Chapter 20

While Dalton was at lunch, stewing over his encounter with Monica, she and Stone were headed across town in silence.

Monica, who was still rattled by seeing her former boss, had been staring out the window and didn't rouse from her stupor until she realized the vehicle had stopped in front of her cousin's house. "What are we doing here?"

"A change of clothes. Remember?"

"Oh, right." She sighed. "Maybe I should take a rain check."

"Not a cloud in the sky."

"You know what I mean."

"Because of Dalton?"

"I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am about all that. He's the last person I expected to run into."

"I got that impression, but I don't see why you have anything to be sorry about. Nor do I think you should let him ruin your day."

She took in his words, then smiled for the first time since lunch. "You're right. To hell with him."

"Seconded!"

She opened her door. "Something comfortable, you said? Like for a hike?"

"That'll work."

"I won't be long."

Ten minutes later, she was back in the car, wearing a pair of sturdy boots, blue jeans, and a green button-up shirt. "How's this?"

"It couldn't be more perfect."

"What about your clothes?"

"I'll change when we get there."

"Ooh, do I get to watch?"

"If you do, we may not get to do the other thing I have planned."

"I'm willing to take that chance if you are."

He drove her to the ranch of a friend he'd made while he'd still owned the Lees' house. After retrieving a change of clothes from the trunk, he led Monica into the stables, where a ranch hand had two horses saddled and waiting.

"We're going riding?" Monica asked, excited.

"I take it this isn't your first time."

"In years, yes, but not my first. My high school boyfriend was president of the FFA club." She was referring to the Future Farmers of America. "It was one of our favorite things to do."

"Then you won't be joining me while I change?"

She looked torn.

"Too many good choices?"

"Something like that." She took a breath. "Go change. We'll have time for taking advantage of each other tonight."

"I'll hold you to that." He grinned.

Once Stone changed outfits, they set off on a trail that took them into the mountains.

"I'm glad you didn't let me back out of this. It's exactly what I needed. And thank you for helping at the restaurant, too. I should have said that before."

"Even if I wasn't there, you would have held your own."

"It's nice to know there's someone who would back me up like that."

"Dalton used to be your boss?"

"Yes."

"The same boss you talked to on the phone last night?"

She nodded.

"I can understand why you left for another job."

Grimacing, she said, "I haven't been completely open about my situation. Technically, I'm unemployed."

"Left or fired?"

"The latter. And unjustly."

"When?"

"Twelve days ago."

Smirking, Stone said, "If his demeanor at work was anything like his behavior at the restaurant, he must have been a delight to work for."

"Yeah, he's quite the prick."

"I think you're being too kind."

She laughed. "Probably."

The path narrowed for a bit, forcing them to ride single file. When it widened again, Stone moved his horse to the side to make room for Monica.

"You mentioned working in finance, but you never said exactly what you did," he said.

"Insurance, actually. I'm a fraud investigator at Vitale Insurance. Was a fraud investigator, I mean."

"And the prick?"

"My VP."

"Ah, a prime example of the dregs rising to the top."

"Why does that always seem to happen?"

"Trickle-down stupidity," Stone said. "Let me guess, all the execs there are like him."

"It is a boys' club, so kind of. But he's developed his special brand of assholery."

"Why did Dalton think you're working on something?"

"Because I am."

"And that would be?"

"The same case I was working on at Vitale when he let me go. He thinks it's a waste of time, but I know it isn't. And once I crack it, I'll present my report to his bosses and get him fired."

"That's what he meant by the going rogue comment?"

She nodded.

"What's the case?"

"I specialize in art theft, and it's my belief that there's an organized ring operating in the States right now."

"You have evidence of this?"

"It's admittedly thin, but I trust my instincts, and my instincts say something's going on."

The path forked, and Stone guided them onto the trail on the left. "I would think that kind of theft would be easy to prove. I mean, a piece of art is either there or it's not."

"You would think so, but it's not quite as clear-cut as that."

"How so?"

"One client kept a pair of Picasso drawings on a yacht that, just over a year ago, sank in water deep enough to discourage salvage attempts. Authorities determined it to be an accident, and Vitale forked over a nice check."

"But you don't think the drawings went down with the boat."

"I did at first. But then a few months later, a Matisse, worth millions, was lost in a house fire on Martha's Vineyard. The only thing left was the corner of a frame.

"Before that a cargo truck that had been transporting a Frida Kahlo went up in flames. Then there was another boat that burned and sank on Lake Michigan with several expensive pieces on board. And I've found at least two other cases where insured artworks were destroyed in ways that made identification impossible. But while I saw a pattern, Dalton thought I was making something out of nothing."

"Then Dalton's an idiot, though I guess we've already established that. Do you have anything concrete that connects the cases together?"

"Not yet, but I'm close. That's why I'm in Santa Fe actually. I was contacted by someone who claimed to have information about a couple of the destroyed paintings. Before I could set up an official meeting with him, Dalton fired me. I wasn't going to give up, though. I kept pressing the source. Three days ago, he agreed to meet me at the Ivonne Cervantes opening last night. But right before Donna and I arrived, he texted saying that he needed to postpone until today. I haven't heard a peep from him since."

"Cold feet?"

"I'm hoping not."

"What's his name?"

"Honestly, I don't even know if he's a man. All our communication has been either by e-mail or text."

"Has he given you anything you can use?"

She shook her head. "He was going to do that when we met in person. What do you think? Am I wasting my time on nothing?"

