a museum had a new exhibit by a well-known artist and she went five times that week,” Joslyn said. “I began to wonder if she was in love with the artist until I found out he was sixty-five years old.”
“There was one artist in Chicago who was twenty-five,” Clay said dryly. “I was a little worried since she was only seventeen at the time.”
“What did you do about that?” Ruby asked.
Clay scratched the back of his head. “I have to admit, I was really mean. I was at some party with her, and I went to where she was talking to the artist. I told him an embarrassing story about when she was in kindergarten that involved feathers, glitter and pink panties. She didn’t speak to me for a week, but she didn’t talk to the artist again, so it was a win for me.”
Joslyn and Ruby laughed. “She actually told me that story,” Ruby told him, “so she must have gotten over it.”
“No artists here that she’s currently in love with?” Clay said.
Ruby winced. “Well, there is one Native American artist who’s tall, dark and swarthy—he looks like a pirate. All the girls on staff here think he’s incredibly handsome. Fiona’s friendly with him, but then again, she’s just as friendly with Rufus, one of the guards.”
Clay cleared his throat. “How often is the, uh, artist here?”
Ruby giggled. “Not very often. Don’t worry.”
“When’s the last time you talked to Fiona?” Joslyn asked.
Ruby sobered. “It’s been several weeks. Rufus and I are a little worried. I even called her house a few times, but she didn’t answer.”
“Why do you think she’d stop coming to the museum?” Clay asked.
“Rufus thinks it’s because of that man who came a few weeks ago.”
“What man?”
“Some older man talked to her in the ancient Chinese art room. You should talk to Rufus about it. He was on duty that day and saw them.”
“Fiona didn’t say anything about what was wrong?” Joslyn asked.
Ruby shook her head. “But I didn’t see her the last day she was here. I had taken a sick day.”
“Is Rufus here today?”
“He’s wandering around, just keeping an eye on things. Tall, lanky African-American man.” Ruby reached out to grab Joslyn’s hand. “Please find out what happened to Fiona. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“We’ll find her,” Joslyn said. Fiona had left a hole in Joslyn’s life when she left Los Angeles. Joslyn didn’t have many women friends, and she always wondered if she might not have dated her abusive ex, Tomas, if Fiona had still been there with her frank opinions and logical insights. The least she could do was find out what happened to her friend now that it looked as if she’d gotten into something dangerous after she’d left the master’s program in LA.
They had to circle almost the entire museum before they found Rufus, an older man so slender that his guard uniform hung loosely on him. He had a short, gray beard and almost completely bald head with his curly, gray hair cut short. As they approached him, he frowned at them as if he were trying to look menacing. “Something I can help you folks with?”
Then his eye fell on Clay, and his brows rose halfway up his forehead. “Well, I’ll be. You look just like Fiona. You must be that brother she told me about.”
Clay grinned and shook the man’s hand. “Anything she told you about me, it wasn’t true.”
Rufus guffawed. “She said you’d say something like that.” He nodded to Joslyn. “This your missus?”
Joslyn felt as if her head was in a furnace, and Clay turned redder than a beet. “I’m Joslyn. I’m an old college friend of Fiona’s.”
His handshake was firm, his fingertips calloused. “So you went to school with her in LA?”
“Yes, sir. She and I had most of the same classes.”
“We’re here looking for her,” Clay said. “We hear she hasn’t been around for a few weeks.”
Rufus sighed heavily. “Don’t know what’s happened to her. I’m worried. It didn’t seem like she was into anything shady, but that man she met with the last time she was here seemed awful slick, if you know what I mean.”
“Who was he?” Joslyn asked.
“This older guy, although not quite as old as me. Seems like nobody’s quite as old as me, these days.” He flashed a grin, his smile bright in his dark face. “He was sitting and chatting with Fiona, and she looked pretty shaken.”
“You didn’t hear what they talked about?” Joslyn asked.
“Naw, I was standing by the door. There were some high school boys in the next room making fun of the abstract art, so I was keeping an eye on them in case they got rowdy.”
“Maybe she and the guy were friends,” Joslyn said.
“No, she didn’t come in with him. She was alone when I saw her enter the front door—she gave me a smile and a wave—and this guy came and met her in the antique Chinese art room only half an hour later. She seemed surprised to see him, so I don’t think she was intending to meet him here. They only talked five or ten minutes, but it was enough to make Fiona look upset and leave the museum early.”
“Did he leave with her?”
“Nope. He sat in the Chinese room for another few minutes—looked sorta down, if you ask me—and then he left.”
“Anyone with him?” Clay asked.
“Nope. But he was wearing some fancy suit, like those rich guys. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a driver waiting outside.”
“I wonder why she was upset,” Joslyn said. “Did Fiona say anything to you before she left?”
“No, she just smiled and waved, but she looked kinda distracted,” Rufus said. “Sometimes she chats with me, sometimes not. But that was the last time I saw her. No police have been by, so I wondered if maybe she was on vacation or something. But I think she’d’ve told me if that was the case. It must have been that guy.”
“You said he was slick.”
“Dressed real smart, navy suit—even in this heat—and big silver cufflinks on his sleeves.”
Clay had suddenly stilled. “What did he look like?”
“Oh, roundish face. Black hair, but receding like there was no tomorrow.”
“Kind of heavy-lidded eyes?”
Rufus’s eyebrows rose again. “Yeah.”
If Clay knew who the man was, Joslyn would have expected him to be more triumphant. Instead, he seemed even more perplexed. “Do you know him?” she asked.
Clay was frowning at the floor. “I think so, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
He looked up at her, and his eyes had turned a stormy gray. “I think that was Martin Crowley—her father, and my stepfather.”
Why would Fiona disappear after talking to Martin? As far as Clay knew, they were still on comfortable terms. Maybe not chummy, but not at odds with each other. And Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt Fiona, no matter what he’d done to Clay.
The memories, more bitter than medicine, burned his tongue and throat, and he swallowed to get them out of his system. Even after all these years, it still made him react as