Chapter 39

The next day, at the San Diego Museum of Art, Priscilla arrived a little before eleven in the morning. This time, she was quite eye-catching in what she had on…

She was wearing a red Balenciaga midi dress with long sleeves, pinstriped high heels that pushed her height to over six feet, and was carrying a black clutch purse. In a museum that was already filled with tourists from places like Wisconsin or Kansas, attired like men and women who were about to spend the afternoon bowling and then sucking down nachos and cheese fries at the nearest sports bar; or elderly widows whose dead husbands had invested their pensions well, but who, for some reason, insisted on dressing like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations, Priscilla knew she stood out.

Which was exactly what she desired. After all, she wanted all of the plainclothes police officers that were no doubt in the building to be able to keep track of her movements easily.

"Your dress is really pretty!" a voice said from somewhere…below.

Priscilla looked down.

A little girl of approximately eight-years-old was looking up at her, smiling. Her bright-blue t-shirt said Tanglewood Summer Day Camp. A group of similarly-aged and attired children was nearby—evidently here on a field trip. There were four adults acting as chaperones and handlers, trying to ensure none of their charges wandered off, and that they kept their volume down.

Priscilla smiled at the girl.

"Thank you for saying that," she said. "I'm glad you like it."

"I can't wait until I can wear dresses like that," the girl said.

"Well, you know," Priscilla replied, "little girls don't have to wear dresses. Big girls don't, either."

"I know," the girl said, "but I like dresses."

"Then can I give you some advice?" Priscilla asked.

The girl nodded.

Priscilla bent at the waist, expertly maintaining her balance on the high heels, to bring herself closer to the girl.

"When you wear a dress," she began, "wear the hell out of it!"

"Abigail…" a new voice said with exasperation. It was one of the field trip's chaperones…a thirty-ish woman whose brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "Don't bother the nice lady!"

Priscilla straightened up.

The chaperone looked at her, and then seemed stunned as she took in the whole picture of Priscilla, scanning her from head to toe.

"Wow!" the chaperone said. "Nice dress!"

"Thank you," Priscilla replied, smiling. "Your little friend was just complimenting me on the same thing."

"I'm sorry she bothered you," the chaperone said.

"It wasn't a bother," Priscilla told her. "She's a very polite little girl."

Her eyes caught sight of Emily entering the museum.

"Abigail, it was a pleasure to meet you," she said to the girl. "Now I have to go meet my friend Emily. Enjoy the museum. Be sure to visit the gift shop."

She left them and approached Emily, who was at the Admissions desk, explaining to one of the clerks that she was working with the police department, and was here as part of the investigation into the theft of The Young Shepherdess, and thus shouldn't have to pay the twenty-dollar admission fee.

"She's with me," Priscilla told the clerk, whose name tag identified her as Marcy.

Priscilla looped her arm through Emily's and began leading her away. She had no idea if Marcy knew who she was. It seemed as though there were new clerks at the Admissions desk every time she walked in here, but it didn't matter. If Marcy went to a higher-up to report that little incident, and then pointed her and Emily out, the higher-up would promptly tell Marcy that the woman in the red dress was a VVIP, and might actually use the word God in connection with her name.

"I'm so glad to see you!" Priscilla told Emily. "I've missed you!"

"Well, it was only a day," Emily replied. "But I've missed you too."

"See?" Priscilla said. "We've grown used to each other."

She led them in the direction of Gallery 13, which was located in the south wing of the museum.

"Have you seen the new exhibit?" she asked as they walked. "It's called Modern Women. There's a stunning Frankenthaler that I absolutely adore!"

Emily seemed tense. It was being telegraphed through her body, which Priscilla was still holding close to her.

"So how are you doing?" Emily asked.

"Terrific!" Priscilla replied. "I am with my favorite person—that's you—and I am in my second-favorite place in San Diego."

Emily stopped and looked at her.

"Second?" she asked. "Then what's your first favorite place?"

