Three Dog Island Page 25

  I stood in the living room staring at nothing, my eyes and mind equally out of focus. I put up my hand to stop them from speaking. They stood motionless as I let the picture that was trying so hard, shift into focus.

  Sinking down onto the couch, I muttered, “Oh my God.”

  Josh and Matthew set the top section of the armoire back onto the bottom piece and came over to me.

  “What’s wrong, Jenny?” Josh asked.

  “I know what happened. I know how they stole Jasper’s model.”

  “How?” Matthew asked.

  “That’s why they only took one piece. The whole sculpture is too big to carry out without anyone noticing. If they took one piece at a time . . . “

  “Who?” Sasha asked.

  “Emilio and Jeff.”

  “Are you serious?” Sasha sank down onto the couch beside me. “You think they stole it—right in front of everyone?”

  “At first I thought someone had stolen Jasper’s key, but he keeps it in his pocket. Then I thought about Winnie’s key which still hasn’t shown up, but I know it will—”

  “Is this it?” Matthew pulled a key from his pocket.

  I took it out of his hand. “Where did you find it?”

  “Hanging from a tiny hook inside the armoire,” Matthew said.

  Of course it was there—Winnie’s special place. I held it up for Sasha to see. “I bet it is,” she said. “I’ll take it over to the gallery and check it out. So, go on with your story.”

  “Right. So, that’s why some of the pots are so big.”

  “You think they’re having Dante make bigger pots so they can do this?” Sasha asked.

  “No, I think Emilio is making pots and passing them off as his father’s. They’re always taking pots out, not just bringing them in. Emilio said that he sometimes has to deliver some to the other islands. He brings others in to replace them. So, they take a new pot to the gallery to replace a pot that’s there. They take one piece of the model and hide it inside of the pot that they’re taking out. They must be duplicating Jasper’s stone sculptures from the model. That’s why you found two of the same sculptures online, Josh.”

  “You think he’s good enough to do that?” Sasha asked.

  “He must be. I think he’s making Angelo’s pots himself as well as doing this. I don’t even think Angelo is still . . . I think something’s happened to him. It’s as if he’s disappeared. Who knows, maybe he’s even died and Emilio doesn’t want anyone to know so he can keep selling the work as his father’s.”

  “My God! You really think Angelo died and Emilio would hide that?”

  “I don’t know. But all the signs are pointing toward that possibility.”

  “Emilio would have to be pretty sneaky to pull this off. They couldn’t leave part of the model missing for long or someone, especially Jasper, would notice it,” Sasha said.

  “Right. These kids know that Jasper rarely comes into the gallery anymore. They count on that.” My brain was operating at full throttle now. “Okay, how’s this? They make a model off the photographs. It’s not perfect, but close. They bring in one piece at a time in one of Angelo’s pots. They swap out theirs for Jasper’s. They make a more accurate model from Jasper’s model to be sure it’s exact and then bring his back in a pot and swap it for theirs. That way it never appears to be missing. And they can take their time duplicating the stone sculpture.”

  “And they hope that Jasper doesn’t come in when the fake is there and discover it’s not his?” Josh said.

  “Which he did this time with ‘Boy under Cloud.’”

  “And blew the whistle,” Sasha said. “Which the cops managed to ignore. Wow! Good theory, Jenny. It almost makes sense.”

  “Right. Almost. The only part that doesn’t quite fit for me is how Emilio could be that skilled. What is he, in his mid twenties? Unless, of course, he’s been doing this all his life, which I suppose is possible when you have a father who is a well-known potter and at one time sculpted.”

  “And a grandfather and great grandfather who were master sculptors in Italy,” Sasha said.

  “Really? How do you know that?”

  Sasha shook her head as if trying to remember. “I must have read it somewhere. Probably on one of the gallery brochures that featured Dante’s work.”

