a theft at a certain museum.”
Brooke sagged and went to the nearest chair, dropping heavily onto the upholstered seat.
Victor eyed Tuney carefully, the muscles in his stomach knotted. “Why are you following her?”
Brooke gazed at the carpet as she spoke. “I recognize him now. You came to my house and asked all kinds of questions after the robbery, didn’t you, Mr. Tuney?” When she lifted her head, he noticed the smudges under her eyes and the fatigue that seemed to permeate her body. “Four years ago my father was the assistant curator at the Museum of Culture here in San Francisco. There was a theft—three pieces were stolen from the delivery truck just outside the museum.” She shot a harsh look at Tuney. “My father had nothing to do with it. He tried to call for help once he realized what was happening, but it was too late.”
“That’s one version,” Tuney said. “Another is your father leaked the information to someone who arranged for the theft. That’s why he lost his job, isn’t it?”
Anger flared in Brooke’s face. “He lost his job because the museum needed a scapegoat, and Jeffrey Lock, the head curator, made sure my father took the fall.”
The disbelief on Tuney’s face was clear along with an inexplicable current of anger. “Lock lost his job, too. That’s why he works at Bayside now. The art was probably sold on the black market, and someone made a fortune. Any idea who?”
“It wasn’t the Ramsey family,” Brooke snapped. “We’re not exactly swimming in money, in case you haven’t noticed. We left San Francisco because we couldn’t afford to stay here anymore after the incident. My father owns a fifteen-year-old car and a run-down house in San Diego.”
“Sometimes art freaks steal for the sake of owning what they can’t buy. And the thing about art freaks is, they constantly need to collect more and more. It’s a sickness, see. So why are you using the name Ramsey? Your father’s name is Andrews, isn’t it?”
She slumped. “He forced us to use my mother’s maiden name. Too many people hate us now.”
Victor felt his stomach shrink. Brooke Ramsey, formerly Brooke Andrews, daughter of Donald Andrews, the one man he abhorred more than any other person on the planet.
Tuney raised an eyebrow. “I understand your father is now in possession of a painting that might be a Tarkenton.”
Brooke gaped. “How did you know that?”
Tuney shrugged, his mouth drawn, eyes flashing. “Your father contacted Professor Colda at the university. Funny thing. Professor Colda went missing, shortly after. Found a note in his office. An address. Guess whose?”
Brooke shrugged in exasperation. “Ours, no doubt. That makes sense, since my father sent him the painting to appraise.”
“Yes, your father contacted Colda and then the guy disappeared. Could be your father and the good professor had a falling out? Maybe the learned professor started to ask questions about how your father acquired the Tarkenton? Reasonable, since Dad already has a black mark on his reputation. Maybe he had to make Colda disappear.”
Brooke lifted her chin and Victor thought he saw her lips tremble before she glared at Tuney. “In spite of the news reports, my father’s character is impeccable. Can you say the same for yours?”
Victor collected himself and corralled his shock. “Mr. Tuney, none of this gives you the right to break into her room.”
“I didn’t break in. Gave the maid a happy story that I was her father looking to surprise his daughter.” His lips quirked. “Besides, you didn’t mind my methods when I was working for you.”
Brooke stood. “You hired him?”
Victor shook his head. “Not this time. Four years ago, after the robbery.”
Brooke was pacing the floor now, strides long and graceful, her cheeks flushed. “Because of what happened at the museum? Why would you care about that? What’s your interest in the theft?”
“I have no interest whatsoever,” Victor said, voice low.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“One thing I’ve learned in this business. If something smells fishy, it usually is,” Tuney said. “I’ve got a personal reason to be involved.”
“Who are you working for now?” Victor said, turning back to Tuney.
Tuney shrugged. “That’s not your concern.”
Brooke crossed her arms. “Whatever you two think you know about my father is wrong. He’s a good man. He didn’t steal anything back then and he hasn’t stolen anything now.”
“So why are you here in San Francisco?” Tuney said, jerking a thumb at Victor. “Talking to him? Going to do a little treasure hunting?”
Victor held up a hand. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Mr. Tuney. The lady can talk with whomever she wants.”
“Oh, I think it’s my business, all right.”
“How’s that?”
“One thing you should both know. I’m a busy man, so sometimes I hire people to do freelancing for me. In this case, I had someone keeping tabs on you in San Diego and on your trip up here.”
Victor felt a tingle of unease in his spine. “Who?”
“Gal by the name of Fran.” He looked at Brooke, a flash of emotion crossing his face. “I was scheduled to meet her but things didn’t work out. Maybe you saw her.”
“Saw her?” Brooke echoed.
“Yeah,” Tuney said, his eyes shifting from hers to Victor’s. His voice trembled slightly, and he cleared his throat. “She was shot in your lobby a few hours ago.”
* * *
The walls seemed to blur before Brooke’s eyes. She staggered back and felt Victor’s arm around her waist, steadying her, before she pulled away. “The black-haired woman worked for you?”
“Yes. Off the books, of course. She’s the one who found your father’s address in Colda’s office, so she started tailing you. Followed you to San Francisco, to Gage’s office building. I went to meet her. Got there just in time to join the crowd of bystanders who collected after the shooting.” He cleared his throat again. “It was clear she wasn’t going to make it, even with Dr. Gage’s help, so I decided to come to meet with you personally.”
“Did you tell all this to the police?” Victor asked.
Tuney’s eyes narrowed. “Not yet. I figured I would fill them in right after I talked to you.”
Words failed Brooke. All she could think about was the lady lying on the lobby floor with the life ebbing out of her.
“Brooke’s going back home soon, so there’s no reason for you to continue to pursue her.”
“I want the truth. That’s
