Faux Reel (Imogene Museum Mystery #5) Read Free

want to see what was happening to the seat of his pants. His everyday outfit is comfortable tweeds. Tonight he looked like an overstuffed sushi roll.
    Rupert glanced at each of us in turn, his flushed face falling by degrees. His patent shoes squeaked as he crossed the black and white checked linoleum and dropped into a metal folding chair. “Tell me.”
    Sheriff Marge nodded at me. I would get to do the honors.
    I took a deep breath. “A painting’s been stolen.” I wondered how many more times I’d have to say those words.
    Rupert gripped his knees, propping himself up. “Which one? Only one?”
    “ Only one that I know of. I’ll have to do a complete inventory—” I gestured over my shoulder toward the kitchen door and beyond, toward the swarms of festive guests. “Tomorrow. And the next day. And the next—”
    Rupert watched me steadily, waiting for the bad news.
    “The Cosmo Hagg still life, from the third floor.”
    Rupert ’s eyes bulged. “That? Whatever for?” he spluttered. “The frame it’s in is worth more than the painting.”
    “ Which they left,” I said. “They cut the canvas out.”
    Rupert went beet red, hacking out a sound between grunting and choking. I stretched toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, but he waved me away. Then I realized he was laughing — hard — and tears streamed down his face.
    “ Who knew it would come to this?” he wheezed. “I’ve hated that thing for years.”
    “ Insurance value?” Sheriff Marge asked.
    “ No need,” Rupert gasped. “Perhaps we should offer a reward to the person brave enough to steal it.”
    Jesamie whimpered, clearly bored with the goings on, then tested a few screeches in the echo-y room.
    I could tell from Sheriff Marge’s narrowed eyes that she was confounded by Rupert’s reaction. “I’ll get you a picture of the missing painting and a complete description,” I hollered over Jesamie. Sheriff Marge must have never seen the painting in person; otherwise, she’d remember it.
    The kitchen door swung open and Hallie Stettler, Sheriff Marge ’s daughter-in-law, stuck her head in, an apologetic half-smile on her face. “I heard the ruckus. Need a break?”
    Sheriff Marge handed Jesamie over, and Hallie backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her, dampening Jesamie ’s complaints. After five years of marriage to Sheriff Marge’s middle son, Hallie must know how to read the Stettler body language for official business. I’d noticed Ben Stettler adopting the same stiff stance, legs spread wide and arms crossed, earlier in the evening. It was the default pose for both mother and son — they were always in work mode.
    “ Can you e-mail the image?” Sheriff Marge asked. “I’ll send it to neighboring law enforcement agencies and the FBI. They track stolen art.”
    Rupert snorted. “It’s a piece of crap, not art.”
    “ But whoever singled it out must have a reason for doing so,” I said. “Or maybe there are others—” I didn’t want to finish. “I also think someone broke into my office. They must have picked the lock, because there’s no damage to the handle or doorframe. As far as I can tell, they didn’t disturb anything inside.”
    Sheriff Marge gave a curt nod. “I know it’s crowded, but take a walk-through. See if anything else is missing, any of your more valuable pieces. I’ll send Dale up to dust your office for prints.” Sheriff Marge removed her reading glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “He might as well check yours too, Rupert. I take it you haven’t been up there this evening?”
    Rupert shook his head wearily. “Much as I would have liked to hibernate, my duties were as a host tonight.”
    I ’d seen Deputy Dale Larson and his wife, Sandy, in the dessert line earlier. It was a special occasion for them, one of their rare chances to get out as a couple without their kids. I hated to interrupt their date.
    Pete slid his hand under my elbow and gave it a