A Priceless Find

“You were there when it happened?” Paige asked with alarm.

“No. It happened very early in the morning. The police and paramedics were already there when I...barged in.”

“Barged in?” Paige probed.

“Yeah.” Chelsea grinned. “That’s exactly what I did. The detective in charge wasn’t very happy about it, especially when I first got there.”

At the ding of the oven timer, Chelsea hopped up. “I’ll tell you more—especially about the good-looking detective—but our dinner should be warm by now. And I didn’t answer your question about what we’re having. Since I was running behind all day, pizza was the quickest option for me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’m just happy we have a chance to spend time together.”

Chelsea slid a couple of slices on each of the plates and took them to the table.

“I have to say, it’s worrying to have something like this happen in Camden Falls,” Paige said. She took a bite of pizza before continuing. “One of the reasons I originally moved here with Jason was because it was such a safe, friendly place. That was also why Daniel and I decided to stay here after we got married.”

Chelsea and some of her colleagues had expressed similar sentiments during the day. “The police seem to be taking it seriously, if the number of cops at the store was any indication. I’m sure it’s an isolated incident and nothing to worry about,” she said, trying to mollify Paige. “I got the sense that the detective leading the investigation knew what he was doing and will get to the bottom of it soon.” She thought back to all the damage in the store. “I wouldn’t discount the possibility that it was kids causing trouble.”

“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” Paige responded. “Is that what the police believe?”

Chelsea shook her head. “I have no idea what they’re thinking. The detective in charge—Eldridge, Sam Eldridge—was tight-lipped about it.” Remembering how frustrated he’d been with her when she’d first shown up, but how he was more...tolerant, maybe even amused, by the time she’d left, Chelsea grinned.

“What’s so funny?” Paige asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“Not funny, really. The detective in charge has got to be one of the most intense, serious people I’ve ever met.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a personality clash with you,” Paige said, returning Chelsea’s smile.

“You’d think so...”

Paige studied Chelsea with interest. “You like him?”

Chelsea swirled the wine in her glass as she considered Paige’s question. When Mindy strolled over, she reached down to stroke her. “I suppose I do. I can’t put my finger on why, though. He’s not the sort of guy I’d usually be attracted to. He seemed so somber and...brooding.” She glanced at Paige, with unconcealed amusement. “It would be an interesting challenge to see if I could get him to lighten up! As for his looks...” Her smile spread. “He’s the best-looking cop—heck, the best-looking guy—I’ve seen in a while.”

“You haven’t been interested in anyone since you and Joel stopped dating,” Paige observed. “I was hoping the two of you might get back together, especially since you see each other at the gallery most days.”

Chelsea lifted a shoulder, then let it drop as she thought about the gallery owner’s grandson. “Joel’s okay, but the relationship had run its course. It was a little awkward at work at first, but fortunately his job in marketing and promotions frequently takes him away from the gallery.”

“No chance the two of you might get back together, then?”

Chelsea shook her head. She regretted how far they’d drifted apart, but she couldn’t be in a relationship without that spark, and they’d definitely lost it. She wasn’t prepared to settle for anything less.

“Aw, Chelsea, he seemed to make you happy.”

“He did, for a while. It just didn’t last. We’re better as colleagues than partners.” She took a slow sip of wine. “What you and Daniel have? It’s special. That’s what I hope to find one day.”

Paige gave Chelsea’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve got a lot to offer. Joel didn’t realize how lucky he was.”

“That’s not fair,” she said in Joel’s defense. “It wasn’t his fault. It just...wasn’t meant to be. I’ll meet the guy who’s right for me one day. I’m sure of it. Yeah, Joel understands the world of art. We have that in common, even though he’s not as passionate about it as I am, but he isn’t particularly...sensitive. Nor did he want kids, which, as you know, is high on my priority list when I get married.”

“You’ve always said that as an only child, you’re keen on having a large, boisterous family. That shouldn’t have come as a shock to him.”

“He knew about that from the start. It only became an issue when the relationship began to get serious.” She stared into her glass for a moment. “I don’t know if that was the final straw,” she said pensively and gave her head another little shake. “Something changed. He...he wasn’t as attentive as he’d been at first. He seemed to become preoccupied.”

