Deception Cove

By Deena Lindstedt

When Meredith Davison receives a routine assignment to investigate the theft of four valuable paintings, she soon finds her life taking twists and turns she never bargained for—from murder to being enmeshed with drug smugglers is only the beginning. Not content to let professional law enforcement officers take charge, she uses her job as a subterfuge to finding the truth. But when a hired killer has her in his crosshairs, she realizes more is at stake than solving a mystery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597051781

Book preview

One

I don’t have time for a robbery this week.

Meredith Davison said as she stormed into Todd Dunbar’s cramped office cubicle.

Todd’s swung his chair back from his computer to face her. Hi, Meri.

Don’t ‘hi’ me, Meredith said, not deterred by Todd’s sheepish grin. I’m no wonder woman, you know. My workload’s so huge it’d choke a starving elephant. Holding up her fingers she began to tick off her pending cases. Craig and Eli gave me three workers’ comp cases yesterday, including a third party; Nancy’s convinced the house fire in Cambridge is arson; and there are at least five fender-benders I haven’t had a chance to even look at. When do you suppose...

I know. I know. But this wasn’t my doing. Todd held up his hand as if to have her back off. Jack wants this investigation done ASAP. He smells something fishy. The claimant’s being a real asshole—I mean, demanding. The guy’s refusing to understand why we need to investigate when the police have already been there. He wants his money.

Meredith heaved a sigh and sat down in Todd’s guest chair. I’m sorry for taking this out on you, but can’t this one be farmed out?

But this one rocks. Wish I could do it. Todd searched through a pile of files. Freckles covered the backs of his hands, extended up his arms, disappeared under blue shirtsleeves, and then reappeared to cover his entire face. He tried to brush the crop of unruly hair down with his hand, but it seemed to resist any taming of its wildfire look. Insurance claim files stacked two feet high on both sides of his desk and overflowed onto the floor. Looking at his messy workspace Meri remembered she wasn’t the only one overworked. Finding the folder he was looking for, he handed it to her. Someone stole four paintings from a gallery in Hyannis. The loss could be close to half a million.

She took the file and crossed her legs. Bronze Whale Gallery, she said looking at the tab on the folder. Did you check underwriting to make sure it’s our policyholder?

Of course. Give me some credit. Umbrella coverage—paid up.

Guess I was hoping for a way out. I don’t know how this company expects me to investigate cases in the city and still have time to travel to Cape Cod on the same day. It wasn’t like Meredith to complain, but she’d been trying to convince her manager for weeks they needed to add more field reps, or give the claims staff the authority to assign cases to private investigators.

Yeah, but listen to this, the thief sawed through a wall to break into an art gallery.

Oh? Meredith opened the file cover. As she tilted her head forward to read, the large barrette holding back her hair began to loosen. She removed the barrette to let the blonde mane provide a protective mantle about her shoulders.

Meredith Davison began working for New Passage Insurance Company’s home office in Boston eight years ago.. First as a file clerk, then an in-house adjuster, and following her graduation from college she achieved her goal of becoming a claims investigator. She loved her job, especially when she was assisting injured workers receive their rightful compensation, or helping anyone who had a legitimate accident or property loss. On the other hand, any claimant caught lying would find themselves pitted against a tenacious professional. She had a well earned reputation for tracking down leads on questionable claims long after other adjusters were ready to make settlements.

She felt Todd staring at her but ignored him until she finished reading the initial report. Meredith was at least seven years older than Todd, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to date her since he came to work for New Passage a year ago. She had graciously, but firmly, turned him down. His puppy-dog expression put her in mind of a big dog that jumped on you; loving him to death, but pushing him away at the same time.

I wish they’d let me do field work. It’s not fair you have to work two regions while Jason’s off sick.

That must be why they pay me these big bucks, she said sarcastically. She put the extra copy of the report in her briefcase, pulled her hair back in place, and refastened the barrette. You’d do better to shoot for a management position than field work.

I’d rather be out in the field than stuck in an office the rest of my life.

If you’re sure, I’ve no doubt it’ll happen. The frown line between her eyes reappeared. A lot sooner than it took me, I suspect.

What do you mean?

Since I’ve been here I’ve watched men get promoted twice as fast as women. It took a college degree in law enforcement before they’d even consider me for an investigative job. She stood up to leave. Sorry for sounding so grumpy. You’ll deserve a promotion when it comes. She picked up her coat, draped it over her arm, and turned around before Todd could work up the nerve to ask her out. She liked him too much to refuse again. She waved a goodbye over her shoulder before wending pass several office cubicles on her way to the elevator.

