Dusted (13 page)

“If you were making progress, I’d be happy to, but since you haven’t found the real thief or forger…” I left the sentence hang.”

“I’ll find them.”

“Let’s hope so because every day you don’t is another day that the news is talking about the art heists and forgeries. If any of them decide to link our name to the crimes?” I shook my head. “They’d be wrong, but speculation would damage our business and our reputation. Mac’Cleaners is important to me, Detective. I don’t think I realized just how important until this all started. But it is. And I’m not going to let it go under because of something we aren’t responsible for. Find the real thief, please, and find him soon.”

“Him or her. I’m sure that’s what you meant, right? Because any detective worth their salt doesn’t go around making assumptions with no facts. You have no idea what gender the thief is. So if you think about butting into my case again, remember, you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, and your bumbling might jeopardize my investigation.”

He let himself out.

He had a point. I didn’t know what I was doing. And he was right that we didn’t know the thief’s gender.

But he was dead wrong if he thought I was going to trust him to solve the case. My uncle went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. I wasn’t going to lose my business because of something Mac’Cleaners had no part of.

I knew that Theresa hadn’t stolen the artwork or forged the replacements.

How did I know?

I knew the same way I knew that Miles was being bullied when he was in fifth grade.

I knew the same way I knew that Eli had stolen the plate of cookies when he was five.

I knew the same way I knew that Hunter was going to thrive at college.

I knew because my gut said so.

It might not be a cop’s gut.

It was better—it was a mother’s gut. And I knew Theresa hadn’t stolen anything. I didn’t trust Detective Roman to know that.

So, I was going to try and figure it out.

I wasn’t going to be cocky simply because I solved Mr. Banning’s murder.

And I was going to try not to make any assumptions.

My next step?

Go see Miriam and figure out why a woman who works at an art gallery didn’t notice her own art had been stolen and replaced by forgeries.

Turns out that Wednesday afternoons are not busy times at art galleries.

Or at least they weren’t at the Arthur Wadsworth Gallery.

Miriam was there. I knew the gallery probably had more employees, but I had hoped she’d be there. If not, I’d have had to go to her house. I felt that gave her an advantage.

“You,” she said by way of greeting.

“Yes, me.”

“I’m not answering more of your questions,” she said.

“That’s fine. I’ll just go see if I can find good old Arthur himself. Maybe he can answer my questions.”

She sneered. “Good luck. He’s been dead for a decade. His wife owns the place now, and she wouldn’t know a cabbage from a Picasso. She leaves managing the gallery to me.”

“Fine. Then I’ll head down to the paper. I’m going to ask a rather obvious question that no one has asked yet. How is it that someone who works at a gallery—an art gallery—didn’t notice her own paintings had been stolen and replaced with forgeries? I think it’s a question that the press will feel deserves some answers.”

I saw the ice queen’s haughty façade breach. “You wouldn’t?” It was more of a question than a statement.

“Try me. I have to think someone who sells art, but didn’t notice their own was stolen, would be as detrimental to business as a cleaning service suspected of theft. So talk. Why didn’t you notice?”

She turned her back to me. Maybe to swear under her breath. Maybe to give herself time to think about what I said.

Maybe to figure out how she didn’t notice her art had been stolen.

“I’m a fraud,” she said softly, still facing away from me.

“Pardon?”

She whirled around, her designer shoes snapping against the stone floor. “I’m a fraud. Do you know what I was doing before I got this job eight years ago?”

“No.”

“Working at Diamonds.”

Diamonds Department store was a rich person’s version of a playground. Designer everything. It even had champagne as you watched someone model fashions.

“These shoes?” she said, lifting one designer clad foot. “They were returned because there was a scuff on them. The manager let me buy them for half price. Any other store would have told the woman to take a hike, but Diamonds caters to people like that. When I applied for this job, I tried to become a person like that. It was an easy act because I’d watched the pros and I’d learned. I told Mrs. Wadsworth she could feel confident leaving the gallery in my hands. That I was an art expert and I was looking for a hobby career because, after all, I was rich and didn’t need to work.”

