MALORY took the keys from Tod and gave him a huge hug in return. “I owe you big.”

“I’ll say, but I’ll settle for any sort of an explanation.”

“As soon as I can. I promise.”

“Honeybun, this is all getting really weird. You get fired, then you hack into Pamela’s files. You turn down the invitation to come back to home and hearth with a substantial raise. And now you’re going to skulk around the place after closing.”

“You know what?” She jingled the keys in her hand. “That’s not the really weird part. All I can tell you is I’m doing something important, and with the best intentions. I’m not going to do The Gallery or James, or most especially you, any harm.”

“I’d never think you would.”

“I’ll have these back to you tonight. First thing in the morning at the latest.”

Tod glanced out the window to see Flynn loitering on the sidewalk. “This doesn’t have anything to do with sexual fetishes or fantasies?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a shame. I’m walking away. I’m going to have a lovely martini, maybe two, and put all this completely out of my mind.”

“Do just that.”

He started out, then stopped and looked back at her. “Whatever you’re doing, Mal, be careful.”

“I will. Promise.”

She waited, watched Tod stop to speak to Flynn before sauntering off. She opened the door, gestured Flynn in, then locked it, set the security code. “What did Tod say to you?”

“That if I got you into any sort of trouble he’d hang me up by my balls and then snip off various other body parts with manicure scissors.”

“Ouch. Good one.”

“You bet.” He peered out the window to make sure Tod was gone. “And let me tell you, if I was thinking about getting you into any sort of trouble, that image would be a very strong deterrent.”

“I guess, when it comes down to it, I’m the one who could be getting you in trouble. There’s the legal angle, the criminal angle, and your reputation as publisher and editor in chief of the Dispatch on the line here. You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m in. Manicure scissors are those little pointy ones that curve, right?”

“That’s right.”

He hissed out a breath. “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Where do we start?”

“Upstairs, I think. We can work our way down. Assuming the keys in the painting are in proportion, it’ll be about three inches long.”

“Little key.”

“Yes, a fairly little key. The business end is a single, simple drop,” she continued and handed him a small sketch. “The other end is decorative, this complex pattern. It’s a Celtic design, a triple spiral called a triskeles. Zoe found the pattern in one of Dana’s books.”

“You three make a good team.”

“It feels like it. It’s gold, probably solid gold. I can’t imagine we won’t recognize it when we see it.”

He glanced toward the main showroom with its vaulted ceilings and generous space. There were the paintings, of course, and the sculpture and other artworks. Display cases and tables. Drawers and chests and counters with infinite cubbyholes.