Chapter 4: Highland Fling
Winston-Winslow. Monday, May 21, 2007.
When Crowley teleported into Win-Win's pub, Cheekbones and Scarlet ... correction, Sparkle Plenty were already present. Crowley was still getting used to the new nickname. He'd initially given Sara the nickname of Scarlet for obvious reasons, but Cheekbones suggested he replace it with something more fitting of her personality. He claimed that since her specialty was antique jewelry, she'd especially appreciate it.
As a rule, Crowley preferred to select his own nicknames, but Cheekbones had a point. Crowley had already dubbed Burke Dick Tracy. Jones was Flattop. Berrigan was Breathless.
What stopped him short was why Cheekbones gave him the tip.
Hagen snorted. "Isn't it obvious? This was an exchange of favors, bro. We were damn helpful to the Mouseketeers. Neal wants to reciprocate. Besides, he and I are chums, comrades cut from the same cloth. It's only natural he'd want to help us out."
Cut from the same cloth? Is that a slur? Back when Crowley was Fergus MacLeod and still human, he was a tailor in Scotland.
"You know it's not," Hagen chided. "A tailor's a very respectable profession even if it can't compare with being an artist."
"Thank you for making time in your schedule for us," Cheekbones said, gesturing for him to take a seat. Crowley quickly extricated himself from the gutter Hagen's comment had shoved him into.
He already liked the vibe. The bottle of Glencraig, with three cut-glass shot glasses circling it, beckoned to him enticingly.
"Anything for you and Sparkle," Crowley said gallantly, delighted at how Sara's eyes lit up. He knew he could trust Cheekbones.
"Is that what you've decided to call me?" she asked.
He nodded. "Now that I know you better, it's much more appropriate."
"We should christen it with Scotch," she declared.
"Excellent suggestion." He poured himself and Cheekbones a shot. "How would you like your drink, Sparkle?"
"Neat, of course, and I want you to know that pleasant as this is, we're conducting a business meeting."
"About Scotch?" Crowley joked hopefully.
"In a way," Cheekbones said, surprising him. "We have a lead on a forged Renoir in Edinburgh. Does Hagen know of any Scottish clients for stolen masterpieces?"
His inner consultation with Hagen didn't take long. "Sorry, but there's a reason Scotland's much better known for its whisky than its art. Hagen's not aware of any purchasers. Frankly, I'm surprised anyone bothered with a forgery in Edinburgh. It couldn't have been very lucrative."
"That is a bit of a puzzle," Cheekbones agreed.
"Will you travel to Edinburgh?" Crowley asked. No need to hurry off. The bottle was nearly full.
Sara nodded. "Since I've never been to Scotland, we're tacking on a little vacation time. I'm eager to learn more about my mother's relatives, the MacLeods. With your appreciation of Scotch, I wondered if you'd spent much time there."
"Hagen's family is from Wiltshire." Crowley drained his glass and stood up. Time to take off. This conversation was veering into dangerous territory. "You'll find the distilleries much more enjoyable than the museums."
With a snap of his fingers, he teleported back to his suite over the Blue Crescent Jazz Club in New Orleans.
"Why are you so nervous about Neal and Sara being in Scotland?" Hagen asked.
"Sara's an investigator. She's out to learn all she can about the MacLeods. She already knows about Mommy Dearest." When they were alone, Crowley found it much more satisfying to vent out loud.
"Rowena? She only knows she's a famous witch, not that she's still alive or that she's your mum."
"But she could find out, and if she does ..." Crowley drummed his fingers impatiently on the cherry end table.
"Why would that be such a big deal?"
"Because, you little smudge, she could discover that my human name was Fergus MacLeod, and that could lead her to my grave in Canisbay. If she told the Winchesters, they might burn my bones."
"No, they won't. Not after we've been so helpful. Still, it wouldn't hurt for you to be nicer to them. I'll be around no matter what. If you're gone, I'll get my life back although I would miss you."
Crowley frowned at Hagen's smug tone. A reality check was in order. "Need I remind you that if you resume your life as Curtis Hagen, you'll be a wanted fugitive? You'll probably spend the rest of your miserable life in prison. I seriously doubt Castiel will visit you very often." He could hear Hagen gulp in his head. When Crowley first learned that Hagen was smitten with the angel, he hadn't appreciated how it could work to his advantage. Castiel was only interested in Hagen because he was a component of Crowley's so-called blended soul.
"I see your point, but there's no need to sound the alarm. Canisbay is nowhere near Edinburgh."
Maybe so, but Crowley had yet another reason to keep tabs on Sparkle Plenty. His D.I. connection was looking more valuable by the moment.
#
Flying overseas was no longer the thrill it used to be for Sara, but having tea with her husband in Old Town Edinburgh was something special. She met him at the Colonnades in the Signet Library. The elegant Georgian surroundings made her wish she'd come in period attire. They'd arrived the previous day in time to visit Edinburgh Castle and admire Scotland's crown jewels.
