Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [14]
“What does this have to do with Derek?”
“Who else might have known that Derek brought valuable items home with him from this trip? I’m assuming these items were valuable, if they have to be shipped by courier.”
“You mean, could someone have followed him to rob him?” Amanda shook her head. “I don’t think he’d have told anyone else. And he didn’t buy anything else on this trip that I’m aware of. Just the . . . the one thing. And he had that shipped back. It wasn’t with him.”
Mercer leaned one hip against the counter. “What was that one thing, by the way?”
“It was a pottery goblet.”
“Where is it now?”
“It’s in the safe, in the back room.”
“May I see it?”
“It’s already wrapped and ready for the courier,” she protested.
“Well, if you’re real careful when you unwrap it, you won’t have a problem wrapping it up again.”
She glared at him.
“The package, Ms. Crosby.”
“Fine. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll wait.”
Damn Derek. Damn Clark. Damn Mercer.
Damn damn damn.
She unlocked the safe and withdrew the crate. Grabbing a screwdriver from a drawer, she went back into the shop. Chief Mercer was staring at a bronze statue of the goddess Diana that was locked inside a glass case.
“Nice.” He nodded toward the piece.
“Art deco.” She placed the wooden crate on the counter. “It’s an original Zelt. Quite exceptional. She did very few pieces in bronze. Seventeen thousand dollars. For you, maybe we could knock off a few bucks.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” He was all business again. “Now, let’s take a look at this piece of pottery that needs such special handling. . . .”
He helped her to painstakingly remove the crate. Inside, another wooden box held yet another. When she finally got to the goblet itself, he stepped back as if to appraise it.
“That’s it?” he asked skeptically. “That’s the vase you fought with your partner over?”
“Goblet,” she corrected. “It’s from a site in southern Iran called the Tell i Bakun. Part of an old civilization that—”
“Sorry, but all that means nothing to me.”
“Think very, very old and very, very rare.” She fought hard against the urge to be sarcastic. “Think civilizations that are no more.”
“I’m getting the picture. What’s its value?”
“Whatever someone is willing to pay for it.”
“What was Derek England willing to pay for it?”
“Sixty-five thousand dollars.”
Mercer whistled. “But he must have thought he’d be able to sell it for more than that, though, right?”
“He said he had a buyer who’d pay many times that amount.”
“Who was the buyer?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Any particular reason why not?”
“Because it didn’t matter. It had to go back.”
“You’ll have to forgive me for being dense, but why would you argue with your partner over buying an object that you could sell for such a large profit?”
Amanda hesitated. She had hoped to be able to somehow just get past the goblet without going into detail about its origins and Derek’s involvement—however inadvertent—with the black market.
“Because its origins were . . . questionable.”
“You mean it could be a fraud? A fake?”
“I almost wish it were.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s very, very authentic.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it was stolen some years ago from a museum in Iran.”
“I see.” Clark apparently hadn’t filled him in on that little detail.
“Then you see how this is not only bad for business, but more important, that my partner could have been arrested for dealing in stolen artifacts.”
He stared at her for a long time.
“I guess that’s one thing you won’t have to worry about now.” He leaned against the counter. “The damage to your business’s reputation, or bailing him out. So what’s the hurry in sending this . . . Where were you sending this, anyway?”
“Back to its owner.”
“Now how were you going to go about doing that? I mean, how would you know how to do that?” He paused, then added, “And with your partner dead, who would even know that you have this in your possession?”
It was her turn to stare at him.
“I mean,