Page 34 of Ruthless Cross

"No. She'd paddleboard, but she didn’t like deep water. Another reason why her dying at sea seemed so wrong. She must have been terrified when she went overboard. It's hard to even think about it."

She gave him a compassionate look and put the photo back in the box. "Maybe you should keep some of these. I don't know anyone else who would want them."

"I was thinking about that. There's no one left from the Corbyn family that I knew. I never would have thought they'd all be gone so young." He cleared his throat. "But I need to look for the phone."

"There's not really much in here. I thought by the way Arthur treated this room that there would be more of Olivia."

"I would have thought so, too," he agreed. "On the other hand, Arthur didn't like clutter. And even though they had a housekeeper, he was always on Olivia to clean things up or give things away. He was very rigid when it came to mess."

"He was the same way with my mom. I don’t know how she managed to live up to his neat-freak standards."

"Olivia used to hide stuff away so he wouldn't find it and then get rid of it when she left the house." He stopped abruptly, his gaze moving to the floorboards by the window. "Dammit. Why didn't I think of that sooner?" He walked across the room and squatted down, pushing on the end of a floorboard. It popped right up.

"What's that?" Callie asked in surprise.

"It was her secret hiding place. And it looks like it was Arthur's too." He pulled out a flip phone and set it on the ground. Then he took out an envelope, his heart starting to race at the thought of what might be inside.

There were six photos, each one of a different painting.

"What are those?" Callie asked.

"I'm not sure. I don't recognize the pieces. I don't think I've seen them in this house. Have you?" He grabbed the phone and stood up, handing her the pictures as he did so.

"They don't look familiar. Why would he hide pictures of paintings in the floorboard?"

Only one answer ran through his head and his jaw tightened. "My guess is that the paintings are stolen."

"You think Arthur stole them?" she asked in amazement.

"No, I think he bought them. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. We first need to determine if these paintings were stolen. If they were, they could be the reason he's dead. I need to find out what the history is on each one, who owned it last, where it is now." He opened the flip phone, the kind of prepaid phone one might buy at any electronics store. It was locked by a password. "I'll get this to my tech, see if he can pull up the call history."

"This could be the clue you were looking for, the one that leads you away from my mom."

"I hope it is," he said, meaning his words. "But your mom does work in the art world."

"She plans events at the museum. She doesn't buy and sell artwork."

"She could still be a connection to someone else. I'm not trying to hang onto her as a suspect; I just don't want to lie to you." He was surprised by his own words, and he could see that Callie was startled too.

"You wouldn't lie to me if you thought it might get you to the truth?" she challenged.

"Last night I would have said that I'd have no problem lying to you, but tonight, I feel differently. I like you, Callie. I admire the way you protect your mother, and I feel for what you're going through. I'd like to be honest with you, and I hope you'll return the favor."

"I've told you everything I know."

"Good. Did you find the trust?"

"I did. I'll take it home with me. I don't want to stay here any longer. The house feels creepy."

"I don't blame you. I'll give you a ride home, so you can leave your mom's car here."

"Thanks. I want to put together a small bag for my mom, some familiar things to ground her in her life while she's at the hospital."

"Good idea. I wouldn't mind looking in your mother's room, either. I haven't been in there yet, except for the few moments when she was on the balcony."

Callie frowned at that reminder, then said, "That's fine. But I doubt Arthur would have left anything damning in their room. Not with the way my mom kept an eye on him."

He still wanted to take a look.

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