Not wanting to take chances while alone and exhausted, she ordered a mocktail so she could at least pretend this was a normal vacation. James Bond never worried about drinking, but he wasn’t a lightweight like her. Plus, he never suffered from jetlag.
It wasn’t long before a man asked to join her, but she declined. She remembered her promise to herself about flirting with handsome strangers, and he fit the bill, but that didn’t seem like a wise, Valkyrieish thing to do.
Not while jetlagged, anyway.
Besides, he wasn’t as good-looking as Rand. Although, that was a dangerous baseline to set, given that no one—with the possible exception of the happily married Ian Boyd—could match Rand’s sheer perfection.
Rand had asked her out, and she’d shot him down. Twice. Most recently because she knew she needed to focus on her trip. Well, that and insecurities built on a lifetime of experience. He’d end up bored by her in less than a week.
Still, she considered taking a chance and agreeing to that date when she returned to Virginia.
She rolled her eyes. And that was exactly why she’d turned him down. So she wouldn’t be thinking about him when she needed to be a hundred percent present here.
She should be thinking about her father and the cryptic letters he’d received and might have attempted to destroy before Kira could find them.
It crossed her mind that he’d moved them to the safe so she would find them after his death, but that didn’t make sense. In that instance, wouldn’t he have told her about his ties to Malta to prepare her?
His ability to speak had been lost in the immediate aftermath of the stroke, but by the time he came home from the hospital, his speech had improved. It took effort, but he could communicate. Lord knew he could argue. So why had he placed the letters in the safe, and where had they been hiding before that?
Chapter Thirteen
Kira smiled as she shook hands with a glass artist from Gozo. The bronze-skinned Maltese woman looked to be in her sixties. She had voluminous wavy brown and gray hair and was as beautiful as her delicate, colorful vessels and sculptures. Some of her work was traditional Gozo glass in shape and design, and other pieces were unique works of art that weren’t confined to time or culture.
Kira rarely salivated over contemporary art. In general, she preferred historic works, whether they be two thousand or a mere fifty years old. For her, the history of the piece added to her appreciation. But Juliette Vella was an artist who could turn her to the other team.
She was the Gillian Anderson of new art styles.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Juliette said. “Your father was a dear man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She had half a dozen questions to ask about Juliette’s association with her father, but it was embarrassing to admit he’d told her nothing of his trips to Malta and even more humiliating as she met person after person in this gallery to discover that her father had never, not once, mentioned his wife or daughter during his travels.
At least her suspicion of a secret second family had been dispelled. None of the people here who knew her father had known he’d had a wife and child at all, let alone a local family.
“Is this your first visit to Malta?” Juliette asked.
“Yes. I just arrived last night.”
“Valetta is a great starting point, but I hope you make it to Gozo while you are here.”
“I plan to take a boat to Gozo next week.”
“Good. I have work in a gallery in Rabat—Victoria—where I live. Let me know when you are coming, and I can show you the gallery, give you a tour of the city.”
“That’s a very generous offer.”
“Your father brokered many sales for me in the US. It is the least I can do for his daughter.”
Yet another person who mentioned her father’s assistance as an art broker, yet he’d never mentioned this aspect of his trips abroad. He’d certainly never worked with any of the auction houses she consulted for. But then, he was brokering private sales between artist and buyer, with the price decided up front.
How lucrative had that work been for him?
Over the woman’s shoulder, Kira spotted a tall man with a receding hairline and white skin flushed red from the heat outside. He mopped the sweat from his crown with a handkerchief as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on her, and he smiled and made a beeline in her direction.
She was fairly certain she knew who she was about to meet. She’d expected him to be here when she arrived and had spent the first twenty minutes cursing that they’d never FaceTimed or exchanged photos as she searched the room for him. But clearly, he’d recognized her.
He paused a few feet away and opened his arms in a stiff but welcoming gesture. “Cousin Kira?”
She smiled and accepted the awkward—and thankfully loose—hug. “Cousin Andre. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”
He took her hands and beamed down at her, cocking his head. “I saw your photos on the news websites. You are even more lovely in person.”
At least that explained how he’d recognized her, but she shuddered to think of the news stories he referenced. Last December, her face had been all over international news, her photo taken without her permission as she left the hospital and later when she’d shown up at the courthouse with Diana for the arraignment.
She’d never told Andre about her role in the arrests last December. Now he not-so-subtly told her he knew. At least the Navy had promised to keep her name out of the news reports from earlier this week. She was here to learn about her parents, and the last thing she wanted was prying questions about either ordeal.
She gave him a tight smile at the compliment, then turned to Juliette. “This is my father’s nephew—my step-cousin—Andre Stoltz, visiting from Berlin.”
The artist shook Cousin Andre’s hand, then said, “I’ll let you two catch up. Be sure to call me when you visit Gozo.” She handed Kira her card.
“I will, thank you.” She slipped the card into her purse and watched as the older woman approached an imposing-looking older man in a bespoke suit. His sharp gaze lacked warmth as it fixed on Kira and Andre, triggering a slight shiver. He turned and looked down at Juliette and kissed her cheek, then placed a possessive hand on the woman’s small waist.
She’d assumed he was a patron, but the hand and kiss added another element to their relationship. Not that it was any of Kira’s business. But if he was likely to join the Gozo tour, Kira would pass.
She returned her attention to her newfound cousin. “I’ve met several associates of my father already. It seems he was quite the patron of the arts in Malta.”
Andre leaned close and spoke softly. “I’m sure he knew how to cultivate sources. A good way to see people’s private collection is to become part of the community.”
