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Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
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years ago?"
Alexa was stunned into silence. Her mouth opened but nothing emerged. This was worse than she had imagined. He knew about the McClelland scandal.
He pinned her with cold eyes. "Well, Ms. Chambers? Do I have to wonder about the authenticity of any of the other items in my very expensive new collection of Art Deco?"
Fury flared, white-hot and intense. "Gee, I don't know, Trask. Maybe you do. Just like I have to wonder whether or not you're here in Avalon to open a resort or because you intend to take your revenge against Lloyd Kenyon."
His brows rose. "So you do remember me. I couldn't be sure the other day when we met at the Point. You played it pretty cool."
"So did you."
"Guess we're both cool. Let's return to the subject of your reputation, which is not so cool. I understand that it was shredded two years ago when you were involved in that art forgery scam in Scottsdale ."
She held his gaze. "I had nothing to do with the McClelland forgeries. As a matter of fact, I was the one who blew the whistle."
"Got any proof?"
"Probably not the sort you'd accept. There was no criminal investigation because none of McClelland's clients wanted to press charges."
"Convenient."
"It's a common enough reaction in the art world."
He gave her an expression of polite disbelief. "What the hell kind of client would sit still for being conned?"
"The kind who values his or her own reputation," she said.
"Meaning?"
"Look, the situation is not unlike what happens when a big business discovers that one of its employees has embezzled money from client accounts or that a hacker has gotten past its computer security. The corporation generally wants to keep things quiet because it fears the publicity of an arrest and trial. Clients and customers would question its ability to provide privacy and security."
Trask's eyes narrowed. "I'm aware of how things work in the business world."
"They aren't that much different in the art world. McClelland sold almost exclusively to high-priced art consultants and acknowledged experts who bought art and antiques for their own exclusive clientele."
"I think I'm getting the picture," Trask said. "No so-called expert likes to admit that he or she was fooled by a series of good forgeries."
"Exactly. Bad for business. After the McClelland incident everyone involved had a vested interest in keeping as quiet as possible. Reputations and careers were at stake. McClelland, of course, counted on that attitude. There was no investigation, no trial, and no arrest. Just lots of rumors and innuendos."
"Rumors and innuendos, I'm told, in which your name figured prominently."
She folded her arms beneath her breasts and angled her chin. "Actually, my name got savaged by a particularly nasty bit of insider gossip in a very influential trade magazine called Twentieth-Century Artifact. The idiot reporter who wrote the piece did so without having all the facts. He managed to imply that I was actively involved in selling the forgeries at McClelland."
"What happened to the forger?"
"McClelland?" Alexa glanced morosely at Dancing Satyr. "Disappeared and left me holding the bag."
Trask said nothing for a while, but the calculating look in his eyes told Alexa that he was processing the information she had given him.
He stirred eventually, sliding one palm along the polished veneer of a lacquered cabinet in an absent caress. "Can any part of your story be verified?"
It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to produce a careless shrug. "It's possible that one or two of McClelland's clients, those who are grateful to me for saving them from buying a lot of very expensive, very fake early-twentieth-century art and antiques, might be willing to talk off the record."
"Only one or two?"
"Only one or two listened when I warned them not to trust McClelland. Edward Vale was among that rather select group. That's why he—"
The Valkyrie -like figure of Glenda Elaine bustled up out of the stairwell before Alexa
Alexa was stunned into silence. Her mouth opened but nothing emerged. This was worse than she had imagined. He knew about the McClelland scandal.
He pinned her with cold eyes. "Well, Ms. Chambers? Do I have to wonder about the authenticity of any of the other items in my very expensive new collection of Art Deco?"
Fury flared, white-hot and intense. "Gee, I don't know, Trask. Maybe you do. Just like I have to wonder whether or not you're here in Avalon to open a resort or because you intend to take your revenge against Lloyd Kenyon."
His brows rose. "So you do remember me. I couldn't be sure the other day when we met at the Point. You played it pretty cool."
"So did you."
"Guess we're both cool. Let's return to the subject of your reputation, which is not so cool. I understand that it was shredded two years ago when you were involved in that art forgery scam in Scottsdale ."
She held his gaze. "I had nothing to do with the McClelland forgeries. As a matter of fact, I was the one who blew the whistle."
"Got any proof?"
"Probably not the sort you'd accept. There was no criminal investigation because none of McClelland's clients wanted to press charges."
"Convenient."
"It's a common enough reaction in the art world."
He gave her an expression of polite disbelief. "What the hell kind of client would sit still for being conned?"
"The kind who values his or her own reputation," she said.
"Meaning?"
"Look, the situation is not unlike what happens when a big business discovers that one of its employees has embezzled money from client accounts or that a hacker has gotten past its computer security. The corporation generally wants to keep things quiet because it fears the publicity of an arrest and trial. Clients and customers would question its ability to provide privacy and security."
Trask's eyes narrowed. "I'm aware of how things work in the business world."
"They aren't that much different in the art world. McClelland sold almost exclusively to high-priced art consultants and acknowledged experts who bought art and antiques for their own exclusive clientele."
"I think I'm getting the picture," Trask said. "No so-called expert likes to admit that he or she was fooled by a series of good forgeries."
"Exactly. Bad for business. After the McClelland incident everyone involved had a vested interest in keeping as quiet as possible. Reputations and careers were at stake. McClelland, of course, counted on that attitude. There was no investigation, no trial, and no arrest. Just lots of rumors and innuendos."
"Rumors and innuendos, I'm told, in which your name figured prominently."
She folded her arms beneath her breasts and angled her chin. "Actually, my name got savaged by a particularly nasty bit of insider gossip in a very influential trade magazine called Twentieth-Century Artifact. The idiot reporter who wrote the piece did so without having all the facts. He managed to imply that I was actively involved in selling the forgeries at McClelland."
"What happened to the forger?"
"McClelland?" Alexa glanced morosely at Dancing Satyr. "Disappeared and left me holding the bag."
Trask said nothing for a while, but the calculating look in his eyes told Alexa that he was processing the information she had given him.
He stirred eventually, sliding one palm along the polished veneer of a lacquered cabinet in an absent caress. "Can any part of your story be verified?"
It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to produce a careless shrug. "It's possible that one or two of McClelland's clients, those who are grateful to me for saving them from buying a lot of very expensive, very fake early-twentieth-century art and antiques, might be willing to talk off the record."
"Only one or two?"
"Only one or two listened when I warned them not to trust McClelland. Edward Vale was among that rather select group. That's why he—"
The Valkyrie -like figure of Glenda Elaine bustled up out of the stairwell before Alexa
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