“With what?”

“I don’t know. He started canceling dates. Lost track of conversations.” Chelsea frowned. “He forgot the second anniversary of our first date. On the positive side, I’m glad it hasn’t affected my relationship with his grandmother. Being in the gallery owner’s bad books would not have been a good outcome, especially with my career aspirations.” Chelsea clinked her glass against Paige’s. “So it’s all good, and I wholeheartedly believe that I’ll meet the person I’m meant to be with. We’ll find each other when we’re intended to. In the meantime, I love my job at the gallery but I don’t want to be a sales associate forever. I want to get the curator position when Charles Hadley retires in a couple of years. He’s been the perfect mentor, and he’s been super sweet about helping me. I’ll focus on my career for now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a great-looking guy like Detective Eldridge!”

* * *

“WHAT HAVE YOU got on the jewelry store robbery?”

Sam glanced up at Colin Mitchell, surprised his captain would be inquiring about the occurrence the day after it happened. “Why do you ask?”

Colin pulled back a chair facing Sam’s desk and folded himself into it. “I heard a couple of the techs talking about it in the lunchroom.”

Sam raised his brow. “That’s not unusual.”

“No. That isn’t. But what is unusual is that you wouldn’t predict whether they’d find any evidence.”

Sam nudged his laptop away and leaned back. “Yeah. That’s correct.”

“You want to tell me why?”

“Sure. I’d be interested in your take on this whole thing, anyway. And I’ll ask you to keep an open mind,” Sam added with a smile. “I believe whoever did it expected the place to be unoccupied. The fact that the owner was there at that time of day is outside the norm. Unexpected. Also, there was a lot of damage done. Too much. The time spent causing it could’ve been better used grabbing some pricey bits of bling. The most obvious items—engagement rings, high-end watches—were left untouched. What was taken, in comparison, is nickel-and-dime stuff. The extent of damage and low return for the effort says amateur to me, but it still doesn’t make sense. The time wasted on destruction, when it could’ve been put to smarter use, leads me to conclude that the person either panicked or flew into a rage. Carelessness and intentional vandalism doesn’t feel right. I’m leaning toward rage rather than panic.”

“I agree,” Colin said after a moment. “Panic due to finding the owner there could explain the attack, but would likely have caused the perp to flee. He risked getting caught by spending all that time destroying the place. We didn’t find any prints, nothing we could use, am I correct?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. Most of the prints we found were those of the owners and their nephew, who also works at the store.”

“But you had enough doubt not to bet on it.”

“Yeah. I can’t ignore the conflicting signals. My theory’s a stretch, so this is where I need you to keep an open mind. I know we haven’t seen this in Camden Falls—not to the best of my knowledge, anyway—but Willowbrook Avenue is where we have our concentration of high-end retailers. When I worked the beat in Boston, it wasn’t unusual for pros to prepare for a major heist by creating a disturbance nearby to test police-response times. I’ve been wondering if that might be the case in this situation.”

“As you said, it’s a stretch. I haven’t heard of that happening here, either. Besides, Camden Falls is a small town. No retail or commercial business is that far from us, and our department isn’t large. There’d be significant variability in response times, based on what else we might have on the go at any moment and how many of us would be otherwise occupied.”

“That occurred to me, too.”

“Have you considered an addict, looking for some quick drug money?”

“Yeah. The cash drawer wasn’t tampered with. If that was the case and even if the perp was flying high, he’d have gone for cash or the flashier items, in my opinion. What got me thinking about the response-time angle is the fact that it wasn’t the security company that alerted us. As we both know, when an intrusion alarm goes off, more often than not, it’s a failure in the system or a false alarm. It also means that the overall response time is longer, since it goes through the monitoring company, and they’ll attempt to contact the premises first. If they can’t reach anyone and if their standing orders specify it, they call us. That could take anywhere from five to ten extra minutes. In this case, the intrusion alarm had already been deactivated by the owner when the perp entered. The panic button, linked directly to us, was triggered.”

