Free Fatal Impressions by Reba White Williams

to hire a female Davidson,” Amy said.
    Coleman laughed. “The supreme sacrifice, huh? Don’t say anything about the paintings to anyone until we know more. I’ll get a list of everything that arrived at that museum. Maybe the paintings are there. What’s the name of the museum?”
    “Wait a minute, let me think…it’s a place I’d never heard of. It’s Scottish, and royal. Mary, Queen of Scots? No—the Prince Charles Stuart, that’s it. And the town is Stuartville, New York.”
    “Thanks. I’ll let you know when I learn anything.”
    Before she placed the call to the museum, Coleman checked her e-mail and her voice mail. Jonathan had left a message repeating his request that she join him, Dinah, and Rob at Cornelia Street that evening to discuss the DDD&W situation. She texted him that she’d be there. Rob had called and wanted her to call him. She’d ignore that one. She was too busy to argue with Rob about their relationship. She’d see him soon enough. Time to call the Prince Charles Stuart.
    The director of the museum chirped and twittered like an excited canary at the prospect of an article in ArtSmart about their new Americana collection. She promised to fax the list of the art they’d received first thing Friday morning, explaining that “it needed a bit of organizing before she could send it, but she’d work on it this afternoon and tonight.” Coleman sighed at the delay and called a paralegal at ArtSmart ’s law firm to ask how she could obtain a copy of James Davidson’s will. The young woman explained that the will was a public document, all that was needed was a trip downtown, and described the process step-by-step. But Coleman couldn’t get downtown and complete her research before the Chambers Street office closed. The will would have to wait until Friday. She’d take Dolly for a long walk, and then they’d go home so Dolly could have supper and Coleman could change clothes before heading for Cornelia Street.

Twelve
    Coleman’s emergency summons caught Robert Mondelli at Heathrow. He was on his way to Paris to spend the weekend with friends, but since he had only a carry-on bag with him, he was able to catch the British Airways 1:40 flight to New York scheduled to arrive at JFK at 4:10. He texted his assistant in New York to cancel his Paris engagement and to arrange with Brown’s Hotel to overnight the rest of his baggage to New York.
    Interrupting his trip was inconvenient. He had several appointments at museums to discuss security arrangements. They’d have to be rescheduled, which meant a time-consuming return trip to Europe, when he was already overcommitted. He had two new and demanding clients, both needing his attention as soon as he returned to New York. He was swamped and significantly understaffed for all he’d promised to do, even before hearing about Dinah’s problem. He needed to hire more people, but when would he find the time? Coleman wouldn’t have asked him to come home unless it was urgent. Dinah? A suspect in a murder investigation? Treated like a criminal by the police? Absurd. This had to be a mistake. Maybe he could wrap it up in a few hours and turn to his other clients.
    And then there was Coleman. He should be thinking about his business, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. When she’d telephoned, for a heart-stopping few minutes he thought she was calling to say she was flying over to join him in London. But while her voice reflected concern for Dinah, her manner in dealing with him was distant. Her attitude toward him had changed in March when he’d asked her to marry him. Her refusal had been curt, and when he’d explained he wanted to take care of her, prevent anyone from hurting her ever again, his explanation seemed to make her angry. She’d said she didn’t need anyone to take care of her, and she’d reminded him that she had warned him the first time they went out that she had no interest in marriage.
    “I told you then that I’ve