The Florentine Deception Page 5

  She shot me a condescending look that said, “You’re way too young and too poor to afford this place,” then picked up a flyer and read: “Two-point-seven million.”

  “Thanks. Anyone living here now?”

  “No.” She shot a quizzical look at me. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering if I could move in immediately,” I lied.

  “Oh, no problem. It’s totally empty and move-in ready. The family finished clearing the place out weeks ago.” So much for the family member-acting-as-caretaker theory. That someone from last night was hunting for the diamond.

  “Thanks. I’m going to look around some more.”

  She didn’t seem to mind, and by the time I’d turned my head, was dialing another number. Walking down the hall, I noticed an obscure door on the left of the main entry hall just outside the kitchen. I wouldn’t call it a secret door, but it was obviously designed to be inconspicuous, matching the rest of the cherry paneling and sans a doorknob. In lieu of the knob, it offered a flat brass ring-pull, set flush into the wood and matching in color. I dug my teeth-trimmed fingernail beneath it and after three attempts, succeeded in prying the ring from its hollow in the wall. The door opened with a bit of resistance and then a click. Behind it, a surprisingly rickety-looking stairway descended into what must have been a wine cellar. Excited by the prospect of another diamond nook, I flicked on the light switch just behind the door and started down the staircase.

  “Excuse me.”

  I descended a few more steps, hoping the interjection wasn’t for me.

  “Excuse me. Please don’t go down there,” the babysitter reiterated.

  I turned around. “I’m sorry?”

  “The staircase isn’t safe. A few weeks ago, a fat guy put his foot right through a step during an open house.”

  “I’d really like to see the cellar if I’m going to consider buying the place.”

  “It’s scheduled to be fixed in about three weeks. If you’d like to see it before then, there’s a 3-D tour on the Internet.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll just look around the backyard then.”

  I wound my way to the three-level great room in the back and stepped out the side door—the one with the deadbolt—and into the backyard. The garden was even more beautiful bathed in sunlight, and reminded me of a domesticated tropical jungle.

  Steven crunched up the pebble-covered path, his wiry brown hair disheveled and strewn with leaves. He had a sarcastic “nice job” look on his face.

  “You didn’t find them?”

  “I did, but it required some serious hedge diving.”

  “It shows.” I paused. “Well, I didn’t find any diamonds. But she wouldn’t let me look in the cellar.” I filled him in on the details.

  “So we’re done, right?”

  “No way. Aren’t you curious?” I prodded.

  Steven gazed at his reflection in my glasses and brushed a few dry leaves from his hair. “Sure, but what’re we going to do? Buy the house for a few mil and x-ray the walls?”

  “Why not?” I grinned back. Steven stared, dumbfounded.

  “In college you were just foolish, now you’re rich and foolish—rich plus foolish equals dangerous. Need I remind you again of Boelter?”

  “This isn’t even in the same league, and admit it, you were just as into it as I was.”

  Steven pretended to ignore me.

  “You’re going to buy this house for a crazy treasure hunt?” he reiterated. “What if you’re wrong? Hey, what’s a few million dollars anyway, right?”

  “You know I’ve been looking for a second place, and this one is amazing. Plus, I’m not necessarily going to buy it. I’m just going to make an offer.”

  Steven grimaced. “And then what?”

  “Listen,” I pulled closer, “the diamond’s got to still be up for grabs, or that prowler wouldn’t have been skulking around. I can put down an offer. If they accept, I’ll have an inspector come in and check the place out.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s where you come in,” I winked, “Inspector.”

  “Are you crazy? You’ve definitely lost it.”

  I ignored him. “You’ll have access to the whole house: the basement, the attic, everything. If you don’t find anything interesting, we cancel the sale. Worst case, I lose a deposit, or if we find something, I’ll end up with a new house.” I’d almost convinced myself.

  “Isn’t it illegal to hire a fake inspector?”

  “I don’t think so. It might not be smart, but I don’t think it’s illegal.”

  “But the girl will recognize me.” He was trying hard.