They were having tea on the early side so there'd be plenty of time for sightseeing afterward. She was counting on the steep streets to wear off tea indulgences in time for dinner.
Tomorrow they'd leave for the Highlands but this was her day to play tourist. Earlier in the day, while Neal met with staff at the National Gallery, she explored the shops in Old Town.
"Have you identified the pinprick design?" she asked Neal.
"Not definitively," he admitted. "To me, it looks like a sword with a pommel, but the pattern could also be a constellation like the others. Grus, the crane constellation, is probably the closest fit. I had Mozzie and Peter look at the design. Not unexpectedly, Mozzie is sure it depicts Grus."
"The birds are tied to that border Leonardo painted in the Austrian castle. But since he apparently chose stars from the constellation Leo for his own symbol, the bird analogies seem to be an after-thought."
"I agree. I wish we knew if Leonardo had any interest in either birdwatching or astronomy. The only painting that contains Leonardo's symbol is the Van Gogh we found in Buzek's penthouse. Until we find a way to get the mobster to talk, we won't know whether he purchased it directly from Leonardo or through Phoenix."
"It could be significant that the Austrian didn't ask you to pick a constellation," Sara said.
"Possibly it's to distinguish my works from Leonardo's."
"There could be another reason. Perhaps Rolf was simply an associate of Phoenix's. We know about Rolf's interest in astronomy. He could have insisted on using constellations while he worked with him."
"And now that Rolf is no longer around, Phoenix is working on his own?" Neal nodded slowly. "It's an intriguing theory. I'll mention it to Peter."
The waiter arrived with a silver stand of savories and sweets, and conversation tapered off as they indulged in amazing amuse-bouches. The watermelon Bloody Mary was an unexpected treat, but the green tea and lemon tart was her favorite. She made a mental note to write El about them.
"We may need to make a trip to Edinburgh every year," she suggested. "I'll undoubtedly need to reconnect with my roots regularly. And I'll insist we stay at the Witchery."
When she heard the name of their hotel, she thought Neal was joking about the witch who could be a distant relative—Rowena MacLeod. Instead she discovered the hotel of her dreams with opulent suites of Gothic romantic splendor. It was by far the most romantic place she'd ever stayed at. Neal knew she liked historical romances. She now felt like she was living in one.
Neal smiled. "When I saw your reading selection for the flight, I figured I'd made the right decision."
"Outlander? You'll soon get used to seeing me read it. This is the first of a series of six, and the author has indicated she'll write more. Of course, you understand I'm simply reading it for background information on the Jacobites. The romance about the nurse and her dashing Highlander is of minor interest."
"Uh-huh. Is that why you bought me a kilt?"
Sara leaned over the table to murmur, "You'll thank me later." In her public voice, she added, "That's what you get for not accompanying me shopping. I found a tartan shop that was a goldmine about the MacLeods. The sales assistant's husband was a MacLeod. She mentioned there's an American branch. I've been seized by a sudden interest in genealogy."
He eyed her skeptically. "Because of Outlander or Rowena MacLeod?"
"Maybe a little of both." She paused to collect her thoughts. "Sam Winchester's girlfriend Maia has a strong sense of clan connections. It helps to make up for her lack of living relatives. My situation is somewhat similar. Learning more about the MacLeods, perhaps even attending a gathering in the States has a definite appeal."
"If you want me to wear a kilt, it will be my pleasure," he declared.
"Thank you for understanding. I could have used your help at the shop. I had no idea there were so many tartan variations. I picked two favorites. There's enough fabric to make a skirt and sash for me. Then it was off to a bookstore that Maia had recommended."
Neal looked at her warily. "On the occult?"
Sara shrugged. "You were the one who picked The Witchery. Weren't you sending me a psychic signal?"
He laughed. "You caught me. Did you make any purchases?"
"Not on the occult, but I found a book on the history of the MacLeods."
"I'm delighted you're researching your past. Our kids will be very lucky. They'll belong to two clans." Neal cocked his head, a glint in his eyes. "Should we start checking out summer camps for our future kids where they can learn Gaelic?"
"Why not? I want them to be as multilingual as us. Then they can teach us." She eyed the selections on the stand and settled on a smoked salmon and goat cheese mousse. "Do you need to go back to the gallery after tea?"
"No, I've done all I can for the moment. John Hobhouse has been in contact with the local officials. Everyone's on hold till they hear from us."
Tomorrow they'd drive to the western Highlands. Loch Arkaig and Woodman's estate were about a three-hour drive away. She was looking forward to exploring the picturesque country. The MacLeod clan was centered on the Isle of Skye and the western coast. Visiting those castles would have to wait for another trip when they had more time.
"I thought I could interest you in another of your passions this afternoon," Neal added. "Not that one just yet," he added with a wink. "Does looking at antique jewelry have any appeal?"
"You know it does! Where are we going?"
"The National Museum has a fine collection including pieces owned by Mary, Queen of Scots as well as medieval brooches."
