Page 87 of The Maid's Secret

The Bees lead us out of the sleek reception area into the rooms beyond. The first is high-ceilinged, with massive modern artworks on every wall, many of which remind me of an abstract piece that used to hang on a wall in the Grimthorpe mansion when I was a child. Gran nicknamed it the “bourgeois blobs.”

We file through another room full of life-size marble statues depicting Greco-Roman gods in various states of undress.

“It’s like walking through a museum,” I say. “Are they real?”

“We deal only in originals,” Beagle explains. “Fakes, facsimiles, and copycats need not apply.”

“We both descend from art-dealing families,” says Brown. “To maintain excellence over generations requires preserving not only the art but a sterling reputation.”

“Please,” says Beagle. “Step into our office.”

We enter a massive room with a magnificent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Paintings in ornate gold-leaf frames grace every wall—portraits of ladies in corsets hiding coy glances behind silk fans, scenes of English hunts in the countryside with foxes and dogs on the run, and still lifes of bowls replete with overripe fruit. Matching desks sit side by side, a small one with an indigo desk mat and a much larger one with a scarlet mat. Brown seats himself at the large desk and Beagle at the smaller one.

“Please,” Brown says, gesturing to the gilded Queen Anne chairs in front of them, which I can’t believe we’re allowed to even go near, never mind grace with our backsides.

“So tell us,” Brown says once we’re settled. “What is so revelatory you couldn’t even say it on the phone? I presume you have a lead in the case of the stolen Fabergé?”

“Much more than that,” I say.

“The egg was found,” Detective Stark reveals.

“Found?” Brown echoes, his eyebrows shooting up to his perfect golden hairline. “Where?”

“In Molly’s trolley, of all places,” Angela volunteers.

“Well, congratulations, Molly! This news is most auspicious,” says Beagle. “This means we can start the sale right away.”

“We can,” says Brown. “And don’t worry about the price. Reappearances do wonders for art values.”

“So reappearances like this do happen,” says Stark. “You’ve seen stolen art re-emerge like this before?”

“It’s not entirely uncommon,” says Brown. “There are famous cases—theMona Lisastolen by a workman at the Louvre and returned a couple of years later…”

“…the Goya stolen by a bus driver from a major gallery and returned to a left-luggage office,” adds Beagle.

“There was a note with the egg,” says Stark.

“A ransom note?” Brown asks. “Is this an art-napping?”

“It can’t be,” says Beagle.

“What’s art-napping?” I ask.

“It’s when high-end thieves demand ransom in exchange for returning the art, but no professional pilferer returns the piecebeforegetting paid,” Brown explains.

“I’ll show you the note,” says Stark, taking out her phone and sharing a photo she took at the scene.

Brown and Beagle study the close-up. “Is that…parchment paper?” Brown asks.

“More like two-ply,” Angela offers.

“The egg was found amongst rolls of toilet paper,” the detective explains.

Beagle hands the detective her phone.

Brown is shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Organized thieves steal art as black-market collateral, and individual thieves are motivated by private possession. But this return? It doesn’t fit any pattern I’ve ever seen. Thomas, do you get it?”

“I’m as baffled as you are, Bax,” his husband replies. “But what I can say is any serious blackmailer would have upped the ante by now.And the good news is the egg is back, which means you can actually follow the advice on this note.”

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