somewhat of a recluse.â
âHow do you get in touch?â I feel myself slipping into hard-nosed reporter mode.
âIâm contacted when he is ready to ship over more paintings.â
âYou speak Portuguese?â
The comeback catches him off guard.
âNâno ⦠itâs Adamskyâs agent who gets in touch.â
âI thought you were his agent?â
âIâm his North American distributor and also the largest seller of his work.â
âAnd his agent â¦â
âRoger Kingââ The name leaves his lips before he can stop it and his eyes widen, exposing both shock and a flash of anger.
âRoger Kingston,â I complete. âA man of many interests.â
âPlease donât disturb Sir Roger,â Declan says anxiously. âHe is a very important business associate and a man who places a high value on privacy. I had no right to mention his name.â
Heâs making me feel bad, which I hate. Here I am, all pleased that I pulled some juicy information out of him, and he ruins it by reminding me why I donât get many dates. But since Iâve already blown it, I carry on.
âWhy is such a powerful man acting as an artistâs agent?â
âI couldnât say.â
âBecause you donât know, orââ
âBecause itâs not my place to comment on Sir Rogerâs relationships.â
âHe has a relationship with the artist?â
âA business relationship!â he snaps.
Let it go, Dixie. Heâs getting pissed.
âOf course.â I use my softer voice. âHow often does Adamsky ship paintings over?â
âWhenever he has enough. There are no set dates.â Declan attempts to rebuild his composure by brushing invisible lint off his shirt.
âWhat was the time span between the last two shipments?â
âIâm not sure.â
I try the coy smile. âCould you please check? It would be such a hassle to have to go through Customs to find it.â Now I was being both a bully and a liar. I just hoped he didnât know it would be practically impossible to squeeze information out of the Customs office.
He reaches into another drawer and produces a ledger. He opens it with an annoyed sigh.
âThe shipments were a month apart; twenty-eight days to be exact.â
âHow many paintings in each shipment?â
âI only have invoices for the ones I keep.â
âHow many was that?â
âFive.â
âWas any of the paint still wet?â
âOf course not!â
âThenââ
The chirp of a clear glass phone cuts off my question. When I first saw it on the desk, I assumed it was a piece of sculpture rather than a functioning device. As it rings, its electronic innards light up in a rainbow of neon.
When Declan answers it, I take the time to notice a simple diamond stud in his left ear and the absence of a wedding ring. He tells whoever is on the line to hold a moment, and then extends his right hand across the desk.
âThis is an important call,â he says. âAnd I have a lot of work to catch up. I hope Iâve managed to answer all your questions, Ms. Flynn.â His voice is so cold it practically has freezer burn.
I squeeze his hand, pocket the Polaroid, and head for the door.
âBy the way,â I say, turning around in the doorway. âWhat is Adamskyâs first name?â
âHe doesnât use one,â Declan replies stonily.
I give him my best smile with just a touch of lost-girl pout. âWell, just remember mine is Dixie,â I say. âThanks for your time. You have a terrific gallery here.â
He doesnât reply.
I walk into the showroom, intending to look around more, but Casper scurries up beside me.
âAre you leaving, maâam?â he sniffs.
âYeah, butââ I narrow my eyes, voice turning ice cold. âDid you just call me
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