Page 110 of Disarming Caine
A dozen pairs of adult shoes sat by the door, so there would be plenty of cover for snooping. Maybe I wouldn’t need Antonio to keep Irene’s attention off us.
“As you requested—” Irene handed a long tube of papers to Antonio. “—the floor plan. It includes the four season room, which was added in 2017, so it’s at least that recent. You have renovations in mind?”
“Sì, we do.” He smiled at her, that ridiculously charming smile that left brain cells melting in its wake.
I leaned over as he unrolled the plans, immediately scouting hiding spots. “I’d like to take some measurements of that storage room in the basement.”
Irene glanced at me and pointed to the schematic. “The dimensions are—”
“Often inaccurate, and as you said, potentially out-of-date.” Antonio smiled at her again, eliciting a nod. It was like the man had a superpower. I’d been immobilized by that gaze only four months ago—and maybe a little last night—so knew its power well.
Footsteps sounded overhead as people moved from room to room. I caught glimpses of a couple in the living room and someone in the kitchen.
“Very busy today,” Antonio said. “Do you mind if we take our own tour?”
Irene gestured toward the stairs. “Be my guest. I’ll be doing some rounds once a few others arrive.”
We had a game plan. Start from the bottom and work our way up, using the floor plan as a guide. The attic would come last. If they were hiding the paintings behind a fake wall, there had to be a way to open it, and I wanted to find out as much as I could before we revealed it.
Antonio walked with the sheets unfurled, nearly knocking into a couple coming up the stairs from the basement.
The man glowered at Antonio, down at the floor plan, then whispered something to the woman he was with. All I could make out was “unfair advantage” and they headed in Irene’s direction to complain.
“Takethatend,”Isaid to Antonio, handing him the hook of my measuring tape. I backed through the storage room in the basement, down the clear path between boxes, bookcases, and a couple sets of golf clubs.
I scanned every nook and cranny, behind the books, and along the top of a shelf running the length of the room. But nothing stood out and most of the items were coated in a thin layer of dust, which quickly narrowed down anywhere the paintings could be.
“Sixteen feet.” I nodded to Antonio, who released his end. “Do you think it’s big enough?”
He consulted the floor plan, a woman in a bright blue jacket peering over his shoulder. “That’s the outside wall, so there’s nowhere to expand. Unless you wish to build an extension.”
“The attic has storage space,” said the woman, another prospective buyer. She inclined her head toward the man with her, also hovering behind Antonio. “We went up there first.”
“Grazie. We’re almost done down here.” Antonio ushered her out of the cramped area, touching her back lightly to guide her, earning a glare from the man. There wasn’t enough space in the house for how many people were inspecting it.
We headed for the main floor and toured around, paying particular attention to the width of the wall separating the four season room from the living room, the kitchen pantry, and the dimensions of a linen closet.
Nothing, nothing, and more nothing.
As we reached the top of the stairs to the second floor, Irene came out of the master bedroom. “Any questions?”
Six people moved through the space, coming in and out of the bedrooms, causing us to stand against the wall by the attic door to let them through. Irene—the cheater who didn’t seem to care that Antonio was married, or at least said he was—plastered herself against him, gripping his arm.
A silly pang of jealousy struck me, like we hadn’t discussed this in the car. He was the distraction. That was the plan. But there was no need for a distraction right now. There were too many damn people inside this house all at once. “It’s a little crowded.”
Antonio shifted subtly to release Irene’s grip and took my hand. “Shall we go upstairs first, then come back for the bedrooms?”
“Yes.” Snooping around the entire house was all well and good, but if those paintings were hidden anywhere, they were behind the walled-up dormer. We needed to get up there, expose at least one stolen painting, then I could call Elliot and get out of this house. And away from Irene.
Plus, calling him five days earlier than his deadline would look even better in the portfolio we were building.
Irene skulked behind us, reviewing more facts and figures about the neighborhood than she’d shared on our last visit. Pointing out that three of the viewers already confirmed they’d be putting in offers.
When we reached the top, we found four other people there. A man and a very pregnant woman at the rear window, a man in a wing chair staring at his phone, and a woman inspecting the musty bookcase. Another woman came up the stairs behind us.
How was Antonio going to distract all of them long enough for me to check his theory?
We stopped at the center of the room, Irene hanging off his every word. He had her entranced. But what about the rest of them?