A few days later Gina picked up her phone, toying with the idea of giving Nick a call. She hadn’t heard from him since their coffee break at the cafe, and she assumed he was busy—busy with his own company, as well as any further research he might be doing about the Heaths and their art. Every now and then she felt twinges of guilt about leaving the grunt-work—that is, research—to Nick. She had a laptop, she knew how to dig for info... there really wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t do some of the boring stuff. Instead, she left that for Nick, assumed he would do it while she stuck with the fun stuff—the breaking, the entering, the taking of stuff that didn’t belong to her.
If he hasn’t had a chance to do any digging yet, I’ll offer.
She pressed his number on the speed-dial.
“Hi,” he said in greeting. “Yeah, I’ve found out some stuff on Heath. Still waiting for some other info to come through, though.”
“Well, what have you got so far?”
Nick sighed audibly. “For starters, Ann Heath is back at home, since of course the police couldn’t hold her very long. My buddy at the Langham says the museum suspended Ann Heath without pay while they look into her dirty dealings; he thinks it’s just a formality before they can her for good.”
“Which she deserves.”
“No doubt. And apparently hubby Mitchell has been in town at his wife’s side, the picture of the devoted spouse.”
Gina snickered into the phone. “Some devotion. If he could have seen how ‘devoted’ she was being just a few hours before the cops showed up. I mean, her and that guy... she was probably devoting her brains out and—”
Nick broke in hastily. “Yeah, yeah, I get it—she was cheating on her husband. And cheating at the museum. It’s old news; let’s move on.”
“Uh, yeah, right. Now, about the husband, and that sculpture I saw at their house... you say the husband is in town now? Too bad, I’d love to get back in their house and see more of the stuff in that bedroom.”
“Well, I’m beginning to wonder if you might be right about there being something shady, or hinky, as you say, about that. Guess what Mitchell Heath does for a living?”
She rolled her eyes, glad he couldn’t see the gesture. “Well, because you say it like that, I’m going to guess it’s something that can be used for nefarious purposes, like maybe he works for the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, or some company that makes super-secret technology that he can steal and sell on the black market. I’m betting he’s not a rodeo clown.”
There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone. “You were warmer the first time—warmer with the former, you could say.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Gina rolled her eyes again and couldn’t hold back a groan.
Nick cleared his throat. “Anyway, as I said, your first guess was pretty good. Mitchell Heath is an art restorer. He’s employed by the National Art Conservation Institute, a very prestigious company that works with major museums, galleries, and private collectors all over the country—the world, even. His specialty seems to be historic sculpture.”
“And this is important... how?”
“An art restorer has to be very knowledgeable about different types of art, processes used in making the materials, methods of working with paint or wood or marble or whatever, be familiar with the works of major artists—you name it, and they have to either know it or know where to find it.”
