Out of the Picture

by Tracy Gardner

  There were six documented points in time at which Storm in Sochi had come into contact with an expert, or a new buyer. The last known location of the piece was listed as Brussels, in 2001. When Savanna changed the search criteria to show current disposition of the piece, the screen again displayed the sale in 2001. So either the 2001 buyer still had possession of the piece, or Felix had failed to register online when he’d sold to the Carsons. Based on the pentimento they’d found today, Savanna knew the truth about the painting. But the paper version of the Minkov provenance might offer answers in terms of how the forgery had made its way into the Carson collection. Had Mr. Carson been tricked by Felix? Or had Felix been duped by a dishonest seller? Or—Savanna hated to entertain this idea—had Everett Carson known he was collecting forgeries?

  And what about Jack? What if, during the break-in, the thieves had actually been after the original provenances? What if Jack somehow thought he might liquidate a high-end painting to get the money he so desperately needed? He’d have needed the provenance. Or he’d have needed Caroline eliminated, assuming his portion of the estate was substantial, and Savanna guessed it probably was.

  But. She liked Jack. Was he really capable of attempted murder?

  And with everything that had happened this afternoon, Savanna had to consider how serious this situation had become. Whomever was responsible was willing to go to extreme measures to protect what they’d done.

  All things considered, Caroline was probably safer right where she was tonight: in a hospital bed, surrounded by people, a police officer stationed at her door, far away from forged artwork, thieves, murderers, and anyone with ulterior motives.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You’ve got to give me this recipe,” Charlotte said, reaching for a second serving of Savanna’s coffee cake. “It’s delicious!”

  Savanna smiled. “Sure. I started making it in Chicago. It always goes fast.”

  Nolan was on his second piece too, and even Sydney had some, breaking her no-dairy-before-noon rule. Savanna had trouble keeping track of Syd’s healthy eating plans, but it was one of the few things she didn’t tease her about. Whatever she was doing obviously worked. Syd always looked and felt fantastic.

  The omelets had turned out just as delicious as Savanna’s coffee cake. She’d cheated a little, getting Harlan involved to help with seasoning, but the green pepper and onion flavor had balanced perfectly with the sharp cheddar.

  When they’d all finished, Travis scooped up Nolan and carried him toward the back door upside-down. “We’re going out to play,” he called over his shoulder.

  Savanna rose and got the coffee pot from the counter. She refilled cups around the table, along with her own. She hated to admit it, but she was a little sore from the impacts yesterday. She’d noticed Skylar was moving more slowly than usual too.

  “So,” Charlotte said, looking from Savanna to Skylar, “why do I feel like your dad and I got the sugar-coated version of what happened to you two on the way back from Lansing yesterday?”

  “What do you mean?” Skylar spoke first, glancing at Savanna.

  “I mean, Sydney told me you were followed, someone hit your car, and the police came. What on earth is happening? Is this all about those paintings you took to authenticate in Lansing?”

  “Honestly, I think it is. So does Detective Jordan. He’s locked up all of the paintings from the Carson mansion while we try to sort things out,” Savanna said.

  “What makes this Jordan think you’re safe?” Harlan finally spoke, frowning. “Someone was obviously trying to hurt you.”

  “We aren’t so sure they were after us,” Savanna said.

  Harlan looked at her sharply. “I took a look at your car this morning at Andy’s shop, young lady. I disagree. You two are lucky to be here.”

  Sitting next to him, Skylar linked her arm through Harlan’s on the table, giving him a squeeze. “Dad, she means we think they were after the paintings, not us. I don’t think they were actually trying to hurt us. I think they hoped to disable our car long enough to get the paintings.”

  He shook his head, meeting his wife’s eyes across the table. “That doesn’t make us feel any better about what happened.”

  “You girls need to do better.” Charlotte’s voice was stern, just like Harlan’s. “We understand this seems to have escalated rather quickly, and maybe you didn’t realize the danger involved. But you do now. We just got you back, Savanna.” Charlotte softened, and she placed a hand on hers. “And Skylar, you’re a mother. You don’t have the luxury of irresponsible behavior.”

