Chapter Eight
The air was crisp and the sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. There wasn’t a hint of the storm that brewed off the coast and was expected to hit later that night. It was the kind of December day Quinn knew was envied by other parts of the country blanketed under inches, if not feet, of snow.
On the downside, her patch of the world would never look like the winter wonderland portrayed on Currier and Ives holiday cards. There was a secret part of her that would love to experience, just once, a Christmas where she could ride in a horse-drawn sleigh past barren trees, branches laced with snow, and farmhouses with warm light glowing from the windows. Since the likelihood of that ever happening was infinitesimally small, the sleigh bells chiming in the Christmas song filling the interior of her truck would have to do.
Traffic was light that Saturday morning, so Quinn made good time as she drove west toward the Pacific Ocean on a curving, tree-lined section of Sunset Boulevard.
The night before, when James forwarded the address to her, she knew she’d be venturing into one of the most expensive and exclusive enclaves in all of Los Angeles. Pacific Palisades was an area less-than-wealthy librarians feared to tread. This was her chance to see that world from the inside.
She turned left off of Sunset and slowed the truck so she could read the house numbers painted on the curbs. The residences were either large, well-maintained homes with perfectly manicured yards or hidden behind walls and copses of trees.
Parked in a driveway was one of the most amazing cars she’d ever seen. The sapphire blue convertible supercar was sporty and sleek and looked as fast as it was expensive.
She spotted James’s rental and pulled up behind it. She’d barely come to a stop and he was already yanking open her door. Had he seen her at Red’s the night before after all and was about to call her out? She was ready to plead temporary insanity and hope for the best.
“Did you see that incredible machine?” He pointed at the supercar gleaming in the sunlight.
“I did.” She shut off the engine and silently celebrated the fact her exploits from the evening before were not the featured topic.
“It’s a Lamborghini LP550-2 Gallardo Spyder. It has 550 horsepower and can go from zero to sixty in three point nine seconds.” His boyish excitement was adorable.
“That’s impressive. Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”
“Yes, please. One with a big red bow on the bonnet, like in the adverts.”
“Big red bow. Got it.”
“It will only set you back about a quarter of a million dollars.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Yikes. Pricey.” She grabbed her computer bag and purse and slid down from the seat. As they walked together toward his car, she said, “Since I’m unwilling to rob a bank to buy you a car like that, how do you feel about me knocking off four zeroes from the car’s price tag and buying you a Lamborghini necktie instead?”
“It would be one of my most cherished possessions,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. His sincerity took her aback and she made a mental note to look for a Lamborghini tie online.
He stooped and rummaged around the front seat of his car. Quinn couldn’t help but admire the view. James certainly wore his jeans well.
She smiled innocently when he straightened up and held out a plastic-lidded cardboard cup. “I brought you some Earl Grey.”
“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.” She took the cup in her free hand and sipped. It was warm and pungent and wonderful.
He dove into the car again, extracted his briefcase, and slammed the door.
They walked through the wide gap in the stucco wall at the front of the property and up the driveway. She jumped at a noise behind her and glanced over her shoulder. A gate hidden in the wall slowly slid across the opening.
Another stucco wall stood between them and the house. James pressed a button on the intercom panel next to the security door. While they waited for a response, Quinn blew out a breath.
He lightly rested a hand on the small of her back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered. Her eyes darted from the intercom to the camera pointing at them from above and finally to his face. “I feel a little out of place.”
“You may feel out of place, but you don’t look it.” His smile was warm and his touch comforting.
The intercom crackled and a male voice drawled, “Yawp.”
James’s hand remained on her back when he looked straight up at the camera. “James Lockwood here, with my associate, Quinn Ellington.” She lifted her tea toward the camera in an awkward salute.
“Hey, James!” the voice boomed. “Come on in.”
The door buzzed and they stepped into a courtyard. To their right, water burbled up from the top of two hexagonal stone pillars that stood in the middle of a square pond. Water flowed from it through a foot-wide channel to the front of the house.
They strode up the walkway that ran alongside the trough. The front door opened before they arrived, revealing a short, middle-aged man with wild, curly hair, and a friendly smile. “Great to see you again, James.”
