Page 148 of One Wrong Move

This is the second time he showed up at the gallery.

He smiles when he sees me. “Harper! How lovely you’re here. I was hoping you would be.”

Willard’s voice is soft, accented in such faint traces of European English that it’s hard to place where he’s from originally.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Aadhya and step out into the lobby. Then, I turn to our unexpected guest. “It’s nice to see you again. Came for the tour of the place?”

He nods, and gestures. “Lead the way.”

It only takes half the tour for him to open up about why he’s really here. There had been hints of it that first time, too, but this is less subtle. He’s here with a purpose.

“I’ve just showed Nate Connovan a Covey,” he says.

My eyebrows rise. “You have? When?”

“Just earlier today. I accompanied my uncle to a meeting at Contron,” he says. “Then Nate and I took a little trip to where I keep the works I deal with.”

“Incredible. And what did he say?”

“That he liked it very much, but that he would have to discuss it with you.” Willard’s smile widens. “His art adviser.”

He clearly suspects we’re more than that.

Surprisingly… I’m perfectly fine with the assumption. What I’m not fine with, is the suspicion that Nate buying this art piece is less about the painting and more about solidifying a business relationship.

“I see. Well, I’m happy to view it, too,” I say. “I’d also love to see its provenance.”

Willard’s face doesn’t change. Only his voice, which grows a little sly. “Well, that’s a funny story. This piece’s provenance is rather convoluted.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You see…”

He tells a story that is outlandish enough to be just barely believable. A tale of a rich Swiss man who inherited art from his grandfather. A grandfather who had a passion for American impressionists. Who scooped up the works when the painters were still young, when their art was cheap. But the Swiss man is so rich that he has no need for more money. And, he happens to be the father of one of Willard’s old school friends, and so, letting Willard take these works of art to the market.

It’s vague.

Vague often suits the world of art, but it doesn’t suit me. Not this time. When Willard leaves, Eitan approaches me.

He stares at the door closing behind him. “What was he doing here?” Eitan asks.

“He is trying to sell my client a newly discovered Covey,” I say. “But something about his story…”

“Doesn’t add up. Yeah. I’ve heard of him,” my boss says with a sigh. “Not that anyone ever listens to me when the possibility of a previously undiscovered painting pops up. People get far too excited.”

“Can I do some research on this?”

“Please do,” he says. “And let me know what you find.”

I head into the back office, where we have access to an extensive online database, and shoot a text to Nate.

Harper: Don’t buy the Covey from Willard until we’ve spoken.

Nate: Has he contacted you?

Harper: Yes, he stopped by the gallery.

There’s only a short moment before my phone rings. I look around, but I’m alone in the office. “Hey.”

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