Where Truth Lies. Christiane Heggan

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      She had done her homework. “My father is expecting me. I have airplane tickets. I’m practically packed.” Why was she giving so many explanations when a simple no was enough?

      “From what I could see, in the couple of days that I was there,” Sarah continued, “New Hope is a peaceful, closely-knit community that thrives on art and tourism. Naturally, Steven’s murder has left the residents shaken. The only other incident that caused as much emotion happened more than twenty years ago, when a local girl disappeared and was never found.”

      “Sarah—”

      “Just one week, Grace, that’s all he’s asking. You said the two of you had remained friends. If that’s true, won’t you grant a friend his last wish?”

      “Please don’t do that.”

      But Sarah was relentless. “I’m sure your father would understand.”

      Grace felt herself weakening. Damn that woman. She was right about one thing, though—Grace’s father would understand. And she would still have three whole weeks with him. “I might be able to arrange it.”

      “Splendid,” Sarah said, her voice more confident now. “You have carte blanche to reopen the gallery for business and run it any way you wish. Some paintings are there permanently, others are on consignment. The majority are from local artists, and selling quite well, I must add.

      “And in case you’re skittish, I hired a cleaning crew to scrub the place from top to bottom. You wouldn’t know a murder was committed.” She spoke fast and earnestly, sounding almost like a real estate agent anxious to make a sale. “The police impounded Steven’s Porsche before releasing it. I had a driver take it back to Philadelphia. They also took his cell phone and laptop. I understand that’s standard procedure in a murder case.”

      It was much more than Grace wanted to know, but she didn’t interrupt her. People dealt with their grief differently, and if this was Sarah’s way to deal with hers, who was she to question it?

      “The only item I brought back,” Sarah continued, “is his Rolex, because it’s quite valuable. I left his clothes in his cottage for the time being. I may give them to a local charity later. All pertinent paperwork—client contracts, show schedules, commercial invoices, etc.—can be found in the desk at the gallery. Oh, and you’ll need the code for the burglar alarm. I didn’t write it down, for safety reasons, but you shouldn’t have any difficulty remembering it.”

      “I’m terrible with figures.”

      “Not this one. The code is your birthday, month and year, and the password, should the alarm go off accidentally, is Madame Bovary. I don’t get it, but perhaps you will.”

      She did. Madame Bovary was Grace’s favorite book. She had read it a number of times and had insisted that Steven read it, too. After much protest, he had agreed to give the book a try, and had hated it. “You realize that my decision won’t change. I won’t accept the inheritance.”

      “I understand that.”

      Grace looked at the will again. It was difficult to be mad at Steven for putting her in such a situation. He had always been an impulsive person, and often drove her crazy with his last-minute decisions. Nor could she be upset with Sarah for wanting to make sure that her son’s wishes were respected. She may have been angry with him, but her love had remained just as strong.

      “Are you all right with Steven’s decision to leave me the gallery?” she asked. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting that.”

      “I never doubted your talents as an art expert, Grace.”

      That didn’t exactly answer her question, but Grace didn’t push it. “All right. I’ll go to New Hope, for one week. Not a minute more.”

      “Those are the terms.” She reached into her handbag again. This time she retrieved a thick envelope. “In here you’ll find everything you’ll need—the address of the gallery, as well as Steven’s cottage, where you’ll be staying, the keys to both, a notarized letter from Steven’s attorney in Philadelphia, in case anyone questions your presence.”

      “You think someone will?”

      “I doubt it. While I was in New Hope, making arrangements to have Steven’s body sent home, I spoke with Josh Nader, the chief of police there. He was very accommodating. I told him about the will, although I did not mention the special stipulation should you turn the inheritance down. As far as he and everyone else in town is concerned, you are the new owner of Hatfield Gallery. Chief Nader said to call on him if you need anything.”

      “Were you that sure that I would agree to go?”

      Sarah didn’t answer the question, but pointed at the envelope in Grace’s hands. “I also included five thousand dollars to cover your expenses—”

      “I won’t take it.” Before Sarah could protest, Grace opened the envelope, took out the money and handed it to the older woman, whose mouth opened in surprise.

      “But why not? You will be incurring expenses.”

      “Please put your money away before I change my mind.”

      “Is your airplane ticket refundable?”

      “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Put your money away.”

      Unaccustomed to taking orders, Sarah’s defiant gaze held hers for a while. When Grace didn’t flinch, Sarah let out a soft laugh. “I should have taken time to know you better, Grace. I might have liked you.”

      Three

      Innsbruck, Austria October 9

      FBI Special Agent Matt Baxter stopped to catch his breath and turned to check on his two buddies, Austrian police officers Stefan Birsner and Ernst Verlag. Both were in superb shape, but at this altitude, the steep climb up the Hintertux glacier was a challenge for even the most experienced climbers.

      The lift had dropped them off at the Gefrorene Wand Summit and they’d had to walk the rest of the way to the cabin, where, hopefully, the yearlong chase would end. Stefan raised his hand in acknowledgment, and Matt nodded before resuming his walk. They were lucky, first to have found someone who would operate the lift, and second, that at this early morning hour, the trails were empty. The last thing they needed, should the plan backfire, was an audience.

      Matt looked up. The cabin wasn’t much farther. It looked desolate, surrounded by all that snow, and unoccupied, which concerned him. The last report he’d received from the Vienna office was that Basim Rashad, one of the most wanted terrorists in the world, had rented the cabin for the week.

      Based on the information, Matt had enlisted the help of the Austrian police, and had mapped out their route. He had turned down an offer to use a police helicopter. The sound of a chopper would alert Rashad, and who knew what that maniac was capable of if he found himself cornered? Matt had no intention of returning to Vienna with the ashes of another martyr who had died for his cause. His mission was to bring the Iranian back alive so he could face trial for masterminding a deadly bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Indonesia.

      Matt stopped and surveyed the cabin, hoping that Rashad was still in bed and not watching the mountain through his window. СКАЧАТЬ