Chapter 33

LYNN

"Any fan of Morton Frye is a friend of mine," Guy Taylor pronounces over the phone speaker. "Are you a collector of his work as well?"

"You could say that," I respond, sending Joey a tense smile. I hope I can get through this call without losing my shit.

"So, what is it you'd like to know about the piece at the Mintz?"

"Well, the gallery had such limited information about its origins…" I trail off, hoping Guy, as he insisted I call him, will take it from there. I can't exactly accuse him of stealing it, now can I?

"Yes." He sighs. "As I'm sure you know, so many of his early works have limited provenance. Its previous owner received it as a gift from Frye himself—or, at least, his family did. I was surprised he was willing to part with it, but since it worked to my benefit, I didn't work too hard to convince him otherwise." He chuckles good-heartedly, clearly having no idea that I'm seething on the other end of the line.

"Oh. My. God!" I mouth to Joey as we sit side-by-side at his dining table. His condo is kick-ass, with an open-concept main living space and clean, unfussy decor. He said Liv and her best friend helped him pick out stuff that was simple but not minimalist enough to make it look like a serial killer lived here.

Joey rolls his hand in the air, indicating I need to keep this convo going, so I gather my wits and dive back in. "Hm. Do you, um, happen to have the seller's contact information?" At least now I know to stop investigating Guy Taylor. But I need the name of my new target.

"Oh dear. I'm afraid he doesn't own any more Fryes. Believe me, I asked." He chuckles again. It's not his fault I kind of want to strangle him right now.

Shit. What now?

Time to become a bullshit artist.

I clear my throat and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to God this works. "It's just that my family has a Frye that's so close in resemblance, they could be twins. I'm certain they were carved around the same time. It was my father's. He was friends with Frye, and I thought it would be nice to connect with this family that apparently ran in the same circles as my father and Frye back in the day." Am I really going to do this? Forgive me, Dad! "It's been difficult since we lost him." I feel like absolute crap using my dad, but I remind myself this kind of bullshit would have him laughing his ass off if he were still here. Nothing about my dad was straight or narrow.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Of course! Would you like me to text the information?"

I stifle a victorious shout and manage a subdued, "That would be wonderful. Thank you."

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, immediately leaping from my chair and beginning to pace Joey's kitchen.

"He's going to be pissed when he finds out he bought a stolen sculpture," Joey says from his chair.

"Yeah." I bite my lip and continue my loop across the tile. "But I'll have to worry about that later. We need to catch this developer first!"

My phone pings, and Joey and I both leap on it like it's the last brownie of the apocalypse.

"Does the name ring any bells?" Joey asks, looking over at me.

The name Eddie Dante stares up at us, followed by a phone number with a Raleigh area code.

"Not even a little."

We both begin searching the internet on our phones looking for one Eddie Dante, but all we come up with is an author, a mechanic, and several social media profiles of random men of all ages, none of whom even live in North Carolina.

"Well, we know we can't call this guy." Joey leans back in his seat with a sigh.

I straighten, ideas swirling in my mind. "Or can we?"

"No way." Joey's headshake is emphatic. "Do not put yourself on this guy's radar, Lynn."

He's jumped into protective mode. "He wouldn't even know who I am. I can block my number." It'll be a breeze. I can say I'm a friend of Guy's and strike up a conversation. I'm bound to find out something useful.

But Joey is clearly of a different mind, if his subsequent freakout is any indication. "And tip him off!" Now he's the one pacing. "If your family's theories are correct, this guy knows who you are already. You don't think he'll be able to put two and two together? And even if you guys are wrong, this man knew where to find Larry and how much he's worth. That, to me, says he already knows too much about your family to risk it." When I try to interject, Joey steamrolls me. "He obviously didn't expect Guy Taylor to parade the sculpture around Raleigh, and you calling about it may be the first he's heard of it. That's going to make him panic, and panicked people do rash things." He makes an X with his arms before throwing his hands out. "No way. You're not calling him!"

He did not just say that! I jump to my feet and square off with him. "Did you just forbid me from making a phone call?"

"You're damn right I did." Smug bastard.

I need to keep my calm about me. Yelling will only make this worse. I take a breath and moderate my tone. "Joey, you're jumping to worst-case scenarios."

Joey apparently didn't get the memo about calm because he jabs his index finger at me. "You need to give this information to the police and let them handle it."

Fuck calm. "I can't do that yet! Not while we have this Diamond Group thing still so up in the air. If this guy gets busted, they'll go to ground and cover their tracks. Then we'll never be able to prove anything!"

"Good! Then maybe they'll back off and stop trying to buy the properties. It will scare them off, and you win."

He doesn't get it. He doesn't know how much shit my family has been through since the day my dad died. We can't just… give up. "But they can't be allowed to get away with everything they've done!" I can't help the tears springing to my eyes.

To my surprise, my watery eyes act as a bucket of cold water on Joey's temper. He exhales and takes a beat before inching closer and taking one of my hands. "Lynn, you don't even know they did any of that." Well, he has a point. "Maybe Miller is just a shitty driver. Maybe kids were playing with fireworks in the woods. Maybe your family got targeted and robbed by a regular old criminal like tons of other people." He shrugs, and I let out a sigh before he continues, "If you follow Occam's razor, that's the most likely scenario."

I've lost my fight, and my lips quirk without my permission. "Are you going all intellectual on me?"

He pulls out the lopsided grin. "You don't think I can? You forget I beat you last week with quixotic in Words with Friends. I'm no idiot."

"I know you're not. Sorry." I squeeze his hand. "I just wasn't expecting classic philosophical theory when we're dealing with Bigfoot."

He shrugs again. "To be fair, I only know about Occam's razor from that Jodi Foster movie."

"Oh! Contact. I love that movie." My eyes widen.

"Me too."

"So, are we done arguing?" I ask. I don't like being at odds with Joey. But anytime someone tries bossing me around, I just can't help myself.

His tone turns serious again, but he's lost his anger. "That depends. Are you going to call Eddie Dante?"

I need to be truthful with him, so I answer, "Not tonight. That's the best I can give you for now."

He sighs and pulls me into his chest. "I guess I'll have to take that, then. For now."

We don't talk any more about Guy Taylor or my family drama, instead pushing it to the side to salvage something of our evening together. But it will still be there tomorrow, and I need to decide what I want to do about it.

Joey seems to have forgotten that the hero of Contact, Jodi Foster's character, wasn't the one invoking Occam's razor—the idea that all things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. No, she knew her crazy-sounding story was true, even if nobody else believed her or backed her up. Good old Jodi and I might have something in common. I just need to figure out my next move.