Someone caught Talavera’s eye. “If you’ll excuse me, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” He glided away to welcome more guests.
“Are you collectors?” Juan asked the couple standing next to them, who had yet to say a word.
“My employer is,” Golov said in accented English. “He particularly enjoys artifacts from the Napoleonic Wars. Do you intend to bid on the diary?” His smile was jovial, but his eyes shone with a barely contained intensity. He didn’t carry himself with the ease of the wealthy but rather with a bearing that hinted at a military background. The blonde, however, watched them with amusement. And, a bit of disdain.
“I see a lot of items I’d like to buy,” Juan said. “My wife and I are big history buffs. I understand there are a couple of old cannons for sale that I have my eye on.”
“Oh, honey,” Gretchen said, looping her arm through Juan’s, “you know we couldn’t even get those things into the elevator, let alone up to our penthouse.”
“No, I was thinking of the Hamptons estate, dear.”
Golov leaned over and muttered to Semova in Russian. She snickered in response.
He had assumed Juan wouldn’t be able to understand, but Juan made it out perfectly, and Gretchen would have as well.
Perhaps we should call them Tsar and Tsarina since they have winter and summer palaces.
Gretchen playfully swiped at Golov’s arm. “Now, that’s not fair. What did he tell you?”
Semova gave them a Cheshire Cat grin. “He said that every house in America is armed like that. Is that true?”
“Not ours,” Gretchen said. “I won’t allow loaded guns in the home. Nonworking antiques only.”
Juan nodded at the diary. “How about your boss? Is he bidding on it?”
“No,” Golov said. “Old books are not of interest to him.”
“And what is?”
“Perhaps we should simply acknowledge that neither of us is going to reveal our intentions, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. We both know that the art of bidding requires secrecy, wouldn’t you agree?”
Juan raised his glass. “We do indeed.”
“Shall we take a spin around the room, dear?” Gretchen cooed. She led Juan away by his elbow. As they moved out of earshot, she commented, “They’re an odd couple.”
“Not the friendliest, either. Something about them seemed off.”
“You got that, too, then. But I can’t put my finger on why.”
“Let’s hope we’re not as obvious.”
“We kept up a fake marriage for three weeks. I think we can handle one more night.”
As they wandered around and chatted with other guests, Juan subtly kept an eye on Golov and Semova. After thirty minutes, Semova was teetering on her heels even though she’d only consumed one glass of bubbly. They were standing near Talavera when all of a sudden he wobbled, then stumbled and fell onto his back. Amid the surprised gasps from around the room, Golov, Semova, and several others bent down to aid the stricken museum director.
Golov yelled, “Someone call an ambulance!” Security guards swarmed over to them and began tending to Talavera.
“Did you see that?” Gretchen said.
Juan nodded. “Semova’s good. I barely saw her slip something from his pocket.”
“It was some kind of card. And she can’t be tipsy. I’ve been counting her drinks.”
“Talavera looks like he’s been ‘roofied.’ They must have slipped it into his drink earlier tonight and have been hovering around him waiting for him to collapse.”
Golov and Semova backed away and walked straight for the exit, Semova showing no signs of impairment at all now.
“Let’s see where they’re going with that card,” Juan said. “Mike, meet us outside in thirty seconds.”