  Matthew went into the kitchen and brought back Sasha’s and my tea. “Now I see how you solve these things, Mom. Taking apart the armoire, sticking the screws in a pot. Floating puzzle pieces. Impressive.”

  “Not really. It’s all the other stuff that’s been floating around in my brain and trying to find a place to land. Duplicate sculptures. Why only one piece of the sculpture was gone. No wheelchair ramp. Emilio at his father’s wheel. It doesn’t always come together and sometimes I get some of the pieces wrong, but eventually it gets me going in the right direction.”

  Sasha sipped her tea and set the cup in its saucer on the coffee table where Matthew had put it. “You think all this is going on right here on Anamcara?”

  “No. I think they do this on a different island. These people Josh found in San Francisco can’t remember which island it was shipped from but it was in the San Juans. Now we just have to figure out which one.”

  “Well, Jeff and Emilio are planning to go fishing in the morning if that helps,” Sasha volunteered.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Jeff mentioned it, promised to bring me a salmon if they catch any. They usually go out first thing in the morning. Then who knows what they do.”

  “But you’re planning to find out, aren’t you, Mom?” Matthew said, reading my mind. “So much for your taking a day off.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. And myself. I promise.”

  “But if they have this big operation going and are making all this money, why wouldn’t they have their own boat?” Sasha asked.

  “Don’t want to draw attention to themselves or let anyone know they have money. Or who knows, they may not even need a boat. They could be set up on Gael Island or nearby for all we know.” My sixth chakra told me otherwise.

  Regardless, we couldn’t pass up a chance to follow them, considering that they only rented a boat a couple times a month. I reached for the telephone and called Sam and told him what was happening. He agreed to meet me in the morning. He would check with Burt to see what time the boys were planning to pick up the boat and would let me know. If I knew anything about fishermen, it was that it would be before the crack of dawn. Especially if fishing was a cover and they needed to catch something before they went about their real business of the day.

  I definitely considered four thirty before the crack of dawn. If all went well, I could be home in time for a lovely afternoon nap. If things didn’t go so well, who knew when I would be home.

  “Darn!” My coffee splashed up from the thermos as Sam guided the boat toward the one Jeff Conrad and Emilio Dante had rented.

  “Sorry, Jenny, didn’t mean to make you spill.”

  “Not why I’m upset, Sam. I’m just frustrated. Usually my intuition is a lot more helpful than it’s been lately.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder at me. “Hey, give it credit. It helped you figure out that the kids have been stealing Jasper’s work by way of Dante’s pots.”

  “Good point.” I mumbled an apology to my intuition, conditioned upon that theory proving to be correct.

  Sam slowed down and came to a stop a good distance from the rental boat. We had to stay far enough away that we could not see them through binoculars. Otherwise they could recognize us as well. If they knew Sam and I were the ones on the boat, they would never do whatever it was they were planning on doing, if they were planning on doing anything other than fish.

  After drinking three strong cups of coffee, applying a half bottle of sun screen and pretending to fish for two hours, I started to think they really were just out fishing.

  “You must have done surveillance before, haven’t you, Jenny? It can take a long time
.”

  “Just antsy, I guess. I was supposed to be spending the day with the b—my son, but got sidetracked here.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself that patience is reputed to be a virtue. “I just wish these people from San Francisco remembered which island their imitation sculpture was sent from. Then we wouldn’t have to sit here while they fish.”

  “Even if we did know, it wouldn’t guarantee that they’re sculpting them there. They could be shipping them from a different island,” Sam pointed out.

  “True. Particularly if the island where they do the sculpting doesn’t have a post office.” And if that were the case, it didn’t have ferry transportation. Thus the reason for our being out in the Strait at a hideous hour, staring at a boat.

  Sam released a frustrated sigh and I wondered if my grumpy mood was contagious. “I still can’t believe these two kids would do something like this.”

  “I know. Everyone says they’re really good kids. I hate to think they might be involved in this scam. But at this point, it’s not looking so good.”

