Page 26 of Don't Look Back

“Thank you.” She had half a dozen questions to ask about Juliette’s association with her father, but it was embarrassing to admit he’d told her nothing of his trips to Malta and even more humiliating as she met person after person in this gallery to discover that her father had never, not once, mentioned his wife or daughter during his travels.

At least her suspicion of a secret second family had been dispelled. None of the people here who knew her father had known he’d had a wife and child at all, let alone a local family.

“Is this your first visit to Malta?” Juliette asked.

“Yes. I just arrived last night.”

“Valetta is a great starting point, but I hope you make it to Gozo while you are here.”

“I plan to take a boat to Gozo next week.”

“Good. I have work in a gallery in Rabat—Victoria—where I live. Let me know when you are coming, and I can show you the gallery, give you a tour of the city.”

“That’s a very generous offer.”

“Your father brokered many sales for me in the US. It is the least I can do for his daughter.”

Yet another person who mentioned her father’s assistance as an art broker, yet he’d never mentioned this aspect of his trips abroad. He’d certainly never worked with any of the auction houses she consulted for. But then, he was brokering private sales between artist and buyer, with the price decided up front.

How lucrative had that work been for him?

Over the woman’s shoulder, Kira spotted a tall man with a receding hairline and white skin flushed red from the heat outside. He mopped the sweat from his crown with a handkerchief as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on her, and he smiled and made a beeline in her direction.

She was fairly certain she knew who she was about to meet. She’d expected him to be here when she arrived and had spent the first twenty minutes cursing that they’d never FaceTimed or exchanged photos as she searched the room for him. But clearly, he’d recognized her.

He paused a few feet away and opened his arms in a stiff but welcoming gesture. “Cousin Kira?”

She smiled and accepted the awkward—and thankfully loose—hug. “Cousin Andre. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

He took her hands and beamed down at her, cocking his head. “I saw your photos on the news websites. You are even more lovely in person.”

At least that explained how he’d recognized her, but she shuddered to think of the news stories he referenced. Last December, her face had been all over international news, her photo taken without her permission as she left the hospital and later when she’d shown up at the courthouse with Diana for the arraignment.

She’d never told Andre about her role in the arrests last December. Now he not-so-subtly told her he knew. At least the Navy had promised to keep her name out of the news reports from earlier this week. She was here to learn about her parents, and the last thing she wanted was prying questions about either ordeal.

She gave him a tight smile at the compliment, then turned to Juliette. “This is my father’s nephew—my step-cousin—Andre Stoltz, visiting from Berlin.”

The artist shook Cousin Andre’s hand, then said, “I’ll let you two catch up. Be sure to call me when you visit Gozo.” She handed Kira her card.

“I will, thank you.” She slipped the card into her purse and watched as the older woman approached an imposing-looking older man in a bespoke suit. His sharp gaze lacked warmth as it fixed on Kira and Andre, triggering a slight shiver. He turned and looked down at Juliette and kissed her cheek, then placed a possessive hand on the woman’s small waist.

She’d assumed he was a patron, but the hand and kiss added another element to their relationship. Not that it was any of Kira’s business. But if he was likely to join the Gozo tour, Kira would pass.

She returned her attention to her newfound cousin. “I’ve met several associates of my father already. It seems he was quite the patron of the arts in Malta.”

Andre leaned close and spoke softly. “I’m sure he knew how to cultivate sources. A good way to see people’s private collection is to become part of the community.”

“Yes. But you never said he brokered deals. Both contemporary art—which wasn’t exactly his specialty—and historical pieces.”

“Did he? I wasn’t aware. But it makes sense.”

She supposed it did. He couldn’t just tell everyone he wanted to search their catalog for stolen art. But was his work official, or under the table?

Who was she kidding? His workhadto be under the table. Odds were her father had bank accounts she didn’t know about in Malta. The country had a reputation for money laundering. Russian oligarchs took great advantage of that, and the government was currently in hot water with the international community for not seizing the assets of oligarchs who’d been sanctioned in the last few years.

She and Andre circled the room, with her introducing her cousin to the people she’d met before he arrived. These people weren’t just the movers and shakers of Malta’s art scene, they were from all over the region—Morocco, Italy, Spain, Egypt. And most of them knew her father personally or by reputation. They respected and admired him and were shocked to hear of his passing.

If nothing else, this trip was a decent memorial for her father, whose graveside service had been attended by only a handful of people. Freya had been there, one of the few who’d known him from his teaching days. Not that he didn’t have friends, but most of his colleagues had been left behind in Pennsylvania when he retired.

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