Page 64 of Chasing Caine
I checked my watch. “Twenty minutes, no more. Then we hike.”
Footwearshouldclickonthe marble floor in an art gallery. My thick-soled and bulky hiking boots put me off-balance mentally, but I’d feel equally silly taking the time to switch into my other shoes just to come inside for a quick visit.
Antonio, on the other hand? Maybe it was the way the slate cargo shorts and heather gray T-shirt fit him, or maybe it was just from growing up wealthy, but even in his clunky brown boots, he looked expensive.
The gallery was sparse, a large open building two stories high with marble columns rising to the ceiling. Unlike the tight display in the front window, inside, the paintings had a great deal of space around them. Ten feet between each, displayed on plain white walls with simple cards listing title and artist. A couple of older tourists—with tour stickers on their shirts—wandered a few paces ahead of us. A middle-aged man stood in front of another painting, head tilting this way and that.
A woman in a short, flowing dress of brilliant emerald with a spray of pink approached us. Late twenties, with a warm smile, pale skin, and stick straight blond hair. An overpowering perfume of lilies washed over me. Her gaze lingered on Antonio. “Good morning. Can I help you with anything?”
Her Italian was accented, with shorter vowels than a native speaker.
I took an educated guess. “Do you speak English?”
“I do.” Her eyes drifted to me as she switched languages, then back to Antonio. That happened far too often. What did she think? I was his assistant or something?
He wound his arm around my waist. “My girlfriend was admiring the crimson and cobalt piece in the window.”
My head snapped to him. “I don’t want it. I just thought it was pretty.”
He winked. “Who said I was asking for you?”
“Oh, sorry.” My gaze faltered. It seemed the obvious assumption after Chiara’s shopping spree for me and the hiking gear store.
“But I was.” Antonio chuckled, squeezing me tighter, and returning his attention to the other woman. “It would appear I was incorrect about her selection. Perhaps we shall have a look around in case there’s something else which catches her eye.”
“Of course,” the woman said. “If that piece spoke to you, I can show you some others.”
“I don’t need more stuff.” I needed to talk to Umberto’s girlfriend. It had been two hours since we’d caught him trying to steal a fresco in the Park. If we were lucky, he hadn’t contacted her yet and she might give us a clue on where to find him.
Correction: Where the Carabinieri could find him.
She continued, despite my weak protest. The accent in her English placed her in the United States somewhere. Not the South, not the Northeast, definitely not Midwest. “We have an excellent selection of pieces by Mr. Emanuele. I can show you some with similar themes or colorways. There are also some works by other artists if you’d prefer?”
“I think theme is what we’re looking for, sì, bella?” The corner of his mouth was twitching so much he practically looked like a rabbit. He was incorrigible.
Working hard not to roll my eyes at him, I said, “A co-worker of his recommended the gallery.”
The front door opened and a man walked in. The woman speaking with us smiled at him as he strode through the middle of the room. His hair was gray, face lined, and he wore a loose white shirt with a green paint splatter at the hem. Her boss, maybe?
“Eva,” the man said with a nod.
Eva. That was the girlfriend’s name. I opened my mouth, but Antonio spoke first.
“Riccardo?”
The man paused two steps past us and turned. No flicker of recognition.
“Antonio Ferraro.” Antonio let go of me and held out a hand to the man. “You may know my uncle Andrea Ferraro? Or our family business?”
The man’s eyes widened. “Of the conservation Ferraros?”
“One and the same.” Antonio clasped his hand. “I believe I repaired of one of your paintings eight years ago or so, while I worked at the studio in Roma.”
Riccardo nodded absently. “Is Eva taking good care of you?”
“She’s trying to. My girlfriend doesn’t seem to want me to buy anything today.”
Your girlfriendwants to talk to Eva. So why bring Riccardo into the conversation? Distract me? Use up the twenty minutes I promised?