by Sara Rosett
“Phil, get Zoe something to drink,” LeBlanc said then moved to talk to the mustached guy. Phil hurried over to the ice chest at a completely different speed than the loping stride he’d had when he and Zoe left the truck plaza. He offered Zoe water, soda, or beer. She took a bottle of water as she kept an eye on LeBlanc.
He exchanged a few words with the man in the shadows, then the man with a mustache left. Zoe shifted slightly so that she could see the row of cars parked under the far side of the house. The man got in the black BMW and drove away.
LeBlanc rejoined her. “Would you like to see the beach? We’ve got a few minutes.”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
LeBlanc said to Phil, “Put the chicken on the grill. We won’t be long.”
“On it, boss,” Phil said, heading for the grill with a quick stride.
LeBlanc took a beer from the ice chest, opened it, and motioned toward a path that led up over the berm that shielded the house from the Gulf. When they reached the top, the wind, which had been rattling the fronds of the palm trees around the house, hit Zoe full force, whipping her hair away from her face and making her shirt pulse around her. Except for a couple of people strolling hand-in-hand and a few groups of sunbathers, the beach was empty. The water was choppy, flowing in and breaking into a fringe of white on the dark brown sand.
“Would you like to stroll?” Leblanc asked.
“Sure.” They made their way down through the seagrass and vines until they were on the sand. It was so hard packed that it was almost like walking on a sidewalk. Zoe walked easily in her sandals, and LeBlanc ambled along beside her, his flip flops kicking up hardly any sand. Zoe couldn’t help but notice that the pocket with the gun beat heavily against his leg as they walked.
Zoe asked, “So do you always have your guests followed?”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Now why would you say that?”
“The black BMW. I don’t think that it was a coincidence that it took the same route I did and also ended up here at the same house on Grand Isle.”
Jack had taught her a few things about following and being followed. She’d noticed the black car not too long after she left the airport. It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to watch for her arrival at the rental car center at the airport. When she first spoke to LeBlanc she’d told him that she would arrive today from Tampa. There weren’t that many flights coming in from Tampa, and a quick internet search would turn up her photo. It would just be a matter of keeping an eye out for a red-headed woman at the right time of day.
“I like to know who’s coming to visit, and if they’re bringing unexpected guests.”
Zoe watched the seagulls swoop back and forth overhead. If she had a lineup of all the art dealers that she had met in her recent tour of the art galleries in Dallas, Leblanc wouldn’t have blended in at all. Most of the dealers she’d met were slick, highly groomed, and consummate salespeople.
She’d been feeling slightly uneasy since Phil’s questions, and now that uneasiness intensified into wariness, but this was where the trail for the blue butterfly painting had brought her. All she needed to do was check the painting then coordinate for an authenticator to look at it later. She had her car keys in her pocket. If anything went wrong, she’d leave.
“I always check up on anyone I don’t know.” LeBlanc half turned to her as they continued walking and gave her a quick smile. “Barry is a good guy. Even though he sent you my way, I always do my due diligence.”
“And what did you find out about me? What’s the verdict?” She wondered what portion of her history Leblanc had found.
“You have had an interesting and varied life.”
Zoe laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“And from what I can tell, it seems that you were once hunted, but now you’re on the side of the hunters.”
“That’s true.” Zoe unscrewed the lid of the water bottle that she was carrying. “I got mixed up in something that was much bigger than me. It took me a long time to figure out what was going on. But that’s all behind me now.”
“And now you hunt for paintings of blue butterflies?”
“Exactly. So you have the blue butterfly painting?”
“I brought it with me to the camp when I came out earlier this week.” A jogger coming toward them gave a wave as he passed. Zoe waved, and LeBlanc lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
“From a reputable source?” Zoe asked.
“One of the oldest dealers in the state.”
Since the painting had been missing for several days, Zoe knew that it had probably already changed hands several times before it came to LeBlanc.
