“If you ask me, the insurance company is trying to avoid writing the check to cover the client’s loss,” Olivia said. “You know how insurance companies are.”

“Due diligence,” Reynolds said. “We don’t pay off when we suspect the client is trying to defraud us. Bottom line is that I tracked the camera to Ms. LeClair. She agreed to help me.”

Olivia got a what-can-you-do expression. “It sounded like a better option than having an insurance company accuse me of stealing the camera.”

“I see,” Gwendolyn said again.

She and Eloisa had anticipated that Olivia might do some online research but they had not expected an insurance investigator to take notice. She wished she could call Eloisa to discuss the problem, but there was no time. She had to make a decision.

Reynolds did not appear to be a serious threat. He seemed to be exactly what his business card said he was—an insurance investigator pursuing an investigation. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was standing right in front of her, looking bored—an insurance company guy going through the paces, doing his job—it would have been easy to forget he was even in the shop.

But when you were closing in on the location of the Vortex lab and its secrets, you had to pay attention to every detail, including the sudden appearance of an insurance investigator.

There was no putting the toothpaste back into the tube. The project was going forward. All she could do was try to maintain control.

“The camera was one of several low-value objects in a box of miscellaneous collectibles that I picked up at an estate sale,” she said. “If you’ll give me a minute I’ll check my records.”

“Appreciate it,” Reynolds said.

He turned and strolled across the room to a display counter that held a mid-century record player. He raised the lid of the machine and picked up the tonearm as if to take a closer look.

“Please do not touch that,” Gwendolyn said, putting some acid into her voice. “It’s quite delicate.”

“Sorry.” Reynolds lowered the tonearm and wandered off to examine a music box.

Olivia gave Gwendolyn an apologetic smile and lowered her voice. “Sorry to bother you, especially at this hour of the morning, but Mr. Reynolds practically accused me of stealing the camera. I’m trying to prove that it’s not the antique he’s searching for.”

“I understand,” Gwendolyn said. She went to her computer. “I promise you the provenance is pristine, at least from my end. Can’t speak for the former owner. You know how it is with collectors. If they want an object, they don’t always ask a lot of questions about how it happened to come onto the market.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder. Apparently satisfied that Reynolds was occupied with a mid-century radio at the far end of the showroom, she leaned partway over the counter.