father mention the School of Shadows?”
“The School of Shadows? What’s that? A training camp for spies or something?”
“It’s the name of a group of art thieves,” Alaric told them. “Nobody’s ever been able to identify the ringleader, but rumour says they’ve been responsible for some of the biggest heists in the last four decades. Not only Emerald and Red but a Van Gogh, a Monet, works by Cézanne, Rembrandt, da Vinci… The list goes on.”
“I don’t recall him ever mentioning any school. Stéphane?”
Hegler shook his head. “It’s not a name I remember either.”
“My father never confided in me, Alec. Is your name even Alec?”
“Close. It’s Alaric. Alaric McLain. And this is Emmy.”
“Alaric.” Harriet let out a long sigh. Her expression was pained. “I guess I could give you Daddy’s phone.”
Hegler didn’t seem hopeful. “I don’t think these people used the phone.”
“What do you mean?” Harriet asked the question before Alaric could.
“There was a gentleman who came to the house unexpectedly a week before your father sent me to England. While you were in town. He brought a fruit basket and said he was an aide to Senator Schuman, but why would anyone deliver a gift by hand all the way out here? The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he was the one who started the ball rolling. Irvine was different after he left. Happier. Remember we thought it was the change of medication?”
“Did you call Senator Schuman to check?”
Hegler looked sheepish. “What was done was done. I didn’t see how it would help.”
Harriet patted him on the hand, the gesture supportive rather than affectionate. Alaric reconsidered his age estimate. Harriet had to be closer to thirty if she’d gone to school with Kyla Devane.
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it does,” Emmy said. “We’re trying to track down the people behind this scheme, and one of them was right here. What did the man look like?”
“Uh, older than the average political aide. I guess in his early fifties? Or maybe his late forties? Most of us are worn out by the time we hit thirty. His hair was thinning, though. Probably due to the stress.”
“What colour was his hair?” Alaric asked.
“Medium brown.”
Alaric glanced at Emmy. Had she
