Again with the Owens guy. Something was up with this dude. "I'm gonna look into Owens. Quietly. See if anything pops."
"That's not why I asked you here, but thanks. What I need to find out is if the original painting was destroyed in the fire. Ro and I did some research last night, but I can't find anything on this particular painting. Do you have any idea how I find out if it's the original?"
He didn't, but the guys who worked fraud probably would. "Let me talk to a few people who handle fraud cases. They might know. Which painting is it?"
Tim took another bite of his sandwich.
"It's called Position Seven."
He stopped chewing and swallowed. "Come again?"
"That's the title. Position Seven."
"Kind of a generic title. Do you have a picture of it so I know what I'm looking for?"
"Um..."
"What?"
She stared at him a second, a pinched look on her face. Eventually, she grabbed her backpack from the chair beside her. "Nothing. It's just... nothing. I'll show it to you." She hit him with a fast, toothy smile. "Free Wi-Fi at Rizzo's."
Nervous. Whatever this painting was, it had her rattled. "Lucie, I've been a cop twelve years." He wiped his hands on his napkin. "Nothing shocks me. Show me the painting."
She tapped the screen of the tablet and nodded. "It's a Renaissance. Same as the Lutz's painting. Lauren says it's a classic. If it's the real deal, it's worth millions."
After tapping the screen a couple more times, Lucie held out the tablet, but then snatched it back. "No snarky comments."
He laughed. "Give me the damned tablet."
"Fine. Just remember what I said."
Too damned cute. He took the tablet and—whoa. He might have to take back that line about nothing shocking him. And crap on a cracker, he suddenly had a vision of Lucie sitting backward and bare-butt naked on top of him. Day-am. He cleared his throat, kept his eyes glued to the tablet and not on Lucie's lovely and ample chest, willing his body to remain unaffected. Definitely not an easy task. "All righty, then. Is that a wheelbarrow?"
"What is it with people and the wheelbarrow?"
"It's a legitimate question. I mean, I know it's buried, so it's stable, but that has to be uncomfortable. Not to mention a challenge."
A woman squeezed behind him and he held the tablet against him. Didn't need the general population thinking he was a pig. He smiled up at the woman, waited for her to clear the area, and got back to business. He turned the tablet sideways for a better view and whistled. Across from him, Lucie shifted and he glanced up, meeting her gaze for a solid thirty seconds, hopefully letting her know that, yes, his mind had definitely gone to the gutter and it was all about her. Her cheeks fired and the very real possibility existed that he might have fallen in love. I'm so going down.
He handed the tablet back, then reached into his jacket pocket for his notepad.
"What are you doing?"
"Writing down the website. If I'm going to find this painting, I'll need specifics." Yeah, he'd definitely be reviewing that website on his own time.
"Oh, boy."
Damned. Cute.
"Relax. It's art. Not a big deal." He leaned over, ran his hand over the back of her chair, and got right up to her ear. "But if you ever want to try that wheelbarrow thing, I'm your guy."
11
Lucie parked her scooter in the alley behind the Horvath's house and unclipped her helmet. From inside, Nugget heard her pull up and went into his barking frenzy, anticipating her arrival and his afternoon walk.
"I'm coming," she said, "keep your shorts on."
The back door opened and Lucie flinched as sharp warning tingles shot up her arms and down her legs. The Horvaths both worked. Burglar. Instinctively she reached for her messenger bag and the pepper-spray she kept handy. At times, she even carried a stun gun. After the dognappings five months earlier, she'd become her own special crossbreed of Wonder Woman and the Terminator.
Mr. Horvath—thank goodness—slid into the open doorway. "Hi, Lucie."
Lucie removed her helmet, hung it on the handle bar of the scooter, and blew out a heavy breath. The tingles on her arms and legs peeled away as the adrenaline dump tapered off. After the last few days, her nerves were dust. What kind of paranoia drives a person to want to pepper spray their own client?
