I waved and Lucas waved back with a smile. In a few moments, he stepped outside, shrugging on his coat as he joined us.
“Scarlett, Harrison, good to see you,” he said. The men had met earlier that morning when I was still rising and Harrison was trying to smooth over my harsh words to Viv. Lucas’s expression was wary and I realized that he probably assumed we were coming with news.
“Afternoon,” Harrison said as they shook hands.
“Hi,” I said. “We don’t have any information, at least nothing about William’s whereabouts.”
Lucas frowned. “That is unfortunate. I know Viv was hoping to hear something today.”
“Can you direct us to her classroom?” I asked. “I’d like to check in with her myself.”
“Of course,” he said. “It will be my pleasure to escort you.”
Honestly, the French just have a way about them, don’t they? It’s like suave is in their DNA or maybe their drinking water, then again, perhaps it was the wine.
The building housed two floors of classrooms and Viv’s was tucked into the far corner of the building on the second floor. We crossed the courtyard and went up an outside staircase that led to a balcony above. We walked down to the end, where I could hear Viv’s voice as she directed her students in the making of their hats.
Much as I lacked any skill in hat making, I knew the schedule of creation. Viv had given the students the choice of three different styles to make. All required being shaped on a wooden hat form. While those dried, they were to design how they wanted to trim the hat. The goal was to have a fashion show on Saturday night at the same time that the rest of the art classes would be having their shows.
“Excellent,” Viv said. “Now when you’re designing the embellishments for your hat, you want to make sure it matches the tone of the event you’re planning your hat for, for example, if it’s a wedding, you don’t want too much sparkle or bling as it would be bad form to compete with the bride.”
Lucas gave us a faint smile and stepped back. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”
Harrison and I nodded. For one second, I debated bolting. If we ran away right now, Viv would never know we’d been here. That seemed preferable to telling her that William’s apartment had been ransacked, we had no idea where he was, oh, and he kept a picture of their wedding day on his dresser.
Harrison was braver than I. He rapped lightly on the door as a warning and then he entered Viv’s classroom. I followed, trying not to think about how less stressful running away would be.
Viv glanced at us as we entered her classroom. Her face looked wary as if she was afraid of bad news. Harrison shook his head, letting her know we hadn’t found him. Her shoulders slumped and I really wanted to go over and hug her but the room full of strangers gave me pause.
There were three large tables with six students at each. Materials were strewn all over the tabletops, and I saw the students riffling through the ribbons and beads and silk flowers, as if they were Dumpster diving for their last meal.
“Excuse me,” Viv said to her students. She hurried over to join us. “You didn’t find him then?”
“I’m sorry, Viv,” I said. “He wasn’t at his place and he never showed up at work either.”
“Have you heard anything from the police?” she asked.
“We had a conversation,” Harrison said.
“What about? Do they know something?” She sounded frantic, and several of the students glanced our way.
Harry took Viv’s arm and led her away from the ears of the students at the first table. There were two elderly women there, who definitely looked like sisters although one was dressed in yellow while the other was in green, both of whom were leaning back in their chairs, trying to hear what was said.
“Inspecteur Lavigne is doing everything he can,” Harry said. “Listen, when we stopped by Will’s place, we discovered we weren’t the first to have been there.”
“What do you mean?” Viv frowned.
“His place was ransacked,” I said. “It looked like someone was searching for something.”
“Oh, no,” she said. She put her hand over her mouth. “Who would do such a thing? He’s in insurance; surely it can’t be that risky of an occupation.”
“I don’t know,” Harrison said. “But my guess is that he has something that somebody else wants. Otherwise why ransack his apartment?”
“But what could it be? The only thing he mentioned to both Scarlett and me was the Renoir landscape that he was trying to authenticate.”
“It could be anything,” I said. “We should find out what other claims he was working on. Maybe this has nothing to do with the Renoir.”
Viv frowned again. “Maybe but I can’t help but think that Emile St. James has to have something to do with Will’s disappearance. It was too coincidental that Will was grabbed right after an argument with St. James, don’t you think?”
Harry and I both shrugged. The truth was that none of us knew Will that well.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Vivian, but this man insisted upon seeing you,” Lucas said from the doorway. We all turned around to face him.
Standing next to him, looking very distraught, was William’s boss, Mr. O’Toole.
Chapter 15
“How may I help you?” Vivian asked. She looked bewildered and I knew it was because she was still processing all that had happened and also she had no idea who this man was.
“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Toole,” I said. I stepped forward so that his attention turned to me.
Viv turned to look at me, as did Harrison, but I kept my eyes on the round, little man in front of me.
“You.” He met my gaze and he flushed with anger. “You did not tell me the truth of your acquaintanceship with William Graham.”
I ducked my head. “I’m sorry. It’s rather complicated.”
“More so than now?” Mr. O’Toole asked. There was heat in his words as if a low-burning anger had boiled them up to the surface. His face was so stiff, even his jowls didn’t move. “I believe you have something of mine.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand.”