  “They’ve lived on Anamcara all of their lives, Jenny. If they are up to something, it reflects on the whole island, you know?”

  Sam understood the “It Takes a Village” concept. “But it may be out of desperation. If Emilio’s lost his father—”

  “You think Angelo died?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. I really have no idea. All I do know is that I’ve yet to meet him, to see him. It’s as though Emilio has taken over making his pots so he can sell them under his father’s name. It can take years to build a name for yourself in the art world, so he must have figured why not keep his father’s name going. If he has died, that is.”

  I wondered if it sounded as bizarre and borderline ghoulish to Sam as it did to me. Sam sat down to his thermos of coffee. I was glad I’d packed fresh fruit and sandwiches. This could prove to be a longer ordeal than I’d anticipated. All I could think was that it was robbing me of my time with Matthew and Josh.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Jenny, but I can’t imagine that Angelo has died and I don’t know about it.”

  He was probably right. There was little basis for my thoughts to the contrary. Had my theory been founded on intuition, I would have had more confidence in it. As it was, it was based on slim evidence.

  So, if Angelo Dante were still living, how would he feel about this? Would he feel shame for his son? How could Emilio be able to do this without his father’s knowing? That would mean that in some way, Angelo was involved. But would an artist compromise his integrity to steal another artist’s work, particularly that of a fellow sculptor who lived in their small island artist community? What could his part have been in this? To teach his son everything he knew? Surely he himself could not be duplicating Jasper’s work. Considering the condition he was in, he could not sculpt a piece of stone the size of Jasper’s sculptures.

  “Can you see Angelo Dante doing something like this? If he is still alive, I can’t imagine Emilio being able to do all this without his father knowing.”

  Sam blew out his breath, his cheeks puffing up as he did. “I can’t see it, but I can’t see the kids doing this either. Of course, since Dawn left, who knows? He’s changed, become very bitter. If not for Emilio, I don’t think he could have gone on.” It was the same thing Army had told me.

  “Dawn?”

  “Yeah, Angelo’s wife. Dawn Nolan Dante. She was real pretty, even when I knew her when she was in her forties and fifties. Turned more than a few heads on the island when she was young, is what I heard. I wasn’t born then, of course.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “What are you thinking, Jenny?” Sam had learned to decipher my sounds.

  “I’m thinking we can’t sit here too long watching the boys fish. We have to figure out which island they’re running their operation from.” I glanced down at the list of all the islands in my hand. I was tempted to hold a pendulum over them to detect the correct one, but my energy and pendulums were rarely compatible. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “I just realized, if Aurora didn’t have a ‘u’ in it, it would be the same word spelled backwards.”

  Sam just sat there looking at me, obviously wondering how my mind worked. I sometimes wondered that myself. Of course, I didn’t try to explain by telling him about my afternoon with the twins and their interesting reverse names with their fiery and hopeful meanings.

  Chills ran up and down my spine and I knew my intuition was kicking in. My mind darted back and forth from island to island, landing on Waterloo and the twins. “Sam, do you speak any Latin?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I dialed MacGregor’s number and said a quick prayer that he would answer and not be too wrapped up in this case of his and Charlie’s that they were yet to tell me about.

  “Hey, McNair.”

  “Hey, MacGregor. Just a quick question.”

  “When am I free to go to Portland with you?”

  “Charlie told you?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ll be able to get away?”

  “Tomorrow would work best.”

  “Because you have no lectures?”

  “Because I’m anxious to see you.”

  I was so distracted with thoughts of MacGregor and wondering if it was my over-active imagination that made me think he and Charlie were being evasive recently, that my reason for the call momentarily escaped me. MacGregor definitely had the power of distraction. Shaking my head as if that would help me focus, I said, “Glad to hear it, but it’s not the reason I called. You studied Latin, right?”

  “I did. Where are you, lass? What’s all that noise in the background?”

  “I’m on a boat in the Strait.”