As usual, Mr. Horvath's short, dark hair was combed and gelled into businessman mode. She guessed his age to be around forty, but thought maybe he enjoyed a little Botox every now and again. The few wrinkles he did have strategically accentuated his crystal blue eyes. He wore a grey suit, but the jacket and tie had been discarded. Lunch break or half day. She didn't care which.
"Hi, Mr. Horvath."
"Sorry if I startled you. I took a couple of hours off this afternoon. I should have warned you."
Lucie closed the flap on her messenger bag and adjusted it on her hip. "Good for you. Is Nugget ready for his walk?"
"You know he is. He's been sitting by the door waiting for you. But, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to show you something."
Huh?
A client had never said that to her. And truth be told, it scared her a little. Well, maybe not scared, but she definitely had a moment's hesitation.
Whatever it was, he sensed it and shot his hands up. "I bought a painting from Bart. Wanted you to see it."
Oh, God. She'd have to look at the guy with the tree-sized member while standing next to her client. Her very male client. And, hellooooo, he'd just inadvertently answered her question about where he'd acquired this latest acquisition. Assuming, of course, that was the painting he referred to.
She breathed in, set her shoulders, and prepared herself to act surprised. Please be another painting. Please.
Behind Mr. Horvath, Nugget barked and he stepped aside, letting the dog charge out to see Lucie. She bent low, got her usual lick on the chin and gave Nugget the snuggles he'd grown used to. Great dog. Such a love bug.
"That dog," Mr. Horvath said. "You'd think he never got any attention."
Offering up one more good rub, Lucie stood. "Nah. He just likes his Lucie love."
"Come on in."
Please don't take me to that hallway. But, nope, Mr. Horvath led her into the kitchen straight to the hallway. Doggone it. She could barely look at that painting the first time with Lauren. Now she had to do it with a man. A handsome one to boot.
Just don't look at the penis. If she could do that, she'd be fine. No penis.
Mr. Horvath swooped his arm. "Here it is. We're just thrilled. It nearly broke the bank, but Bart says we got a steal on it and it'll triple in value in a couple of years. It's a Nodai."
Lucie braced herself, then tore her eyes from Mr. Horvath to look at the painting. Yep, same tree-like member.
"The wheelbarrow is a kick, isn't it?"
God help me.
"It certainly is. Wow! It's so...big."
Ach.
"The painting," she said.
Oh, that just made it worse. Now he'd know she was thinking about the member.
Mr. Horvath laughed. "I know. It's crazy. It's part of a series. Twelve in all. Most of them got toasted in a fire, but Bart managed to snag one of the last remaining ones. I think someone in Europe had it."
Okay. She couldn't look at it anymore. The penis was too much. Burned her eyes like acid. She faced Mr. H. "That's terrific. I'm glad it worked out between you two."
But the rat bastard never paid me.
Mr. Horvath unglued his gaze from the painting and faced her. "It did. I'm actually thinking about investing in another painting with him. Another undervalued Renaissance Bart thinks might go up in value in the next few years."
Interesting. She'd probably get screwed out of that commission also. "It's sort of like flipping houses, only with paintings."
"Exactly. If all goes well, it'll be tremendously profitable."
"I could see that. I guess you have to make sure you have all the documentation in orde
r if you're going to flip them."
"Oh absolutely. In the art world it's called provenance. If the provenance is good, there's no question regarding the work's authenticity."
Thank you so much for that info. "So what's considered good provenance?"
"It could be a signed certificate or some other statement from an expert on the artist. What Bart gave me was a receipt from the gallery."
If Mr. Horvath had the receipt, the painting must have been real. And she'd definitely gotten burned out of her finder's fee. Now she'd have to have a conversation with Bart. One that might cost her a client. But if this painting was worth millions, even if the Horvaths didn't pay that much, her commission alone would set her up for the next year.
Nugget nudged Lucie's leg and she glanced down at him. "I'm sorry, baby." She rubbed the underside of his chin. "Let's get this show on the road."
Before I commit a homicide.
* * *
On her way home, Lucie stopped off at the shop to make sure everything was locked. Her new routine since her arrest. From now on, the place would be locked up tight.
By the newly installed locks.
