and she always wondered if she might not have dated her abusive ex, Tomas, if Fiona had still been there with her frank opinions and logical insights. The least she could do was find out what happened to her friend now that it looked as if she’d gotten into something dangerous after she’d left the master’s program in LA.
They had to circle almost the entire museum before they found Rufus, an older man so slender that his guard uniform hung loosely on him. He had a short, gray beard and almost completely bald head with his curly, gray hair cut short. As they approached him, he frowned at them as if he were trying to look menacing. “Something I can help you folks with?”
Then his eye fell on Clay, and his brows rose halfway up his forehead. “Well, I’ll be. You look just like Fiona. You must be that brother she told me about.”
Clay grinned and shook the man’s hand. “Anything she told you about me, it wasn’t true.”
Rufus guffawed. “She said you’d say something like that.” He nodded to Joslyn. “This your missus?”
Joslyn felt as if her head was in a furnace, and Clay turned redder than a beet. “I’m Joslyn. I’m an old college friend of Fiona’s.”
His handshake was firm, his fingertips calloused. “So you went to school with her in LA?”
“Yes, sir. She and I had most of the same classes.”
“We’re here looking for her,” Clay said. “We hear she hasn’t been around for a few weeks.”
Rufus sighed heavily. “Don’t know what’s happened to her. I’m worried. It didn’t seem like she was into anything shady, but that man she met with the last time she was here seemed awful slick, if you know what I mean.”
“Who was he?” Joslyn asked.
“This older guy, although not quite as old as me. Seems like nobody’s quite as old as me, these days.” He flashed a grin, his smile bright in his dark face. “He was sitting and chatting with Fiona, and she looked pretty shaken.”
“You didn’t hear what they talked about?” Joslyn asked.
“Naw, I was standing by the door. There were some high school boys in the next room making fun of the abstract art, so I was keeping an eye on them in case they got rowdy.”
“Maybe she and the guy were friends,” Joslyn said.
“No, she didn’t come in with him. She was alone when I saw her enter the front door—she gave me a smile and a wave—and this guy came and met her in the antique Chinese art room only half an hour later. She seemed surprised to see him, so I don’t think she was intending to meet him here. They only talked five or ten minutes, but it was enough to make Fiona look upset and leave the museum early.”
“Did he leave with her?”
“Nope. He sat in the Chinese room for another few minutes—looked sorta down, if you ask me—and then he left.”
“Anyone with him?” Clay asked.
“Nope. But he was wearing some fancy suit, like those rich guys. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a driver waiting outside.”
“I wonder why she was upset,” Joslyn said. “Did Fiona say anything to you before she left?”
“No, she just smiled and waved, but she looked kinda distracted,” Rufus said. “Sometimes she chats with me, sometimes not. But that was the last time I saw her. No police have been by, so I wondered if maybe she was on vacation or something. But I think she’d’ve told me if that was the case. It must have been that guy.”
“You said he was slick.”
“Dressed real smart, navy suit—even in this heat—and big silver cufflinks on his sleeves.”
Clay had suddenly stilled. “What did he look like?”
“Oh, roundish face. Black hair, but receding like there was no tomorrow.”
“Kind of heavy-lidded eyes?”
Rufus’s eyebrows rose again. “Yeah.”
If Clay knew who the man was, Joslyn would have expected him to be more triumphant. Instead, he seemed even more perplexed. “Do you know him?” she asked.
Clay was frowning at the floor. “I think so, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
He looked up at her, and his eyes had turned a stormy gray. “I think that was Martin Crowley—her father, and my stepfather.”
Why would Fiona disappear after talking to Martin? As far as Clay knew, they were still on comfortable terms. Maybe not chummy, but not at odds with each other. And Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt Fiona, no matter what he’d done to Clay.
The memories, more bitter than medicine, burned his tongue and throat, and he swallowed to get them out of his system. Even after all these years, it still made him react as if his stepfather’s utter rejection of him had happened yesterday.
“Her father?” Rufus said. Clay had forgotten he was still there. “Now that’s interesting. Fiona never seemed happy when she talked about her daddy. And she certainly wasn’t happy that man had come to talk to her that day.”
Joslyn had been shocked when Clay had said the man was Martin, but now she looked thoughtful. “Can you remember anything else?” she asked Rufus.
He pursed his mouth, but then shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t hear anything that they said, and that’s about all I saw.”
Joslyn handed him her business card. “If you remember anything else, give us a call.”
“Sure thing.”
As they headed out of the museum, Clay said, “You didn’t seem surprised that Fiona and Martin hadn’t seemed very friendly that day. Fiona had always been pretty close to him.”
Joslyn tilted her head. “Well, she was closer to Martin when I first knew her, but, especially just before she left Los Angeles, he seemed to annoy her or upset her more often. She never wanted to talk about him. I guess in the past two years, they never healed the breach.”
“He must have said something to her to make her upset. But he can’t possibly have anything to do with her disappearance. He wouldn’t hurt her.”
“But the fact is that sometime after he spoke to her, she went missing.”
“If she were in danger from Martin, he’d have taken her at the museum, and he wouldn’t have bothered to speak to her first.” Clay sighed. “Plus I have a hard time believing Fiona would be involved in anything shady that Martin might be doing.” He remembered his last big argument with Fiona in Chicago, and the reason she’d moved away from him.
“He might have helped her leave. If she was in trouble and he could help, she’d accept it.”
