Page 48 of The Aura Answer
“And you, ma’am?” The officer turned to Gracie, who amazingly hadn’t retreated from Nick’s protective hold.
“Grace Jenkins,” she answered in a weak voice. “We were just checking on a friend’s sketches, when...” She gestured helplessly.
Cops liked helpless. They probably also liked white and female with a good bosom. One offered her a seat. The other found bottled water to hand her.
Nick had a strong suspicion she was playing the part of wilting magnolia. The Grania he knew never wilted.
While Mrs. Janus continued in a rant about the city not providing enough protection against drug gangs ruining lives of innocent business owners, Gracie studiously ignored the artwork he’d rescued.
So, she had seen it too.
With every fiber of his body he wanted out of there, away from officialdom and authority.
But those were Albert Walker sketches in those frames—and the one the thief had stabbed him with wasmantel size.
While Nick debated how they might smuggle out those works under the nose of the police, a burst of energy blew in through the connecting door to the gallery.
“Mother! Are you all right? Why are all the police cars outside?”
Verity ... was as curvaceous as Bertie’s sketch had shown. Today, she wore a shrink-wrapped yellow print dress that cut across her thighs. Her long auburn hair tumbled in luxurious waves over her shoulders. She was just the kind of high-maintenance woman Nick loved...
Once upon a time.Women who dressed to be noticed had more ulterior motives than he cared to invest in these days. They had been meaningless fun back in the day, but he was done with game-playing. Now that he’d seen how a proper familyoperated... He’d probably never have one, but at least he now knew arm candy like Verity Janus was not family material.
Since when had he wanted family?
While the two statuesque gallery owners threw themselves into each other’s arms and talked over one another, Gracie stood up. The cops barely noticed.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gracie whispered, taking his arm.
He glanced questioningly at the sketches, but she shook her head.
Right-o. Never going to escape with those.
Wielding his Oxford accent and a condescending smile, he passed out more cards, ordered the officers to call him if needed, empathized with the sniveling gallery owner, then took Gracie’s arm and escaped.
They could interview Verity Janus at a better time.
“Evie would have read auras and looked for ghosts and interrogated everyone in the room,” Gracie complained as they escaped. “I make a terrible detective.”
“You are a mother with responsibilities. Taking risks is not what you do,” he reminded her. “And I, for one, am grateful. I am still none too comfortable around the law. I was a hair’s breadth from sitting behind bars with my cousins.”
She absent-mindedly patted his coat sleeve. “Evie would have saved you. That’s what she does. Everyone can see you were duped.”
“Yeah, that’s what I am, a stupid dupe. Just what a bloke likes to hear. But this stupid dupe is beginning to think there’s a reason someone is after Bertie’s sketches. Who even knew about them?” As they hurried to the car, he started mental lists.
“Teddy Turlock, Tobias, Verity, her mother, Sammy, us...” She obediently listed the obvious.
“And quite possibly whoever killed your mayor,” he reminded her. “If Bertie had sketches up there, the murderer stole them.”
“Or the drug dealer did, unless they’re one and the same. I should text Evie. She needs to talk to Bertie more.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began typing as they reached the car.
Nick was shaken enough to not even respond to the idea of calling for help from a dead drug addict. His mind traveled to more sensible grounds. “They need to be looking into the backgrounds of the Turlocks. I’ll wager they both carry guns and the younger one probably knows where to find drugs.”
He didn’t like Teddy Jr.’s type—all flash and no cash in his experience. The privileged class activated the resentments of his childhood.
Nick assisted Gracie into the driver’s seat while his mind grappled with theft. He should probably hide the sketches he’d bought from Sammy, except he didn’t think anyone knew he had them other than Evie’s family. Unless Sammy had told the killer...Dang.
Mental alarms rang. He’d never worried about himself before, but there was an entire family of innocents...