IT WAS THURSDAY BEFORE Meredith found time to drive to Hyannis. Trying to read street signs through the drizzle, she stifled a yawn and mentally complained about the long hours she had already worked this miserable, rainy April week. It was getting colder and she feared it would snow before the night was over. As the streetlights came on to illuminate the wet pavement, she glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 4:15, still early enough to inspect the property damage.

Her cell phone beeped. It was a text message from her sister wanting her to call her back. Since Jayne rarely called while she was working, she thought she should see what she wanted. Pulling over to the curb, she punched the return button.

Hi Meri. On your way home?

Gosh, no. I wish I were. I’m in Hyannis. What’s going on?

I got an offer to make snacks and dessert for a duplicate bridge tournament. I could sure use your help. Any chance...? Meredith lived with her twin sister, brother-in-law and their two pre-school aged sons in Plymouth. She loved helping Jayne with her dessert catering business, but she’d been too busy lately.

No way. I’m on my way to an assignment I should have done two days ago. It’ll take at least a couple of hours. When do you have to...?

I only have tonight. I need to deliver by noon tomorrow, Jayne said. I have two cheese cakes made, but I need...

Jesus, Jayne. How many are you fixing for?

They said twenty tables, that’s eighty.

Cripe! Why in the world did you agree on such short notice?

If you’re too busy, you’re too busy. Forget I called. I’ll call Tom’s mom. Maybe she can help.

Meredith ran her hand through her hair. I’m sorry. Of course I’ll help, but call Blanche anyway. I should by home by eight.

After they hung up, Meredith remembered Jayne badgering her about never dating. You’re too uptight, she said, and for crying-out-loud, smile, when you smile it lightens the whole room. She knew Jayne was right about her elusiveness, and even if she wanted to start dating again, when the heck would she find the time? Grumbling to herself, she pulled away from the curb.

Spotting the colonial shaped sign swinging from hooks above the door of the Bronze Whale Gallery, she passed by and drove around the block. An alley separated the gallery form the adjacent store. She pulled the car to the curb. Retrieving a flashlight from the glove compartment, she pulled the hood of her raincoat over her hair, and stepped out. The street sloped down toward the harbor. In the distance, the gray waters of Lewis Bay were barely visible through the drizzle. The street looked deserted with a warehouse on the opposite side.

She flicked on the flashlight and entered the alley, passed an overflowing dumpster and rain-soaked cardboard boxes. Remnants of dirty snow, soggy brown leaves, and scraps of paper carpeted the filthy cement. Moving a few yards deeper into the alley, her light flitted across a doorway and along a wall revealing where someone had nailed a piece of plywood over a hole next to a door. Moving closer, she kicked at the sawdust under the hole and concluded a gas-powered chainsaw had been used to gain access into the building to bypass an alarm. Knowing someone would surely have heard a chainsaw, she flashed the light down the alley and then remembered the deserted street. The street at the other end of the alley was twice the distance, but decided she’d check it out. The light beam illuminated the distance ahead as she moved away.

She heard a door open, but before she could turn around, someone grabbed her from behind. Her reflexes took over and spinning around and holding the flashlight in her upraised arm, she hammered it down. The man put up his arm, but not in time to keep the heavy light from whacking his elbow.

God-damn it to hell! he bellowed as he grabbed his arm. Meredith aimed the light directly into his face. Get that damn thing out of my eyes. What’n the hell you doing out here?

What right do you...! Looking beyond the open doorway and into an unlit room, Meredith realized the man must work in the gallery and had every right to confront her.

Listen lady, you’d better explain yourself damn quick or I’m calling the police!

Did I hurt you?

You sure as hell didn’t do me any good, he said, rubbing his elbow.

Well you shouldn’t have grabbed me!

I shouldn’t have—? Who are you?

She realized the verbal exchange was getting out of hand and lowered her voice. I’m an insurance investigator looking at this, she said pointing the light toward the wall.

Why didn’t you come through the front door? I saw the light coming through the cracks and thought someone was trying to break in again. When Meredith didn’t reply, he said: Shit! Come on in. He turned around, entered the doorway and switched on the light.

Wait a minute. I need my briefcase. Stupid man, thought Meredith as she turned away, sneaking up on me like that. She was still mumbling when she returned. She entered through the doorway into a small storeroom lined with shelves and miscellaneous art supplies. Her attacker still had a scowl on his face, but she was surprised to see he was quite nice looking: husky build, dressed in brown chinos, a mustard colored shirt with rolled up sleeves. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and only three or four inches taller than her 5 foot 6. His face was darkly tanned with wavy, sun-bleached brown hair. His most dominant feature was a full, well-trimmed mustache. Pulling a business card from her coat pocket, she handed it to him.

