What can you do now?”
“ I can have the paint on the canvas bits still pinched in the frame analyzed. Maybe the pigments are different ages or different types which might indicate multiple layers.”
oOo
It took a couple more hours for the museum to empty out. The guests seemed reluctant to return to real life. Frankie offered to stay and lock up after the catering crew, so I kissed Pete goodnight, drove to my fifth-wheel trailer, fed my hound Tuppence, stripped off my gown and flopped in bed without bothering to wash my face or brush my teeth.
But lying there in the dark, my brain went into overdrive. Why was such a personal item taken? A Hagg family piece. Was it revenge or a vendetta of some kind? I couldn ’t shake the idea that whoever stole the painting knew the family’s history.
Tomorrow, I would need to take an accounting of the collections in the basement. I was slowly working through the backlog down there, and most of it hadn ’t been documented yet. There’d be no way other than a visual inspection to know if anything had been stolen from among the boxes and crates piled in the cavernous room that ran almost the entire length of the old mansion.
I also kept coming back to the hunch that the painting must have been stolen during normal visiting hours if not tonight. The only reason I could see for cutting the canvas from the frame was to be able to roll up the painting in order to sneak it out of the building. Still, a tube 54 ” long would be noticeable. I flipped through my mental images of the evening, trying to remember if I’d seen anyone with such a bulky package. It’s hard to hide something that long when you’re wearing black tie. Since it was August no trench coats had been in attendance.
The catering crew might have had opportunity — and large equipment that could be used to conceal the painting. But they were all ladies I knew — or at least I recognized their husbands. Finney had recruited the wives of some of his regular customers at the Burger Basket and Bait Shop — retired men who fished from the marina boardwalks and shot the breeze daily with their cronies. The ladies were a sweet bunch and had been so excited about the opportunity when I checked on them a few minutes before we opened the doors. They'd done a great job of applying motherly pressure to make sure the guests sampled Finney's approximation of cowboy fare — five-bean chili, blue cheese corncakes, sweet potato fries, grilled veggie kabobs, and best of all, apple fritters and peach turnovers. Finney is indeed a master of the deep fat fryer.
An hour later, I was still wide awake and stewing. My phone rang, loud against the white noise of the campground ’s sprinkler system cycling through its nightly rotation. I rolled over, checked the red clock numbers — 2:12 a.m. — and grabbed the phone.
“ Yeah?” I grunted.
“ Meredith?” A timid female voice. “It’s Hallie Stettler. Mom’s been in an accident. She’s at the hospital in Lupine. I just thought — maybe — would you come? I got your number from her phone.”
“ Sheriff Marge?” I leaped out of bed, my heart pounding. “Is she okay? How bad is it?”
“ I don’t know yet. We just got here.” Hallie sounded close to tears, and I heard Jesamie wailing in the background.
“ Twenty minutes, tops.” I hopped around, trying to pull on a pair of shorts one-handed. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 3
I raced along a deserted Highway 14 and careened into the hospital ’s parking lot. I sprinted to the double sliding glass doors of the emergency room entrance.
Hallie waited just inside, bouncing a screaming Jesamie on her hip. “Could you take her, please? The doctor wants to speak with us, but—”
“ Sure.” I scooped the baby against my chest and cuddled her.
Hallie shot me a distracted half-smile and hurried toward a curtained-off side room. My stomach knotted tight
“ I can have the paint on the canvas bits still pinched in the frame analyzed. Maybe the pigments are different ages or different types which might indicate multiple layers.”
oOo
It took a couple more hours for the museum to empty out. The guests seemed reluctant to return to real life. Frankie offered to stay and lock up after the catering crew, so I kissed Pete goodnight, drove to my fifth-wheel trailer, fed my hound Tuppence, stripped off my gown and flopped in bed without bothering to wash my face or brush my teeth.
But lying there in the dark, my brain went into overdrive. Why was such a personal item taken? A Hagg family piece. Was it revenge or a vendetta of some kind? I couldn ’t shake the idea that whoever stole the painting knew the family’s history.
Tomorrow, I would need to take an accounting of the collections in the basement. I was slowly working through the backlog down there, and most of it hadn ’t been documented yet. There’d be no way other than a visual inspection to know if anything had been stolen from among the boxes and crates piled in the cavernous room that ran almost the entire length of the old mansion.
I also kept coming back to the hunch that the painting must have been stolen during normal visiting hours if not tonight. The only reason I could see for cutting the canvas from the frame was to be able to roll up the painting in order to sneak it out of the building. Still, a tube 54 ” long would be noticeable. I flipped through my mental images of the evening, trying to remember if I’d seen anyone with such a bulky package. It’s hard to hide something that long when you’re wearing black tie. Since it was August no trench coats had been in attendance.
The catering crew might have had opportunity — and large equipment that could be used to conceal the painting. But they were all ladies I knew — or at least I recognized their husbands. Finney had recruited the wives of some of his regular customers at the Burger Basket and Bait Shop — retired men who fished from the marina boardwalks and shot the breeze daily with their cronies. The ladies were a sweet bunch and had been so excited about the opportunity when I checked on them a few minutes before we opened the doors. They'd done a great job of applying motherly pressure to make sure the guests sampled Finney's approximation of cowboy fare — five-bean chili, blue cheese corncakes, sweet potato fries, grilled veggie kabobs, and best of all, apple fritters and peach turnovers. Finney is indeed a master of the deep fat fryer.
An hour later, I was still wide awake and stewing. My phone rang, loud against the white noise of the campground ’s sprinkler system cycling through its nightly rotation. I rolled over, checked the red clock numbers — 2:12 a.m. — and grabbed the phone.
“ Yeah?” I grunted.
“ Meredith?” A timid female voice. “It’s Hallie Stettler. Mom’s been in an accident. She’s at the hospital in Lupine. I just thought — maybe — would you come? I got your number from her phone.”
“ Sheriff Marge?” I leaped out of bed, my heart pounding. “Is she okay? How bad is it?”
“ I don’t know yet. We just got here.” Hallie sounded close to tears, and I heard Jesamie wailing in the background.
“ Twenty minutes, tops.” I hopped around, trying to pull on a pair of shorts one-handed. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER 3
I raced along a deserted Highway 14 and careened into the hospital ’s parking lot. I sprinted to the double sliding glass doors of the emergency room entrance.
Hallie waited just inside, bouncing a screaming Jesamie on her hip. “Could you take her, please? The doctor wants to speak with us, but—”
“ Sure.” I scooped the baby against my chest and cuddled her.
Hallie shot me a distracted half-smile and hurried toward a curtained-off side room. My stomach knotted tight
Similar Books
Miss Pymbroke's Rules
Rosemary Stevens
The Pumpkin Eater
Penelope Mortimer
Scar Night
Alan Campbell
Spider Bones
Kathy Reichs
Tall, Dark & Distant
Julie Fison
Shopping Showdown
Buffi BeCraft-Woodall
Everything, Everything
Nicola Yoon
Living Dolls: The Return of Sexism
Natasha Walter
Ultima
Stephen Baxter
The Hard Life
Flann O’Brien