“Mr. Hadley or Mrs. Sinclair should make that decision. They’ll probably want to wait until we get the results from Ridley’s to make sure it wasn’t a mistake.” Thinking it through, she realized that she might have been premature in bringing it to Sam’s attention. “I’m sorry to have bothered you with this.”
He smiled, and she was glad to see the man rather than the detective. “It’s no bother. It gave me a chance to see you.” He brushed a hand across hers, and that made her think again about holding his.
Shortly after, he walked her to her car. Before she could get in, he touched her shoulder, causing an odd little flutter in her chest.
“I’d like to see you again...on a personal basis.”
The sensation intensified. “I’d like that, too,” she said, which was a significant understatement. She enjoyed being with him.
“How about Saturday night?”
“Great—” Her smile faded. She’d been so excited by the prospect, she forgot that it was the night of Mrs. Sinclair’s annual charitable event at her home, and she’d already confirmed her attendance. The annual event at the gallery and the one at Mrs. Sinclair’s home tended to happen in quick succession, as part of the buildup to the holiday season. “I’m sorry. I just remembered a prior commitment.”
“No problem. We can make it some other time.”
“Or...would you like to join me at Mrs. Sinclair’s place for a charity function?”
“Not more art!” he exclaimed, but she could see he was joking.
“Given half a chance, I’ll turn you into an art lover!”
“Will it hurt?”
“Only if you don’t develop an appreciation for art,” she responded with a grin as she climbed into her car and closed the door.
CHAPTER NINE
“WITH ALL THE excitement because of the forged Babineux, the week flew by,” Chelsea explained to Sam as they drove to Mrs. Sinclair’s home Saturday evening. “That’s the house. On the right,” she said, pointing to the stately Victorian.
The long driveway was already full of cars so Sam took the first available spot at the curb. He helped Chelsea out of the passenger side and, with a hand on the small of her back, guided her toward and up the front steps.
Joel opened the door for them. “We’re glad you could make it,” he said, quite obviously to Chelsea, and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Detective,” Joel added, but with considerably more reserve.
“Quite the place,” Sam commented as they followed Joel into a spacious black-and-white marble-floored vestibule.
“It’s seen better days.”
Sam shot a look at Chelsea behind Joel’s back. She simply rolled her eyes.
Joel took their coats and led them into a large living room, with high coffered ceilings and tall windows. “Let me get you something to drink. What would you like?” he asked Chelsea first.
Chelsea glanced at the other guests to see what they were drinking. “I’ll have a glass of champagne, please.”
Joel turned to Sam. “And you?”
“A Coke with ice would be great.”
After Joel walked away, Sam checked out the room—the old, expensive-looking carpets, the elegant if somewhat threadbare furniture and, most striking, the plethora of art throughout. Judging by what Chelsea had shown him at the gallery, he surmised that the art in this room had to be worth a small fortune. It didn’t surprise him to see the motion sensors at the corners of the ceiling. It was prudent of Mrs. Sinclair to have a solid security system. “What would all this be worth?” he asked Chelsea, gesturing to the works of art.
“Oh, not as much as you’d think. Some are originals, but she also has several replicas. For example, that one over there? The man in the top hat, writing...” She took his hand—he felt a jolt at the touch—and led him over to a small oil painting. “This is by Manet, painted circa 1880. The original is worth millions, but this is a flawless replica.”
Sam stepped up to the painting, examining it more closely. “Looks like a real painting to me. How do you know it’s a replica?”
“Oh, it’s a real painting, all right, meaning someone painted it. It just isn’t the original.” She smiled. “The reason I know is that the original disappeared during the Thompson Museum art heist. It was one of a group of works of art stolen from the museum, and none of them have been recovered, despite everyone’s best efforts.” She looked up at him. “You’ve heard of the Thompson heist?”
It’d happened well before Sam’s time as a police officer, but you couldn’t work in law enforcement and not know about the theft. “Yes.” He tried to recall the details. Sam turned back to the painting. “And this is a replica of one of the stolen paintings?”
“Yes. In total, those thirteen works of art are valued at over five hundred and eighty million dollars. I’m not sure of the exact breakdown, but I did the simple math once and came up with roughly forty million apiece.”
He took a last look at the painting and shook his head. “I do know that the Thompson art heist is the biggest art theft—in fact, the biggest property crime—in the United States to date. Not only has the art never been recovered, the identities of the thieves are still unknown.”
“Here you go,” Joel interrupted, and handed them their glasses. “Admiring the painting, Detective?”
“Call me Sam, please, and yes. Chelsea was just explaining its history to me.”
“Being an art lover, my grandmother has an avid interest in—even a fascination with—the Thompson heist. She was living in Cambridge at the time. She’s often talked about the shock waves that went through the art community when it happened. And again, when it became clear that the thieves wouldn’t be apprehended.”
Joel paused. Sam suspected he was waiting for a rejoinder, but Sam was reluctant to engage in more verbal fencing. Joel seemed marginally less antagonistic toward him, and more accepting of his being with Chelsea. Sam wasn’t interested in provoking him and didn’t take the bait.
