The woman smiled. “Thank you.” She sank slowly into the chair. “There are too few of us girls in the Old Boys’ Club, I think.” She took a slow drink, then fingered the rim of her crystal glass. “Even fewer Old Girls.”
Kat had never known her grandmother. Her mother had been taken from her far too soon, and yet it had never occurred to her until then that there might be something—someone—missing from Uncle Eddie’s kitchen table. But watching Maggie touch the stones in her ears, Kat knew the con was over. There was no angle, no job, no lie—only a woman who could have been there. But wasn’t. The absence was like a gaping hole inside Kat’s chest.
“How do you know him?” Kat had to know. “Why haven’t I ever met you before? Why aren’t you—”
“Part of the family?” Maggie guessed. Kat nodded, too tongue-tied to speak. “That is a long story, my dear, and one that I will not be telling,” Maggie said simply. “Besides, I do my best work alone. I’m sure you understand.”
“I see.”
“I heard about Moscow, by the way. It was—”
“Risky, I know,” Kat said, unable to bear another lecture.
But Maggie just shook her head. Her eyes sparkled. “It was exactly what I would have done.”
When Maggie raised her eyebrows, she appeared younger than Kat had seen her yet. Age is just a number, after all. Youth is something else, and Kat could see that there—in the middle of the con—Maggie was turning back the clock, and Kat envied her. She thought of Gabrielle’s words and wondered if she was really looking at the female Uncle Eddie. Or maybe Kat was simply seeing the thief Kat herself might grow up to someday be.
“Personally, I love a Cézanne,” Maggie said longingly, and raised her glass again. “So I, of course, wouldn’t have given it away.”
And just like that the spell was broken. The last few days came rushing back, and there was only one thing about the woman that mattered. When Kat spoke again, she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You broke the rules, Maggie.”
“There is no honor among thieves, Katarina. No matter what you might have read in storybooks.” She smiled a terribly wicked smile. “Part of the fun is getting the best of our rivals.”
“You said Romani sent you.”
Maggie waved the concern away. “I played the mark.”
“You used a Chelovek Pseudonima for your own purposes.”
Maggie pointed a finger at Kat, as if she’d just realized something. “I was once young like you—so fiery, so passionate.
When I heard about the Henley…I was impressed. That was very nice work, Katarina.” If she expected Kat to acknowledge the compliment, she was mistaken. “And then I started hearing stories of other jobs…and I knew that you had become noble. It is an adorable look on you. It goes with your eyes. You can tell your uncle that.”
“Uncle Eddie isn’t part of this.”
Maggie laughed. “Well, if Eddie didn’t send you, then who did?”
“Visily Romani.”
Maggie laughed harder. “Well, I’m here on behalf of the Easter Bunny, so—”
“We’re going to get it back, you know?”
Maggie nodded slowly. There was a harsh, sudden edge to her voice when she said, “You’re going to try.”
Rich, dense curtains blocked out the sun. It was quiet—almost peaceful—in the dim room, and Kat thought she heard her own heart pounding as she sat listening to Maggie say, “I’m very proud of you for coming here, Katarina. I would have found it insulting if you’d insisted on skulking around in the shadows as if I wouldn’t see you—as if I wouldn’t hear you.”
“Well, as long as you’re not offended…”
“So what would you like, dear? Ten percent?”
Kat didn’t even do the mental math—she didn’t dare. “That’s so nice of you to offer, but I think I’ll just take it all.”
Maggie threw her head back and laughed. “So you’re going to try…what? Birds of a Feather?” she guessed.
“Of course not,” Kat said. “Everyone knows the French government banned the importation of peacocks in 1987.”
“True.” Maggie frowned as if that particular development had caused her a great deal of grief on many occasions.