“She bought it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker. She didn’t care about art. That was her husband. She simply wanted the money to keep coming in, and I promised her that. And I delivered. You see, salesmanship is salesmanship. Doesn’t matter if you’re selling shoes or artwork. You tell the customer what they want to hear, and the product will sell itself. So, I tell them yes, this painting has all the colors of your room, and it’s by a well-known artist, so your friends will be envious. I tell them what the stupid blobs and lines are supposed to be and then question their taste if they don’t see it. I have improved the business. I managed to hire Summer Nichols away from the competition.”

“And she is?” I asked.

“One of the best framers I’ve ever met. Seriously, her frames are works of arts in and of themselves. She also packages our art for shipping, and for local clients she goes to hang the pieces, too.”

“They can’t just hang the art themselves?” I had a lovely little plastic case that held hooks, small nails, screws, and some plastic things for drywall—you drove the plastic sleeve in first, then you could screw into it.

Miriam shook her head. “Some of the large pieces are cleated, which makes for a more secure mounting but they can be difficult to put up. And then there’s the art of displaying artwork. Where to hang them. How to light them. Summer is the best. She has an artist’s eye for detail. It was quite a coup stealing her away from the competition. I feel that it really proved my merit.”

“And you haven’t learned enough in the last few years to spot a forgery?”

“Look at that.” She pointed to a giant canvas that contained—a circle. A giant orange circle.

Again, it reminded me of my bridesmaid dress for Tiny’s wedding.

“See that?” Miriam asked. “That is a blob of orange. If you took it down and put up another blob of orange, who would know? A kindergartener could do it. Really, it’s such a simplistic design…how would I notice? We specialize in abstract art. Certainly some pieces are quite complex and would be much harder to forge, but some,” she pointed at the orange blob again, “aren’t.”

She had a point. I admitted, “I tried my hand at copying one of Kirchoff’s works. And my first attempt wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t good enough to fool anyone, but I think with practice. …” I shrugged.

“You’re right. With practice a lot of the pieces in this gallery could be forged well enough to fool almost everyone.”

“Except for that paint expert they took the damaged painting to.”

“Yes, except someone like that. If your employee hadn’t dusted that painting, none of us would know.” She paused.

I mulled over what she said. “I’ll be checking out your story.”

“You can’t think I’d make up something that embarrassing.”

“Miriam, maybe you embellished your application here, but you’re good at your job and you’re a hard worker. Diamonds is a snooty sort of store, so I’m sure you were good at your job there, too. They wouldn’t put up with someone less than excellent. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Don’t you see? Image is everything. Especially here. People see you the way you portray yourself. I portray myself as an expert, and that’s what they see. They listen to an expert. Do you think they’d be as inclined to listen to a glorified saleswoman?”

She had a point. A valid one. When I was looking for Mr. Banning’s killer, I’d gone into places as a maid, or a waitress. No one looked twice. Service staff is invisible.

And a clerk at a department store, even an upscale one like Diamonds, is a service person.

Miriam couldn’t afford to be invisible at her job in the gallery.

I didn’t like her. I hated that she put on airs. But I suddenly understood her better. And I sympathized.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promised.

“Not even your cop boyfriend?”

“Not even him.”

“That other cop has been nosing around. He thinks I’m hiding something. And I am.”

I laughed. “He’s a bit of a dork. He came into my office and when I called him Mickey, he informed me he was Detective Roman.”

“Tell me about it. He came here acting as if he owned the place. He was the same way at my house. Looking for clues, he said, but I think he was just snooping.”

“Men,” I muttered.

“Definitely. My husband—” she cut herself off.

From the way she’d said,
my husband
, I was sure whatever she was going to add was going to be less than complimentary, and I liked her a little more for not airing their dirty linens to me, a stranger.

