Framed Shadows: Shadows Landing #6 Kathleen Brooks (summer beach reads .TXT) 📖

transported safely. I have a specialized van for just that reason,” Tinsley said, trying to get Paxton close to the sellers.

“No need. My grandmother lives out of town. I’ll bring it in the next time I visit her. I look forward to growing our partnership, Tinsley.” Maurice shook her hand and then Murray did.

They walked out of the gallery and Tinsley spun around to Paxton the second the door shut. “Aren’t you going to follow them?”

“Someone already is. We have FBI agents lined up along the road to follow them. Tibbie and Peter are in the courtyard. Let’s go let them in. I need to talk to Peter.”

13

Paxton hurried to the back door with Tinsley right behind him. He pushed open the door and found Peter and Tibbie sitting at the small table, laughing.

“Oh, that was so much fun! I have more wigs than Dolly Parton. It was fun to pull them out again. The seventies, you know? All wigs, all the time. Maybe I’ll bring them back into fashion.”

“You were excellent, Miss Tibbie. The FBI thanks you for your assistance,” Peter told her. “Now, let me introduce you to my art crimes agent, Paxton Kendry. Paxton, this is Mrs. Elijah Cummings, or Miss Tibbie to those lucky enough to call her a friend.”

Paxton shook her hand and gave her a wink. “I’m happy to have you as part of my team. You didn’t even bat an eye at dealing with criminals.”

“Bah, they’re nothing. You should come to the Arts Endowment Silent Auction if you want to see real action. No matter how hard criminal organizations try, they’ll never be tougher than society matrons at a silent auction.”

Paxton laughed. That wasn’t true, was it? He’d make sure to ask Miss Tibbie later. She looked like she had great stories to tell, but right now he had a break in the case and he needed to follow that lead.

“I know who they are,” Paxton said and everyone went quiet. “It’s been nagging at me since I saw the first video footage of Maurice. He looks really familiar, but now that I saw Murray, I know. They’re from Atlanta. They’re from the gang I was undercover with. I recognized the partial tattoo that was showing. They are brothers but their last name isn’t Smith, it’s Spiller,” Paxton told Peter.

“Did they recognize you?” Peter asked, all business now.

Paxton shook his head. “When I was undercover I had a big, thick beard that covered most of my face, long, shoulder-length hair, and I wore colored contacts. I went by a different name and was covered in temporary tattoos that looked so real I was surprised they eventually washed off.”

Peter frowned. “I don’t like coincidences.”

Miss Tibbie shook her head and clucked. “As if it were a coincidence while at the fundraiser last week that Tex Thomas left to use the restroom thirty seconds after Titty Roberts did . . . excuse me, Kitty Roberts. Those two have been foolin’ around for six months and still think no one knows. Well, what they don’t know is Tex’s wife and Kitty’s husband are filing divorce papers at the same time on Monday. Coincidence? Ha! There are no coincidences. So, tell us about that gang you were with. Why would they want to sell stolen art?”

“I don’t know,” Paxton admitted. “There was never any mention of art when I was undercover with them. They ran drugs and guns.”

“Could they be payment for drugs and guns with other gangs?” Tinsley asked. “Maurice said they have some buyers already lined up.”

“Could be. What about money laundering?” Paxton asked.

Peter nodded. “That could work. They have Tinsley sell the art. She takes the dirty money, and when she wires it from her escrow account, it gets cleaned. I already looked at the account they had Tinsley deposit the money into. It’s a front. The company sells artwork. The address is a one-room desk rental space in an office building. Not an art studio, but a respectable address if you have no reason to dig. The money is still sitting there, too. It hasn’t moved yet and no one has asked for a withdrawal. Tell me what you know about Maurice and Murray.”

Paxton closed his eyes and thought back through all the FBI files he had on the gang. “Curtis Engle is the leader of the Myriad. I never had enough to take him down, but I was getting close. Maurice and Murray were street lackeys. They sold heroin laced with fentanyl on the street. They must have been moved up in the organization.

“The night I was shot, I was closing in on Engle. He had a meeting that he said would change the gang forever. He handpicked the members to go with him and I wasn’t on the list so I followed them to an abandoned warehouse. That’s when things went to hell. I was spotted by one of them. I called for backup when the alarm was sounded. My team was supposed to move in, but they didn’t. My coms had gone down without me knowing it so I walked in with no backup. Engle waved off the meeting before I could see who it was with and the gang converged on me. It was like the shootout at the O.K. Corral. I took most of the members down with me, including the second-in-command and half the security team before taking three shots to the chest. The brothers were probably moved up after that.” Paxton didn’t like remembering that night—the shouts, the gunfire, the fear he was going to die.

“How did you get out of there?” Tinsley asked quietly.

“In a body bag. My team only moved in once the shooting started, but they were blocks away, waiting for my signal. The last thing I remember was Engle standing above me. He said, “It’s a good thing you’re dead or I’d kill you myself.” Then he took off running when my team appeared. My boss was there and said I was dead loudly