Page 18 of Burning Caine
Back at my desk, I logged into the claims system to review the new artwork claim. Cliff had already set the reserve, the amount the company expected to have to pay out, to the full replacement value of ten thousand dollars. The FNOL included pictures of the painting and the tear from several angles. The damage was along the grain of the underlying canvas, which would make the repair straightforward. The painting itself was a color field work, and the damaged area was a single shade of light blue without any impasto. Once the restorer had identified the correct pigments, they wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time matching details. My gut told me this would be simpler than Cliff expected, so I adjusted the reserve to two thousand.
I’d worked a lot of art claims for Thompson. Between hurricanes in Florida, wildfires in California, and advising galleries in New York, I had plenty of experience with art losses. That, coupled with my passion, education, and training in art crime investigation, made me even better at it than I was at standard property claims. I wouldn’t have called myself an expert, but I was pretty close.
After reviewing the photos, I called the gallery holding it to advise them I was on my way, then gave a courtesy call to Ferraro’s.
“What was that?” asked Hailey Olsen, another adjuster, after I hung up the phone.
“I’m picking up a damaged painting from Mason’s Art Gallery.”
Hailey perked up, her eyes brightening. “And you’re taking it to Ferraro’s?”
I nodded.
“Need me to take it?” She looked as though she was ready to leave immediately. “I go by there on my way home.”
“No, Cliff asked me to take it.”
“Which one are you seeing?”
“Which one what?”
“Dr. Dom or Dr. Antonio?” Why did Hailey handle their art claims? She was an auto adjuster and didn’t do property. And she was way too excited about this.
“No idea. It’s an open appointment.”
She laughed. “Let me give you a few tips. The owner, Dominico, is a huge flirt. I bet you twenty bucks you’ll hear his ‘Dom Ferraro is like Dom Perignon, but better’ joke within ten minutes.”
Lucy laughed from her chair, obviously not as focused on the BI work in front of her as she was pretending.
“Thanks for the warning.” I chuckled at the dumb joke. Dumb jokes like Saturday night. Ferraro’s was on Calabria Street, the core of Brenton’s Italian neighborhood. Maybe Lucy and I could extend our visit or…No, he was from Lansing, for sure.
“Sofia’s the office manager and accountant, who works the reception desk. She’s Dom’s oldest, quick as a whip, and she keeps the place humming. They usually have two or three other restorers working there, and then there’s Antonio. If you get lucky, he’ll work on your painting.”
Lucy gave up the pretense and turned around. “Lucky?”
Hailey fanned herself, and Lucy and I laughed at her. “He’s Dom’s son, and Sofia says he’s the most talented conservator there, although she may have been bragging. They act like they hate each other, but it doesn’t take a genius to see it’s a show.”
Lucy popped a bubble. “Sounds like a good time.”
I turned to her. “Well, you’re in luck, Lucy.”
“How’s that?”
“Cliff’s asked me to take you out on a few claims.”
She clapped her hands. “Yay! Like today?”
I paused. The urge to say no was strong. But when I’d first started working as a claims adjuster, I’d completed several ride-a-longs until I found a mentor who taught me to excel at the job. Since then, I’d never worked with anyone in the field. I liked my alone time.
“Yes, today. You’re coming with me to pick up the painting and take it to the conservator’s office. Then, we’ll figure things out.”
“Jealous!” said Hailey.
Lucy closed her eyes for a moment. “Three hundred and sixty-eight policies, each protecting artwork over twenty thousand dollars, with an average of six claims per year. Good loss ratio on paintings.”
Hailey and I gaped as she opened her eyes.
“Off the top of your head?” I asked.