“What? No!” Mateo holds out his screen, and I quickly scan the article. It’s from a year ago, about how Dominick Payne and a few other artists opened an ambitious, sprawling gallery on Newbury Street, only to run into financial problems almost immediately. They were saved from closing, Payne claimed in the article, by an “outside investor.”
“Well, that was a convenient, and vague, influx of cash,” I say when I finish reading.
“Right? The guy had money problems, and then all of a sudden, he didn’t,” Mateo says. “Sounds like Autumn on a bigger scale.” His expression darkens. “Plus, what kind of person keeps using a studio they’re not renting anymore?”
I manage not to remind him that I’d made that exact point when we first saw Boney entering the building this morning. “The kind of person who’s doing something they shouldn’t,” I say instead. “And wants any fallout to land on the new owners.”
“I’m gonna send this to Cal,” Mateo says, swiping at his screen. “I think he’s coming around about Ms. Jamison being involved, don’t you?”
“I hope so,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Ceramics class, my ass. That anonymous tip has to be about her. I never got anywhere near Boney.”
Mateo rubs a hand over his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe you didn’t have to.”
I tilt my head, confused. “Huh?”
“You said you heard something that led you to Boney, right? Well, maybe whoever killed him caught a glimpse of you and decided to make you the fall guy.” Mateo shrugs as I gape. “Maybe the anonymous tip is bullshit.”
Before I can answer, a voice breaks in. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”
I blink in surprise as the man who’d greeted us earlier emerges into the hallway; I’d been so caught up in my conversation with Mateo that I’d completely forgotten we were waiting for someone. The man is compact and white-haired, wearing a black smock with Sorrento’s embroidered in white script across the front. “I’m Vin Sorrento. How can I help you?” he asks. A welcoming smile lights up his weathered face as he approaches, but dims once he gets a better look at Mateo. “My goodness, young man. What happened to you?”
Mateo touches the bandage at his temple. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was, um, in a car accident. A minor one,” he adds as Mr. Sorrento’s expression grows more alarmed.
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine. I’m Mateo Wojcik, we spoke earlier? And this is—” He catches himself before he says my name, and I wave while ducking my head. “This is my friend. You said I had to come in person to get my cousin Autumn’s schedule.”
“Yes, that’s right. Can you show me some identification, please?”
“Sure thing.” Mateo reaches for his wallet. “I really appreciate this. We’ve had a family emergency, and Autumn’s not answering her phone.”
“Oh dear. Was it the car accident?” Mr. Sorrento asks.
“Ah, no,” Mateo says, handing over his driver’s license. “Different emergency. Everyone’s okay, I just need to talk to her.”
“Of course.” Mr. Sorrento takes Mateo’s ID and holds it up to the light. “Your family must be very worried. Someone else called right after you.”
Mateo goes rigid. “Excuse me?”
“Another gentleman,” Mr. Sorrento says. “He sounded rather urgent as well. Wouldn’t leave his name, though. This looks fine, thank you.”
He tries to return the ID, but Mateo is too frozen to take it. I grab it for him, my heart pounding as I think back to the wreckage of Charlie’s house. And oblivious Autumn, not answering her phone while she drives, having no idea what’s been happening all day. “So can we get her schedule?” I ask. “Has she checked in at all?”
“I got an alert that she left her last customer about ten minutes ago,” Mr. Sorrento says, wiping his hands on his apron. “I’ll need to log into our system to get the rest of her route.” He makes a sweeping gesture up the hallway. “The computer’s in the main office. Would you like to wait here, or come along? We have coffee made.”
I look to Mateo for guidance, but he’s still not moving. “We’ll wait here, thanks,” I say.
“All right. Be back soon,” Mr. Sorrento says. I watch him disappear around the corner, then give Mateo’s arm a reassuring squeeze.