  “Ugh.” Skylar let her breath out in a huff. “Mom. Dad.” She looked at Harlan. “We thought we were being very responsible. We promise we’ll be more careful. With Detective Jordan involved now, nobody is going to get hurt. But we were only trying to protect Caroline.”

  Charlotte spoke. “I know.”

  Sydney got up and wrapped her arms around Charlotte from behind, kissing her temple. “We love you, Mom. We’re safe, Caroline is safe, and the paintings are safe. Please don’t worry.” She let go and sat on the other side of Harlan, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  He put an arm around his youngest daughter’s shoulder. “Always the peacemaker, aren’t you?” he grumbled.

  Charlotte sighed. “All right. Well, before I head to the airport, does anyone have an update on Caroline? Is she improving?”

  “I heard from Lauren last night,” Savanna spoke up. “She said they transferred her to a stepdown unit. She’s out of the ICU. They might send her home tomorrow.”

  “That’s great! So she’s doing a lot better, then?” Charlotte asked.

  “It sounds like it.”

  “Did you send Dr. Gallager those pictures?” Sydney asked. “Could he read the imprints on the pills all right?”

  “Yes, and he said he’d guessed correctly. There was no baby aspirin at all in her daily setup, even though there should be. It was two yellow digitalis tablets, much higher than Caroline’s dose.”

  “Your buddy Jordan yelled at me,” Sydney said to Skylar, making a pouty face. “He said I shouldn’t have taken the pill box out of her house, that I should’ve called him to come get it.”

  Skylar rolled her eyes. “If you’d have done that, he would’ve said you weren’t supposed to be at her house in the first place. It’s fine. They can verify that it’s Caroline’s pill box if they have to. He’s a detective. He’s very by-the-book.”

  Sydney shrugged. “He’s all right. He was glad we came to him with the information, and he said he’s going to call Dr. Gallager.”

  Skylar spoke up. “When Caroline had me draw up her living will, you know, medical power of attorney papers, she made sure it was clear that she handles all her own medical care. She fills her own prescriptions, she communicates with her doctors directly, that kind of thing. She’s perfectly competent to handle her pill box. But I can see how somebody switching out her yellow baby aspirin and digitalis pills with two slightly larger yellow pills could slip by her.”

  Sydney agreed. “For sure. Look at the supplements I take every day.” She pulled a little plastic carrying case from her purse, snapping the lid open. There’s, like, seven things in there. I don’t inspect each one. I just open the box and take them. Caroline probably does the same thing.”

  “Her pill box moved to the parlor two weeks ago, along with that bed her family set up. It would have been easy for someone to tamper with it,” Savanna said.

  “Absolutely,” Sydney said.

  “So where are we with the artwork? Are we thinking the forgeries are related to Caroline’s precarious health lately, or just a coincidence?” Skylar asked.

  “Definitely related,” Savanna said.

  Charlotte was clearing the dishes from the table, and Harlan stood, helping her.

  “Once is coincidence.” Harlan nodded. “Twi
ce is a little odd. Three times—her best friend being poisoned, her fall on the stairs, and now the medication overdose—three times is not coincidence. Add to that what happened to you girls yesterday, and I believe this is all connected.” He followed Charlotte to the sink and slid an arm around her waist, kissing her temple and taking the sponge from her hands to wash.

  “He’s right. I think we can all agree someone has an agenda where Caroline and her collection are concerned,” Savanna said. “Did you bring the copies of the provenances?” she asked Skylar.

  “I did.” Skylar stacked the last of the dishes and deposited them by the sink, leaving the room and then returning with her briefcase.

  Sydney wrapped up the tablecloth and tossed it toward the laundry room off the kitchen, and the three sisters spread out the art provenance copies, separating them into distinct little piles, one for each piece of art. There were eleven in all.

