Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [11]
“Well, maybe he stopped at someone’s house.”
Clark fell silent, then said, “I guess there’s a chance that he could have stopped at David and Robbie’s. That’s on the way to your place. Though it’s unlikely. I mean, it’s a weeknight, for crying out loud. You just don’t pop in to see someone at eleven-thirty on a weeknight. Of course, there’s always the chance that he stopped in the center of town to watch the fountain.”
“The fountain?” Amanda frowned.
“Oh, haven’t you seen the new fountain in the park? We drove past it today. It’s lovely. And Derek did so love the fountains in Italy. . . .” Clark sighed. “I know, I know. He’s so damned flighty sometimes. I know it makes you as crazy as it makes me, but he just doesn’t seem able to help himself.”
“This was important, Clark.”
“I know, sweetie. And I know that you just want to kill him sometimes.” Clark’s voice softened. “Amanda, he’s really, really upset over this pottery business.”
“As upset as he was last year when he bought that samurai sword?”
“Oh, worse. Much worse. He knows he blew it.”
“Big-time. He wiped us out and then some.”
“He can make up the cash. You know I’ll cover it.”
“That’s very generous of you, Clark, but you just can’t keep bailing him out.”
“Of course I can. And I will. Besides, I feel responsible. I’m the one who told Ahmed—”
“Ahmed? Ahmed who?”
“I didn’t get his last name.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. How stupid do you have to be to buy something in Italy—where so much black-market activity takes place—from a guy who identifies himself only as Ahmed?
“Anyway,” Clark continued, “Ahmed had this goblet to sell. I told him Derek was an antiques dealer. I mean, Ahmed was telling me about his business, how he had so many high-end pieces, so of course, I told him about Derek. And, well, one thing just led to another . . .”
“Right. I can see how this happened.” This was a lie, and Clark recognized it as such. Amanda would never purchase something without the proper paperwork.
“Just be gentle with him,” Clark pleaded. “He knows he’s a screwup.”
“I’m not making any promises this time. Didn’t it occur to him that something like this—buying an unknown piece with no provenance from an unknown source in a foreign country—could land his ass in prison?”
“Oh, God, don’t say that.”
“Don’t either of you realize that dealing in stolen antiquities is a crime?” She ran her fingers through her closely cropped dark hair. “This isn’t a matter of Derek simply being flighty. It’s about buying and selling something that was stolen. It’s about—”
“We didn’t know it was stolen, Manda.”
“The authorities may find that very difficult to believe. The piece has absolutely no documentation. No chain of ownership, no record of its excavation.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Clark asked in a shaky voice, “Do you really think he—we—could get arrested?”
“I’m doing everything I can to avoid having that happen. I did manage to make contact with someone who is going to do her best to help us. I’m having the piece picked up tomorrow afternoon by courier and delivered to a friend who is in the Middle East right now. She’ll return it to the museum she believes it was stolen from.”
“Who is this friend? Someone you can trust?”
Swell time to start thinking about who you can trust, she was tempted to say. Biting her tongue, she replied, “Iona McGowan’s sister.”
“The archaeologist. Yes. Excellent move, Amanda.” Clark’s mood brightened. “There. See? It’s all going to work out.”
“With any luck. But there’s still the potential damage to our reputation if this ever gets out—after all, this wouldn’t be the first black mark on our business—and we’re still out sixty-five grand.”
“No one is going to know, and I told you, I’ll make up the loss. I made a killing in gold futures during last year’s boom. It’s going to be fine.” Clark paused, then added softly, “Just don’t hurt him, Manda.”
“I’m not making any promises.”
“Wait! I have a call waiting coming in. I’ll bet it’s Derek. Hold on, Amanda.”
Amanda paced the length of the small kitchen until Clark came back on the line.