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“A few times,” I said. “It’s run by Arran Maxton.”
“Apparently, he hands out those rings to his regulars.”
“And who the fuck did this one belong to?” I asked.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” he told me. “Even I can’t break into his systems to get that. I can get you his phone number, though.”
I remained silent while I considered that. The Maxton Pierce House is an underground organization in Philadelphia that specializes in black market art and antiquities. Though I’ve never had any dealings with the Maxtons, I know my uncle did. The question is, were they on civil terms?
“Do that,” I said. If only Arran Maxton can give me the information I need about the owner of the ring, then I have no choice but to ask nicely. Or at least, start off that way.
* * *
As it turns out, Uncle Francescodidhave a good relationship with Arran Maxton. Though that shouldn’t surprise me. He was a man who earned respect.
Arran agreed to meet me at Vino, a restaurant in Philadelphia.
When I arrive that evening at nine sharp, he’s already been seated in a booth tucked in a far back corner. While it’s not behind closed doors, it’s surrounded by deep-red velvet drapes and glass walls that give enough privacy.
“You brought it with you?” he asks by way of a greeting.
“Nice to meet you too,” I say gruffly, sitting across from him. Turning to the hostess who delivered me here, I nod. “Thank you.”
“Would you like a glass of red while you wait for your server?” the lovely brunette asks.
“Please.”
She pours me a glass from the bottle Maxton must have ordered before I got here, as all the while, he purses his lips and watches her with impatience.
When she finally leaves, he says, “I was greatly disturbed to hear one of our rings was lost. Even more so that you were able to find information on the internet that led you to me. I’ll have to remedy that.”
“To be fair, I hired someone very good to find you. Although I might have eventually done it on my own. My uncle spoke of business with you on occasion.”
He shakes his head. “Our business had nothing to do with the auction house. Can I see it?”
I lift my left hand to show him the ring that’s on my middle finger, and his eyes zero in on it. “You can confirm it’s one of yours?”
Nodding, he asks, “Where did you say you found it?”
“It was returned to me with my father’s belongings after he was murdered.”
“The coroner gave it to you?”
Staring at Maxton with a narrowed gaze, I nod. “I have no idea where my father got it from. Never saw him wear it.”
“May I?” He extends his hand and motions for me to give it to him.
I slide the ring off and drop it in his palm, then watch as he brings it near his face for closer inspection.
“Was this my father’s?” I ask him.
He seems thoughtful for a moment. “I never saw your father there.”
“He never mentioned being there,” I confirm. “What about Francesco? Could it have been his?”
“As I said before, my business with Francesco had nothing to do with the auction house.”
I tap a finger against the polished wood of the table. “Then that makes whoever it belongs to suspect number one.”