“That makes sense, since the owner was on the premises.”

“But Arnold Rochester doesn’t recall activating the panic button.” Sam gestured to keep Colin from interrupting. “Yeah, we could speculate that although he doesn’t have a concussion, the trauma might’ve caused short-term memory loss. But we found him some distance from the location of the panic button, and that idea just doesn’t ring true to me.”

“So, how do you plan to proceed?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ll have a closer look at some of the stores along that stretch of Willowbrook. And it wouldn’t hurt to route some extra patrols through that area for the time being.”

Colin stood up. “I can do that in the short-term, but if you’re right and we’re dealing with pros, who knows how long they might wait before acting. You’re aware of our resource constraints. We won’t be able to keep it up for more than a couple of weeks.”

“Understood.”

Sam was satisfied with how their discussion had gone. It probably worked in his favor that Colin had started his policing career in a big city, too. Without that, he might have dismissed Sam’s theory outright. But it was the only plausible one Sam could come up with, short of a random act perpetrated by a very stupid person.

He brought up a mental image of the street and the dozen or so stores. The Sinclair Gallery came to mind, along with a spirited woman with short dark hair. Chelsea Owens. He remembered her name without having to check his notes. She’d said she worked as a sales associate. He’d never set foot inside the gallery. His taste in art wasn’t eclectic. He liked his art plain and simple, and as realistic as possible. Photographs were even better. He wasn’t big on abstracts or old paintings, with their gloomy colors and depictions. He frankly found them depressing. But Sam knew some of that stuff was valued ridiculously high. He had no idea what the pieces at the Sinclair Gallery cost.

Maybe it was time to have a look and find out.

He’d read in the morning paper that there was going to be an exhibit and auction at the gallery Saturday evening. Ever since Katherine had left him and moved back to Boston, his social calendar had been meager, and he had no plans for the weekend.

The exhibit presented an ideal opportunity to check out the gallery.

CHAPTER THREE

THE GALLERY’S SHOWROOM looked perfect. Chelsea had worked darn hard to make sure it did. The annual exhibit and auction tended to draw a big crowd and was an important event for them. The gallery itself was a dominant presence on Willowbrook Avenue and in the community. It had been ever since Mrs. Sinclair established it when she’d moved to Camden Falls from Cambridge. She was already widowed at the time. Her son and daughter-in-law had died in the same tragic accident as her husband, so she was also Joel’s guardian. Mrs. Sinclair was a bit of a celebrity in Camden Falls, and the gallery’s annual gala was on many townspeople’s social calendars, but it also attracted patrons from Boston, Cambridge and well beyond.

The event was a big deal, and Chelsea had nagged Mr. Hadley until he’d agreed to let her handle it mostly on her own. Joel had coordinated the media, public relations and advertising, but the showroom was all hers!

It was another test she’d set for herself. Despite being her own worst critic, she was pleased with how everything looked.

The hors d’oeuvre stations had been set up and the members of the waitstaff were finishing final preparations in the kitchen. The area where the auction would be held was ready and cordoned off. Nothing seemed out of place.

Chelsea relished these quiet moments before the guests started to arrive and she could be alone to take pleasure in her work.

Mr. Hadley was in his office, changing into his tuxedo, and Joel had gone to his apartment to get ready. He’d pick up his grandmother on his way back. Tina, the gallery’s administrative assistant, and Deborah, the gallery’s other full-time sales associate, had already changed into their dresses. The event was advertised as black-tie optional, but Mrs. Sinclair expected the gallery team to dress up, as did most of their regular patrons. Mrs. Sinclair might be a sweet old lady, but she had exacting standards for herself and the people who worked for her. And her resolve, once she’d set her sights on something, was unwavering.

No, there was no room for Chelsea to make a mistake.

She moved to where she’d positioned a wingback chair for Mrs. Sinclair. Vital and youthful though she looked, she was nearing eighty and—as much as Chelsea knew she hated her own weakness—she could no longer be on her feet all evening. She needed short rests whenever time allowed.