“Anyway,” Joel finally continued, “make yourselves at home and talk to some of our other guests. If there’s anything I can do so that your evening is more enjoyable, let me know. Please consider donating, Sam. Any amount is appreciated. The proceeds will be split between the Cambridge Children’s Hospital and Camden Falls General. There’s a collection box in the library around the corner there.” Joel gestured toward an archway at the far end of the room and, with a nod of his head, left them.
As Sam watched Joel work the room, he recalled a comment he’d made when they first arrived. “What did Joel mean by this place having seen better days? It looks like there’s a lot of money here.”
“I’ve heard him allude to that before. When we were seeing each other, he told me about his concern that his grandmother had invested a great deal in art, but wasn’t investing in the upkeep of her home.”
Now that Chelsea mentioned it, Sam could see the faded water stain on a portion of the ceiling and adjoining wall, and some peeling paint on the window frame closest to them. “I can understand why he’d be concerned about his grandmother. Does he live here with her?”
Chelsea sighed. “No, he has his own apartment, and I’m sorry to say this, but I honestly don’t know if he’s more worried about her or his inheritance.” She shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. He cares deeply about his grandmother. It’s one of the traits I like and respect about him. But there’s a mercenary aspect to his nature, too. He’s his grandmother’s only living relative and therefore her sole beneficiary. I feel he resents it when she donates large amounts to charities, as she will after tonight.” Her eyes rested on Joel, and Sam saw a sadness in them. “He’s basically a good person,” she concluded. “Let me show you around and introduce you to people who might be of interest to you. I see that some of the other Willowbrook business owners are here. We should start with our
hostess, though.”
“Mrs. Sinclair,” Chelsea called to her just as she was disengaging from a small cluster of people.”
“Chelsea, my dear. I’m glad you could make it.”
“I wouldn’t miss one of your charity events,” she said with sincere affection in her voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, do you remember meeting Detective Sam Eldridge at the gallery exhibit and auction?”
Nadine Sinclair gave Sam an enchanting smile, and once again he noticed her beauty, despite the lines of age. “I hope it’s not business that brought you here this evening.”
“Not at all. It was Chelsea. A pleasure seeing you again, Mrs. Sinclair. You have a beautiful home and an impressive art collection.”
“Chelsea’s gotten you to appreciate art, Detective?”
He glanced at Chelsea and saw the smile she was trying to hide. “Call me Sam, please, and let’s say that my appreciation is...developing.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I saw you were admiring my Manet earlier. It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it? I can imagine that young man sitting on that patio, admiring all the lovely young women passing by. The original painting was stolen.” She moved to the painting. “Quite romantic, I think.”
“The painting or the theft?”
Mrs. Sinclair turned faded but undeniably astute blue eyes back to Sam and chuckled. “Oh, the painting, of course.” She squeezed Chelsea’s hand. “Make sure Sam develops an appreciation for my pieces, Chelsea, and I hope you both enjoy yourselves. I should pay attention to my other guests now. Thank you again, Sam, for coming.”
“She’s very charming,” Sam observed, once Mrs. Sinclair was out of earshot.
“Yes, she is, but underneath the charm, there’s a backbone of steel and a well-honed business mind.” Chelsea smiled up at him. “I like working for her...and for Mr. Hadley. I hope she’ll give me the chance to be curator when Mr. Hadley retires.”
“I hope so, too, but wouldn’t it make sense for Joel to do it, since he’s family?”
The shake of her head had her silver earrings dancing with a muted tinkling sound. “Joel’s not interested. He likes marketing and promotion, but not the actual dealing with patrons. He doesn’t like handling the financial end of things, either.” Her eyes clouded. “He used to say he supported me completely, but that was before we ended our relationship. I hope he’ll still want me as curator. Mrs. Sinclair might have a mind of her own, but the one blind spot she has... No, that’s wrong. She’s smart enough to see Joel’s strengths and weaknesses. So, it’s not a blind spot as much as a soft spot for Joel.”
“That’s understandable, isn’t it? Since he’s her only relative. Her only grandchild.” And sole heir, he reminded himself.
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Well, why don’t you continue my cultural education?” he asked with a smile.
“As long as you don’t end up laughing at any of Mrs. Sinclair’s prized pieces!”
He sent a pained look at an abstract across the room. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”
Chelsea grinned at him as they moved to the next painting. He felt her stiffen slightly when a man he recognized from the night of the exhibit at the gallery approached them.
Chelsea made the introductions. “Mr. Anderson, this is Sam Eldridge.”
“Pleasure to meet you. This is a lovely piece, isn’t it?” he said to neither of them specifically.
“It is,” Sam responded, sensing Chelsea’s discomfort. “Mrs. Sinclair has many...lovely pieces.” Not a word he’d generally use, but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
“Yes, she does, indeed.” Anderson looked down at Chelsea. “I wonder if she’d be willing to do transactions with me through her private collection, now that my confidence in the gallery’s been shaken. A pleasure,” he repeated to Sam and walked off before Chelsea could answer.