Are you Joshua Maxwell?

Yeah. He looked at the card. I expected you two days ago. Here we are ready to close and you finally show up. Does your company call this service?

She nearly snapped back that he wasn’t the only business owner who had a loss, but then thought better of it. I was delayed. I wanted to look at your property damage before it got dark. Seeing he was still rubbing his elbow, she decided she’d better make amends. I hope I didn’t crack a bone. Is it—?

It’s okay, he said, shaking his arm.

I’m really sorry. He stared into her eyes and she quickly shifted her gaze. Do you have time to tell me about the robbery?

Do I have a choice?

I’d appreciate it. His condescending tone irritated her, but she’d learned long ago to suppress her personal feelings when dealing with claimants.

What about my assistant? Do you expect her to stay late too? He glanced toward the open door that led into the gallery. Meredith stepped forward and saw a middle-aged woman wielding a dust wand across a row of framed paintings. No customers were in sight.

It shouldn’t take long. I can get most of the information I need from the police report. Without waiting for him to make another snide remark, she asked, The robbery must have taken place sometime Sunday night. Is that right?

"Yes. Someone broke in and stole four Mantz paintings. I explained all that to your boss. He promised he’d put his best man on my case."

Please indulge me. I’d like to hear in your own words what happened. When were you notified of the break-in?

The owner of the shop next door saw the hole in the wall Monday morning when she emptied the trash. She called the police and they called me.

Did you hire extra security during the time you had the paintings?

We believed our security system was adequate. His tone of voice abruptly changed into all business.

Meredith looked around, not wanting to interview him while standing in a storage room. Is there somewhere else we can talk?

He looked at his watch and then motioned to the woman. Lorna, would you come here?

The woman, dressed impeccably in a navy blue suit and white lace blouse came into the room. Lorna, this is, err, Meredith Davison, he said looking at the business card again. She’s from the insurance company, about the robbery. She wants to talk to you when she’s finished with me. Would you mind staying?

Oh surely. I don’t mind a bit, she said extending a hand. I’m Lorna Singleton. Her slender hand felt cool to the touch. Contrary to Josh Maxwell, Lorna Singleton looked every inch a connoisseur of fine art.

Thank you. This shouldn’t take too long.

I have an office. Josh Maxwell pointed toward the rear of the gallery. Come with me. As she followed him across the gallery, his upper torso made her think he may be into bodybuilding. Her thoughts took a wayward turn when she took note of his easy gait and narrow hips. Trying to stifle the physical attraction, she quickly began to scan the interior of the gallery. The center of the room consisted of sculptures and display cases, while the walls had been partitioned to accommodate a large number of paintings.

Where were the stolen paintings hanging?

Over there, on easels, he said gesturing toward the front of the gallery. A phone began to ring beyond the office door. Would you stay here while I answer the phone? Without waiting for her to agree, he said, I’ve been expecting a call. He shut the door in her face.

Well, you meet all kinds, Looking around, she noticed a wooden rack filled with shrink-wrapped, matted prints. As she fingered through them she could hear Maxwell, but couldn’t understand what he was saying until his voice became louder, sounding agitated.

You’ll have to wait. It takes time. Yes, yes. I know. A pause. The insurance investigator is here now. No. It’s a woman. Meredith moved a few feet closer to the door and heard him say, You want me to what? The conversation became indistinct after that, lasting a couple more minutes; then the sound of the receiver being slammed down.

I wonder what that was all about. The office doorknob turned and Meredith quickly spun around pretending to be engrossed in an ebony sculpture of a dolphin.

Please, come in, he said from the doorway. Meredith slowly turned to face him.

They entered a small, windowless office, tastefully decorated with an oversized desk and a small black leather couch. An elaborate model of a wooden sailboat had been placed on a credenza behind the desk. Several colored-pencil drawings of the Cape Cod area hung on the pearl gray walls.

May I take your coat? Maxwell brushed his fingers across one shoulder. It must still be raining." His voice held a note of geniality that had not been there before the phone call.

Just misty. She shrugged out of her coat and he hung it on a coat-tree. As she straightened the silk scarf back into place over her suit jacket, he gestured for her to sit in a black leather chair opposite his desk.

I’m sorry if I seemed obnoxious, but dealing with the police and newspaper reporters has me on edge. His mustache took on a lopsided angle as he gave her a lingering smile. His gaze lowered as he sat behind the desk. Meredith tugged at her skirt trying to cover her knees.