After taking one last look around the room, it was time for Chelsea to get ready, too. In the women’s washroom, she changed into the black cocktail dress she’d bought for the occasion. It was plain other than a sheer-lace panel across the shoulders, and some lace at the hemline just below her knees. Chelsea removed the two jewelry boxes from the case she’d brought with her. She opened the long slender one and carefully pulled out the beautiful single-strand pearl necklace. Admiring it first, she secured it around her neck. Next, she took the matching earrings out of their box and fastened them to her earlobes. The set had been her beloved grandmother’s, who’d passed it on to her mother. Chelsea’s mother had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday. Chelsea treasured it, because it reminded her of her grandmother, who’d died a few years back and whom she missed dearly.

Chelsea missed her mom and dad, too, but at least they were only a phone call or an hour-and-a-half’s drive away in Fitchburg.

To complete her attire for the evening, she’d decided on black stockings and—although she knew she’d regret it by the end of the evening—stiletto-heeled black pumps. Rather than using mousse to get her favored spiky look, she’d styled her hair straight and sleek that morning, parted on the side and tucked behind her ears. Because she opted for a lighter shade than she usually wore, her lips were a more natural-looking shimmery rose.

She studied herself in the washroom mirror with a critical eye, much as she’d assessed the showroom earlier.

Elegant wasn’t a word she usually associated with herself nor, frankly, was it something she normally strove for. But tonight? She thought she’d hit the mark.

It was important to her to set the right tone. Not just because she’d put so much personal effort into the event, but because of her goal to be the next curator. She wanted to ensure that Mrs. Sinclair found absolutely no fault with the evening...or her.

Soon after she reentered the showroom, the guests started to trickle in. By seven thirty, the gallery was packed. There were so many people, Chelsea worried that they’d run out of hors d’oeuvres. Or even more concerning, champagne.

Finding a moment to herself, she hurried to the kitchen to see how the supplies were holding up and passed several reporters along the way. She’d hoped there’d be a strong media presence, even though that fell in Joel’s area of responsibility. Getting excellent earned-media coverage was an important side benefit of the event. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have imagined that arts reporters for two Boston media outlets and one from Cambridge would be there, along with all the locals.

Assuring herself that everything was fine in the food and beverages area, she circulated through the room, much like a conscientious hostess. She engaged guests while leaving the media to Mr. Hadley until Mrs. Sinclair and Joel arrived. When she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, from All That Glitters and Shines, she excused herself from the couple she’d been speaking with and went to greet them. Placing kisses on their cheeks, she stepped back to scrutinize Mr. Rochester. Although they’d spoken on the phone, she hadn’t seen him since the robbery, because the store was closed while repairs were being made under Adam’s supervision.

Chelsea was relieved that the only indication of the trauma Mr. Rochester had suffered was the small bandage he sported on his temple. “How are you feeling?” she asked him with genuine concern.

“I’m fine. As well as can be expected, at my age.” He looked at his wife lovingly. “Between Carla’s fussing and Adam’s, I can hardly wait for the store to open so I can feel useful again.”

“Now, Arnold, don’t start complaining. We have every right to worry about you. It’s part of our job descriptions,” his wife said with a smile, slipping her arm through his.

He patted her hand. “I know, dear, but I really am okay. And speaking of Adam...” He turned back to Chelsea. “He’s here somewhere if you’d like to say hello. I’m afraid Carla and I won’t be staying long. I need my rest.”

“I understand perfectly, and I’m grateful all three of you could make it, especially under the circumstances.” She glanced around the room and saw Adam in conversation with someone in front of a Jose Royo painting. “Can I get you anything before I go see Adam? A glass of champagne?”

“Oh, we’re fine, thank you,” Mrs. Rochester replied.

“Well, then, I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” Chelsea added, before wishing them a good night.

She kept working the room and waited until Adam was alone before going to him. She’d known him for as long as she’d been at the Sinclair Gallery. They got on well enough, but with him she’d never felt the mutual affection she did with his aunt and uncle. She’d gotten to know him a little better while she and Joel had dated. Joel and Adam had been friends since they’d gone to school together. Although not as close as they used to be, they were still on good terms. Considering the hardships Adam had endured as a child, she understood why he was reserved. She told herself she should be more accepting, but their personalities were so different—Adam, being more of a loner and introspective—they’d never gotten close. Maybe part of it was that Adam didn’t seem to show an appreciation for art, one of her great loves.