“You too,” he answered as they stepped into the house and shook hands. “Paul, this is my research associate, Quinn Ellington. Quinn, this is Paul Shelton. He’s my client’s business manager and takes care of the house when he’s away.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Shelton,” she said and extended her hand. When James had called Paul a majordomo, she’d pictured a tall, thin, dour man in formal wear. In reality, the man shaking her hand was the very opposite in faded jeans, green rubber flip-flops, and a black Pink Floyd hooded sweatshirt. She mentally kicked herself for allowing a stereotype to color her expectations. It was something she was always fighting as a librarian, so she couldn’t believe she’d just done the very thing that drove her crazy.
“Please, call me Paul.” His eyes were riveted on Quinn when he said, “James, I can see why you’ve been spending so much time at the library. You told me you were working with a lovely librarian. You didn’t tell me how exquisite she is.”
Quinn felt her cheeks grow hot. She almost spun around to see if he was talking about some other librarian behind her.
She glanced over at James. His ears were beet red.
Paul’s gaze darted between their faces and a knowing smile formed. He released her hand and asked, “Quinn, can I give you a quick tour of the place before you get to work?”
Happy to move out of the Entryway of Awkward Greetings, she said, “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“James, do you want to come with us? Or should we meet you in the office in a little while?”
“I could go on another tour.”
Amusement twinkled in Paul’s eyes. “I thought so.”
They ventured farther into the house. The channel of water continued all the way to the backyard. If not for the thick, clear plastic covering it as it flowed under the floor, a midnight run to the refrigerator could be a dangerous proposition.
She gazed up at the soaring ceiling and then at the formal sitting room to their right. Colorful modern art paintings hung on stark white walls. A black grand piano sat near the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that ran the length of the house. The glass allowed for a spectacular view of the backyard and the ocean beyond.
White, black, gray, and chrome were the featured shades throughout the house. As they walked, Quinn noticed some of the items she and James had researched. While it was fun for her to see them, they only reinforced her overall impression she wouldn’t want to live there. It was too much like a museum. Wealthy, sophisticated people threw swanky cocktail parties in houses like that. She couldn’t picture Wyatt rolling his toy dump truck across the cold, marble floors.
“Thank you for the tour,” Quinn said at its conclusion. “This is the most incredible house I’ve ever seen.”
“It is something special, isn’t it? I’m glad you enjoyed,” Paul said. “Well, I’ll leave you two kids to your work. If you need anything, I’ll be in the backyard soaking up some sun.” He gave them a quick wave and walked outside through the sliding glass doors.
Quinn followed James down a long hallway to the office. It, like all the other rooms in the house, was enormous. Black leather sofas lined two walls. Several framed paintings leaned against one. A large, black lacquered desk sat at the center of the room. The items they would be examining were laid out atop it: the antique shelf clock she’d begun researching the day before, coins, a pair of flintlock dueling pistols in a green felt-lined wooden box, and military medals attached to faded ribbons.
There was one object that stopped her dead in her tracks. She gaped at the jewel-encrusted item and asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Is that . . . Is that a Fabergé egg?”
James removed his laptop from his briefcase, set it on the desk next to the camera already there and opened it. “That’s what we’re here to find out.” He smiled, clearly enjoying how awestruck she was.
As mesmerized as she was by the probably authentic Fabergé egg, a different object brought a smile to her face. The item that had started this unexpected adventure: the Celtic brooch.
She set her computer bag down, unzipped a front pocket, and removed a pair of white cotton gloves.
James chuckled and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised you have a pair of those with you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She slid the glove on her left hand and flexed her fingers. “I rarely go anywhere without these, book tape, scissors, a ruler, and book glue.”
“For any book repair emergencies you may encounter at the grocery store?”
She tugged on the other glove. “Sure, you laugh now. But someday you’ll thank me when my roll of book tape and I are all that stand in the way of global chaos and certain doom.”
“Of this I have no doubt.”
She picked up the brooch and held it in her open palm. A thrill buzzed through her. She held an object over a thousand years old. She hefted the brooch and found it to be heavier than she expected. At six inches in diameter, it easily covered her entire hand. She studied the detail on the front. The photograph hadn’t done justice to the craftsmanship she now beheld in person.
