about Beyla. At that moment, the only thing I was sure about was that I wasn't cut out to be a thief or a spy. My heart was pounding like the drum line of a high school marching band. My palms were sweaty. My blood was racing so fast and hard, it felt like it was going to spurt out of my veins.
I took a deep breath, attempting to get a grip and trying to reason through the panic cluttering my mind.
There was the receipt from Drago with the address of the gallery scrawled on it, I reminded myself. And there were his final words to me.
"This . . . important. You will see."
Maybe Drago was trying to lead me here all along. Maybe Eve was onto something after all. Maybe this trip to the gallery was significant. Maybe I would find something in Drago's office.
If Yuri didn't catch me snooping around first.
The thought fueled my footsteps, and I picked up my pace down the hallway. There was a brass sign hanging beside the next door on my right that said Private. The door was closed, but it wasn't shut all the way. I peeked inside.
One look in the office told me that any chance I had of finding a clue was officially gone.
All three of the file cabinets in the room were flung open, and file folders littered the blue and red rug on the floor. The desk drawers were gaping, too, and whatever had been in them was piled on the desk chair.
There was a window on one wall and a small safe under it. That had been opened, as well. It didn't appear to me that it had been broken into. I may not be much in the burglary department but I do know a mess when I see one. The door of the safe was hanging open, and what looked to be record books kicked to one side definitely qualified as a mess.
Somebody had gotten here before us, and it seemed as though that somebody had an advantage over Eve and me.
He--or she--knew exactly what he--or she--was looking for.
And it was obvious that he--or she--would do anything to find it.
Eight
"SMUGGLING."
"Art forgery."
"Fake antiques."
"That's almost just like art forgery. That doesn't count."
Eve rolled her eyes. At least she remembered to keep her voice down. We were in class (Fabulous Fruits and Vivacious Vegetables), and as we had all the way from Georgetown to Arlington, we were trying to figure out what sort of shady dealings Drago could have been involved with that would have resulted in his office being trashed--and in Drago being killed.
Eve whispered to me while she opened her can of chestnuts. "Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the gallery."
"Except that Drago said the gallery was important," I reminded her. "That's why we've got to concentrate on crimes that involve art. Unless Drago wasn't involved in anything illegal at all." Don't ask me why, but that was a new thought. I had been running on the assumption that Drago was a bad guy.
"Maybe he was an innocent bystander," I suggested. "Or a government witness. You know, like on all those TV shows."
"Of course he wasn't!" Eve practically sneered. In a beauty queen sort of way, of course. "You saw him that evening when he was coming out of here. And you saw him when he and Beyla were arguing. He was one nasty dude. Bad as bad can get."
"I hope that's not the Brussels sprouts you're talking about."
We'd been so deep in our speculations, I had no idea Jim was standing right behind us until his comment interrupted our discussion. I jumped, and the chestnuts I was just pouring out of the can landed half in the sink and half on the floor.
"Sorry." Jim sprang into action. He stooped to retrieve the chestnuts on the floor. I suppose in the great scheme of things, I should have been grateful for his gallantry.
Except that I bent to get them at the same time.
We clunked heads, and both of us came up rubbing our foreheads.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly. I was all set to bend down again when I saw that Jim was going to, too.
"Sorry." It was his turn.
We exchanged uncertain smiles, and though it was unspoken, we made the executive
I took a deep breath, attempting to get a grip and trying to reason through the panic cluttering my mind.
There was the receipt from Drago with the address of the gallery scrawled on it, I reminded myself. And there were his final words to me.
"This . . . important. You will see."
Maybe Drago was trying to lead me here all along. Maybe Eve was onto something after all. Maybe this trip to the gallery was significant. Maybe I would find something in Drago's office.
If Yuri didn't catch me snooping around first.
The thought fueled my footsteps, and I picked up my pace down the hallway. There was a brass sign hanging beside the next door on my right that said Private. The door was closed, but it wasn't shut all the way. I peeked inside.
One look in the office told me that any chance I had of finding a clue was officially gone.
All three of the file cabinets in the room were flung open, and file folders littered the blue and red rug on the floor. The desk drawers were gaping, too, and whatever had been in them was piled on the desk chair.
There was a window on one wall and a small safe under it. That had been opened, as well. It didn't appear to me that it had been broken into. I may not be much in the burglary department but I do know a mess when I see one. The door of the safe was hanging open, and what looked to be record books kicked to one side definitely qualified as a mess.
Somebody had gotten here before us, and it seemed as though that somebody had an advantage over Eve and me.
He--or she--knew exactly what he--or she--was looking for.
And it was obvious that he--or she--would do anything to find it.
Eight
"SMUGGLING."
"Art forgery."
"Fake antiques."
"That's almost just like art forgery. That doesn't count."
Eve rolled her eyes. At least she remembered to keep her voice down. We were in class (Fabulous Fruits and Vivacious Vegetables), and as we had all the way from Georgetown to Arlington, we were trying to figure out what sort of shady dealings Drago could have been involved with that would have resulted in his office being trashed--and in Drago being killed.
Eve whispered to me while she opened her can of chestnuts. "Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the gallery."
"Except that Drago said the gallery was important," I reminded her. "That's why we've got to concentrate on crimes that involve art. Unless Drago wasn't involved in anything illegal at all." Don't ask me why, but that was a new thought. I had been running on the assumption that Drago was a bad guy.
"Maybe he was an innocent bystander," I suggested. "Or a government witness. You know, like on all those TV shows."
"Of course he wasn't!" Eve practically sneered. In a beauty queen sort of way, of course. "You saw him that evening when he was coming out of here. And you saw him when he and Beyla were arguing. He was one nasty dude. Bad as bad can get."
"I hope that's not the Brussels sprouts you're talking about."
We'd been so deep in our speculations, I had no idea Jim was standing right behind us until his comment interrupted our discussion. I jumped, and the chestnuts I was just pouring out of the can landed half in the sink and half on the floor.
"Sorry." Jim sprang into action. He stooped to retrieve the chestnuts on the floor. I suppose in the great scheme of things, I should have been grateful for his gallantry.
Except that I bent to get them at the same time.
We clunked heads, and both of us came up rubbing our foreheads.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly. I was all set to bend down again when I saw that Jim was going to, too.
"Sorry." It was his turn.
We exchanged uncertain smiles, and though it was unspoken, we made the executive
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