Tell me about the paintings and how they were stolen. She wondered where he had managed to acquire such a dark tan, certainly not in Cape Cod in April.

Leaning back into his swivel chair, he formed his fingers into a steeple. We had a contract with the artist to display four paintings. They were valued from one hundred thousand to one hundred fifty thousand dollars each. Are you familiar with Daniel Mantz? She noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring and his fingernails were professionally manicured.

Somewhat. Isn’t he known for his watercolors—mostly seascapes? In actuality Meredith had never heard of the artist before, but she’d found time to research Mantz’s website.

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manila envelope and removed colored photographs. Mantz’s agent Fed-Exed these to me. The police also have a set. He walked around the desk and positioned himself near her left shoulder. He handed her the first photo.

His work is extraordinary, don’t you think? Such a fine artist. The photo depicted a deserted and neglected lighthouse which created a stark contrast to a glorious sunrise in the background. An ethereal light seemed to emanate from the golden hues of the risen sun on the ocean. These photographs don’t do the originals justice, he said.

She felt the warmth of his hand as she removed the second photograph from his fingers. She let out a small gasp. It’s magnificent, she whispered. Streaks of lightening in a night sky cast an eerie glow on a storm tossed sea. In the distance, a three-masted sailing vessel listed far on its starboard side with a lighthouse beam falling just short of the ship. The painting resonated with her, the ship a metaphor of her own emotional vulnerability.

This one’s my favorite. He handed her the third photo depicting colorful sailboats racing in a heavy wind. He bent closer to her and she leaned away. She glanced at the picture and reached for the last photo. We sold this painting. The buyer agreed to let us keep it on display until the end of the month. You’ll notice it’s a departure from the others. This one was an abstract of sand dunes with a nude woman hidden among tall sea grass. I’ll have to reimburse the buyer unless the paintings are recovered. That’s why I’m anxious to have my case settled as soon as possible.

May I keep these?

They’re yours. He handed her the manila envelope.

While she slipped the photos into her briefcase, her thoughts returned to the phone conversation she overheard and wondered if Maxwell could have been talking to the artist. May I have Mr. Mantz’s phone number?

I don’t work directly with him; he has an agent, John Perkins. He searched through his Rolodex and wrote a phone number on the back of one of his own business cards. After he handed it to her, he sat with one hip on the edge of the desk.

Do you have any idea who might have... ?

The police asked me the same question. I think it was a pro. I mean, everyone knows we had the originals on display. That’s been the focus of this month’s advertising campaign.

Meredith removed a digital camera from her briefcase. I need to get a better look in your storeroom and take a few pictures.

Sure. I’ll come with you. Josh quickly moved across the room to open the door. Meredith felt his breath blowing tendrils of her hair as he followed her out the door. She quickened her steps to put more distance between them.

After they reentered the storage room he said, The place was a mess. Broken plasterboard and fiberglass scattered all over. The police said we could clean it up. I’m having workmen come in tomorrow morning to repair the wall.

Have them send their bill directly to our office. She looked around the ceiling for a motion sensor device.

I intend to.

Meredith opened a closet door and found the alarm box. Someone had pried open the metal door and cut through several wires. This system isn’t adequate to protect your business, she said. I’m surprised our company passed on it. You’ll need to upgrade. She made a note to alert the underwriting department.

What do you suggest?

I’ll have someone call you. She turned toward him. Don’t let me keep you.

No problem.

Meredith didn’t like having him watch her every move, but there was nothing she could do short of being rude. She began to snap photos, pausing to take notes. He leaned against a wall and crossed his arms.

She felt fidgety and decided it was foolish to be irritated by the man’s presence and attempted to initiate a conversation. This reminds me of a similar case I read about a couple of weeks ago. Maybe that’s where the thief got the idea.

What was that?

Two teenage burglars broke through a wall in a house in Quincy to avoid setting off an alarm. With a sack full of stolen loot, the housebreakers caught a cab and went home. When the police arrested them later that night, they denied the charge, but they didn’t have much of a defense since their clothes were still covered with plasterboard dust.

They were both laughing until Meredith reminded him that the police wouldn’t have that kind of luck on this case. I’d be surprised if the paintings are still in the area, she said.

I suppose you’re right. He shifted his weight and scooted himself up to sit on a workbench. How did an attractive woman like you become interested in this line of work?

Ignoring the flattery she said, Initially I was interested in police work but decided on insurance investigation instead.

Really? I suppose it pays well.

She had finished taking as many shots as she needed, but found herself willing to answer his questions. That’s debatable. But it gives me the opportunity to work with people who are more...

Normal?

Yes, I guess so. It’s safer than police work, but still offers a challenge.

