Page 47 of Caper Crush
“Who’s Peter?”
“My college boyfriend.”
“Did you break up because you didn’t want to move to California?” He peels the wrapper off his cone and throws it out.
“No, I don’t think so. We were having problems before that, but it’s a convenient excuse for why we broke up. And lets us stay friends.”
“Is it so important to stay friends afterward?” he asks.
“If I loved someone enough to date them, I still want them in my life even if we’re not dating. You don’t agree?”
“I feel like when I meet with them, I get swamped with the memories of how it felt. I’m okay with talking or emailing, but meeting in person …” He shakes his head. “I’m very grateful for the love we had together, but I don’t want to revisit it.” William puts his hands in his pockets and scuffs his shoe.
“Did you see Juri at the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Did it hurt?” I ask.
“No. It just felt like I was seeing an old friend. But isn’t that worse? I thought I might marry her.”
“No. It just means you grew apart because you broke up. It doesn’t necessarily reflect on what you had together. It’s self-preservation. It’s like you got the disease, but then you got a vaccine that gave you immunity—”
“So I wouldn’t die of the disease?” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“All right, the analogy doesn’t work that well.” I look up at him just as he looks away. Was he glancing at me?
He stares straight ahead. “I’m not sure I can remain friends after dating.”
He’s warning me, isn’t he? He’s drawing a line that we can’t date. I hope he tells any crazy chemistry cupids to behave too.
Fine. We’re just co-detectives. My goal is to the find the paintings.
My phone beeps.
Edmund:We’re on for Wednesday.
Chapter eleven
TheLsubwayplatformis relatively empty as I wait by the escalator for Edmund. Even though Edmund doesn’t have a financial motive, if it’s personal, he’s the one I suspect. Maybe because we used to be rivals as children competing for Annabelle’s attention. If I spend time with him, he might reveal something.
I stand with several other people, studiously not making eye contact and yet clocking where each person is on the platform. The MTA service posters on the blue, metal columns confirm the L is running all the way to our stop.
Finally, Edmund, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase, comes down the escalator. He looks like he’s off to a business meeting, not an assignation withnefariousconnections. That’s reassuring. I’m wearing a baseball hat, large sunglasses, and workout clothes—the better to run if I need to.
I didn’t tell Officer Johnson about Edmund’s connections, but I did alert him that Edmund said he heard the Kimimoto was for sale. Officer Johnson said he’d heard that too. It was a good sign. It hadn’t disappeared into some mobster’s art collection as future collateral for a lighter sentence or as the proceeds of a money laundering scheme. He said they were on it. I wonder if they’re going to set up a sting operation. They did that once when I was working at Christie’s. It breaks my heart to think of a unique piece of art being damaged or never seen again. Officer Johnson hadn’t heard anything aboutPlaying Around 1:30.
Edmund reaches me. “Sorry I’m late. I was talking to some investors.”
Other than remotely managing olive oil farms, what Edmund actually does is a mystery to me. He must run some fund. He’s always talking about his investors.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I’ve been better.”
“You look like you’re doing okay, considering,” he says.
Should I pretend that I have another painting for the show? Like Takashi advised? Would Edmund even believe it?He is leaning slightly forward, his shoulders hunched. Typical insecure Edmund posture. Not the stance of someone gloating.