“Did you steal the Renoir?” he snapped.
“Me?” I gasped. “Wait! What? The Renoir has been stolen?”
“As if you don’t know,” Mr. O’Toole said. His glare seared me and then Viv. “The two of you, playing Will for a fool. Tell me, did you really think you’d get away with it?”
“Oy! I won’t tolerate that sort of talk,” Harrison said. He looked furious and Mr. O’Toole took a step back. “Just what are you accusing them of, Mr. O’Toole, was it?”
Now all of Viv’s students were staring at our little group. The two older ladies sitting the closest weren’t even bothering to pretend that they weren’t eavesdropping.
“Perhaps this is not the place for this discussion.” Lucas Martin gestured to the open door behind him.
Viv glanced at her class and noticed the two women watching them with their eyes wide and their chins propped on their hands.
“Ella and Marie Porter,” Viv scolded. “If you want these hats ready for your return trip to Morse Point, Massachusetts, you’d best get working.”
“Nuts, it was just getting interesting, too,” the one in yellow hissed to the one in green.
The two elderly ladies exchanged grumpy looks. I noticed that the one dressed in yellow was working on a yellow hat and likewise the one in green a green hat. I suspected these colors were an identity thing for them.
Lucas Martin led the way out of the classroom and back onto the chilly balcony.
“I will monitor your class for you,” he said to Viv.
“Thank you, Lucas,” she said.
He turned to Mr. O’Toole with one eyebrow raised, and said, “I am quite sure this is a misunderstanding.”
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Mr. O’Toole waited until Lucas went back inside and then he turned to Viv and studied her. “You are Will’s wife?”
“Yes,” she said. I noticed there was a slight hesitation but then she nodded as if she was committing to the idea herself.
“And she was with me all last night,” I said. “We had dinner with Will and then he brought us back to the office to show us the Renoir, because Viv is an artist and he thought she’d like it. We saw Will get taken right in front of your office. The driver Will had hired for us sped off, and when we demanded that he go back, he dropped us off on some side street. We told the police all of this when we called it in.”
“I can vouch for them,” Harrison said. “They called me when they were abandoned at the same time that they called the police.”
“And who are you?” Mr. O’Toole asked.
“Harrison Wentworth,” he said.
I noticed that they didn’t shake hands. I also noticed that Mr. O’Toole’s eyebrows rose up on his forehead in recognition of the name.
“Aren’t you the chap who was accused of murdering Winthrop Dashavoy last fall?” he asked.
“Yes, but now I am one of the partners in Evers and Wentworth, the company formerly known as Carson and Evers,” he said.
Mr. O’Toole nodded at him but then frowned at me. He was obviously still annoyed that I had been less than honest the day before. It seemed the only thing to do was to tell him the whole truth, as clearly the police hadn’t.
“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything about Will and Viv,” I said. “I came to your company looking for Will since he and Viv, who is my cousin, are . . . were estranged.”
“Were?” he asked.
“We met for dinner last night,” Viv said. “We were talking about our marriage and thinking about giving it another try when . . .”
Her voice cracked and she looked distraught. I wrapped an arm about her and shot Mr. O’Toole a dark look.
He rubbed a pudgy hand over his bald head as if hoping to stimulate a reasonable explanation for why all of these awful things were happening.
“Do you see why I didn’t tell you?” I asked. “I had to talk to Will first.”
He gave an abrupt nod.
“Who do you think stole the Renoir?” Harrison asked. He was frowning. I knew that he was bothered by Mr. O’Toole’s assumption that we were involved.
“I cannot believe it was Will. That is why when our security guard told me about the two of you, I assumed you had something to do with it. But I can’t ignore the fact that the last recording from our security cameras shows that Will was the last one to go in or out of the vault. After that, the cameras went dead,” he said. “Bloody hell, I can’t believe this. That man was like a son to me. How could he betray me?”
He looked like he might weep. I felt for him; really I did. But at the same time, I was appalled that he would believe the worst of Will so quickly and without proof.
“But Will was kidnapped,” Viv said. “How could you possibly think he had anything to do with the painting being missing if he was abducted? Aren’t you worried about him?”
Mr. O’Toole’s sad face vanished and he looked at Viv with a sudden clarity that I found alarming. Judging by the way Harrison shifted beside me, he saw it, too.
“Mrs. Graham, how well did you know your husband?” he asked.
Viv’s face flashed bright red, and I figured she was either embarrassed to admit that she didn’t know him well or she was feeling chastised, which never sat very well with her. There was no denying that her information on her husband was sketchy at best. And she knew it. She sighed.
“Not as well as one would think, I suppose,” she said. “Tell me.”
“There is a reason William Graham became an investigator—he was very, very good at it.”
We all looked at him, wondering what his point was. I mean, of course, Will was good at his job. Why wouldn’t he be?
“You don’t understand,” he said. “Fine art is big business; therefore, insuring fine art is also big business. William’s skills weren’t just his knowledge and appreciation of art, rather, he could mix it up with the scariest sort and hold his own.”
