“Of course,” Dad assured her, nodding vehemently. I knew he wouldn't even look at the door to Mr. Belrose's study, his honor and integrity permitting him to do nothing less. It was one of the things I loved most about my dad. Me, on the other hand, I would probably try and peek in if I ever saw the door open. Making things off limits tended to make me curious, but I wouldn't want two random strangers poking through my bedroom without permission either.
Charlotte nodded, glad to see we understood and motioned us after her into another part of the monstrous house. The sunlight from the setting sun turned the room into a golden paradise as we worked our way down the hallways to our rooms. Every wall contained artwork and furniture that had my father and I drooling. In just the walk to our rooms, I already had a rough estimate of hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of antiques. This was going to be a massive job.
“Here are your rooms,” Charlotte announced. They were side by side with one at the end of the hallway. “I thought Mr. Fairchild would like this one, as the furniture is all authentic Alexander Roux pieces.”
Dad's eyes lit up. He nearly bowled Charlotte over to get into the room. I giggled. He reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning.
“I think you just made his trip,” I told her. She grinned with childlike pride.
“I'm just glad they had certificates on them, or I never would have known,” she confided, then gestured to my room. “I'm afraid your room isn't anything special. I know your specialty is impressionist art, but most of the pieces aren't in any of the guest rooms...”
“This is perfect,” I interrupted, stepping into the room. It was large, with a gaudy bed and overzealous artwork, but the real treasure was the big window overlooking the ocean. We were on the East side of the island, so I would be able to see the sunrise in the morning. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
Her face split into a grin. I liked her. She had obviously taken the time to choose rooms for us based on what she knew about us. It was sweet.
“I'm so glad that the rooms are acceptable to you both,” she said, slipping back into a more formal tone. “Dinner will be in half an hour in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, again,” I replied. I hoped I could get her out of her shell a little bit while we were here. She seemed like she could be fun if she wasn't working. “What are we having.”
“Just some soup and finger foods,” she answered. “Is that all right, Miss Fairchild?”
“That's perfect.” I smiled. “And please, call me Ava. Miss makes me feel strange.”
“I've never really liked it either,” Charlotte admitted. We grinned at one another for a moment, feeling like we might be long lost friends after all. “I'll let you settle in.”
I went to the window as she turned to leave and looked out, taking a deep, happy breath. The mansion backed out onto a small cove. The sand was perfect and white and the waves small and calm. The sky was turning a deep shade of purple as the sun set on the opposite side of the island, causing the deep blue of the water to fade with the sky as it approached the horizon. It was absolutely stunning.
That, I thought to myself, not the house, is what makes this a billionaire's place.
I was just glad that Mr. Belrose didn't know that, or I would be out of a job.
Chapter 3
I closed the front door carefully behind me, listening for the subtle click to indicate it had shut. Dinner had been delicious, even if Charlotte hadn't been able to join us. Dad hadn't eaten much of the conch soup, even though he said it reminded him of Boston clam chowder. I had eaten more tropical fruit than a monkey, stuffing my face with papayas and mangoes fresh off the trees. It was practically a dessert.
I stepped out on the big front porch, taking a deep breath of night air. It was humid and moist and everything I needed right now. It wasn't home. I could be someone else here. I wasn't the dumped ex-girlfriend, or the local library book-nerd, or the daughter struggling to save her father's beloved antique business.
As my father's only child, I was the proud heir to his legacy. I loved working with antiques and running my father's business with my aunt and cousins. Dad had been attempting to wean himself off the appraisal circuit, but a recent arson fire had set him back. Due to a faulty sprinkler system at our company's warehouse, over five million dollars of art and antiques had been destroyed. Sure, the insurance companies were covering all of the damage, but the blow to our company's image had been devastating.
It didn't matter that Dad checked the security systems and fire prevention units daily. It also didn't matter that the fire inspector had declared both the sprinkler system and the cause of the fire arson. As far as the public was concerned, Fairchild Auctions and Appraisals had let five million dollars burn.
But I didn't need to think about that now. My mind was already planning and preparing for tomorrow. A quick tour from Charlotte had revealed that the mansion was even bigger than I had suspected. A family of fifteen could live there and never see one another except at meals, and even then that was only if they wanted to use the main kitchen. Every room was full of antiques and art. It was going to be a fair amount of work, but work that I was excited about.
Several paintings stood out in my memory as ones I couldn't wait to get a closer look at. Every room had art that made my fingers itch to look closer at. I knew my father felt the same way about the furniture. Even though this was technically work, it was work we were born to do. Getting to study antiques and art of this caliber was practically a vacation. I would have appraised this house for free, just for the opportunity to work with what I had seen on some of the walls.
Furtive movement caught my eye. I was standing on the edge of the big front entrance, but I had a clear view of the nearby kitchen doorway, and someone was struggling to get something out. Whatever it was, the package was large and the person was trying very hard to be quiet.
I frowned. Elijah had said to notify him of anything strange, but standing here in the dark, I had no idea how to get a hold of him. I bit my lip, trying to figure out what to do next.
The figure stepped into the light coming off one of the security lights and I could see that he had what looked like a hastily-covered painting. The figure glanced anxiously from side to side, as if looking for someone.
I had seen that look before. The night the museum I was interning at was robbed, I had seen someone from an upper window. The way the painting was wrapped, the careful movements, even the shape of the man was exactly the same as that night. I knew I had to do something. That man was obviously stealing a painting from the house.