Murder 101. Faye Kellerman

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       CHAPTER SEVEN

      After walking through a sally port, Decker and Rina walked into a mirrored-wall gallery fronted by display cases filled with gems, jewelry, and objets d’art. A twig-thin blonde of forty was perusing the wares, her face and eyes registering indifference at the pieces being shown to her. Decker supposed it would take something massive to compete with the rock on her finger. As he regarded her face, he thought about the difference between the coasts. It wasn’t that L.A. didn’t have its fair share of “look at me” gals, but the women seemed to relish their bling. This Park Avenue princess seemed to delight in her disinterest.

      On the black velvet tray was a mine’s worth of ice that had been set into earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. Maxwell Stewart looked up and gave Decker a nod. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and plaid bow tie. As the woman talked, he listened and brought out another piece of serious sparkle. He seemed professional but not fawning. A minute later, he pressed a button. Another forty-year-old woman, wearing an emerald dress and pearls, came through the back. She had curly red hair and a big, white smile.

      Max said, “Could you excuse me for a moment, Dawn? I have an appointment that I can change but I have a feeling that Detective Decker can’t.”

      “Detective?” Dawn’s face finally registered an emotion: a speck of curiosity. “What’s going on?”

      “Nothing important.” He smiled at Decker. “No offense.”

      “None taken.”

      Dawn looked Decker up and down, her eyes completely ignoring Rina.

      Max said, “Jill knows the inventory better than I do. She can help you find whatever you want.” He lifted up the countertop and came over to Decker and Rina. “Welcome to the gallery.” His eyes on Rina. “Maxwell Stewart.”

      “Rina Decker.” She held out her hand. “We can wait until you’re done with your client.” Her lips formed a big smile. “We don’t mind browsing.”

      “Speak for yourself, Lone Ranger,” Decker grumped.

      “You could get into a lot of trouble here,” Max said.

      “Thankfully I’m limited by my wallet.”

      “Nonsense. We have something for everybody.”

      “Let’s hear it for jewelry ecumenicalism,” Rina said. “Why don’t I have a look around while you two gentlemen talk? There’s a lot here to keep me occupied.”

      “Enjoy yourself. But I feel compelled to tell you that our best pieces are downstairs.”

      Decker said. “Is that where you’re hiding all those Tiffany lamps that I saw online?”

      “I’m not hiding anything,” Max said. “This is not a museum. Everything is for sale. That’s how I pay my mortgage. Would you like a tour?”

      Decker looked at Rina who said, “Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.”

      “Not that we can buy anything,” Decker said.

      “Not right now but there’s always the lottery,” Rina said.

      “Exactly.” Max was already headed down the stairs. “And when you do strike it rich, remember me with fondness.” He flicked on the lights and the modern world of technology suddenly gave way to an elegant life of yesteryear.

      Dozens upon dozens of Tiffany lamps in all shapes, patterns, and sizes, some of them geometric in design but more of them highlighting nature. The shades included, but were not limited to, dragonflies, lilies, daffodils, poppies, peonies, dogwood, cherry blossoms, woodbine, lemon leaf, and the graceful blues and purples of the draping wisteria vine—one of the most desirable shades, Max explained. The swirling glass was infused with rich colors, fashioned with such precision that the final work had depth as well as sparkle. Each one was spectacular: as a gestalt, it was eye popping.

      The lamps were set on tabletops designed by masters of art nouveau furniture: the free-flowing signature pieces of Louis Majorelle along with the precise inlay work of Émile Gallé. Cabinets and display cases contained Tiffany desk items in all kinds of patterns. Original Alphonse Mucha posters, featuring images of girls with swirling hair and free-flowing gowns, hung on the walls. Along with the artwork was a poster of a painting by Gustav Klimt—odd because it was mass produced.

      Max said. “It’s one of my favorite works. If I can’t own the original …”

      While Decker was taking in Max’s lecture on Tiffany, Rina stole away and took a closer look at the poster of The Kiss by the Austrian master. Amid the swirls, squares, and starbursts of color and gilt was a very erotic painting, the man smothering a beautiful woman’s face with a passionate kiss on the cheek. She studied it until she heard her husband’s voice.

      “Are you with us, darlin’?”

      Rina scooted over to his side. “Sorry.”

      Max said. “The original Kiss is in Vienna. But if you want a close-up look at one of Klimt’s masterpieces, the Neue Museum on Fifth has the original portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I. If you haven’t seen it, you should.”

      “I have seen it,” Rina said. “I just forget how arresting he is. You have to wonder how a mind works to have created something so beautiful … dreamlike.”

      Max said, “He was influenced by a lot of ancient art, specifically the Byzantine mosaics at Ravenna.”

      Talk about perfect timing. Decker raised his eyebrows. “St. Vitale Church. The mosaics of Justinian and Theodora.” When Rina and Max stared at him. “Imagine commissioning all that artwork in a capital where they never even lived.”

      Max said, “You’ve been to Ravenna?”

      “No, but it’s on my bucket list.”

      “Since when?” Rina asked. “Where is Ravenna? Greece?”

      “Italy,” Decker said. “It was once the capital of the western Roman Empire.”

      “Now you’re just showing off,” Rina said.

      Decker smiled. “Impressed?”

      “You had me at St. Vitale Church.” Rina turned to Max. “Thanks for showing me your unbelievable pieces. I think I’ll go upstairs and stare at the bling. I promise I won’t interfere with your client.”

      “Dawn?” Max gave a dismissive wave. “She’s one of those women who’s status rich but cash short. We’ve been working together for years. СКАЧАТЬ