“You mean he knew how to fight?” Viv asked. Her eyes were wide.
“He knew how to kill if need be,” Mr. O’Toole said. Harrison and I exchanged a look. I didn’t think it was my imagination that the situation suddenly seemed much more serious than it had this morning.
“William doesn’t just investigate claims, he tracks down missing works of art, he mixes and mingles with some of the most disreputable people in all of Europe, and he can handle himself against that sort,” Mr. O’Toole said. “He has broken into palaces and stolen back works of art, using nothing more than his wit and his fists. He’s also dealt with some of the bottom-feeding scum who steal art and sell it to the highest bidder.” Mr. O’Toole lowered his voice, and added, “I have no proof but there is a rumor that he killed a man in Morocco over a cache of paintings missing since the Nazis smuggled them out of France. I am not worried about your husband being abducted, Mrs. Graham.”
Viv had gone four shades paler than usual and looked like she might keel over on the spot.
“Was there no sign of a break-in at your building?” Harrison asked.
“No, the side door was left unlocked and someone slipped in, knocked out our security guard and took the painting right out of the vault. I can only assume it was William and an accomplice.”
He gave us another beady-eyed stare, which I was finding to be rather tiresome.
“How dare you?” Viv stepped forward now. If anger made his words bubble, it made hers boil over onto the floor with spits and hisses. “Will would never do such a thing. Scarlett and I saw him abducted right in front of your office. Obviously, whoever took him is responsible for taking the painting.”
“You don’t just ‘take’ William Graham,” Mr. O’Toole argued. “No, there is something wrong about this whole situation.”
Then it hit me. In a blinding bit of clarity that I wished I wasn’t having because it really was too awful to contemplate, but still if what Mr. O’Toole said was true, that William was a fighter, then it seemed the likeliest possibility.
“Maybe William didn’t fight with his abductors for a reason,” I said. “Maybe he couldn’t fight them because they threatened something he cared about more than the Renoir.”
“What could that be?” Viv asked.
We all turned to look at her. It took her a second but she got there.
“Oh,” she said. Her voice was soft as if all of the air came out of her on the realization that her husband had likely been threatened and she had been the leverage.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” O’Toole said grudgingly. “That does make more sense.”
“We have to find out who took the painting,” Harrison said. “That is the answer to this whole situation. What is the name of the shop where it was purchased?”
O’Toole looked hesitant and Harrison crossed his arms over his chest. It was a posture that signified that he could wait all day if he had to and that he would shake it out of the smaller man if he must.
“This is what I know,” O’Toole said. “The painting was originally bought by a man named Jacques Reyer from a bouquiniste on the Left Bank. He then took it to his shop in the fourth arrondissement called Boutique Reyer, which sounds elegant but it’s really just a secondhand junk shop, where he sold it to a woman, Colette Deneau, who then brought it to us for an appraisal.”
“So, Reyer and Deneau are the two people who are insisting that the Renoir belongs to them?” I asked. “Will told us there was some difficulty there.”
“Yes, the two of them and the owner of the bouquiniste,” O’Toole said. He looked tired and irritated all at the same time. “A greedy lot of scoundrels is what
they are. My grandfather paid out the insurance on that piece, and it is rightfully ours, damn what the museum and all of these others say.”
“The museum is staking a claim as well?” Viv asked.
“They are trying to as is the family of Estelle Brouillard, the woman who bequeathed it to the museum,” he said. “Bunch of bloody vultures.”
“Viv, I think it is best if you stay here and teach your class,” Harrison said. “I’ll talk to Lucas and make sure you’re safe.”
“But I want to help,” she protested.
“Viv, if the people who snatched Will are using your safety as leverage, then it is best that you stay here out of sight,” I said. “Harry and I will do everything we can to try to find him. And I’m sure Mr. O’Toole will as well.”
I directed this last bit at O’Toole, and even though he looked as if he might choke on the words, he agreed with a brusque nod and a muttered, “Of course.”
Harrison took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to O’Toole. “If you hear anything, you can contact me at this number.”
O’Toole took it and looked at it as if trying to decide if it was authentic or not. He then put it in his coat pocket.
“What are you planning to do?” he asked.
“Talk to everyone who had their hands on that painting,” Harrison said. “The painting is the key to finding William, I’m sure of it.”
Chapter 16
We left Viv to teach her class, although she looked grumpy about it. O’Toole went back to his office, promising to be in touch if he had any word from William, the police or the people who had taken him.
Harrison checked the time on his watch and then glanced at the sky above. Clouds had moved in over the city and the temperature had dropped. For a moment, I wondered if it was my mood that had brought them in.
“All right, Ginger?” he asked.
“Worried,” I said. “About Will and Viv. What a mess.”
“Agreed,” he said. “But I think you’re right. If Will is as wily as O’Toole said, then the only explanation for his abduction is that they must have threatened Viv, leaving him no choice.”
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