Page 49 of Just Beachy

“I don’t think telling a police officer, whom you’ve known practically his entire life, that bad people are breaking into your home in order to steal a painting that actually belongs to you is ‘bandying.’ ”

She stares at me.

“It’s not safe, Grand. Whoever’s after it is clearly serious.Anddangerous.”

“No.” Her eyes flash with indignation. “I not only paintedThe Madonna, it’s aself-portrait, for God’s sake. Even if no one else ever knows or acknowledges it. It belongs to me.”

“I hear you, Grand. But do you have proof of any kind?” I ask quietly.

“You’re doubting your own grandmother?”

“No,I’mnot. But others will. Especially since for the last sixty-plus years, the world has been told that it was painted by Phillip Drake.”

“Hmph.” Grand folds her arms across her chest.

“Hmph? Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

“What else would you like me to say? It’s not that complicated. I paintedThe Madonnafor the man I had stupidly fallen in love with. When he proved to be a liar and cheater, and I discovered he’d signed his own name over mine, Itook it back. The fact that the world has been told otherwise isn’t really my problem.”

“I’d agree with you if someone wasn’t trying so hard to steal it.”

Grand takes a long swallow of her water and shrugs.

I look her right in the eye and force myself to say what needs to be said. “You do realize that given Brian’s wife’s affair with Phillip and her place in the New York art scene, Luke could be right. It’s possible that Brian could be after more than just your company.”

“That’s so insulting.”

“I know, Grand. And I’m sorry to have to even suggest it. But at this point he’s our only logical suspect.”

Her hands tighten around her water bottle, but she doesn’t argue.

“So,” I say carefully, “I’m assuming you have it hidden somewhere that the people who’ve been after it haven’t yet discovered.”

“I think that’s a fair assumption.” Her tone remains serious, but her eyes twinkle.

“You’re actually not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“I’m your own flesh and blood and you don’t trust me?” It’s more statement than question.

“Well, youaresleeping with a policeman.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “What if it accidentally slipped out in the throes of passion?”

“Grand. This is serious.”

“Believe me, I know that, sweetheart. But I promise you it’s in a safe place.”

“Like a bank vault? Or a safe-deposit box?”

“My lips are absolutely sealed. But only because I believe that the lessyouknow, the safer you’ll be.”

“Well, that’s funny,” I snap. “Because I think we’dbothbe safer if you weren’t hiding the painting. Surely there must be someone who knows the truth.”

“Most definitely,” Grand replies. “It’s clear that Phillip must have told someone before he died. I’ve had that painting for almost sixty years. And it’s only now that Phillip’s gone that someone is trying to steal it from me.”

“Well, that someone seems unwilling to give up. And the attempts are escalating,” I point out. “We need to tell Luke the truth and we need to do it right now.” I pick up my cell phone.

“But,” Grand sputters.

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