In fact, she suspected Barry was the first person in that chain. If Irene had described the painting or perhaps showed him a photo of it, Zoe had no trouble imagining Barry snatching the painting before it went into the store’s inventory. He would have passed it along to a fence. The fence would sell it on to a dealer who didn’t mind accepting stolen goods. The dealer would sell it on to someone else, someone like LeBlanc, who could legitimately claim to have no knowledge that the painting was stolen since he’d bought it from a “reputable” dealer. The speed at which the transactions took place made it difficult to catch criminals who stole art. If her guess about Barry being the start of the chain was right, she was sure that Barry expected a kickback from LeBlanc if he sold the painting to her.
“Your client, this person is a serious collector?” LeBlanc asked. “Not just someone who dabbles? Because there’s no bargain basement pricing at The Coast is Clear.”
It took Zoe a second, but then she made the connection and realized LeBlanc was referring to the name of his camp. “You don’t need to worry about my client’s ability to pay.”
He squinted at her a moment, studying her face then said, “Good enough. Enough business for now. Let’s save all that for after lunch.”
“Okay,” Zoe said, even though she had plenty of questions. She was on his turf, and she supposed a half hour or so wouldn’t make any difference.
“Grand Isle is an interesting place,” LeBlanc said. “It’s not just a fishing community.” He pointed with his beer to the east. “Fort Livingston is over on Grand Terre.” He gave the words a rolling French pronunciation. “It’s abandoned now, but before they built the fort there, it was a bolt-hole for Jean Lafitte, the pirate. Lots of smuggling in these waters.”
“That’s fascinating,” Zoe said, noticing that he didn’t use the past tense.
The breaking waves raced farther up the beach and splashed over LeBlanc’s feet. He walked on. “People try to take the lawlessness away, but it will never go away from Grand Isle.”
“Why is that?”
He grinned. “Location. Location. Location.” He took another sip of his beer. “We should get back. That chicken will be ready soon.”
Other than the chicken, they had cornbread and huge bowls of red beans and rice, which was seasoned hotter than Zoe could imagine beans could be. She was glad of the cornbread and had another bottle of water. Zoe and LeBlanc sat across from each other at a picnic table. Phil sat to one side a little away from them and consumed his second lunch as quickly as he put away the sub sandwich. He didn’t contribute to the conversation, but spent the time staring at his cell phone.
Since business talk was off the table until after the meal, Zoe asked LeBlanc about the island. He raved about the fishing. “It’s the best deep-sea fishing you’ll find, bar none.”
As Zoe finished off her lunch, she wiped her fingers on a napkin and asked, “And how long have you lived here?”
“My family has always had a camp here.” He tilted his head to the left. “A little fishing camp, down the beach a bit from here. We came out here every summer, and most holidays, but we lived in a little town not too far from New Orleans.”
“So do you live here year-round, or just come out occasionally?”
“I’m here most of the time. I got family here. My aun
t lives close-by, and my cousin works in the police department, which is good for business, if you know what I mean.”
Zoe had a feeling that she did know what he meant—that his “business” wasn’t always on the up-and-up. The mention of a connection to the police department wasn’t an accident. And he wasn’t just making conversation when he talked pirates and smuggling and lawlessness. Or maybe she was just feeling skittish. Was she reading too much into his words? Did Phil’s hop-to attitude mean he was a good employee, or was he afraid of getting on the bad side of his boss who happened to have a gun on him while he cooked out and strolled on the beach?
LeBlanc pushed away his paper plate. “I’ve got some bad news for you about the butterfly painting.”
A feeling of dread landed on Zoe’s shoulders like a heavy weight. “Something’s happened to it? Is it damaged?”
15
“Nothing like that,” LeBlanc said. “No, the painting was fine when I sent it off this morning.”
“Sent it off?” Had she misunderstood what he said? “Sent it off where?”
“To the buyer.”
“To the buyer! But—I’m the buyer. Or potential buyer.” Was this his idea of a joke? Zoe searched his face, which was now an even brighter pink after their walk, but she didn’t see a trace of humor.