No matter. He was a guest, and she’d make sure he was having a nice time.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, walking up to him.

“Yeah.” Adam motioned to the crowd behind them. “Impressive turnout. With deep pockets, I’ll bet,” he added.

“We have a good mix of people who appreciate art,” was Chelsea’s diplomatic response.

“As an example, how much is this piece?” he asked, turning back to the painting.

For the higher-valued works, they didn’t display the asking prices. They wanted to have the opportunity to discuss the paintings with anyone who might be interested, rather than immediately scaring them off with the price. Chelsea studied the Royo, too. “It’s a classic example of a contemporary artist whose work is favorably compared to old masters. The best we’ve had in some time. It’s valued at a hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”

“That’s a substantial amount of money, even for the wealthy. We don’t have anything in that price range at All That Glitters and Shines.”

“Trust me. We don’t sell many pieces in this price range, either,” she said and left as soon as she felt she could do so politely.

A quick perusal of the room indicated there were even more people present now. For her own peace of mind, she decided to pop into the kitchen to satisfy herself that they still weren’t running low on anything.

As she exited the kitchen, relieved that they had plenty of everything, she saw Joel with his grandmother. He was guiding her protectively into the room. One thing she’d always liked about Joel was how considerate and loving he was to his grandmother. Family was important to Chelsea, and the way Joel treated his grandmother had endeared him to her when they’d first met.

As usual, Mrs. Sinclair was elegantly dressed. Unless Chelsea was mistaken, today she was wearing a Chanel evening suit in rose, a perfect color to complement her pale and remarkably unlined skin and silver-white hair. Chelsea signaled one of the waitstaff to prepare a cup of the herbal tea Mrs. Sinclair preferred, before heading over to the entrance to greet the owner.

Chelsea was pleased by the smile that appeared on Mrs. Sinclair’s face when she reached her. “Mrs. Sinclair, it’s wonderful to see you. I hope you find everything at tonight’s event to your liking.”

Mrs. Sinclair took Chelsea’s hands in her own. Her grasp was cool and unexpectedly firm. “It’s all lovely, my dear. I’m certain our gala will be a success.”

“I hope so,” Chelsea murmured. “I’ve positioned your chair next to the Angelo bronze,” she said, gesturing. “Oh, and here comes Sandra with your tea.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Sinclair said, as she accepted the cup from the waitress. “That’s very sweet of you, but enough worrying about me.”

“I’ll keep Grandmother company,” Joel assured Chelsea. “Why don’t you go mingle and sell some art,” he said, not unkindly.

“I’ll do that,” Chelsea responded with a grateful smile for Joel. “If you need anything, Mrs. Sinclair, please let me know.”

Chelsea did as Joel suggested, and she began to relax. Every indication was that the evening would be a triumph. They’d received a few advance bids above the reserve for the works that would be auctioned at the end of the evening, and she personally made a couple of minor sales. Then she saw Mr. Anderson, one of their faithful patrons, standing in front of a Babineux, obviously admiring it. If she could make that sale, it would be a bonus to an already fantastic event.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” she said as she stopped beside him to look at the painting of a woman and her child.

“Good evening, Chelsea.” He smiled at her briefly before turning his attention back to the painting.

“Henri Babineux, as I’m sure you know, is one of the most renowned artists of his day. This piece was painted circa 1862. Today is the first day we’re showing it. I don’t think we’ll have it long. Wouldn’t it look fabulous in your collection?”

“You might be right,” he replied. “Excellent turnout, by the way. I don’t usually go for these types of events, but I couldn’t resist coming this evening to see what new treasures you might have available.”

“I trust you’re not disappointed.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not.”

She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice. “Should I get a sold sign for it?”

“Now, now! I might be known for impulse buying, but even I’m not quite that spontaneous.” He turned shrewd eyes on her. “However, you could tell me how much it would set me back if I did decide to acquire this painting.”