  “She’s just the house-sitter. Once I make an offer, we’ll deal with the agent. Nothing to worry about.”

  “How …” Before he could whip up any additional objections, I spun around and headed back into the house. It took a few minutes before I found Blondie blathering on the phone in the master bathroom.

  “One sec.” She cupped her hand over the phone and gave us a “yes?” look.

  “I’m interested in making an offer. But if you’re busy …” I raised my eyebrows inquiringly.

  That did it. Fifteen minutes later, she had the listing agent on the phone and we were in business. We had an appointment set for nine a.m. Tuesday, just enough time to do a little research on recent home-sale prices.

  Chapter 10

  Monday passed without incident and I had ample opportunity to plumb the Malibu market using the online Los Angeles-based real estate listing service. Three comparable homes had sold in the last six months on Latigo and Castro Peak, an adjacent road, between $2.4 and $2.6 million. Richard’s was priced high and the market was still soft, so I figured I had some serious leeway.

  I arrived a few minutes before nine and parked right outside Richard’s main gate. Just as I engaged my parking brake, my smartphone vibrated. I’d received a text. From Linda.

  LindaR: Been climbing recently, cowboy?

  A transplant from Montana, Linda had her own hybrid Midwest-LA dialect.

  Alex: Heading to Echo Cliffs in an hour. Can u make it?

  LindaR: No can do. Working. Potter txted me about the Ojai cave next month. I’m totally in.

  Alex: Oh cool! Gonna play hooky, huh?

  LindaR: Nah. $$ dried up. No more OT for ER nurses.

  Alex: All right, gotta go. Real estate agent’s here.

  A middle-aged woman in a gleaming silver Jaguar had pulled up next to my car. Regina Flowers, no doubt. From the looks of her wheels, business had obviously been good.

  LindaR: What?!? U buying a house?

  Alex: :) It’s a long story. g2g.

  LindaR: Catch ya later cowboy.

  “Hello,” said Regina Flowers, an annoyed look on her face. “Can I help you?”

  “I think so. You’re the broker, right? I’m Alex Fife.”

  Regina did a double take.

  “Oh …” she stammered. “Alex … It’s nice to finally meet you!” An irritating toothy grin beamed from a mouth wider than Julia Roberts’s.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “Sorry about that—to be honest, I didn’t expect you to be quite so young.”

  “Yeah, it’s a little unusual, I guess. But don’t worry, I’m serious about buying.”

  We stepped inside and after a half-hour of small talk and form-filling on a folding table, I submitted my offer of $2.45 million. The Julia Roberts smile withered. Apparently my offer didn’t meet her Jaguar-class expectations.

  “I’ll give you a ring as soon as the seller’s had a chance to review your offer.”

  “Thanks.” And that was that.

  After hunting fruitlessly for a Subway, I picked up a hideously expensive free-range chicken sub (on sprouted wheat) from a chichi sandwich joint on PCH, then worked my way up the curvy mountain roads to Echo Cliffs. For me, climbing was exercise, social mixer, and stress reducer all rolled into one. Now in my seventh year of the
sport, I’d become so familiar with the local rock—its curves, pockets and projections—that I could zone out and climb in a practically trance-like state. Some of my friends had gym memberships and others had yoga—I had the rock. And Potter and Linda were my partners in crime.

  At seven, after a full day tackling an overhanging climbing route called “Crash and Burn” with Potter’s buddy Jamie and a few of his out-of-town friends, I headed over to Steven and Hillary’s place, a bottle of muscat dessert wine and a hamburger squeezy-toy rolling around on my passenger seat.

  Hillary greeted me with a warm hug, then stepped aside and motioned me in. Instantly, Pippin, their beagle pup, scampered over and sat in front of me. The dog had a sixth sense about squeezy-toys. Or maybe it was the fact that I brought one every time I visited. Pippin seized the orange plastic burger from my outstretched hand and took off.

  “Are you losing weight?” I asked, closing the door. Attired in a yellow tank top covered in sunflowers and a matching yellow sundress, Hillary looked unusually svelte.

