Page 64 of Broken Halos
“To convince me he was innocent,” Ryder said, sounding conflicted. Surely he didn’t believe him.
“Which time?” I asked. “Priceless artifacts were stolen both times he appeared in your life.” Ryder groaned. “Wait. Did this happen more than twice?”
He nodded. “Lucien showed up one day at the museum I was working at in Egypt. He was so convincing, and I was so….”
“Horny?” Many a man suffered after listening to his dick.
“Lonely, Ollie. I was so damn lonely. I was desperate to believe him because I wanted to, and it backfired. The second time around, I kept my mouth shut about recognizing him when photos were presented to us. They had no idea we’d been fucking for weeks, and I wasn’t about to tell them. Lucien and I hadn’t discussed a single thing about the museum in Cairo, so there had to be someone else giving him information. Same as Paris and Cincinnati.”
“I assume you came clean to everyone about the theft in Cairo too?” I asked.
“It didn’t take them long to find the connection. My time working for the museums was in my bio, and directors tend to remember the dates when priceless items turn up missing.”
“I don’t mean to sound cruel, but if the museum knew you were working at both the museums at the time these items were stolen, why did they risk hiring you? Wouldn’t you be too big of a risk? I’m sure a paintings conservator is an important job, but aren’t there ones with less…baggage?”
Ryder sat up straighter and looked at me with bright, alert eyes when moments before they were dull and sad. “Ollie! I think you’re onto something. Why the hell would they hire me? Two thefts from the museums I worked at and neither of the items were recovered. Unless…”
“They wanted a scapegoat.”
Ryder shook his head in disgust. “There’s no other explanation. Regardless of what Lucien says, he must be involved with someone on the museum board. How else could he have gained access to the event?”
“You need to talk to Agents Kiphart and Marshall.”
“I already have,” Ryder said patiently. “I’m not convinced they care.”
“They care about the truth, Ryder. You just have to make them see you’re not guilty. Offer to take a polygraph. Wait,” I said, thinking back to the movie I watched over the summer. “Surely, there’s an insurance adjuster assigned to investigate the theft.” Ryder nodded to confirm my thought. “There’s the person you need to get on your side and make them hear you.”
Ryder got to his feet so fast he nearly knocked the chair over. “Thanks, Ollie. You’ve helped me sort things in my brain and stop moping. Congratulations, by the way.”
“For what?” I asked.
“I heard your Roebling Bridge painting sold for five thousand dollars. It’s the largest amount any piece of art has sold for since the museum started the event. It really is a stunning piece.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you donate the money to Ryan’s Place?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Of course, you did.”
“Of course, I did.”
“See you around, Ollie.”
When I repeated the conversation to Archie after hanging with Esther in the kitchen, he wasn’t too impressed with Ryder’s excuses or the idea he was being used as a scapegoat. It wasn’t that he believed Ryder or didn’t believe Ryder, he just didn’t care. “Not our business, Golden Boy.” It was the last time we discussed Ryder and his capers—intentional or otherwise.
One of the coolest things about building a life with someone was combining individual traditions and creating new ones as a couple. Millie and I had a tradition of serving Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless, where Archie, Maria, and Esther shared a big dinner with the residents of Ryan’s Place. Our new tradition was volunteering to serve food early in the day followed by a family feast in the evening. I didn’t expect all the guys from Ryan’s Place to go with us too, but they piled into vehicles, and we headed over.
A few of the guys served drinks, a few others handed out the mittens and hats donated to the shelter, and the rest of us served food. I remember being on their side of the table, grateful for the food, warmth, and drink. Some would say their pride would prevent them from taking a handout, but they’d never been homeless. They’d never sold pieces of their soul one drink or hit at a time. They’d never lived beneath a bridge or sat outside a stadium with a sign asking for change only to get hit, kicked, or spit on. It’s so easy for people to say what they will or won’t do until they were actually faced with the challenge they claim to know so well.
Serving the Thanksgiving meal was bittersweet. I was happy I overcame the odds thanks to Randall’s fortitude while I was in jail, and his and Millie’s unconditional love when I was released. A person had to be numb not to feel the sadness for the souls overlooked and forgotten. Every day, I tried to show my gratitude by paying it forward.
I heard the sound of a pending scuffle, so Archie and I hurried down the line to break it up. “Come on, guys,” I said firmly, gripping each of them by the bicep. “This is Thanksgiving. Can we please put aside our differences and break bread together?”
The man on my left jerked his head in my direction, and I looked into the startled eyes of Kaleb Jacoby. He was covered in dirt and grime with matted hair and a scruffy beard. The clothes he wore were two sizes too big and just hung on his frame. “Ollie?”
“Kaleb, what are you doing here? I thought you’d moved into the boarding house Archie told you about.”
“What happened, Kaleb?” Archie asked firmly. “Did she turn you away?”
Kaleb shook his head. “I moved in for a few days, but I couldn’t stay there. A few of the other boarders made me uncomfortable.”