  “You’re calling me from a boat to see if I studied Latin?”

  “That about sums it up. I just need to know something. What does Aurora mean?”

  “Aurora? In Roman mythology, she was the Goddess of the dawn. It means dawn.”

  Now chills were doing double time up and down my spine as I hung up the cell phone and motioned for Sam to turn the boat in the direction of Aurora Island. So, there was a reason Three Dog Island was named Aurora after all. As much as I dreaded it, I was going to have to go back to the island where I had found a boy and three dogs. I was going to have to face that creepy compound after all.

  Chapter 23

  Little had I known that fateful day when I heard the plaintive cries of three dogs, that they would lead me to a tiny island in the Strait with three mysteries to solve.

  “That’s where Sasha and Frankie and I found the dogs.” I pointed to the mangled dock and hillside as we passed it

  “You climbed up there?” Sam looked at me with renewed admiration. Despite the island’s being privately owned, he seemed okay with going there now. Somewhere along the way, he must have decided that we had enough just cause to warrant a visit from the law.

  “And there’s the back of the compound.”

  His reaction was similar to mine. “Glad I’m wearing my gun.”

  Great, now I was really feeling queasy. I took a couple deep breaths as I guided Sam around to the far side of the island where Josh had thought there was a dock. It was okay, I told myself. Josh and the dogs were safe. Now all we had to face was a concrete building and some art thieves.

  No one came out to greet us when we pulled up to the dock beside another boat. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I was surprised that they hadn’t heard us, but quickly remembered that Josh had said there were constant drilling and grinding sounds inside the compound.

  Sam and I made our way up the path to the building. Just as we reached a large metal door, the grinding stopped and it was silent but for a dull whirring sound in the background, much like machinery that is resting, waiting to be put back to work.

  Sam glanced over at me. “I’m kind of wishing you’d roped Dan into doing this instead of me.”

  “We c
ould call him in for reinforcement,” I teased.

  “Tempting, but he took off for a couple days.”

  “Who’s minding the island?”

  “The sheriff from Gael is on alert.” Sam gently pushed on the door and it opened. Two men were standing near a large piece of machinery. Facing an oversized wooden work table with a three feet high stone sculpture, was a big burly man close to six feet tall, his dark hair curled from the sweat on his brow.

  He looked across the room at us, his shoulders sinking at the realization that we had found him. Sam tucked his gun back inside its holster and let out his breath, relieved by his assessment that he was not going to need it.

  I followed Sam across the room to the stone sculpture that looked so much like Jasper’s “Circle of Musicians.” It was well on its way to being duplicated. Sitting close by was the original cloud section of Jasper’s clay model of his “Boy under Cloud.” I felt as though I’d been punched in the stomach. For too long, I had strayed from my initial thought that the clay piece was taken instead of the stone sculpture because they did not want anyone to know it was stolen. My recent theory proved itself to be correct. It was done this way so that they could duplicate Jasper’s stone sculptures without anyone knowing. This would teach me not to ignore my intuition and to give it a chance to explain itself.

  Sam’s voice pulled my attention away from the art work. “Jenny McNair, meet—”

  “Angelo Dante,” I said under my breath. “Alive and well, sculpting on Aurora Island.” This compound was not in any way threatening or creepy after all. It was simply that it reeked of betrayal.

  The man fell back onto the stool behind him. There was no wheelchair in sight.

  “What’s going on here?” Sam stared at Jasper’s model and the sculpture that so strikingly resembled it.

  I put my hand on his arm to calm the aggression that was building. “The boys have been stealing Jasper’s models from the gallery and replacing them with imitations,” I explained again. Sam knew the story. Angelo would now know that we knew it. “Then Angelo would make a more exact model. The boys would return Jasper’s model to the gallery as quickly as they could—hidden in one of Angelo’s pots—and take the rough model away. Then Angelo would use the new model to create the stone sculpture.”