Vinnie shared wine with his killer, Ash thought, then walked to the door to let the accomplice in.

Then everything changed. Fear came into Vinnie’s eyes. He held up his hands, a gesture of surrender, of cooperation, before he was forced at gunpoint into the office. And the screen showed only the empty shop.

“Did you recognize the man?” Fine asked Lila.

“No. No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. He didn’t look familiar at all. Just her.”

Fine ejected the CD, resealed it, re-marked it. “They came here for something. The way it looks, the unidentified male tried to beat the information out of the victim. Approximately thirty minutes after they went into the office, the female came out, made a phone call. She talked for several minutes, seemed satisfied, and reentered the office. About four minutes later, she exited alone. She did not look satisfied, but annoyed. She went upstairs, where those cameras show her taking a decorative box off a shelf, padding it with bubble wrap. She came back down, boxed it, even tied it with a ribbon. She took another item, a cigarette case, from a display behind the counter—like an afterthought. She put both in a shopping bag and exited by the front door.”

“The clerk identified the case as some Austrian thing.” Waterstone took over. “Turn of the twentieth century, value about three grand. The box was a Fabergé bonbonniere, a lot more valuable—she estimated about two hundred grand retail. What do you know about that box?”

“Nothing. I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a box made to hold candy or sweets,” Lila put in. “Antique bonbonnieres can be very valuable. I used one in a book,” she explained. “I didn’t sell the book, but I used a bonbonniere to deliver poisoned truffles. Fabergé,” she repeated. “Ash.”

He nodded. “I don’t know anything about the box. Maybe she took the case as a souvenir—like she did Julie’s shoes and perfume. The box must be a gift, or why tie it in a bow? But she took a Fabergé piece, and that’s probably not an accident. They came here looking for a different Fabergé piece, one worth a hell of a lot more than that box. Worth millions. One of the lost Imperial eggs. The Cherub with Chariot.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oliver. The best I can put together is he acquired it at an estate sale—a legitimate sale where he represented Vinnie’s business. But he bought the egg under the table. He didn’t tell Vinnie. Vinnie didn’t know about it until I told him Thursday evening.”

“You didn’t bother to tell us,” Waterstone snapped.

“I didn’t know about it until the day before, when I checked my post office box. Oliver sent me a package. Covering his bases, or counting on me to cover them for him.”

“He sent you a Fabergé egg worth millions through the mail?”

“No. He sent me a key—safe-deposit box—and a note asking me to hold it for him until he got in touch.”

“I was with him.” For better or worse, Lila thought, it was time for details. “That’s when I saw the woman in the market. Ash went to the bank to see what Oliver had put away, and I went into the market.”

“I contacted Vinnie when I realized what it was. I made copies of the documents with it—most in Russian—and a bill of sale between Oliver and a Miranda Swanson, Sutton Place, but for her father’s estate in Long Island. Vinnie confirmed that was one of the estates Oliver handled. Just a few weeks ago. Vinnie had a contact who could translate the documents. I didn’t ask him who.”

“Where’s the egg?” Fine demanded.

“Safe.”

He didn’t speak to Lila, didn’t so much as glance at her, but she clearly got the message. This detail wouldn’t be shared.

“It’s where it’s going to stay until you find this woman and lock her up,” Ash added.

“It’s evidence, Mr. Archer.”

“As far as I’m concerned, however unethical the deal, it was my brother’s. He had a bill of sale, signed, dated, witnessed. And if I turn it over to you, I lose any leverage I have if this bitch comes after me or mine. So it stays safe.”

He reached into his inside breast pocket, drew out a photo. “That’s it. If you can use them, I’ll make a copy of all the documents, but the egg stays just where it is. You can try to push it,” he added, “and I’ll call out the lawyers. I’d rather avoid that—and I think you’d rather avoid it even more.”

Waterstone sat back, tapped his blunt fingertips on the exquisite table. “Let’s go back over the details and the timing, right back to the night of your brother’s murder. This time don’t leave anything out.”

“I never did,” Ash reminded him. “You can’t leave out what you don’t know.”

Thirteen

Lila answered questions, filled in with her perspective, and literally let out a whoosh of relief when the police told them they could go.

For now.

“I feel like I should friend them on Facebook.”

Distracted, Ash glanced down at her as he grabbed her hand to pull her to the corner.

“Fine and Waterstone. I’ve been spending so much time with them, I feel like we should stay connected. Or not. Ash, I’m so sorry about Vinnie.”

“So am I.” He stepped to the curb, held up a hand to hail a cab.

“I can’t even imagine all you have to deal with. I’m just going to take the subway to Julie’s. I’m staying there tonight before I start the new job. If you need anything, just call me.”

“What? No. Yes, I have a lot to deal with. You’re part of it.” He snagged a cab, all but bundled her inside it, then gave the driver his address. “We’ll go to my place.”

She considered the circumstances, swallowed down the instinct to object to being told rather than asked. “Okay, then. I should call Julie, let her know what’s going on. She’ll be expecting me.”

“I texted Luke. He’s with her. They know.”

“Well, you’ve got it all lined up.”

He either ignored or missed the sarcasm and only shrugged. “What were you and Waterstone talking about—when Fine brought me down?”

“Oh, his son. Brennon’s sixteen and driving Waterstone crazy. He dyed his hair orange, like a carrot, decided he’s a vegan—except for cheese pizza and milkshakes. He’s playing bass in a garage band and says he wants to quit school and pursue his music career.”