At this point, she'd adopted Joey's favorite saying: Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, I'll kill you where you stand.
She double-checked the front door, giving it a good tug before turning toward her car parked across the street. The fading afternoon sun did nothing to alleviate the suffocating heat and humidity, but she tipped her face up and took a second to simply breathe and be thankful she wouldn't be stuck in an office for another four hours. Banker's hours.
Not anymore.
Her phone rang, then did a quick double vibrate in her back pocket. Always a thrill, that. At least for a girl who'd spent most of her evenings the last three months solo. The vibrating stopped—maybe she'd start calling her own phone for a fix. Or maybe she just needed a vibrator. Eh. Why bother?
She slipped the phone from her pocket. Tim O'Brien. Hi there, handsome. No wonder her mind went straight to the lack of sex in her life. She had the hottie detective buzzing her butt.
She tapped the screen. "Hi."
"Hi to you. Are you home?"
"Not yet. On my way. I detoured to make sure the store is locked. What's up?"
"I talked to my fraud guy. Your painting," he continued, "is alive and well. My guy did some digging. He said it's in a gallery in Italy."
Okay. So maybe Bart wasn't a lying, scheming rat bastard. "Huh. Bart could have bought it then."
"Could have. It's worth three million."
Lucie froze, just stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk, and a kid on a bike swerved around her, nearly taking her down and plowing into a lamppost himself.
"Watch it, lady!"
Any number of comebacks sprang to mind, but somehow the words wouldn't pass through her lips. Three million dollars?
Wha...gulp. "Three," she choked out. "Million?"
"According to my guy."
She knew the Horvaths had money—well, appeared to have money, simply based on the home they lived in. But three million on a painting?
"Wow."
"Of course, that doesn't mean the one hanging on your client's wall isn't a copy."
She leaned against the lamppost the kid almost clobbered, but leaped forward when the hot metal scalded her back right through her shirt. Yowzer!
"If it's a copy, he's pretending it's not. I saw him today and had to stand there while he gushed over his new acquisition. Do you know how embarrassing that was? I mean"—she waved her hand—"with the erotic nature of the thing. The painting. Not the..." Dear God, her mouth had suddenly figured out how to work and now she couldn't stop the flow. She closed her eyes. Stay on point.
From his side of the conversation, Tim cleared his throat. Probably hiding a laugh.
She opened her eyes again and stared straight ahead at the dry cleaners across the street. "Go ahead, Detective. Laugh all you want. He's my client for God's sakes and he's got that...that...member...hanging on the wall. Anyway, he told me Bart gave him paperwork authenticating the painting. So, it must be real."
"You never know. The art world is hinky. Art dealers fake that stuff all the time."
Great. Mr. Devil's advocate. "So, I'm back where I started?"
"Unless I can come up with probable cause and have someone review the documentation, pretty much. Hang on." A muffled sound hit her ear. He must have put his hand over the phone. "Lucie?"
"I'm here."
"I gotta go. I'll call you later."
She disconnected and shoved her phone back into her pocket, hoping for another buzz at some point. The plight of a single girl.
Ro's Escalade came to a stop in a fire zone in front of the store. A second later, Lucie's BFF hopped out and the rear hatch of the vehicle came open. Dropping something off maybe.
Lucie wandered over while pondering her lack of probable cause.
With her father's history, she knew all about what law enforcement could and couldn't do without probable cause. Probable cause—PC—protected citizens from unreasonable searches by law enforcement. Right now, Tim or any police officer had no PC to search Bart's premises. Nothing.
That didn't keep Lucie from wondering if Mr. Horvath's paperwork was legit.
What she needed was a copy of that receipt.
Ro reached into her SUV, hefted an oversized tote on her shoulder, and glanced down at her stretchy V-neck blouse that clung to her curves like Oscar the Perv working Lucie's leg. Ro adjusted the front of her shirt, gave her boob a little adjustment to maximize the cleavage and Lucie knew exactly how she'd get a copy of that receipt.
