Free Liar's Key by Carla Neggers Page B

Garden to try to clear his head, but he still felt terrible. His overnight bag might as well have been a hundred-pound weight.
    He hadn’t looked in the envelope. It was still tucked in the outer pocket of his suitcase, where the bellman had told him he’d put it. If it contained what Gordy thought it contained, he didn’t want to open it, at least not until this next visit was behind him.
    Part of him wanted to skip it and go home. A high-end consignment shop was located on the ground floor of the nineteenth-century former town house, down more steps and through a glass door. He could buy a present for his wife. Make amends for being so weird lately.
    But he continued up the steps to the main floor. He pushed open an unlocked glass door and entered a vestibule with stairs straight ahead and another glass door to his left, leading to a small gallery that specialized in Greek and Roman antiquities and contemporary mosaic art. This door was locked. Gordy looked for a buzzer and didn’t see one. He rapped his knuckles on the glass.
    Claudia Deverell looked up from a fussy, ornate desk and swore. He couldn’t hear her, but he could read her lips. Not that happy to see him, obviously. Big surprise.
    He pointed to the latch. “Open up, okay?”
    He had no idea if she could hear him, but she rose and glided to the door, pulling it open. “I should have guessed you’d find your way here. There’s no getting rid of you, is there?”
    â€œHello to you, too, Claudia.”
    She sighed, opening the door wider. “You might as well come in. The gallery is open to the public by appointment only.”
    â€œMakes sense. No one’s going to walk in on a whim and buy an ancient Greek coin or a cracked Roman urn.”
    â€œThe contemporary mosaic art is also a draw. How did you find me?”
    â€œYou mentioned you were staying a couple of days with the friends who own this place before you drove up to Maine.”
    â€œOh. Right.”
    Gordy expected Claudia to go on, but she didn’t. He stepped past her into the gallery. It had an upscale, artsy, museum feel to it, with its polished wood floors, industrial-feel shelves and careful lighting. The items for sale, both old and new, were widely spaced, each with a handwritten card, presumably to imply personal service, describing it in detail.
    Sure enough, a cracked pottery urn was the first item he noticed. It stood by itself on a shelf next to the desk. It was Greek, though, not Roman. “Fourth century BCE,” he said. “That’s a hell of a long time ago.”
    â€œYes, it is,” Claudia said, managing to make her voice sound like a roll of the eyes. She shut the door and returned to the desk, but she didn’t sit down. “You shouldn’t be here, Gordy.”
    â€œI’m on my way to Maine myself for the Sharpe open house on Saturday.”
    â€œYou don’t really think anyone will miss you if you don’t attend, do you?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t think anyone will notice if I do attend. I like Maine. I went to Acadia National Park once with Joan and the kids. I remember popovers at Jordan Pond, the sunset on Cadillac Mountain and the kids bitching and moaning about not having a TV at our cabin. I haven’t seen much of southern Maine. I hear it has some decent sand beaches.” He paused, aware that his chitchat sounded stiff and rehearsed even to him. “Your place in Heron’s Cove still the same?”
    Claudia sank into the chair at the desk and crossed her arms on her chest. Her cool blue eyes deepened and turned hot. “Unchanged since you graced us with your presence,” she said with obvious sarcasm.
    â€œUs? It was just you and me, sweetheart.”
    â€œDon’t remind me.”
    More than a year had passed between Gordy’s last encounter with her in Maine and the party at Claridge’s on Sunday, but slim, blond, wealthy Claudia Norwood