She turned the brooch over and traced a gloved fingertip over the runic lines scratched into the silver. “Ragnar owns this brooch,” she whispered, echoing the inscription. James had been especially keen to translate the runes and it was the first thing they’d worked on earlier that week. They’d spent several hours poring over books and websites before finally translating the etched Old Norse. It was a bit of a letdown when the inscription turned out to be nothing more than a statement of ownership. Still, the fun of the journey more than made up for their less-than-earth-shattering findings.
She felt James’s gaze fall on her and he said softly, “I’m sure Ragnar wore that brooch on his cloak with great pride.”
Quinn studied the runic letters and pictured Ragnar sailing a dragon-headed longship toward the northeastern coast of England. “I’m sure he did,” she answered quietly. “I feel bad for the guy he pillaged this from. It must have been terrifying to have big, brawny Vikings rampaging through his village.”
“Indeed.” His voice turned contemplative. “Think of the journey that brooch has taken over the centuries so that you, Quinn Ellington, at this very moment can hold it in your hand.”
Her breath caught and she looked at him. “That’s really quite profound.”
“I have my moments,” he replied with a modest smile.
They held each other’s gaze until her hammering heart warned her she was venturing into dangerous territory. Flustered, her mouth engaged. “Did you know ‘Ragnar’ is the name of the mascot for the Minnesota Vikings?”
At the odd look he gave her, she added quickly, “It’s a football team.”
His eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead.
“American football, not what you call football and what we call soccer.” She cringed and set the brooch back on the desk. “What, um, what do you want to tackle first?”
“You’ve already done some research on the clock. Why don’t you start there?” He moved the clock in front of the black office chair. “Have a seat.”
She rolled it back and sat. “Wow. This won’t make my derrière go numb like the torture device at work does.” She ran a hand over the supple leather. “Do you think Paul would notice if I accidently took it with me?”
James chuckled as he unfolded a piece of gray felt cloth and laid it on the desk. “I’m sure you rolling it down the driveway wouldn’t draw his attention at all.”
She laughed at the thought of it and turned her attention to the clock. The white lacquer case was rectangular and about two feet tall. Tiny red flowers were painted along the front edges and arch above the dial.
Quinn looked up and watched James place a coin on the felt. “Your client must be a seriously wealthy dude. The guy’s got a Fabergé egg, for Pete’s sake. I can see why he’s installed so much security.”
James picked up the camera, pointed it at the coin, and snapped a picture. He lowered it and said, “Most of his items are irreplaceable.”
“You’re doing an excellent job of keeping his identity a secret, by the way. I’m inside the guy’s house and I have no idea who he is.” Quinn hadn’t spotted one personal photograph in the house—candid, formal, or otherwise. “Just so you know, from now on I’m going to call him ‘Mysterious Art Collector Guy.’”
James removed the coin from the felt and replaced it with another. “I’m sure if he knew, he’d be quite amused.”
Quinn set her elbow on the desk and dropped her chin into the palm of her gloved hand. With a sly look, she said, “You know I could find out who owns this house if I tried. A few searches, a couple of phone calls . . .”
“I know you could,” James answered. He raised the camera again and took another photo. “I’ve witnessed the impressive amounts of information you can uncover when you set your mind to it.”
“So why shouldn’t I use my skills to find out who Mysterious Art Collector Guy is?”
His eyes snapped up to meet hers. The amusement she’d grown accustomed to seeing in them had vanished. “Because I’m asking you not to.” The seriousness in his tone startled her.
She didn’t know what was behind his strong reaction, but she trusted him all the same. “Okay,” she said with a tight nod.
His face relaxed into a soft smile. “Thank you.”
She returned his smile and pointed at the clock. “I guess I should get back to it.” She stared at the masted sailing ship painted on the front for a moment to allow her unsettled feelings to pass.
Focus restored, Quinn turned the clock around and carefully pulled open the thin wooden door to inspect the inner workings. There were ratchets and gears and a couple of levers on the front of a brass box with more gizmos inside it. She knew nothing about clocks and was about to close the back when she spied a small brass peg sticking out of the wooden base. It looked like a tiny metal mushroom.
She leaned in to inspect it more closely. Curious how tightly it fit into the wood, she put her finger on top of the peg and wiggled it. Without meaning to, she pushed it down. She jumped when a thin drawer popped out at the bottom of the clock. “I was not expecting that.”
James looked up from the camera. “Where did that come from?”