"Even with the little you've told me I can see it's worth looking into."

"Thank you, Stone. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."

"You know, if things don't work out with Vitale or even if they do and you'd like to take your talents elsewhere, I can be of some assistance."

"Does your firm employ fraud investigators?"

"Not my firm, but Steele Insurance does."

"Steele Insurance? Do you know someone there?"

"Yes. Me. I'm on their board."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You are a handy man to know."

"Feel free to show your appreciation later tonight."

"Why wait for tonight?" She turned her horse back the way they'd come and looked over her shoulder. "Coming?"

He brought his gelding around. "After you."

Stone came out of the bathroom the next morning to find Monica sitting on the end of the bed, frowning at her phone.

"Something wrong?"

"I think my contact is officially ghosting me."

"Have you tried calling?"

"I don't have his number."

"I thought you said you texted with him."

"He texts me from a blocked number. I can contact him via e-mail. He said he wanted it that way to protect himself."

"Then it sounds like you've done all you can. How about some breakfast?"

They dressed and relocated to the kitchen. Since Martha had the day off, Stone rooted around in the refrigerator to see what was available. "How does a mushroom and spinach omelet sound?"

"Divine. Anything I can help with?"

"Coffee?"

Stone was plating the second omelet when Monica's phone began ringing.

Her face brightened.

"Is it him?" Stone asked.

"Maybe. The number isn't blocked, but I don't recognize it."

She accepted the call.

"Hello?…Yes, this is she." Her eyebrows pinched as she listened. "Good morning, Detective." She listened for a moment and then turned on the speaker function so Stone could listen in. "I'm sorry, could you say that again?"

A woman's voice came through the speaker. "Do you know a man named Joshua Paskota?"

"I've never heard that name before."

"You're sure?"

"I am. What's this about?"

"There was an accident the night before last. A single car crash, one fatality."

"Joshua Paskota?"

"Yes, but that information is still withheld from the public until we contact his next of kin. We were hoping you could help us with that."

"Me? Why would you think that?"

"We found a cell phone in Mr. Paskota's suitcase that had only one number in its contacts. Yours."

"Mine?"

"Yes. In fact, it's the only piece of information on the phone. The call logs are empty and there are no text messages."

Monica shared a look with Stone. It was clear they were thinking the same thing. Joshua Paskota had to be her contact.

"You're sure you don't know him?" the detective asked.

Stone shook his head.

"Until you said his name, I'd never heard it before," Monica said.

"Sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for your time."

As soon as the call ended, Monica said, "Why would my info be the only thing on the phone?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's a throwaway that he only used to contact you."

"That makes sense. Why did you not want me to tell her he was my source?"

"Because it wouldn't have helped anything. The detective said it was an accident, not murder. They're not looking for suspects or motivation. They're looking for family."

She sighed. "I guess this means I made the trip here for nothing."

Stone raised an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Well, maybe not for nothing."

"That's better."

Monica said little as they ate. Stone could empathize. He'd had cases both as a cop and as a lawyer where a promising lead hadn't panned out. What had often helped him figure out how to move forward was taking a step back.

"Why don't we swing by your cousin's place? You can pack a bag and we'll drive up to Taos. Spend a night or two. Forget about work for the weekend."

"Where do I sign up?"

Forty minutes later, they arrived at Donna Otero's house.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd gone back to New York," Donna said to Monica, as she walked through the door.

"My fault, I'm afraid," Stone said. "I've been monopolizing her time."

"Well, I guess I can forgive you. She's in a much better mood than when she arrived."

"How so?"

"Let's just say that she was ready to pick a fight with anyone who looked at her wrong."

"I wasn't that bad," Monica said.

Donna patted her arm. "Whatever you want to believe." To Stone, she mouthed, Thank you.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Monica said.

She headed into the back and soon returned with a small suitcase.

Donna walked them to the door. "Any idea when you'll be back?"

"Sometime on Monday," Stone said. He glanced at Monica. "If that works for you."

"Works fine."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Donna said. "Something came for you."

She went into the kitchen and came back with a legal-size envelope, which she handed to Monica. Handwritten on the front was Monica's name.

"It arrived while we were at the exhibit the other night," Donna told her, then grinned. "But you've been a little tied up since then."

Monica thanked her, then she and Stone returned to their car. Once they were back on the road, she opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper.

She looked up, surprised. "It's from Joshua Paskota."

"How did he know where you were staying?"

"I have no idea."

"Did he know when you were arriving?"

She nodded. "We hadn't set up our meet yet, and I told him what flight I was on, so he could suggest a time and place. You don't think…You don't think he followed me, do you?"

"I would have if I were him, to make sure you were who you said you were. What's the note say?"

Reading, she said, "?‘I apologize for you coming all this way, but I'm not going to be able to meet with you. I think they're suspicious of me. I'm leaving town, so don't bother trying to find me. There is someone else who might help you. His name is Tristan Williams. He lives in L.A.'?" She looked up. "That's it except for a phone number that I guess is Tristan's. Stone, I think maybe the crash wasn't an accident."

"I think you're right. I'll ask a friend to nudge the police into taking a closer look into it."

"I'll try Tristan." She punched in his number, waited several seconds, then said, "Voicemail." She waited for the beep. "Hi, Tristan. My name is Monica Reyes. Please call me at your earliest convenience." She left her number, then hung up. "I guess all we can do now is wait."

"Oh, I think we can figure out a few things to do to fill the time."