loudly enough for everyone in the gallery to hear. Di had no choice. She opened the door. "Get in here before everybody knows what's going on."
Raul swept into the tiny room and glared at the streaks running down her face. "This is small town living at its best. Everybody already knows."
"Guess again. Boyd must've stolen these paintings . According to the gallery owner, there're a dozen more on the way. It's not possible my mother would agree to this."
"What?"
"Boyd must have had this planned since I met him in New York. I remember at the time, he was much too interested in my mother. He must've come to the house behind my back and cased the place. I've been trying to get my mother on the phone ever since I walked in here tonight and saw the paintings. I think I need to call the police to check on my mother. What if Boyd killed her?"
"Killed your mother? Boyd?"
Di reached into her bag for her phone. She flipped it open and speed dialed her house. No answer. "That's it. I've waited long enough. I'm calling the police."
Raul chewed his perfectly manicured fingernails while she dialed New York City information for the station house in their neighborhood.
Meanwhile, someone knocked on the door and Raul told them to use the men's room.
"This is Sergeant Bronkowski. How can I help you?"
"My name's Di Stowe. I live on the corner of Sixth and Magnolia."
"Stowe mansion? The haunted house everyone calls the hangman's house?"
"That'd be the one."
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm in Hawaii and I can't reach my mother. I left her with a nurse and no one is answering the phone."
"Maybe she's sleeping? You have any idea what time it is here?"
"She's a very light sleeper and there's a phone next to her bed."
"You want me to send an officer over to check it out? I'll have to get the squad to draw straws to see who goes."
Di resisted calling him a smartass. "It's more complicated than that. A half a dozen expensive paintings arrived at a gallery here in Kauai today. My mother would never have willingly parted with those paintings. I think something has happened to her."
"How expensive are we talking here?"
"The six paintings I've seen could sell for well over a million each. There are twice that many coming tomorrow."
“ I'm sorry, Miss Stowe. I'll dispatch someone right now. Do you want to hold?"
"Please."
Di listened to the NYPD public announcement and starting chewing her fingernail.
"Stop that," Raul demanded.
"You were doing it."
"I was?" He held both hands out in front of him and sighed. "I was."
"Miss Stowe?"
"Yes, Sergeant Bronkowski."
"I have an officer at your front door. No one is answering."
"There's a key under the brass armadillo, next to the dead poinsettia."
"I'll tell him. Hold on."
"There's no answer at my house," she told Raul. "I'm on hold again."
Someone tried to open the restroom door again and began to knock. "Go away," Raul demanded.
"Open this door."
"The gallery owner. The little shit," Raul said.
"Raul, open this door. I know it's you. You have no business in the woman's restroom. At least no business I want to know about."
Raul huffed. "Go away. I'm in here with Miss Stowe and she says if you interrupt us one more time she's taking her paintings and leaving."
"Miss Stowe?" the gallery owner called.
"Go away," she said.
"Miss Stowe?"
"Yes, Sergeant Bronkowski."
"Officer Peters didn't fi nd anything out of the ordinary. Well, that's not exactly true, but he didn't find any reason to suspect foul play. He did, however, find a note addressed to the NYPD, with the caution you'd send for us. And so you have. It directed us to contact your mother's solicitor, which we did. He says she's fine and will be in touch with you soon."
"But my mother never leaves the house."
"Her lawyer assured us she left the house of her own free will. She's fine, Miss Stowe. Relax and enjoy Hawaii. Be glad you aren't here—the temperature is freezing."
"Thank you, Sergeant Bronkowski. I'm sorry to
Raul swept into the tiny room and glared at the streaks running down her face. "This is small town living at its best. Everybody already knows."
"Guess again. Boyd must've stolen these paintings . According to the gallery owner, there're a dozen more on the way. It's not possible my mother would agree to this."
"What?"
"Boyd must have had this planned since I met him in New York. I remember at the time, he was much too interested in my mother. He must've come to the house behind my back and cased the place. I've been trying to get my mother on the phone ever since I walked in here tonight and saw the paintings. I think I need to call the police to check on my mother. What if Boyd killed her?"
"Killed your mother? Boyd?"
Di reached into her bag for her phone. She flipped it open and speed dialed her house. No answer. "That's it. I've waited long enough. I'm calling the police."
Raul chewed his perfectly manicured fingernails while she dialed New York City information for the station house in their neighborhood.
Meanwhile, someone knocked on the door and Raul told them to use the men's room.
"This is Sergeant Bronkowski. How can I help you?"
"My name's Di Stowe. I live on the corner of Sixth and Magnolia."
"Stowe mansion? The haunted house everyone calls the hangman's house?"
"That'd be the one."
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm in Hawaii and I can't reach my mother. I left her with a nurse and no one is answering the phone."
"Maybe she's sleeping? You have any idea what time it is here?"
"She's a very light sleeper and there's a phone next to her bed."
"You want me to send an officer over to check it out? I'll have to get the squad to draw straws to see who goes."
Di resisted calling him a smartass. "It's more complicated than that. A half a dozen expensive paintings arrived at a gallery here in Kauai today. My mother would never have willingly parted with those paintings. I think something has happened to her."
"How expensive are we talking here?"
"The six paintings I've seen could sell for well over a million each. There are twice that many coming tomorrow."
“ I'm sorry, Miss Stowe. I'll dispatch someone right now. Do you want to hold?"
"Please."
Di listened to the NYPD public announcement and starting chewing her fingernail.
"Stop that," Raul demanded.
"You were doing it."
"I was?" He held both hands out in front of him and sighed. "I was."
"Miss Stowe?"
"Yes, Sergeant Bronkowski."
"I have an officer at your front door. No one is answering."
"There's a key under the brass armadillo, next to the dead poinsettia."
"I'll tell him. Hold on."
"There's no answer at my house," she told Raul. "I'm on hold again."
Someone tried to open the restroom door again and began to knock. "Go away," Raul demanded.
"Open this door."
"The gallery owner. The little shit," Raul said.
"Raul, open this door. I know it's you. You have no business in the woman's restroom. At least no business I want to know about."
Raul huffed. "Go away. I'm in here with Miss Stowe and she says if you interrupt us one more time she's taking her paintings and leaving."
"Miss Stowe?" the gallery owner called.
"Go away," she said.
"Miss Stowe?"
"Yes, Sergeant Bronkowski."
"Officer Peters didn't fi nd anything out of the ordinary. Well, that's not exactly true, but he didn't find any reason to suspect foul play. He did, however, find a note addressed to the NYPD, with the caution you'd send for us. And so you have. It directed us to contact your mother's solicitor, which we did. He says she's fine and will be in touch with you soon."
"But my mother never leaves the house."
"Her lawyer assured us she left the house of her own free will. She's fine, Miss Stowe. Relax and enjoy Hawaii. Be glad you aren't here—the temperature is freezing."
"Thank you, Sergeant Bronkowski. I'm sorry to
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