“That’s right. You’re a potential buyer,” he said. “An actual buyer edged you out.”
“But, I came all this way. And just now, on the beach, you said you had it.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I said I brought it with me earlier this week. I never said I had it in my possession at this moment.”
Phil slowly extended his bony arm across the table like he was reaching into a lion’s cage and gathered their empty plates then scuttled backward and melted away.
“But—how could…I mean—why would you do it? It doesn’t make sense,” Zoe said. “Why did you let me come all the way out here?”
LeBlanc laced his pudgy fingers together on the table and leaned closer. Despite his flushed face, his gaze was cold. All trace of southern hospitality was gone from his manner. “Because I’m a businessman. I had an offer for it last night after I spoke to you. The wire transfer came in this morning. Sadly, you were already on your plane. I figured since you’d come all the way to New Orleans”—he pronounced it ‘Naw Lens’—“that the least I could do was feed you lunch.” He lifted a shoulder. “And maybe we can find something else to make the trip worth your while.”
Zoe ignored his last comment. No way would she buy something else from him after his bait and switch. She rubbed her forehead, stunned at his nerve. “You knew I was making a special trip out here—flying in from out of state, even—and you sold it out from under me?”
LeBlanc’s eyes narrowed and she felt a chill run over her despite the hot day as his tone turned aggressive. “I don’t know you. You might not have showed up. You could have looked at the painting and walked away.” He waved a plump hand at her. “You could even be some kind of cop, for all I know.”
“Me?” Zoe couldn’t help but laugh. “A cop?”
His gaze defrosted a bit and the corners of his lips turned up. “As I said, I didn’t know you. Luis, now, he’s an old friend. Established and always follows through with the money. His wire transfer came in, just as he promised. I follow through, too. What could I do, but ship him the painting? Bird in hand. You can’t fault me for that.”
Zoe blew out a breath to calm down. She needed to stay focused. Forget about LeBlanc’s sleight of hand. “Where is the painting now?”
His eyebrows disappeared under the rim of his Panama hat. “You really are interested in it.” He slapped the table. “I should have waited.”
Zoe knew he was thinking he could have gotten a higher price, but she ignored the implication that she’d be easier to get money out of than the person who had bought it. “You said you’d dealt with this person—Luis, wasn’t it?—before. Is he a dealer?”
LeBlanc said, “Yeah, he’s a dealer. High class. I’ll get his contact information for you. In the meantime, take a look at this.” Zoe hadn’t noticed Phil had returned, but he scuttled out of the shadows carrying a plastic grocery bag. LeBlanc took the bag and said to him, “Print out Luis’s contact details.”
“Sure, boss.” He left, trotting up the exterior staircase to the main floor of the house.
“Since you came all this way, I hate for you to go away empty handed. I don’t have another butterfly painting, but I do have this.” He whisked the bag away, revealing a clear Lucite box with an enormous blue butterfly mounted in the center of it.
The bright sunlight behind LeBlanc showed off the iridescent quality of the wings, highlighting their vivid blue color. He shifted the box, and the shades of blue altered subtly. Martin Johnson Heade had captured the iridescent quality of the wings in his painting, and the real thing was incredibly gorgeous, but she wasn’t buying a butterfly no matter how beautiful it was, especially not from LeBlanc. “It’s pretty, but I’m after a painting, not wildlife.”
“Are you sure? If your client is interested in a painting of a blue butterfly, it stands to reason he—or she—would be interested in this as well. It’s quite an unusual specimen. Don’t you see it?” LeBlanc asked, his tone hinting at amazing things. “Look again. I know you’re mad at me, but take a second look.”
Zoe leaned in and peered at the butterfly. That’s when she noticed an anomaly. She wasn’t an expert on butterflies, but her quick delve into lepidopterology as she researched the painting had refreshed her middle school science lessons. Butterflies have four wings—two sets. But this butterfly had more than that. “An extra wing,” she said quietly. The small wing attached to the thorax had the same vivid blue coloring as the other wings. “That is amazing,” she said. She didn’t know Thacker that well, but she was pretty sure he would be interested in this.