“I pressed on a little peg and a drawer slid out.”
He set the camera down and raced around to her side of the desk. “Is there anything in it?” Their heads nearly touched when he bent forward and leaned his elbows on the desk.
Her eyes crossed when his divine scent enveloped her. Despite the distraction, she tugged the drawer out farther. Inside it was a yellowing piece of paper.
“Do we take it out?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“We don’t know how brittle the paper is. It could crumble the second I touch it.”
He looked at her side-eyed. “You mean you could shut it back up and leave it there without reading it?”
“Hey, I’m just looking out for you. It’s your butt on the line if this goes south.”
“Thank you for showing concern while throwing me under the bus at the same time.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned her face toward him and was treated to the strong jawline of his profile. “What’ll it be?”
“Executive decision. We open it.”
“Because no one else knows about it and if it turns to dust we keep this to ourselves? No harm, no foul?”
“Exactly.”
“Works for me.” Her gloves caused her to lose a significant amount of dexterity. She didn’t want to take the chance of crumpling or tearing the paper, so she tugged them off and set them aside. “Here goes nothing.” She pinched the paper between her finger and thumb and slowly lifted it from the drawer. Once it was safely on the desk, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding.
“There’s a ring. It was hidden under the paper.”
“Well that’s a fun twist.” She held it up. From its small size and delicate design, it was clearly a woman’s ring. “The silver’s really tarnished,” she said, noting the darkened metal of the band.
“That’s not surprising. Think how long it’s been hidden away in that drawer.”
She rotated the ring slightly to allow the light to catch the facets of the red gemstone. “What do you think? Ruby or garnet?”
“I’m sorry. I left my jeweler’s loupe in my other trousers.”
She snickered and nudged his shoulder with hers. “Maybe the note will tell us.” She set the ring down and with great care unfolded the paper. Sharply angled cursive handwriting covered the page. The black ink had faded, but was still easily legible.
“‘My dearest love,’” James read. “‘My ardor and affection for you has only grown during our torturous and most wretched separation.’ Well this just got really interesting.”
“It sounds like a line from a steamy romance novel.”
“Know a lot about those, do you?”
“Hush, you, and keep reading.”
“If I do both, I’ll be reading to myself.”
She heaved a mock put-upon sigh. “Fine. Read aloud, please.”
He cleared his throat with dramatic flair and continued. “‘How my arms ache to hold you to my bosom so that I may enchant you with whispered endearments and declarations of my passionate and undying love for you.’” James grinned. “I’m not sure ‘endearments’ and ‘declarations’ are what she’s hoping for.”
Quinn laughed.
“‘Oh, the hours pass so slowly as I yearn for such rapturous time when we can be together again, even now with your husband remaining in London.’” His eyebrows shot up. “Scandalous! She’s a married woman.”
“Five bucks says he’s married, too,” she said evenly.
“I’ll take that bet and defend the honor of my gender against such slander.”
Her only response was an assured smile.
“‘Until then, my heart fills with joy each time I hear the peals of your sweet laughter ringing through the halls of Summerfield. You are like the shining sun piercing through the joyless and lugubrious gloom that is my wife.’”
“Told you,” Quinn said, her tone smug.
“Yes, yes. I owe you five dollars.” It was clear he was attempting to appear peeved, but the glee in his eyes completely negated it. He looked down at the paper again. “‘I am tormented daily by the knowledge that I married the wrong sister.’”
“No!” they shouted at the same time.
“He hooked up with his wife’s sister,” James said in disbelief.
“You don’t have to pay me five dollars. Neither gender is looking too good in this.”
“Not even a little. Do you want me to finish reading it?”
“Yeah, we still don’t know what the deal with the ring is.”
“Sure, Quinn,” he said with delighted skepticism. “It’s all about the ring.”
An eyebrow arched.
He laughed. “Hint taken. ‘Until we may partake in our much-anticipated reunion, please accept this ring as a token of my humble esteem and most ardent love. Yours in sincere adoration, H.’” James picked up the ring and mused, “She never took the ring from their clandestine drop box. What do you suppose happened? The husband showed up from London unexpectedly?”
“Could be. Maybe H’s wife found out and shut it down.” She shook her head. “Man, that’s rough. She not only finds out her husband is cheating on her, but he’s doing it with her own sister? That’s an episode of Dr. Phil just waiting to happen.”