Two hours later, Lucie and Ro marched down the sidewalk to the Owens Gallery. The early evening sun had turned a rich, burnt orange and Lucie wanted to be on a beach somewhere, watching that sun drop away. Soon, she'd treat herself to a vacation. She and Ro maybe. A girls' trip.
Ro came to a stop and faced Lucie. "How do I look?"
Lucie did a perfunctory scan of the wrap dress that really needed a cami under it, but for this, Ro had pulled out the stops.
Or the boobs, as the case might be. "Well," Lucie said, "your boobs are definitely on overtime."
"You said you needed me for a mission. I assumed that meant full-cleavage. Soooo, I went full-cleave."
Lucie held up a finger. "I said I needed your help. That's all."
"Which, hello, usually involves me utilizing my assets. Where did I go wrong?"
Got me there. "Okay. But just so you know, I love you for more than your boobs. You know that, right?"
"Pfft. Of course. What's your problem?"
Good old Ro. "No problem. Just making sure. Anyway, here's the deal. I called Bart and told him I had a friend interested in buying some art. When we get inside, you distract him and I'll go into the office to say hello to Oscar. Hopefully, the filing cabinet will be unlocked and I can have a peek."
"Easy," Ro said. "I'll keep him away from the office."
"If the cabinet drawer is locked, I'll text you. That'll be your cue to tell him you'd like to see the provenance for whatever painting you're looking at."
"Provenance?"
"Yes. It's documentation that the painting is legit. He'll come into the office, see me playing with Oscar, and unlock the drawer so he can get whatever he needs. Hopefully, he'll leave the cabinet unlocked when he returns to you. Got it?"
"Ten-four. Roger that. But holy hell, sister, there's a lot of hopefullys happening with this mission."
Lucie sighed. "I know. But it's the only option."
And asking for help from Joey or Tim was out of the question. Joey would have a cow if he knew they were up to this. Plus, Tim might not approve. But he was the cop, not her. Probable cause wasn't her issue. She just needed a look at that receipt. Then she'd snap a photo with her phone and call the gallery where it was purchased. If anything about the transaction seemed fishy, she'd turn the photo over to Tim and that should give them their probable caus
e. At least in her mind.
Time to get to work.
Ro and Lucie strolled through the front door of the gallery. The bells on the door did their little jangle and Bart entered the room from his office, closing the door behind him so Oscar couldn't run out. Lucie turned her head away and whispered, "That's the office."
Ro immediately offered up one of her sexy girl smiles and waved. "Un-huh. Got it," she said without moving her mouth.
Seriously. How did she do that?
"Hello, Lucie," Bart said. "Thank you for coming in."
Lucie set her hand on Ro's arm. "Hi, Bart. This is my friend Ro. She's the one I called you about. She's interested in possibly starting an art collection."
Bart shifted his attention to Ro. To his credit, he lingered on her face for at least two-point-five seconds then his gaze... Come on, fella, come to mama... traveled lower and—bam—darted right back to Ro's face.
Just. Hold on. Here.
What happened to the whole moth to a flame theory? Huh. Leave it to them to find the one man completely uninterested in Ro's assets.
"Well," Bart said, "you've come to the right place. Do you have a particular style in mind?"
Ro made a non-committal humming noise. "Not really. I'm new at all this. Maybe you could show me different styles?"
Bart gestured to the wall. "Of course. Right this way."
Ro angled right, toward the wall at the front of the gallery and pointed. "Let's start there."
Excellent. As far from the office as possible.
Lucie swung her thumb to the back of the building. "Is Oscar in the office?"
"He is," Bart said. "He's a rascal today. All he wants to do is play."
"Do you mind if I head back there and say hello? I missed him today."
"Be my guest. Just be prepared. You know how he gets with you."
Oh, she knew. The minute she stepped into his sight, the dog would pounce on her and give her a hump worthy of Olympic competition.
"Thanks for the warning."
"Have fun, Luce," Ro called, giving her a finger wave.
Despite Bart's lack of interest in the boobage, could this operation be going any better? She'd just close the door behind her, give Oscar a quick pat, and snoop in the files. If they were arranged alphabetically by client and not in some CIA-worthy filing system, even better.
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