Page 71 of Just Beachy

“I’ve taken the next four days off. We’re going to lay low here until Tuesday morning when the shit should start hitting the fan for the Drake family.”

“But…” The idea of spending four more days locked in at Grand’s is not appealing. Not even with Luke.

He doesn’t wait for me to mount an argument. “Now, where were we?” he asks, dropping the towel on the floor and lying down on the bed facing me.

His eyes hold mine as he cups my breast then teases mynipple with his thumb before taking it into his mouth. I’m already way past tingling when the tip of his penis brushes against the most sensitive part of me.

My mind goes blank as my body and senses take over. By the time he enters me, I’ve forgotten about the Drakes,The Madonna, and everything outside of this bed in this moment.

Thirty-Four

Grand,The Madonna,and Iarrive at the Ringling Museum of Art in Sarasota at 10:00 a.m. I can feel my grandmother trembling in the chair beside me as we wait to be shown to the conservator’s office.

“This is a good thing, Grand.”

“I know.” She swallows. “But what if it doesn’t work? What if they can’t find my signature under Phillip’s?”

“Let’s not worry ahead, Grand. Today could end up being the validation you’ve been hoping for all these years.”

“Right.” Grand swallows again. “You’re totally right.”

“Hello.” A young man wearing white gloves comes to retrieve us. “I’m Barbara’s assistant, Clay. May I?” he asks as he reaches out towardThe Madonna.

“Oh yes. Of course.” Grand gives her permission.

“She certainly is beautiful in person.”

“Thank you,” Grand replies.

“If you’ll follow me, we’re going to meet Barbara in an examination room.”

I know just how worried Grand is when she takes my hand and doesn’t even look at the incredible art on the walls as we pass. But I’m worried, too. Because if even the slightest doubt remains afterThe Madonnais examined, the Drakes can just keep hiring bad guys to steal it. Or continue pressuring Grand into giving it up.

I squeeze her hand and feel how clammy it is.

She squeezes mine back as Clay knocks on a closed door. It’s opened by a middle-aged woman with close-cropped red hair, bright blue eyes, and a welcoming smile.

“Hello. I’m Barbara. Please come in. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lillian. And you must be Sydney. Thank you for bringing this lovely lady.” She nods towardThe Madonna. “I’m thrilled that the Dalí referred you to me. I can’t wait to examine her.”

The room is windowless, and utilitarian. Tools line the walls. A variety of handheld lights sit on a long shelf.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,” Grand says to Barbara. “I’m afraid I haven’t kept up with technology as it applies to the art world. Can you really see through the surface layers of a painting to what’s underneath?”

“Yes.” The conservator smiles. “There are a number of ways to use light from the ultraviolet and infrared portions of the spectrum to expose areas in a painting that have been added to or painted over, which I understand is what we’re looking for in this case.”

I nod. “My grandmother painted and signedTheMadonnaover sixty years ago when she was studying art in New York. Phillip Drake, whose signature is on the painting, was one of her instructors.”

Barbara cocks her head in Grand’s direction. “Clearly there’s a story here.”

“Yes,” Grand agrees. “I was young and silly and fancied myself in love with Phillip.The Madonnawas a self-portrait that I’d hoped he’d see merit in. He kept it to study for several days, but when I went back for his feedback, he belittled it and told me that I didn’t have the talent to make it as an artist. I went back to my dorm in tears. A few days later when I’d calmed down and went to Phillip’s studio to retrieve it, I discovered he’d painted his signature over mine and I realized that he intended to claim it as his own work.”

“Goodness.” Barbara shakes her head. “How awful.”

“I was crushed,” Grand continues. “But I was also angry. So when I left New York and fled home to Atlanta, I managed to take my painting with me. Of course, after he reported it stolen and started referring to it asThe Missing Madonna, he and my painting became even more famous.”

Grand’s smile slips. “I’ve kept it hidden all these years out of fear that his signature would support his claim that he’d painted it.”

Barbara’s eyes reflect her sympathy. “I always wondered whyThe Madonnafelt so different from his other work, yet no one, including me, ever thought to question it.” She smiles again at Grand. “Shall we go ahead and see what we can uncover?”

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