Page 38 of Burning Caine
“Hold the end.” I pointed to the far edge, opened the top, then reached in to take hold of the frame. Fortunately, the frame was still intact, but the canvas was in tatters. Three unburned strips crossed the middle, falling to the table as I set it down. I would have to stabilize those first. Drag marks across the front made it clear someone with no clue what they were doing had worked on it. “Tell me a woman with an art history degree didn’t smear the soot into the painting?”
“That was the police.” She spoke sharply, irritated. Work-Samantha was passionate about this. “I found the painting face down at the site of the fire and gave them specific instructions they didn’t listen to. I gave them hell already.”
“Bene, they deserved it.” I positioned the magnification lenses on my visor in front of my eyes and flicked the lights on. I moved back and forth, hovering barely above the canvas. “I can’t make much out. There is so much damage, but the portions under the frame may be enough to compare, if you have photos of that. It’s worth quite a lot, you say. Who is the artist?”
“Chagall. It’s calledLes amoureux dans le ciel.”
I froze. This was not possible. I shut my eyes as my breath caught in my throat. What was I going to do now?
“This is what it looked like.” She placed pictures on the table next to me.
I looked at them from the corner of my eye because she expected me to. But I didn’t have to. I knew the painting. And this was not it.
Samantha, my clever Samantha, pointed to the edge of the burned area at the bottom right. “Looks like the signature’s intact.”
“Sì, you are right.” I lifted the visor and touched my heart, which beat so hard it was about to break through my chest.
“Your shirt?” She pointed at the spot where the soot streaked the white dress shirt.
“Un momento, per favore.” I held my breath as I walked out to the reception desk, taking off my gloves, the action hiding the tremble in my hands.
Sofia tilted her head at me when I knelt next to her, behind the desk. “You look like you’ve seen—”
I put a finger to my mouth and whispered in Italian. Even though Samantha could speak Italian. That had been a surprise. “Did she tell you the name of the painting she was bringing in today?”
“No. What’s going—”
“Les amoureux dans le ciel.”
Her eyes and mouth went wide. “But that—”
“Is hanging in our parents’ house, I know.” I stared at her, neither of us speaking for a moment. “I must tell her this is a fake?”
“What if—what if the one at their house is the fake and this is the real one?”
I took the visor off and ran my hand through my hair. “Do I tell her the truth?”
“No, we should speak with Papa.”
“You don’t think he would be involved in anything illeg—”
She pointed a finger at me. “Don’t go there, Antonio.”
“What if he knew? About the fire, the painting, what if he’s involved?”
She smacked my arm. “I said don’t go there!”
“He knew the man he bought it from, Bobby Scott. Is this why he left town this morning?” I took out my phone to call him, but there was no answer. “Probably still in the air?”
Sofia nodded. “Stall her. Don’t take the contract. We’ll talk to Papa when he lands, then we’ll figure it out.”
Hanging my head, I exhaled deeply as I stood. “This is not how I dreamed today would go.”
“Put on your best face.”
I threw the gloves in her garbage and carried the visor back to the studio, in time to see Samantha answering a phone call. She turned to face the far wall and put a hand over her ear for privacy.
“Uncle Nathan!”