Page 106 of Fresh Canvas
“Yes, Kendra. I found it. I’m looking at it as we speak. No, I don’t know why he said that. The log said archive roomone, not two. Yes, I’ll make sure to—” Val huffed out a sharp breath. Three annoyed toe taps sounded before he spoke again. “Of course, Kendra. That won’t be a problem. Okay, bye.”
A silent minute passed. Then another.
What was he doing?
His heavy footfalls began again, sounding louder than before. My mouth ran dry as I shrank against the wooden crate, fumbling in my brain for some bizarre excuse if he saw me.
I'd never been so glad to hear squeaky door hinges in mylife. Even after the door thudded shut, I remained cramped for a few extra minutes. Once I could be sure the coast was clear, I stood, a groan accompanying the crack in my spine. Maybe yoga class with Kate was a good idea after all.
I replayed the video I recorded of Val. His broad shoulders and dark curls forced my eyes closed in a moment of pain. Taking a deep breath, I pried them open again.
Val’s back faced me, blocking whatever he had been sent by Kendra to find. I still didn’t know what he had been looking at or why.
Stepping quietly across the room, I slid the crate from the slot Val had mentioned. Slot 294.
Lifting the wooden lid, I found a gorgeous abstract painting, unassuming and untouched. Swirls of daffodil yellow were threaded with earthy browns, contrasting the angles of the shapes in the foreground. Stunning. Was it their next target? Or was this one already a forgery?
A frustrated growl emanated from my throat. How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t found evidence to prove a thing. All I could think to do was snap a photo, close the crate, and slide it back onto the shelf.
At this rate, Felix and I would receive justice sometime next February.
I resumed the stupid investigation. If the exit point could have revealed itself sooner than later, that would have been great. My head tipped back with a frustrated sigh. Fluffy summer clouds, drifting beyond the windows, taunted me and my grim situation.
The windows!
They weren’t very tall, and maybe only wide enough for an adult to escape in case of emergency. The high placement of the glass panes kissed the ceiling, well out of reach. How in the world did the criminals not break a leg?
I snapped my fingers. This had been a two person job.If one thief fed the realLake Attersee through the open window,someone else had to have stood outside to receive it. The forgery could be snuck in the same way, but from the outside.
The thief would have remained inside this room, shut and locked the window, reframed the forged painting, then hid the evidence. A stack of chairs stood suspiciously close to the windows.
My heart soared, then dropped. Knowing how the crime was committed didn’t do anything if I had no proof ofwho. I sank to the floor, elbows resting on my knees. I came to the archives to find answers, not more questions.
Did I want to avenge Felix? Absolutely.
Was I angry at Val? Most definitely.
Was there a part of me that longed for him? Unfortunately.
Lumbering to my feet, I lamely snapped more pictures of the room, the windows, and the chairs. The chill of the metal door seeped into my ear as I strained to hear anyone lurking beyond. After a moment, I left the room with not a speck more evidence than I had going into it.
thirty
AMANTHA
Irushed about my studio apartment, snatching my things before skidding to a stop in front of the mirror. Kate had done it again.
A blue velvet gown enveloped my torso and bare shoulders like a lush ribbon. The gown’s sweetheart neckline dropped suggestively, dipping between the sculptured corset squeezing my abdomen. Lifting one arm in the mirror, I wondered why the limp sleeves had been attached in the first place, since they draped uselessly around my upper arms. While I didfeelpretty, what I couldn’t feel was my ribcage. The corset’s boning pressed in like prison bars. No matter what my ribs had done to deserve such treatment, this definitely wasn’t justified.
I clutched a toe-crushing heel, trying to balance as I shoved it on my foot. Thankfully, a slit in the gown opened a few inches above my knee, allowing for more movement. I straightened the sapphire choker shimmering against my throat.
Lance Stirling’s soirée would start in just over an hour. I needed to get there—now—to ensure the caterers were ready and to set up the auction tables. I suddenly groaned.
The tables!I had forgotten to mention them to Rick. Twotables needed to be stationed near the entrance of the Bloomburg wing to facilitate the silent auction process.
I sent a text to Kate, who would also be arriving early.
AMANTHA: Hey! I’m a complete idiot and forgot about the auction tables. If you get there before me, can you tell Rick Petersen or Blythe? I’ll grab some extra linens for them.
