give you a surfing lesson.”
“I’ve got the day planned out.”
“Franks sells insurance,” said Missy.
“Wow, sorry to hear that,” said Clark.
“I don’t really sell insurance.” Thorpe reached into his jacket, pulled out the federal ID that Gavin Ellsworth had made him, and flipped open the wallet. Showed the six-pointed star, the tips worn as though it had been in use for years. “My name is Frank Antonelli. I’m an investigator with the Import-Export Division of the U.S. State Department.”
Clark stared at the badge. “Yikes.”
If Missy was surprised, she didn’t show it, her eyes so hard that you could have struck sparks off them. “I don’t see any warrant.”
“I didn’t see the need for a warrant. You’re not the focus of my inquiry.” Thorpe flicked the wallet shut, tucked it back into his jacket. He had practiced that insouciant open and shut flip for fifteen minutes before driving over this morning. A quick show of the tin and the official seal, and that was it. No big deal. The lazy mannerisms of authority were crucial, almost as important as the credentials themselves. Thorpe could have made do with an off-the-shelf badge and ID, but he trusted Ellsworth’s skill. He never knew when a citizen would want to give his wallet more than a cursory glance, and Missy appeared to be someone who wouldn’t be cowed by a federal officer. Or anyone else.
Missy knotted her robe tighter. “Just who
is
the focus of your investigation?”
“Should I call our lawyer, Missy?” asked Clark.
“That’s up to you,” Thorpe said to Missy, “but I think it’s unnecessary. I’m looking into possible violations of the 1987 Federal Antiquities Act by Douglas Meachum.”
“Antiquities?” said Clark. “Like the History Channel?”
Thorpe smiled. “Some dealers import historically significant art-works into the United States without the proper release forms from the country of origin.” He looked at Missy. “Meachum never filed paperwork for the Mayan plaque you bought last week.”
“
That’s
why you’re here?” said Missy.
“I’d like to take a closer look at the plaque,” said Thorpe. “I was hoping to get your cooperation without a subpoena.”
“See Clark,” said Missy, watching Thorpe, “that’s the polite way to put your foot on somebody’s neck.” She stalked off, led him through the house, and finally stopped in front of the cabinet. On her tiptoes now, she retrieved the key hidden on top and unlocked the glass doors, stood there with her arms crossed, daring him to make a move. “I thought we hit it off, Frank, I really did. You must have gotten a good laugh.”
Thorpe could see a vein pounding in the hollow of her throat. “I never laughed at you,” he said quietly.
“Come on, you can be honest now.” Missy patted his jacket pocket. “You’re the man with the badge; you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I used you to get at Meachum,” said Thorpe. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed, either. It’s my job. I had a good time last night.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Missy roughly pushed her hair back, her eyes warming slightly. “It was a good party, wasn’t it?”
“A very good party.” Thorpe carefully took the limestone plaque out of the cabinet, the Mayan king in noble profile, his earlobes elongated in the early classical manner. “If it makes any difference, I could have done this last night, but I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your guests. There was that skinny brunette with the diamonds and the fake boobs . . . Jackie. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.”
“That
skank,
” said Missy. “Yeah, that would have given her the first orgasm she’s had in years.”
Thorpe examined the plaque, taking his time. The surface was lightly pitted, every tiny crevice rimmed with moss the color of raw emeralds. It was so beautiful, he didn’t want to let it go. “What kind of provenance did
“I’ve got the day planned out.”
“Franks sells insurance,” said Missy.
“Wow, sorry to hear that,” said Clark.
“I don’t really sell insurance.” Thorpe reached into his jacket, pulled out the federal ID that Gavin Ellsworth had made him, and flipped open the wallet. Showed the six-pointed star, the tips worn as though it had been in use for years. “My name is Frank Antonelli. I’m an investigator with the Import-Export Division of the U.S. State Department.”
Clark stared at the badge. “Yikes.”
If Missy was surprised, she didn’t show it, her eyes so hard that you could have struck sparks off them. “I don’t see any warrant.”
“I didn’t see the need for a warrant. You’re not the focus of my inquiry.” Thorpe flicked the wallet shut, tucked it back into his jacket. He had practiced that insouciant open and shut flip for fifteen minutes before driving over this morning. A quick show of the tin and the official seal, and that was it. No big deal. The lazy mannerisms of authority were crucial, almost as important as the credentials themselves. Thorpe could have made do with an off-the-shelf badge and ID, but he trusted Ellsworth’s skill. He never knew when a citizen would want to give his wallet more than a cursory glance, and Missy appeared to be someone who wouldn’t be cowed by a federal officer. Or anyone else.
Missy knotted her robe tighter. “Just who
is
the focus of your investigation?”
“Should I call our lawyer, Missy?” asked Clark.
“That’s up to you,” Thorpe said to Missy, “but I think it’s unnecessary. I’m looking into possible violations of the 1987 Federal Antiquities Act by Douglas Meachum.”
“Antiquities?” said Clark. “Like the History Channel?”
Thorpe smiled. “Some dealers import historically significant art-works into the United States without the proper release forms from the country of origin.” He looked at Missy. “Meachum never filed paperwork for the Mayan plaque you bought last week.”
“
That’s
why you’re here?” said Missy.
“I’d like to take a closer look at the plaque,” said Thorpe. “I was hoping to get your cooperation without a subpoena.”
“See Clark,” said Missy, watching Thorpe, “that’s the polite way to put your foot on somebody’s neck.” She stalked off, led him through the house, and finally stopped in front of the cabinet. On her tiptoes now, she retrieved the key hidden on top and unlocked the glass doors, stood there with her arms crossed, daring him to make a move. “I thought we hit it off, Frank, I really did. You must have gotten a good laugh.”
Thorpe could see a vein pounding in the hollow of her throat. “I never laughed at you,” he said quietly.
“Come on, you can be honest now.” Missy patted his jacket pocket. “You’re the man with the badge; you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I used you to get at Meachum,” said Thorpe. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed, either. It’s my job. I had a good time last night.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Missy roughly pushed her hair back, her eyes warming slightly. “It was a good party, wasn’t it?”
“A very good party.” Thorpe carefully took the limestone plaque out of the cabinet, the Mayan king in noble profile, his earlobes elongated in the early classical manner. “If it makes any difference, I could have done this last night, but I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your guests. There was that skinny brunette with the diamonds and the fake boobs . . . Jackie. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.”
“That
skank,
” said Missy. “Yeah, that would have given her the first orgasm she’s had in years.”
Thorpe examined the plaque, taking his time. The surface was lightly pitted, every tiny crevice rimmed with moss the color of raw emeralds. It was so beautiful, he didn’t want to let it go. “What kind of provenance did
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