  “You can tell?” She beamed. “I’m eating vegan every other day.”

  “The pork-and-vegan diet.” I nodded approvingly. “I like it.”

  I glanced around.

  “Where’s what’s-his-name?”

  “Still in the shower.”

  I handed her the bottle and stepped in close. “Whaddya say you and I run off and leave Steven with his rockets?” I shot my eyes left and right in a conspiratorial display.

  Hillary tossed her shoulder-length brown hair back seductively, then said in a deadpan voice, “I don’t think so.”

  “Brutal.” I shook my head. “So what’s the latest?”

  “Oh, you’ll see soon enough.” She rolled her eyes.

  A few minutes later, Steven made his entrance.

  “You look like a postman,” I quipped. Steven was dressed in a beige button-up shirt and a pair of matching shorts, not unlike a UPS deliveryman.

  “I’m a home inspector, foolish flunky. I found them at the Goodwill store. Not bad for twenty bucks, right? Of course, I expect my cut of the treasure to be increased quadratically.”

  I nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

  “Of course, every inspector needs props.” He held out a clipboard with a stack of official-looking forms. I flipped through them.

  “Where’d you get these?” They looked like official home inspection forms to me.

  “I scanned in a copy of my parents’ home inspection report and cleaned it up in Photoshop. Its five years old, but it’ll pass. And …”

  “There’s more?”

  He pulled out his wallet and handed me a business card.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “I can’t take credit for these. Hillary’s the artistic one.” She curtsied, as if on cue.

  “Where did you find her, Steven? Hill, got any sisters?”

  Hillary gave my shoulder a squeeze and beamed with pride. Five years ago, she’d stumbled on the two of us in the Boelter basement mid-excavation, and after a grueling Q&A session, threatened to spill the beans if we didn’t add her to the roster. Steven fell in love instantly and three weeks later, the two were engaged.

  “So when’s the inspection?” asked Steven.

  “Don’t get your shorts bunched up just yet. I still haven’t heard from the agent.” I continued, “Hill, I was fearing you’d put the kibosh on my little adventure.”

  “We’re both skeptical,” she replied, “but you’re the one putting up the venture capital, so what the hell.”

  What a woman.

  “Do you really think you’ll find the diamond?” she said.

  “I’m hoping we’ll have a better idea once your hubby canvasses the place.”

  After dinner, we moved to the family room for some muscat and tug-of-war with Pippin. Mid-tug, my cell phone vibrated.

  “One sec Pip.” I dropped the rope.

  “Hello.” It was Regina. Pippin had a different idea and began playing tug-of-war with my shorts.

  “Hi Regina.”

  “Alex, I think you’re going to be very happy. The seller’s reduced his price by one hundred thousand. He’s countering for two-point-six million, I faxed the counter-offer to the number you gave me.”

  I cupped my hands over the phone. “They’re countering for two-point-six.” Then I went back to Regina. “Thanks Regina. Let me think about it and call you back tomorrow morning.”

  “No problem Alex.”

  Steven and Hillary gave me a “So?” look.

  “It’s a fair price.” I faux-stroked my chin. “I think I’ll accept.”

  “So what’s the game plan?” inquired Hillary.

  “Steven’s going to case every inch of that house for diamond nooks—the attic, closets, and especially that basement. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a hidden safe.” I gave him the “you never know” look. “If we don’t find anything interesting, Mr. Inspector, we go with the termite-eaten-stairs excuse and I withdraw the offer. If you find something, I buy a new house and hire a safecracker.”

  “You’re really going to buy if he finds something? What if it turns out you buy, and there’s nothing in this hypothetical safe of yours?”

  “Then I’ve got a beautiful new house. But this isn’t about the money—that diamond isn’t going to make any difference to my finances. Neither will the house. This is about adventure.” About breaking out of the damn rut I’m in.

  Hillary looked skeptically at Steven, who shrugged, a Machiavellian grin on his face.

  She said, “All I know is, this time I’m not bailing either of you out of jail.”