Priscilla smirked, understanding that what she was about to say might very well be heard by several others.

"Between your legs, of course," she said silkily.

Emily blushed more strongly than Priscilla had ever seen her do before. She also quickly looked away as though someone might have overheard that—even though there was absolutely no one within earshot.

It confirmed to Priscilla what she suspected.

Emily was wearing a wire.

It was logical, of course. No doubt the police had been tracking Emily's phone calls for quite some time. Which meant that there was no doubt the police had been aware of Emily calling her yesterday after all of the Shepherdesses had been found all over San Diego—helpfully dropped off by Arnold. That, of course, meant the police had then challenged her about why she had called their prime suspect so soon after all of those paintings had turned up, which in turn made them offer her an ultimatum: she was either with them, or she was also going to be considered a suspect.

Naturally, Priscilla didn't believe that Emily was with the police, so to speak, in this matter. It would be a different story if Emily had definitive proof that she had been responsible for stealing The Young Shepherdess, but that wasn't the case. Instead, Priscilla knew that Emily was trying to get through this whole affair with two aims met…

One, the return of The Young Shepherdess.

Two, the freedom to explore a life with one Priscilla Kroyn…

***

Outside and behind the museum, in the back of an unmarked, gray Ford Econoline van that was parked on Old Globe Way, Tom, Andie, and Bernie were crammed together in the back and listening to the feed from Emily's hidden microphone.

The back of the van had been converted into a mobile surveillance post, with a rack of audio and video equipment that had been bolted to the floor as well as to one side of the cargo area. They had only wired Emily for sound, not video, and every word she and Priscilla were saying was being recorded on tape. The San Diego Police Department still lacked the budget to convert all surveillance units to digital.

Bernie was chuckling.

"‘Between your legs,'" he said, repeating the quip Priscilla had just made. "That's a good one!"

Tom ignored him. Instead he focused on what Emily and Priscilla were saying. So far, it was just idle chitchat.

"Alpha Team, be sure to keep Kroyn in sight," he said into a microphone attached to a transmitter. He could sense something was up, and the last thing he needed was Priscilla Kroyn disappearing.

"Yeah, that won't be a problem,"one of the six plainclothes officers in the museum, Kalisz, responded. "It's hard to miss her in that dress…"

"Wish my wife could wear a dress like that,"another officer on the inside, Allred, replied.

"My wife actually could!" Kalisz said before adding dryly, "On one of her legs."

"Sinclair, report," Tom instructed.

"Keeping my eyes on her in case she needs to pee,"Sinclair reported, her voice reminding him again of Scarlett Johansson's.

Sinclair was Tom's insurance policy. If Priscilla Kroyn needed to use the facilities, Sinclair would follow her right into the restroom to make sure that all she did was pee, as opposed to, say, open a hidden door, shimmy up a drainpipe in the walls, and manage to steal another painting.

He wished he could anticipate what was about to happen. As it was, he still wasn't sure if the real painting of the girl was at the station house. All of the paintings they had collected yesterday were being kept under tight security in a special evidence room. The "experts" that Emily had to consult couldn't get to San Diego for a few days.

What he couldn't figure out was why Priscilla had wanted to meet Emily here. Well, not here in the van, but there in the museum.

Relying on Andie to tell him if she heard something important, he puzzled on that for a while, hating that after a minute or two he still couldn't come up with a reason.

"Why did she want to meet Emily here?" he asked Bernie.

"In the van?" Bernie asked.

"No, in the museum!" Tom seethed.

Bernie shrugged.

"It's kind of romantic," he said.

Tom blinked.

"What are you talking about?" he pressed.

"Well, think about it," Bernie said. "They've gotten kind of close over the past couple of weeks, and…well, you can say this is where it all began. You know…with the painting being stolen…"

Tom sighed.

Bernie's suggestion was just as good as anything else he himself could come up with.

"I'll never understand lesbians," he muttered.