The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

“You said I could speak to you at any time…”

He had to take a couple of steadying breaths. He was still so furious, he was shaking.

Can’t be trusted.

He had spent his entire adult life being the guy everyone trusted. Reliable. Responsible. Reasonable.

You know who couldn’t be trusted? Goddamned Sam Kennedy, who made the rules up as he went along. Who believed rules were for other people. Who turned his emotions on and off like he was flicking a freaking switch.

He realized Baby’s big brown eyes were still fixed on him as she waited for his response.

“Yes,” he said, and he was surprised his voice sounded so normal. “Did you want to come inside and make a statement?”

“Oh no.” She looked alarmed at the very idea. “No, I just wanted to give you this.” She unsnapped her purse, reached in, and he braced for… Well, given the day he was having, getting shot would not have come as a total surprise. It might even be a relief.

She drew out something that shone and sparkled in the fading sunlight.

A gold locket.

He blinked at it as it swung gently from her hand, twisting and turning like a stage magician’s magical amulet.

“My great-uncle gave this to me when I turned sixteen.”

Even if Jason hadn’t seen the black and white photos, he would have recognized the locket from its description.

Circa 1920. Heart-shaped locket exquisitely detailed in 14kt yellow gold with 9 .12 ct. diamonds, suspended from pleated gold chain.

He reached for it, and she slipped the chain from her fingers and let him take it. He stared at the fragile chain threaded through his fingers. Somehow it had survived all these years. That had to be a metaphor for something, but he was too tired and heartsick to think what.

“Were there photos inside?”

Her lips trembled. She nodded. “Two. Old sepia pictures of a man and a little girl.”

“Do you still have the photos?”

Baby shook her head. “I was a kid. It never occurred to me— I didn’t want them. I wanted my own photos—so I took them out and threw them away.”

Someone else’s hea

rtbreak. But the Rosensteins would probably remind him they had lost a lot more than photos.

Baby said, “Uncle Roy was like that. Generous. He gave things away to the people he liked. I thought—we all thought—they were his to give.”

“Yes.” Jason did believe that.

“But now that I know…”

“Did your great-uncle give you other things?”

“No. Well, the five thousand dollars in his will. But nothing else. Nothing like that.” She nodded at the locket. Jason found that he believed her.

“Why are you bringing this to me now?”

Her throat jerked as she swallowed. “You were…nice yesterday. Kind. About the…not lying. And the things you said made me think.” She looked apologetic. “Gary doesn’t trust the police. He got into trouble a long time ago, and he thinks the police are always trying to get people. To trick them. But it seemed to me you were saying if you could get those pictures and the other things back, you didn’t really care about anything else.”

Jason said, “Where you’re concerned, no. I don’t care about anything else. You were a kid when your uncle gave you this locket. And as far as Gary, I don’t have anything against him. So long as he stays out of my case, I don’t see that changing.”

“Gary’s not involved.”