  That night I had trouble sleeping. Whether it was the heat, anticipation of buying a new home, finding a lost treasure, or conning Regina into a fake inspection, I didn’t know, but I woke at 4:45 a.m. and tossed for two hours.

  By 7:45, I couldn’t wait any longer, so I called Regina and told her I’d like to accept the counteroffer. Later that morning, I stopped by her Coldwell Banker office to sign the offer paperwork and drop off the deposit.

  “Regina, I’d like to have someone inspect the house as soon as possible. I’m currently considering purchasing another home and if there are any problems with this one, I’d like to move quickly on the other.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I’m concerned about the basement stairway.” And then my out: “I hope that’s not termite damage. That would be a deal-breaker for me.”

  “Alex, it’s nothing. The seller has offered to fix it before the close of escrow. But if it doesn’t work out, do you need an agent to help with the other house?”

  Sleazy agent. “No, I’m covered.”

  “So when would you like to have the inspection?”

  “If possible, tomorrow?”

  “Let me check my iPhone…. No problem. I can be there any time between eight and noon.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll call the inspector and see you at eight.”

  Chapter 11

  Richard Lister’s House—Malibu, CA

  Five months earlier

  “Did you find anything on the computer?” the brawny Russian asked.

  “Niet. None of the forensics tools found a thing.”

  “Der’mo! Where the fuck did you hide it, Richard?” The big Russian grabbed Lister by the collar, jerked him forward, and then slammed him hard into the chair.

  Lister stared stoically up at the two men from his kitchen table. “I told you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he responded calmly. “I deal in antiquities.”

  “That’s bullshit,” said the first man. “That’s not what Viktor had to say.”

  “Viktor?” A tiny bead of sweat coalesced on Lister’s forehead, just below the hairline.

  “Viktor would be so disappointed, Richard. He certainly remembers you, or rather your alter ego, Arkady. At least after we helped refresh his memory.” A pause. “And we know you’ve been trying to sell it, Richard. So don’t bullshit us.�
��

  “Florentine? Is that what you called it?” asked Lister. He ruminated momentarily. “I haven’t purchased any Italian artifacts in years.”

  The second man stepped in to slap Lister, but had his hand arrested.

  “Niet. Not yet,” admonished the first.

  “No more bullshit, Richard. We need you to return the Florentine and tell us who else knows about it.”

  “Listen, I wish I knew what you were talking about. But I don’t.” Lister hesitated, a nauseous feeling overtaking him. He steeled himself. “Who do you work for? Yuri? You work for Yuri, don’t you?” He shook his head. “Tell Yuri that I don’t have this Florentine thing he’s looking for. And tell him … tell him that next time he wants to accuse me of stealing his antiquities, he should be man enough to do so himself. This is an insult.”

  Lister tried to stand up. The burly man instantly stopped him.

  “I’m going to ask you nicely once more,” said the man. “Where is the Florentine?”

  Lister shook his head. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But look, whatever Yuri’s paying you, I’ll double it. Two year’s worth of salary to forget you found me.” He hesitated as a wave of nausea passed. “Just tell Yuri you didn’t find me. I don’t have this Florentine thing anyway.”

  “You’re a poor bull-shitter, Richard,” said the first. Then, to the other man, he said, “Get the tools.”

  The second man nodded and left the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you just give us what we want and avoid the pain and suffering?” said the man.

  Avoid the suffering. Right. You’re going to kill me either way, you fucking Slav bastard. Lister’s mind raced. If he could just get to his gun he might have a chance.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll give it to you.”

  The man shot a distrustful look at Lister.

  Lister pointed upstairs, noticing for the first time a painful tightness in his right arm. He winced.

  “It’s in a floor safe in my bedroom,” he continued through the discomfort, “I’ll go get it.”

  The man looked at him warily, then took a step back, retrieving a steel-gray automatic pistol from inside his jacket. Lister rose unsteadily to his feet, and, receiving a nod from the man, began walking down the hall and up the stairs, stopping every few steps to catch his breath.