  “She’s down to seven, which Detective Jordan confirmed when he and his partner packaged them up and took them last night. There are the two Minkovs, a Laurant, a Rothman, a Monet, and two Matisse pieces,” Savanna said. “Just since I’ve been there, she’s sold…” Savanna paused, counting in her head, “four of the pieces. She sold two—no, three—Rothmans, and the Laurant over the piano. But Felix also said he has a potential buyer for the small Minkov.”

  “Look,” Skylar said, pointing at the document closest to her, and then the next one. “According to this, the two Matisse paintings and the Monet were acquired decades ago, in the Nineties. Mr. Carson must have started their whole collection with those. She has an actual Monet? Even I know Monet. Wouldn’t that be her highest-value piece? Why is she having Felix sell the lesser paintings?”

  “Is the Minkov, the one you proved has another, newer painting underneath it, is it part of a set with the bigger one you mentioned? Are you worried about that one being a forgery too? What do the certificates say?” Sydney was moving around the table, leaning in to read this one or that one as she went.

  “Hold on, one question at a time,” Savanna said. “I see a pattern. She hasn’t gotten rid of the Matisse or Monet pieces at all, and there’s no reason why she would have. Both those artists’ works are highly valued. The Laurant…” She went quickly around to the other side of the table, picking up the copies of the certificates for the Laurant paintings, one of which Caroline still owned, and set them out side by side. She located the small Minkov documents, Storm in Sochi, and carried them over next to the provenance for the large Minkov in the Carson’s library. She laid out all four Rothman certificates in a row, first the three that had sold, and then the last remaining one in Caroline’s office.

  Savanna stood back, surveying the table. All that was left were the two Matisse documents and one Monet. She laid those provenances out one by one on the buffet, separate from the Laurant, Rothman, and Minkov documents.

  She had the three certificates for the Monet and Matisse paintings on the buffet, out of the way, and all of the others—the Rothmans, the Laurants and the Minkovs—on the dining room table.

  Minkov first. Savanna dove into the documents for Storm in Sochi, seeing right away that the paper version didn’t match what she’d seen online last night. The next set of hands the piece had landed in following the 2001 acquisition in Brussels was noted on the provenance as a Victoria Griffin, and the next name after that was Felix Thiebold, and he’d had the provenance updated, certified genuine by an authenticator named Kiernanski, and sold to an owner in Michigan, name undisclosed. She followed the signatures down with her index finger, then moved to the larger Minkov, shaking her head.

  Savanna carried the provenance copy for Storm in Sochi over to the Rothman documents, laying it down and reviewing signatures on each of them, side by side with the small Minkov certificate. “All of the Rothmans,” she murmured, moving now to the Laurant certificates and setting the Storm in Sochi document down between them, peering closely at the papers. She pulled out her phone and typed something in, scrolled down a few times, and then set the phone on the table.

  “What’s she doing?” Sydney leaned over to Skylar; both sisters had taken a step back and were now standing near the buffet, watching Savanna work.

  Skylar matched Syd’s whisper. “She’s looking for the flaw. I think she thinks since Felix Thiebold hasn’t had any interest in trying to sell the Monet or Matisse pieces”—Skylar gestured behind them at the paperwork laid out separately”—that he was possibly dealing in forgeries with these specific artists, just Rothman, Laurant, and Minkov.”

  Savanna’s head snapped up. “Yes. He was. Hold on.” She moved behind Skylar and Sydney to the buffet with the Monet and the Matisse paperwork, quickly examining their certificates. She then went back to the table, picked up the provenance for the large Minkov, and turned and placed it next to the Monet and Matisse documents on the buffet. She straightened up.

  “Felix Thiebold acquired most of these pieces for the Carsons, but not the ones on the buffet. The Monet and Matisse paintings, and the large Minkov in Caroline’s library, are all authentic. Two other art dealers helped Mr. Carson acquire those four pieces.” She pointed behind her sisters at the buffet.

  “Okay,” Syd said slowly. “So…all of these are fakes?” Sydney’s eyes were wide as she moved to the dining room table, looking at the certificates.

