Sam stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “You’re correct that I am more of a traditionalist.”
They didn’t seem to want to let up, and Chelsea didn’t need to stick around while they jockeyed for alpha position. She cleared her throat. “I see Mrs. Fontaine admiring the Oldenburg. Joel, if you’d attend to the detective, I’ll see if she’s interested in making a purchase. Good evening, Detective,” she added, deliberately using his title rather than his name, before she walked away.
* * *
SAM WATCHED CHELSEA march off. March seemed to be the most accurate way to describe it. He had to give her credit for determination. There was no question she’d had enough of the verbal sparring he and Sinclair had been engaged in. His gaze still on her, he noted that she moved with poise, too.
She might not have been particularly tall, but she had long legs. Elongated by the sexy heels. How did a woman manage to stay on her feet all evening in a pair of those? And then there was her trim, shapely figure. Maybe not his type, but a man had to appreciate a form like that.
He kept his gaze on Chelsea longer than he might have, because he knew he was being watched by Sinclair. Sam could tell that it irritated him, and for some reason that gave him satisfaction. When he finally looked back at Sinclair, he wasn’t surprised by the scowl on the other man’s face. He hadn’t missed his possessive stroking of Chelsea’s arm, either. Boyfriend? They did appear to be suited, but the thought of the two of them together annoyed him for some reason.
Sam decided to test his hypothesis. “How long have you been seeing each other?” He noticed the immediate tensing, the breaking of eye contact. Both possible tells that Sinclair wasn’t comfortable with the question.
“Oh, we started dating about two and a half years ago.”
“Uh-huh.” Well, she was off-limits to him. Where did that come from? He hadn’t realized he’d been thinking about Chelsea in that context.
Forcing his thoughts onto a different subject, he looked at the statue on a pedestal not far from where they stood. From his discussion with Chelsea he’d gathered that statue would be priced in the six figures. With the value of the artwork displayed, if his theory about the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines was correct, the gallery could be the real target. Since Sinclair was still standing next to him, he’d take the opportunity to learn more about the gallery...and Sinclair himself. He pointed to the statue. “What can you tell me about that piece?”
Sinclair gave him the rundown. It was evident that he knew his facts, but he didn’t show any of the warmth or passion that Chelsea had. Sam deduced that for him it was a job. For Chelsea? More of a calling.
Sam decided to try another angle. “Chelsea mentioned your grandmother owns the gallery.”
“Yes. She does.”
Sam saw Joel glance around the room, his eyes resting briefly on the gray-haired woman dressed in a muted pink—he supposed it would be called rose—suit in the far corner of the room.
“Is that your grandmother?”
“What? Yes.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“I don’t see why—”
“You never know when connections to the Camden Falls Police Department might come in handy,” Sam interrupted in a tone that deterred argument.
“Yes, of course,” Sinclair said curtly.
Sam followed him to the corner where his grandmother was. They waited until she’d finished her conversation with a distinguished-looking gentleman.
“Grandmother, I’d like to introduce you to Detective Sam Eldridge,” Joel said when she turned to them. “Detective, this is my grandmother Nadine Sinclair.”
Sam noticed the slight narrowing of her eyes before she offered him a bright smile and held out her hand. Her charisma was powerful. Joel Sinclair didn’t inherit his lack of charm from his grandmother.
“It’s always nice to have a Camden Falls police officer visit our establishment.” Her expression sobered. “Do you have news about the robbery next door? What happened to Arnold Rochester is simply horrible.”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t, but we’re doing our best.”
“I’m the one who needs to apologize. How rude of me to ask about such a terrible incident when you’re a guest at our little gallery. I imagine your line of work is often thankless, but I’m grateful for what you and your colleagues do to keep our community safe and free from crime. I trust the investigation is in good hands.” The glint in her eye made Sam think she would’ve been a force to reckon with in her younger days, and probably still was. Age hadn’t dulled her intelligence or her perception. Although she made him feel as if he was her focus, she kept a vigilant eye on the room behind him.
“No apology necessary. I’m never entirely off the clock.”
She angled her head. “As I said, we’re grateful for your service and dedication. I noticed Chelsea showing you around. You haven’t been in here before, have you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I hope you like our gallery and will visit us again.”
“Thank you. You have an impressive place. I expect you have a sophisticated security system, too.”
“We do, supplemented by security guards and patrols,” Joel responded, drawing his attention. “But it’s also something we avoid discussing in public. Part of the system’s effectiveness has to do with the fact that it’s unobtrusive. If would-be thieves were to know the details of the system, it would be that much easier for them to disable or circumvent it.”
Mrs. Sinclair patted her grandson’s arm. A subtle sign of admonition perhaps?
“Joel can get very protective of the gallery...and me. So, Detective Eldridge, can I interest you in any of our works of art?”
“You’d be the third one to try,” Sam said with a smile. “And the one most likely to succeed, but no. I came more out of general interest today.”
Activity in another part of the room had all three of them turning in that direction, and Sam guessed the auction was about to begin. It was time for him to go—before an innocent scratch of his head ended up costing him a year’s salary for something he didn’t need or want. He thanked both Sinclairs and started to navigate through the crowd toward the door.
He’d ascertained that the gallery would be a viable target, if his theory held. Whether related or not, his gut told him not to trust Joel Sinclair. The grandmother seemed nice enough, but there was something about Joel that rubbed him the wrong way.
Chelsea came to mind, and he nearly laughed at himself.
No, it wasn’t because Sinclair had a relationship with Chelsea.
Sam admitted to a certain fascination with her, but she wasn’t available and Sam never poached.
Still, he couldn’t resist pausing before he left the room to search her out. She was near the podium he assumed the auctioneer would use, in animated discussion with another young woman. When she glanced in his direction and smiled, he returned her smile and waved goodbye.
Wondering if he’d see her again, he astonished himself for the second time that evening with how much he wanted to.
Business. He had to focus on business, he reminded himself. And he had the answer to his question, he thought, as he pulled away from the curb a short while later. The gallery housed valuable art. The most expensive pieces on display far exceeded the highest-priced items in the jewelry store. But while jewelry and watches could be easily fenced, priceless and readily identifiable works of art could not. Private collectors with immense wealth,