How long have you been... ?

Eight years. She returned his smile. I considered applying for a job with the FBI, but changed my mind when the company gave me a chance to be a field investigator. Wanting to shift the conversation away from herself, she asked. Tell me about the gallery. How long have you been in Hyannis?

Three years. He went on to tell her how he had acquired the location and that they had only accepted work from local artists, but it was his intent to attract more established artists like Mantz. He abruptly changed the subject by asking her, Do you ever go out with your customers?

Her head popped up and she noticed his teasing smile. Not wanting to answer, she put the camera and notepad back into her briefcase. When she looked up, the lopsided grin reappeared. Well?

No, never, she said and turned her back on him, silently admonished herself for letting her guard down for a few minutes. I’d like to speak with Ms Singleton now. There, she’d done it again, stopped an attractive man cold. Maybe I’m hopeless, she told herself.

LORNA SINGLETON ENJOYED talking about herself and in the space of a few minutes Meredith knew the complete history of her education and experience in the art profession. She had worked for Josh’s father in Boston for several years before he offered her the Bronze Whale manager position.

Do you mean Mr. Maxwell’s father owns the gallery?

Not any more. He died two years ago, heart attack, shortly after I started working here. He left me twenty percent of this gallery in his will. I think he wanted to make sure the business would continue to be managed efficiently.

Meredith wondered if that comment was indicative of the woman’s ego or the truth. Were there problems before you began working here?

Oh my, yes. Josh tried to manage the gallery for the first year after it opened, but it was obvious he knew very little about fine art, even though he does imagine himself an artist.

What sort?

Oil paintings. He has a minor talent. Not developed.

Interesting. He doesn’t look like someone who’d own a gallery.

That’s the truth. He’d rather be sailing. Lorna stopped herself and crossed her arms. She sat on the couch in Josh’s office and Meredith sat in the same chair she had occupied earlier.

How are the duties between you and Mr. Maxwell divided?

He handles the administrative functions, finances, that sort of thing; although he does use an accounting firm for most of his transactions. I manage the gallery.

What does that entail?

Everything! Lorna said, her arms spread wide in an all encompassing gesture. She appeared embarrassed by her outburst and cleared her throat. Buying and selling. I also do the displays.

You must have arranged for the Mantz paintings then?

No. That was an exception. Josh made that deal himself. She sniffed.

What was the agreement, do you know?

It was certainly a departure from the norm.

In what way?

She lowered her voice. Well, for one thing, we never show an artist’s work for just a month. We keep most of the paintings for six months, some even longer. If they don’t sell during that time, we call the artist to come pick them up.

Meredith nodded, encouraging her to continue. Secondly, Josh agreed to take only twenty-five percent of the price for any paintings we sold.

What’s the usual rate?

Between forty and fifty percent, depends on the artist.

Why do you think he made that arrangement?

I really don’t know, she said as she brushed an invisible piece of lint from her jacket. But, to be fair, we’ve never had such a famous artist agree to show his work in our gallery before. Lorna glanced at the wall. I would have negotiated a better deal.

Meredith considered the dynamics between Josh Maxwell and Lorna Singleton. Josh possessed the sun-bronzed features of a playboy; not someone interested in the arts. Lorna managed the gallery and clearly didn’t respect her boss. The gallery had a good location and seemed successful, probably due to Lorna’s skillful management. However, Josh Maxwell was charming and a natural salesman. He probably contributed more than Lorna gave him credit. The theft was another matter. Why would someone break into a gallery and steal only four paintings?

Meredith looked at her watch: 5:20. She’d told Jayne eight; still time to pick up the police report.

Two

On her drive to the police station Meredith thought again of the conversation she’d had with Josh Maxwell and their altercation in the alley. What a way to meet someone. She smiled. Maybe he wasn’t such an ass after all, in fact, quite pleasant. Had he been serious about wanting to go out with her? Maybe she should start dating again, and he did seem interested. Oh well, probably nothing will come of it, she rationalized. I’m too busy to date anyway. She refocused her mind back on her job.

When Meredith arrived at the police station, she was pleased to learn her good friend Ron Casey had conducted the robbery investigation. A glass wall overlooked a large room lined with metal desks where two uniformed officers sat at computers. A quiet night on the Cape.

Do you think the burglar acted alone? Meredith lowered the police report to her lap.

Yes. We found only one set of footprints in the plasterboard dust, but several trips back and forth across the carpet. Size nine and a half, Nike running shoe. Ron stood up and closed the door.

A small man then?

Or woman. What’s your take on Josh Maxwell? he asked as he sat back down