Page 81 of Burning Caine
“She tried steering us away from Ferraro’s. Told us Parker’s was much better, but Foster wouldn’t approve them as a vendor.”
Rhonda’s frown deepened. “She’s normally a better judge of character.”
Lucy cocked her head. “I don’t understand. Why put a stolen painting up for auction? A sale, I’d understand, so you can get money for something you didn’t buy. But why an auction?”
“Legitimacy,” said Samantha. “They run the painting through a small, reputable auction. Muck it up a little—” She touched her shoulder, where my hand had been. “—so the starting bid can be lower and fewer people are interested. Someone involved in the whole thing buys it for a low price.”
“Still not getting it, Sam,” Lucy said.
“You remember I told you about provenance? They can wipe out a period on the provenance and start it back up as a legal purchase at an auction. It looks legal, and they can sell it to an unsuspecting private buyer. Odds are, that buyer would confirm the last step in the provenance, not the ones before it. But if a buyer tries to go back further, they renege on the sale and the seller finds someone else.”
“Or,” said Lucy tentatively. “They’d already sold it, and the party donating it had no idea it was stolen?”
“Also possible.” Samantha nodded to Lucy and turned back to Rhonda. “Sorry, one last question. Any staff let go during the time the painting was here or after?”
“Sweetheart, I run a small and honest gallery, no matter what happened Saturday. Me, my curator, and my daughter. That’s it. Anyone who comes in to do any work here, including cleaners, only does it when one of us is here. I take the responsibility of this gallery and its contents seriously.”
“Thank you, Rhonda, that’s all we needed.”
“I have one question for you, though. I heard the owner ofLes amoureuxpassed in a fire last month. Are your questions related?”
Samantha tilted her head.
“I’m guessing you’re here because the widow’s looking to sell it, and needs to verify nothing happened to it for the six months it was out of her possession?”
My lip twitched; I felt it. I breathed through it to keep my body steady. Rhonda didn’t know about Papa’s purchase.
“We may be.” Samantha sat back and steepled her fingers. Not a flinch at the deception. Smoother than I had expected, after how nervous she had been with me initially.
“I guarantee you nothing happened while it was here. If she wants to sell it, I can contact the man who made the offer last year.” Her eyes flicked to me, narrowed, sending a message to Papa which didn’t need to be sent. She would have made a sound commission. “He won’t likely go over the Sotheby’s price now if the widow’s coming to him, but he’ll make a fair offer.”
“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” said Samantha. I gave a subtle nod to Rhonda, seating myself in the lie.
They all stood, shaking hands. Rhonda walked us out and asked again if Samantha was interested in theImpression, Sunrisecopy.
“You mean the pastiche?”
I put my hands behind my back and approached the painting. I had replicated Monet’s masterpieces before, creating copies from the originals, and I recognized the brush strokes. It was an excellent imitation of his style. “Pastiche? Are you sure?”
“Well, it’s not a copy.” She placed a hand on my back. “It isn’t signed, there’s too many smokestacks, missing a person in the front rowboat, masts on this ship are at the wrong angle…” She paused, clasping her hands in front of her, her gaze falling. “Sorry, old habits.”
Old habits? Before I could ask further, Rhonda clapped slowly, three times. “Good eye, Ms. Caine. I’m pleased so many of our paintings are covered by someone who understands this world. If you ever want to change careers, though, I’d love to have someone as sharp as you. I may be in need of a new curator soon, depending on how this whole auction debacle unfolds.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Sì, she was good. Very good. My stomach was unsettled as I flipped back and forth from admiration to fear that I couldn’t fool her forever.
Chapter 32
Samantha
Wecongregatedonthesidewalk outside the gallery before splitting to our respective vehicles. He’d held the door for us, the consummate gentleman. Just like Victoria had said. Her voice kept popping into my head at inconvenient moments. Especially at the gallery when he was complimenting me.
Every time he touched me, I wanted to sink into him, but it was business. Maybe he was just touchy-feely in general. No, it was me. Offering to kiss Lucy’s hand if it made me feel better. So charming. I closed my eyes and leaned toward the sun, absorbing its heat.
Why was he even there? He got nothing of value out of that. Hadn’t even asked any useful questions.
Lucy was happy, though. “Dr. Ferraro, thanks for coming. I’d love to get more of your take on abstract art sometime.”