#
Sara was as enthusiastic about the museum as Neal had expected. So far, she hadn't questioned him about how he'd acquired his familiarity with Edinburgh. He suspected she was waiting for him to bring it up on his own. And he would. When the time was right. Although part of him argued why rake up a past that had no relevance to the man he was now? He'd never executed any of his planned heists. Couldn't he simply classify them as daydreams?
But as they neared the display case containing the McNally Solitaire, his resolve wavered. At one time, he'd fixated on that jewel. It was to be Kate's engagement ring.
"What is it, Neal?" Sara asked.
He was no longer surprised Sara could read him so well. "The last time I was here was with Klaus. We conducted a mental game of what-ifs in Edinburgh. He had me devise plans to steal the Scottish Crown Jewels and the McNally Solitaire. Then he told me how he'd do it." He smiled at her. "I never executed the plan. No guarantees on Klaus, but I haven't heard of any thefts."
"I should ask him sometime. I haven't heard of the McNally Solitaire."
"It's an emerald ring. At thirty carets, it's one of the largest in the world. In the present setting, it's surrounded by diamonds."
"Do you know anything about its history?" Sara asked.
"It's rumored to have originally been a gift to Bonnie Prince Charlie from one of the mistresses of Louis XV—Marie Anne de Maille. She was reportedly quite taken with the Jacobite cause. The prince gave the ring to Colonel John O'Sullivan as payment for O'Sullivan's efforts on his behalf."
"O'Sullivan—that's an Irish name."
Neal nodded. "Many Irish fought with the Jacobites. They saw it as a way to bring Catholicism back to Scotland."
"Why isn't it called the O'Sullivan Solitaire?"
"You haven't heard its romantic history yet! It's worthy of a romance novel."
"Tell me more!" she said, her eyes sparkling.
"O'Sullivan gave the ring to his favorite niece, Kathleen McNally, shortly before he died. Kathleen was in love with Evan Cameron, one of the sons of Donald Cameron, a Jacobite leader. Evan died in the Battle of Culloden but Kathleen remained true to him for the rest of her life. She sold the ring to a wealthy collector in the 1770s and used the funds to help impoverished Highlanders. The collector bequeathed it to the University of Edinburgh."
He led her to the display case. "And here she is." Next to the ring in the case was a portrait of Kathleen and Evan, painted shortly before the Rising of '45. The young couple looked very much in love. When he'd seen that portrait, he'd pictured himself and Kate in their roles.
"An Irish woman and her Highlander ..." Sara said softly. "We've reversed the roles, and our ending will be a far happier one."
"Yes, it will." Kate left a week before he planned to go to Scotland. In hindsight, that was a blessing.
Sara bent over the case to study the ring and he joined her. He'd studied every detail when he was here with Klaus. That was a period when he'd made several ring forgeries. This was to be his finest effort. But as he examined the ring, he grew troubled. Something was off. Then he saw it.
"Neal, what's wrong?"
"This is a forgery."
Sara stared at him. "How can you tell? The emerald looks genuine to me. Wouldn't you need to inspect with a loupe?"
"I don't need to. The joint where the gallery holding the stones meets the shank of the ring isn't accurate."
"I know you're an expert," Sara said, her expression growing troubled. "But ..."
Neal took a breath. "I know what you're thinking." He nodded toward a bench on the side of the exhibit hall. "Let's discuss it over there."
The bench was away from the displays. No visitors to overhear them. Once they were seated, he said, "When Klaus and I cased the museum, I wasn't just going to steal the ring. I intended to replace it with a forgery."
"And now someone has," Sara said, looking troubled.
"I appreciate you didn't ask, but I never carried out the project," he assured her. "I'll need to contact security and let them know. They probably won't believe me at first. This could take a while." He winced. "So much for our vacation."
"We'll make up for it later. In fact, this will work to our advantage. After all, we're here on an art forgery case." She thought for a moment. "You should let me contact security. I can explain that I'm investigating jewel thefts and was concerned something like this might happen. What should I point out?"
He agreed with her unspoken message. For him to explain how he knew it was a forgery could be treacherous. Sara's expertise in jewelry was well-established through her recovery work. She wasn't as well-versed in the intricacies of antique mounts but she'd already requested that the upcoming jewel thief boot camp include sessions on historical jewelry. The McNally Solitaire would make an excellent study piece.
"What first caused you to take a second look was that the lines of the gallery are too smooth. Then you noticed the seam connecting it to the shank wasn't as evident as it should be. The emerald was reset in a mount in the nineteenth century. Whoever forged this made the mount look too modern. The differences are subtle but clear to the trained eye."
"I can work with that," Sara said. "Those courses I took at the Victoria and Albert will come in handy. I can mention that the McNally Solitaire was one of the pieces we studied."
"This may be an additional link between our investigations. Has Phoenix branched out into jewels?"
Sara smiled. "Mobsters like gems just as much as Old Masters."
Notes: I invented the history of the McNally Solitaire but the people mentioned are historical figures. The gem itself is fictitious. It was named after Alexandra McNally, a White Collar story editor.
The Witchery is a real hotel. It's on my bucket list to visit!