Page 67 of A Real Good Bad Thing
A ten thousand dollar one.
32
A BIRD’S EYE VIEW
Jake
I stopped to drop a few coins in the donation box as I entered the island church. The air inside was cool, and the midmorning sun streaked through stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned splashes of light across the white walls and the wooden floor. Churchgoers dotted the pews, their heads bent in prayer.
Silently, out of respect for their quiet contemplation, I moved to the staircase near the corner of the vestibule then climbed the curving steps to the second-floor loft. The windows around the perimeter made the space feel light and airy, but the best feature was the view—a clear sightline into the art gallery across the street.
It was wedged between Atlantis Submarine Tours and an empty storefront, with a slim alley between the gallery and the vacant shop. I imagined that might be the property that Willow and Eli were trying to purchase in order to expand the gallery but that was conjecture.Everythingwas conjecture at that point, and I had no words to express my frustration about that.
Well, no words I could’ve said in a church.
I was hungry for real answers. Answers I could sink my teeth into. I felt like I’d gotten as far as I could on informed guesses. And more than anything—almost anything—I wanted to pin Eli down so the slick bastard could pay the piper. About fucking time.
Made sense that the rocks might be in there. The more I thought about it, the more I could picture them stuffed inside the frames.
I slipped on my sunglasses and leaned on the window frame to take advantage of the bird’s-eye view of the gallery. Thanks to the binoculars built into my shades, I had a clear, close-up view of the front and back door of Willow’s Island Gallery, as well as the alley alongside it. I noted the number of employees visible in the gallery—three, including one at the reception desk—as well as the steady stream of visitors to the establishment.
A tall, graying man parked his Honda in front of the gallery. He struck a familiar chord, but I couldn’t entirely place him. Instead of going in, he glanced at the doorway, lingered there for a while, and then popped into a souvenir shop down the block. A burly man in a suit strolled into the gallery, stayed about five minutes chatting with Willow, then left. The next visitor was a woman in a flowy red dress. When she reemerged, Willow held open the door for her, and the woman blew her a kiss then breezed down the street, glancing at a brochure she’d taken with her.
I checked my watch. An hour until go-time. In Ruby’s hotel room that morning, we’d scoped the location, studying every angle of Willow’s Island Gallery with Google Street View as we’d prepped, but there was no substitute for having eyes on the objective. That was what had brought me there—and maybe some impatience to get my hands on the diamonds I was sure waited inside that gallery.
Okay, a lot of impatience.
I patted my pocket, running my thumb along the outline of a little something I’d taken from Ruby’s hotel that morning. I chuckled silently at the memory of lifting the sweet object. So easy.
Hopefully, snagging Eli’s diamonds went as smoothly. Once those blue-tinted beauties were safe in my hands, my work there would be done. I’d deliver the ice to Andrew, head home to Key Largo, see my sister, ride bikes with my nephew, and maybe have a brew with my buddy Dan while we fished off the dock near my house.
It sounded good.
It also sounded like something was missing from the picture.
Ruby.
She was sweet, feisty, smart, game for adventure, and had a vulnerability in her that latched onto my heart. We’d had a damn good time together, and I was closer to cracking the case because of her.
Footsteps on the wood floor snapped me to attention. I turned to see a man wearing a name tag ID’ing him as a volunteer at the church. He flashed a brief smile and said, “Welcome. Can I help you in any way?”
I interpreted his question to meanWhat are you doing here?Nothing marked the second floor as off-limits, but I had been there long enough to pique curiosity.
“I’m just admiring the view,” I said.
“If there is anything you need, let me know,” he said, making it clear I was welcome, but not that welcome.
“Of course. Beautiful church you have.” I gestured to the historic stained glass that made my excuse plausible.
“Thank you.” He smiled but didn’t leave. “Can I answer any questions for you?”
Sadly, not the questions I need answers to.
I gave him a polite, “thank you, but no,” and made my way down the steps. I’d gotten all I could for now.
Stopping in front of a stand full of votive candles, I took out my wallet and slid a few bills into the donation box in gratitude for the use of the church’s well-placed windows. Then I pushed open the bright white door and blinked against the blast of sunlight and warm air.
My phone sang out with my little sister’s ringtone. I turned away from the art gallery, threading through the late-morning tourists and souvenir shoppers as I answered Kylie’s call, braced for more potential bad news about her grades.