“A five-winged morpho,” LeBlanc said. “And in A-1 condition. Nothing like this exists in the world. It’s truly one-of-a-kind.”
Zoe pushed down her irritation at LeBlanc. A rare and exotic butterfly trumped her feelings about him. “I’ll have to call my client.”
LeBlanc smiled. “Of course.”
Phil trotted down the stairs with a paper in his hand. He gave it to LeBlanc, who handed it to Zoe. It was a copy of a packing slip.
The painting was on its way to Luis Cabello at the Cabello Gallery in Madrid, Spain.
16
Saturday
“So what did you do?” Jack asked.
“I bought it.”
After a pause Jack said, “Even though you couldn’t get Thacker on the phone?”
Zoe shuffled forward in a long line that snaked through the gate area, her boarding pass ready. It was Saturday, and she was in line for the flight that would take her to New York where she’d change planes and then fly on to Madrid. She had called the Cabello Gallery and spoken with Luis Cabello, confirming that he had acquired a painting in the style of Martin Johnson Heade with a hummingbird and a blue butterfly and that it was being shipped to his gallery. Cabello had texted photos of the painting he’d bought to Zoe, and they matched Artie’s photo and LeBlanc’s photo. She thought it was ironic that she was gathering a collection of photos of the painting, but not the painting itself.
Zoe switched her phone to her other hand and grabbed her suitcase as the line moved forward an inch. “Thacker was in some sort of meeting that went on for hours. He’d left instructions not to be disturbed. Kaz said to go ahead and buy it, and talk to Thacker about it later. So that’s what I did.”
“And you haven’t heard back from Thacker? Surely that meeting didn’t go all night and into today.”
“No. I’m just not at the top of Thacker’s priority list. I suppose he’ll get back to me when he can. And if he’s not happy about the butterfly…well…then I guess we’re the proud owners of a rare butterfly.”
“You don’t think LeBlanc would take it back?” Jack asked.
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“I’m pretty sure the return policy at The Coast is Clear is less than generous.” Zoe rubbed her forehead, thinking about the financial hit that they might have to take. “Kaz said it wouldn’t be a problem, but Thacker hired me to find a painting. Now I’m wondering what will happened if he doesn’t want it. I’ll pay back our savings account if Thacker passes on it.”
“I can’t imagine he’d do that,” Jack said. “But even if he doesn’t want it, don’t worry about the money,” Jack said.
“You’re a pretty awesome husband, you know that, right?”
“I know I’m a lucky guy. Instead of buying designer clothes, you’re out browsing entomological specimens with mutations. I have a feeling you won’t run across too many of those in the future, so I think we’re okay. Does it really have five wings?”
“Yes. It’s amazing. It looks like a regular butterfly—if you can consider an iridescent blue butterfly a regular-looking butterfly. It’s shaped like a butterfly that we might see flying through our backyard, but it has a small extra wing.”
“And you think it’s genuine?”
“I don’t see how someone could fake those wings. The extra one is exactly the same shade as the rest of the butterfly. LeBlanc said he has authentication papers proving it isn’t a fake. Although, I bet he could have any sort of paperwork made. In the end, I decided I should just get out of there with as little trouble as possible.”
“So how much did it cost?” Jack asked. “Do I need to consolidate some credit card statements or make a bank transfer?”
“Leblanc originally wanted twenty-five thousand for it.”
A choking sound came over the line. Zoe went on quickly, “But I negotiated.”
“Thank goodness.”
“I had a feeling that the butterfly was a one-off payment someone had given LeBlanc for…something else...”
“Drugs would be the likeliest explanation,” Jack said. “As LeBlanc said, he’s in the perfect location. I bet he’s moving a lot of drugs along with his art.”