“For all of their sakes, I hope it turned out better than we fear it might have.”
“I hope so, too.” There was a dangerous edge to her voice when she said, “I’ll tell you what. If I found out my husband was cheating on me, he’d be walking funny for a year after I got through with him.”
“He’d deserve it,” James replied without hesitation. “Any man who would cheat on you is an idiot and a fool.”
“That’s sweet of you to say,” she said quietly. She brushed at a strand of hair that fell across her forehead and added with a wry smile, “You can come bail me out after I get arrested for assault.”
“I would be honored to be your phone call,” he said and returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “Why don’t we just make sure you marry a man who would never do such a thing instead?”
“That’s a much better idea.” The conversation needed to move to safer ground, so she said, “We need to tell Paul about the note and ring. I bet Mysterious Art Collector Guy will be excited by it.”
“I’m sure he will. I’ll photograph the note, the ring, and the drawer and add everything to the inventory.”
“I guess I’ll get back to work, too, although I’m not sure anything will be quite as exciting as finding a torrid love note and a ring in a secret compartment of an antique clock.”
They worked for the next hour, the relaxed silence between them broken only by a question or comment about the item one of them was working with. Around noon, Paul strolled into the office to take their orders for lunch and was thrilled by their unexpected find. Quinn watched with interest as Paul read “H’s” note. She and James shared knowing smiles when Paul’s eyes grew the size of saucers and said, “His sister-in-law?”
Later, the three ate take-out Chinese food on the backyard patio. They chatted about the weather, football, and the upcoming Christmas releases of various blockbuster movies. After lunch they worked a couple more hours before James announced they were done for the day.
Quinn packed her things and went off to use the bathroom before the twenty-five-minute drive to her apartment. “That’s a huge bathroom,” she said upon returning to the office. “Seriously, I think it’s bigger than my entire apartment.”
She looked over at him when she didn’t receive a response, witty or otherwise. He stood motionless in the middle of the office. His features were taut and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
From the mildly green tint to his face, she wondered if the Chinese food had disagreed with him.
“I was just, um, I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight.”
A wave of relief washed over her. It didn’t exactly thrill her that having dinner with her made him look nauseated, though.
Before she could answer, he said, “I know it’s last minute and you probably already have plans, but I just thought I’d ask.”
“I—”
“If you’re busy, or don’t want to, you know, for whatever reason, it’s okay.”
“James—”
“It’s just that there’s this Italian bistro on Santa Monica I drive past every day and I really want to try it.”
“I—”
“I haven’t eaten there yet because from the minute I saw it, I knew . . .” He stopped, gulped, and swiped his sleeve across his forehead. “I knew I wanted to go there with you. On a date.”
“What?”
He took a step toward her. “I want to take you on a proper date, Quinn. I want to drive to your flat, collect you, and take you to Lucrezia’s because it has white twinkle lights on the awning and candles on the tables.”
“James—”
“I know this is completely out of the blue since I made a point to say it wasn’t a date when we went to In-N-Out last night. I was trying to convince myself I could spend time with you and keep it strictly professional.”
“James—”
“But I can’t. I’ve never had more fun or felt more comfortable with anyone than I do with you. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can before I have to go back to London. Please say you’ll go out with me tonight.”
With a soft smile, she asked, “Are you through?”
He vigorously nodded. His lips were clamped closed, as if he was afraid to utter another syllable.
“I feel the same way about you.”
His apprehension melted into a heart-stopping grin. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” It was too late to guard her heart. His return to London would leave a crater in her life no matter what. “I’d love to go on a proper date with you.”
“I’ll make a reservation and ring you to let you know when I’ll come by to pick you up.”
“Are you sure you want to drive that much? You’ll already be in Santa Monica. Why don’t I just meet you at Lucrezia’s?” When his smile wavered, she realized she and her pragmatism had stepped in it. He was clearly committed to giving her the full and proper date experience. Backtracking, she said, “Although now that I think about it, you should get Rasputin’s approval before we go out.”
“Rasputin?”
“My feline roommate.”
“Right. I hope I pass muster.”
“I’m sure you will.” She picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Walk me to my car?”
He smiled and hefted his briefcase from the desk. “With pleasure.”