“Listen, I won’t say a word to anyone,” I told her again. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Thanks for listening. People expect me to be snooty, and I’m good at showing people what they want to see. Sometimes I forget that it’s not who I really am.”

“I was an actress once. Well, an almost-actress. And from the little bit I did, I discovered if you play a role too long, it can become a part of you. Do what you have to here at work, but remember who you really are when you get home.”

She paused a moment, then nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

I left the gallery and realized I was no closer to figuring out who did it.

I headed home, hoping to get a few minutes at the white-board before the boys got home.

I got there and literally had minutes. I’d just added more notes to the board when the thundering herd burst into the house.

I heard them even though I was back in Hunter’s room.

“Mom,” they bellowed.

Now, I realize words like herd and bellowed should probably be used for groups of more than two. But seriously, just two of them managed both admirably.

“Coming,” I called and shut Hunter’s door behind me.

Adding the new information had left me no closer to an epiphany.

“Mom, I have a favor. A big favor,” Miles started.

He had that pleading for a new bike sort of look. I knew this look well. When he was thirteen he wanted some BMX bike that was crazy expensive and spent weeks pleading for it. Jerome and I talked and since he had a perfectly adequate bike already, decided to join forces and insist that he needed to earn half of the cost if he wanted the new one.

I could have afforded it. Jerome definitely could have afforded it. But we both have always felt the boys needed to learn to work for what they want.

Like I’ve said, Jerome’s a fantastic father…even if he wasn’t a very good husband.

“You can always ask me.” Important parenting rule #102…never agree to anything until you know exactly what you’re agreeing to.

“Can me and Eli go spend the next week at Dad’s? I know we’re going to Hunter’s this weekend, then we’d be gone next week. But we’ll come home before Tiny’s wedding.”

Now, this was unusual. The boys spent weekends and vacations with their dad. They spent at least part of the holidays with him. Jerome and I have a very fluid custody agreement. I’m the primary custodian, but he’s active and has the boys as often as he can and they want.

This was the first time they’d asked to spend a school week there and Miles was much too excited to have this week be about simply father and son bonding.

“What’s going on at your dad’s?” I asked.

“Well…” Miles drew the word out long enough that I knew I was right.

Eli filled in, “You know that director, ee arnst?”

I did. ee arnst (whose name, like ee cumming’s was always in lower case letters) was actually Ed Arnst. He’d directed
Knight and Daisy
and I was an extra. We’d gone out a couple times before I met Jerome. He was talented and nice. I was young and new to Hollywood. I still fantasized about being discovered and wearing the star-shaped glasses that Lottie gave me down the red carpet to accept my award…any award would do.

“I do know who he is,” I told Eli without going into any detail.

“He’s coming to stay at Dad’s. Peri mentioned it and Miles crapped himself.”

“Hey,” I said. That wasn’t a mental image I needed. Having changed Miles’ diapers when he was young, I can assure you it wasn’t a mental image anyone needed.

“Sorry,” Eli said. “Miles is convinced if we’re at Dad’s, he can corner Mr. arnst for directing tips and maybe even wheedle his way into an internship.”
“Mom, can you imagine what that could mean on my college applications? Please? I know Dad sucks at getting us anywhere on time, but Peri said she’d take us to school.”

“Have you ever known Peri to be on time…I mean ever?”

Eli raised his hand. “I’ll see to it, Mom. I swear. I’ll set all the clocks ahead a half-hour and it’ll be fine. That’s what I did when we were there the summer before last.”

“Please, Mom?” Miles pleaded. “And the bonus is, you can work on your script in peace and quiet, and you and Cal can do whatever you and Cal do when we’re not here.”

“Hey,” Eli screamed. “I’m sure they don’t
do
anything. I’m sure that mom only ever…
did
anything three times. Once when Hunter was conceived, once when you were, once for me.” He gave me and his brother a stern look. “And I never want to hear anything to the contrary ever again. Otherwise you’re going to damage my fragile teen psyche.”

“Want a worse mental image than that,” Miles teased his brother. “Dad and…well, pick a wife.”