Chelsea had paled noticeably. Not wanting to add to her discomfort, Sam decided against asking if Anderson was the man who’d bought the Babineux. His recollection was that it was the name Joel had mentioned when he’d told Chelsea at the gallery event that the potential purchaser had left. He made a mental note to ask her about it, and the odd exchange, later. “I see Arnold Rochester, the owner of All That Glitters and Shines, is here,” Sam remarked.
Chelsea turned in the direction he’d indicated. “Oh, yes. He’s here with his wife and...” She glanced around the room. “I imagine Adam’s here, too, somewhere. Over the years, the Rochesters and Mrs. Sinclair have developed more than a business relationship. Joel and Adam used to be close friends, as I told you. The two families socialize together and support each other in their business endeavors when they can.”
Knowing what Adam looked like, Sam glanced around the room to see if he could locate him. He found him on a settee next to Mrs. Sinclair, a glass of wine in his hand. Chelsea introduced Sam to several other people and tried her patient best to educate him about the works of art.
By the time the evening was winding down, he’d had enough art and was more than ready to leave. He’d realized earlier that Chelsea was much more of a people person than he was, but spending the evening with her had impressed him. He admired how charismatic and vivacious she was with everyone present. Just watching her wore him out. And on the topic of watching... He’d caught Joel doing that on more than a few occasions. The looks he gave Sam when they made eye contact were far from friendly. It reinforced in Sam’s mind that Joel was obviously not over Chelsea.
“Feel like a coffee?” he asked as they walked back to his car.
He was pleased when she agreed, as he wanted to spend some time alone with her.
They were sharing a booth at The Coffee Shoppe when Sam remembered to ask Chelsea about Anderson and their brief exchange. “Is Mr. Anderson the person who bought the painting with the authentication problem?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“Remember? Well-honed detective skills,” he said jokingly before turning serious again. “I assumed as much when he said his confidence in the gallery was shaken.”
“Oh, that’s right. He did say that.” She stared down at her coffee mug. “It’s the first time we’ve ever had anything like this occur at the gallery, at least that I’m aware of. It’s crazy! We still don’t know what actually happened or how. We’ve made it right with Mr. Anderson, but we’re trying to keep this quiet, since it could hurt our reputation.”
“Has it been reported formally to the police?” He recalled that she hadn’t wanted him to open a case file when she’d come to see him at the station.
“I don’t believe so. Mr. Hadley is dealing with the insurance company and he’s asked, through the gallery’s lawyers, to have Ridley’s take another look at the painting. I think he and Mrs. Sinclair want to have the result first, to make sure it wasn’t simply a mistake. Should we have reported it to the police already?”
“Not necessarily, but I expect the insurance company will be doing their own investigation. There’s a substantial amount of money at stake, correct?”
Chelsea nodded.
“Based on what you’ve told me about the authentication process, isn’t it most likely that the company doing the authentication in the first instance wasn’t wrong? That someone switched the paintings?”
“I know we discussed that, but...I don’t know how it could be possible. I was probably overreacting.” She smiled weakly. “I can’t imagine that happening in our gallery. Someone defrauding us. That would be a criminal act.”
“Yes, it would. As for whether it’s possible, unfortunately that’s what keeps people in my line of work employed, small town or not. You showed me a painting tonight that you described as a flawless replica of a Manet, the original of which you estimated to be worth millions of dollars.” He shook his head at that.
“I know. Hard to
believe, but true.”
“With a lot of money on the line, I know we discussed this but why wouldn’t it be possible for someone to have a replica created of the Babineux quickly?”
“It would be possible. Naturally. But it would take a great deal of talent...and it couldn’t be done too fast.”
“Hmm. Okay.” Sam could tell she was getting agitated. He decided to change the subject. “You mentioned the other night that you organize tours for schoolkids at the gallery.”
“Yes, I do. They love it!”
“Huh. Really?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I didn’t think kids that age would like...that kind of art.” He was backing himself into a corner.
“Kids have such wonderful, open minds. Why wouldn’t they?”
“I just thought the art at the gallery would be more appealing to adults.” That sounded credible, he congratulated himself silently.
“The kids are generally quite taken with most of our pieces. My guess is they focus on the colors and the movement, not so much on the execution or realism that most adults might.”
He was skeptical.
Chelsea’s smile widened. “You haven’t spent much time around kids, have you?”
He understood she meant it in a teasing way and couldn’t possibly know about Nicolas, but the pain of loss ripped through him. He doubted he’d ever get over the death of his son. But it didn’t mean he didn’t like kids. “I’m a wish granter for the Wish I May Foundation, and I try to interact with the kids whenever I have the chance. For example, if an ill child wants to go to a New England Patriots game, or go up in a police helicopter, I try to arrange it.”
“You do? That’s wonderful!”
“Now it’s my turn to ask why that should surprise you.”
She shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t have thought of you as being big on kids.”
“I like helping these kids and their families. The kids often have only a few months to live. If I can put a smile on their faces or get them to forget their pain for a short while, it’s worth it. Have you heard of the organization?”