Page 75 of Canvas of Lies
Ford opened his mouth as if to question that, but I saw Hanson give a subtle shake of her head. “Can you tell me where you both were between nine and ten last night?” she asked.
Kat’s eyes flew wide as she processed the detective’s implication. My veins felt like they were home to a hive full of buzzing bees, but the question wasn’t unexpected.
“We had an eight o’clock reservation at Panache, on Canal Street. We were there until just after ten, then went straightback to my apartment. The keycode on the front door logs entries and there’s a security camera at the entrance, if you need to verify that. I can give you the landlord’s number. We were home around quarter after, maybe ten-thirty at the latest,” I said quietly.
Hanson nodded, then a grim-faced doctor walked into the waiting room and made a beeline for the group of us. The man glanced at Hanson and Ford, who both nodded toward Kat. I knew what was coming before the doctor even spoke and tightened my grip on her hand.
“Miss Willoughby, I’m very sorry. Your father’s injuries were just too extensive. We did everything we could, but he didn’t make it through surgery.”
Kat gave a tiny shake of her head, blinking rapidly. “He’s dead? You’re telling me he’s dead. We just saw him.” Her voice rose on the final word and I wrapped my arms around her.
“Thank you,” I said to the doctor as Kat turned into my embrace. I cupped the back of her neck, smoothed the curls still tousled from sleep, and met Hanson’s eyes over her head.
The detective’s expression grew gentle. “I am sorry for your loss, Ms. Willoughby. We’ll give you a few minutes.”
Kat lifted her head to nod. Though her cheeks were pale, they were dry—but I felt the slight tremble working its way through her limbs.
“Thank you,” she said faintly.
As the police walked away, my lips cruised along her hairline. She seemed almost unaware that I was speaking until I reachedher ear and murmured, “It’s okay. Everything will be okay, Kitten.”
“Someone else tried to kill us, most likely the same someone who just succeeded in killing my father. This seems distinctly not okay, Nico,” she replied in a low voice, closing her eyes for a second.
“Yeah,” I muttered, my thoughts spinning.
When she opened them again, her gaze swept over my expression. “What is it?”
“I was worried about Lavigne’s retaliation over the painting, but this couldn’t have been him, not yet. Even with the authentication process, he wouldn’t have acted without the painting in hand, and you were right. Why would he want your father dead? It wouldn’t get his money back.”
Kat nodded slowly. “So it makes no sense for us to change the tracking back now. Whatever happened to my dad, whatever happens when the packages are delivered, it won’t be because of you.”
Part of me felt a keen sense of relief, the other struggled with the edge of an even greater anxiety at the number of unknowns we now faced. Regardless of her relationship with the man—or lack thereof—Kat had just lost her father. The urge to comfort her swept over me like wildfire.
Whatever danger was out there, I would keep her safe. The alternative was unthinkable.
Ford and Hanson returned to us with two cups of coffee and gestured for us to sit before handing each of us a cup. For onemad moment, I wanted to tell them everything, spill every detail of the past few weeks, but self-preservation won out.
“What now?” I asked, swallowing the confession that threatened to burst free.
“Now we push on with the investigation. The plates you photographed were stolen and have been replaced by new ones that were reportedly taken off a car two days ago outside of Syracuse. We’ll have unmarked vehicles outside both of your residences for the time being. If you see anything, remember anything, call me. Any time, day or night,” Hanson said quietly.
We both nodded our assent, then Kat drew a steadying breath and asked, “Can I see him?”
The detective nodded. “Yes, of course. His personal effects will be returned to you once everything is processed.”
I kept my arm around Kat, but the trembling had finally subsided. Instead, the steel of resolve straightened her spine and she gave one tight nod.
“It still doesn’t feel real. Maybe seeing him will help.”
Hanson offered a gentle smile. “Of course. Someone will let us know when they’re ready for you. In the meantime, we’d like to ask just a few more questions. When I told you about your father’s accident, you said, ‘Then it wasn’t him, he wasn’t behind it.’ What does that mean?”
Kat met her gaze straight on. “After our accident, you asked if I thought he was responsible. I wasn’t sure, because I didn’t think he would do something to hurt me, but it was a definitepossibility. If the same people came after him, then it stands to reason he wasn’t the one who sent them after us, doesn’t it?”
When Hanson only waited silently, I tilted my head. “It could mean that, or it could mean something went wrong between your father and whoever he may have hired to come after us.”
“You two are quick,” Hanson said. “Did Mr. Willoughby give you back your painting yet, Mr. Beaumont?”
I nodded. “We met yesterday afternoon, privately, at his suggestion. Kat went with me. We were at the estate for less than an hour, went back to my place to change, then we left for dinner.”