  Savanna shook her head. “I can’t say for sure, not without taking them all to the lab, but look at this. This is crazy.” She gathered up the top piece of paper from each painting’s little pile, except for the large Minkov, and pushed the rest of the documents out of the way. She laid the six certificates out in a row. Harlan and Charlotte had joined them now, too. “Look at this name, here.” She pointed. The signature below Felix’s own name, on all six documents, was scrawled on the authenticator’s line with the name printed underneath it: Ivan Kiernanski.

  “So Felix used the same art expert for the deals he brokered,” Skylar said. “Don’t a lot of gallerists do that? Use the same person or services as long they provide good work?”

  “Sure. But I’m not positive this Ivan Kiernanski exists.” She tapped her phone and showed them her Google search. “The only site his name appears on is a gallery in Florida called The Masters Gallery, starting in 2008. There’s no record of him at all other than that.”

  Harlan looked skeptical. “I’m not sure that proves anything. Type my name into Google. I doubt I’ll come up.”

  Savanna set her phone down. “Well, as an example, I’m searchable; I checked it out. Just by typing my name into the browser, it shows my time at Kenilworth and, before that, at school as an undergrad. And besides, it’s not just that. Look at this one.” She picked up the certificate for the Laurant that had been over the piano, the one Caroline sold a few weeks ago. “Read Ivan Kiernanski’s name on that one, and then look at the spelling in all the rest of them.”

  “What?” Sydney looked up from the certificates incredulously. “He spelled his own name wrong?”

  Skylar took the paper from her and peered at it. “Okay, yeah, that’s crazy. This one says Ivan Kiernaski. Only one ‘N.’ In both the signature and the typed name below it.”

  “Yes. I think Felix acquired nothing but forged artwork for the Carsons. And I think, after Mr. Carson died and Caroline decided she wanted to thin out the collection, Felix got very nervous about the possibility that he might be found out. Especially knowing that Caroline had put feelers out to a couple of the gallerists who’d acquired work for them. Felix knew he had to liquidate these pieces himself, or be exposed as a fraud. He’s internationally known; his reputation is his livelihood.”

  “So, why not just take all the pieces out of her house at once? Then there’s no proof of any crime,” Skylar said.

  “How? There’s no way he could do that,” Savanna said. “No one in their right mind is going to just hand over millions of dollars’ worth of art, and prov
enances, and then wait for the dealer to sell them off one by one. The way Felix has been doing it is standard—he finds a buyer, sends his assistant to pick up the piece and provenance, Felix delivers them to the buyer, then Caroline gets paid, minus Felix’s fee. His way arouses the least suspicion. Until Caroline mentions bringing in another dealer. Which she did. I was there that day. Felix told her he had a potential buyer for the small Minkov, which we know now is a fake, and she said she hadn’t heard anything back from Banfield about his buyers. Kevin Banfield is a lesser-known dealer, though still quite legit; he’s the one listed as the acquiring gallerist for the large Minkov. And to think,” Savanna mused, “I always thought Felix Thiebold was legit, too.”

  “I wonder how many others he’s sold forgeries to,” Sydney said.

  “I’m calling Jordan.” Skylar was already scrolling through the contacts in her phone.

  “Now? It’s a Sunday,” Charlotte spoke up. “Will you even get through?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I have his personal cell. We’re thinking Thiebold or his assistant tampered with Caroline’s medications, right? Do you think Ryan might have been involved? We can’t wait on this.”

  Savanna nodded. “I’m thinking Felix or Ryan switched out the digitalis doses, and also brought the poisoned wine. And who knows, they could have somehow even rigged that railing so Caroline would fall. I think the whole idea was to get rid of Caroline, so there was no chance he’d be exposed and his career ruined. For all we know, Ryan was part of it too.”

  Skylar gasped. “What if it was Felix and Ryan yesterday in the car that hit us?”

  “There were two of them. But that’s all I could see. The windows were too dark.”

  “Wait,” Sydney said. “About the poisoned wine that killed Eleanor. What happened to that bottle if Felix or Ryan left it at Caroline’s? Would they have gone back to dispose of it after the fact?”