Part 3
“That box contains the brooch.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Vanessa looked toward Arthur.
The appeal in her face was brief, but Amelia saw it.
So did Evelyn.
Arthur’s mouth opened. He seemed to search for a sentence that would preserve something—Vanessa’s dignity, the museum’s name, his own position. Whatever he found did not survive Evelyn’s expression.
“Place it on the table,” Evelyn said.
Vanessa’s chin lifted. “You don’t give me orders.”
“No,” Evelyn replied. “I decide whom I trust. At the moment, you should be concerned about that.”
The two women faced each other across the scattered pieces of the champagne flute. For years, newspapers had photographed them at the same charity luncheons, standing shoulder to shoulder beneath banners bearing their surnames. Amelia had once clipped one of those photographs for the museum’s donor archive. Vanessa had been laughing. Evelyn had been looking at her with something close to maternal affection.
Now Evelyn’s voice was almost gentle.
“Put down the clutch.”
Vanessa looked at the monitor again. Her own black-and-white figure remained frozen with one hand inside Amelia’s bag.
She crossed to a narrow marble console beneath a portrait and placed the clutch on it.
Daniel did not thank her.
He photographed the clutch where she left it. Then he removed a clear evidence bag and a second pair of gloves from a locked cabinet beneath the monitor. His movements remained precise, but anger had begun to show in the way he pressed his thumb against each glove.
“Do I have permission to open it?” he asked.
Vanessa folded her arms. “No.”
Daniel nodded. “Then it remains there until the appropriate people arrive.”
Arthur glanced toward the doors. “We have not called anyone.”
“No.”
“Perhaps we should first establish whether Amelia’s observation is correct.”
Daniel looked at him. “You mean before this becomes official.”
“I mean before we create an unnecessary scandal.”
Amelia felt the relief inside her harden.
The accusation against her had required no caution. Vanessa had thrown a drink, pointed at a bag, and called her a thief. Arthur had asked for discretion only after the footage showed who had placed the box there.
She removed her crooked name badge. The pin had bent, and the edge of the plastic had caught a thread in her blouse.
“I’d like to wash my face,” she said.
No one answered immediately.
Daniel turned. “The restroom beside the conservation office. Don’t use the staff corridor.”
She looked at him.
“I need everyone’s movements accounted for now,” he said. “Including mine.”
The words were reasonable. They still hurt.
“I’ll go with her,” Evelyn said.
Amelia almost refused. She did not want to be watched while wiping champagne from her skin. She did not want Evelyn’s pity, if that was what it was. But the older woman had already gathered the skirt of her emerald gown and stepped around the broken glass.
The two of them crossed the hall beneath the paintings.
Behind them, Vanessa said, “This is grotesque.”
Daniel answered, “You’re right.”
The restroom lights were too bright. Amelia stood at the sink and soaked a folded paper towel under cold water. Her hands shook hard enough that she dropped it.
Evelyn picked it up, threw it away, and handed her another.
“Thank you,” Amelia said.
The words sounded foolish.
She dabbed at her cheek. Pink champagne had dried near her hairline. A small piece of crystal glittered in the wet fabric at her shoulder, and she brushed it carefully into the sink.
Evelyn watched their reflections in the mirror.
“I believed her,” she said.
Amelia kept her eyes on the paper towel.
“For perhaps thirty seconds,” Evelyn continued. “Maybe less.”
“It was long enough.”
“Yes.”
Amelia rinsed the towel again.
“I recognized the box,” Evelyn said.
That made Amelia look up.
“The velvet box?”
Evelyn nodded. “I thought I did. My family used black velvet cases for several pieces. I have seen so many that I may be confusing it with another.”
“Was your brooch stored in one tonight?”
“No. The museum had its own presentation mount inside the display.”
Amelia dried the corner of her eye. “Then the box came from somewhere else.”
“Apparently.”
“Did Vanessa have access to the case?”
Evelyn looked away from the mirror. Her jeweled brooch rose and fell with a slow breath.
“She was with Arthur during the private inspection.”
“What private inspection?”
“Before the gala. I was late. Vanessa sent me a photograph of the display.”
Amelia set the wet paper towel beside the sink. “The display was closed before six.”
“So Arthur told me.”
“Only conservation and security were supposed to have access after that.”
Evelyn’s expression changed. Not shock. Something more personal.
“Arthur has known Vanessa since she was a child,” she said.
Amelia waited.
“He was a friend of her father’s. He mistakes familiarity for proof of character.”
“Did he let her handle the brooch?”
“I don’t know.”
They stood beneath the humming fluorescent lights. Beyond the restroom door, the museum remained silent.
Evelyn touched the jeweled clasp at her shoulder. “You may think I care only about the ruby.”
“I don’t know you well enough to think anything.”
The answer came out sharper than Amelia intended.
Evelyn accepted it.
“My mother wore that brooch at my wedding,” she said. “The marriage lasted eight years. The photographs lasted longer. When she died, I put almost everything in a bank vault because I disliked the way objects began speaking for people who were no longer present.”
Amelia watched her in the mirror.
“Then Arthur proposed the exhibition,” Evelyn continued. “He said the brooch belonged where people could see the work, not the family history. I liked that idea. It seemed less sentimental.”
“And now?”
May you like
“Now I would like to know what was in Vanessa’s clutch.”
When they returned to the hall, Daniel had placed temporary barriers around the bag, broken glass, and velvet box. Arthur stood at the monitor reviewing still frames. Vanessa remained beside the marble console, one hand resting near the clutch without touching it.
