Page 114 of Fresh Canvas
The assumption only twisted the ice impaling my chest. According to her, Kendra and I had stolen a Cormac Padraig. I screwed my eyes shut.
“Rick’s closet, back shelf, toilet paper box?” The absurd string of information didn’t make any more sense out loud.
A desperate need to clear my name suddenly surged through me. Before my brain could catch up, I grabbed my jacket, withdrew my keycard, and stalked toward the museum.
Amantha had every right to think the truth about me. Iwasheartless. Iwassadistic.
But I’d be damned before I’d let her believe I was a liar.
thirty-two
VAL
Ididn’t want to risk running into any lingering guests from the soirée, so I used an alternate entrance near the loading docks. My keycard scan would be recorded, but those keycard logs had been so jumbled, I’d be shocked if anyone noticed.
Pain lanced my chest as the lightbulb in Rick’s closet flickered to life. I made a mental note to check with my doctor. Surely bones weren’t supposed to ache like this. Ignoring the memory of Amantha’s lips on mine, I toggled my phone’s flashlight and approached the back shelf.
“Toilet paper box...” I stooped and removed the large box from the shelf, freezing as a roll of canvas revealed itself. My mind sped off like a racehorse without a finish line.
What was it doing here? Had someone tried to steal it, and failed? More so,whywas it still here?
Despite my shock, my professional brain kicked in. I stood, located a box filled with nitrile gloves, fitted them over my large hands, and extracted the canvas.
It was a Cormac Padraig, just like Amantha had said.
Waves spilled and crashed against the Irish Cliffs of Moher, the lush green countryside spanning the length of the canvas.
I gawked down at it.
Someonehad committed a plethora of crimes, beginning with thievery and ending with reckless abandonment.
Anger churned in my belly at the injustice of it all. And why steal it only to ditch it in a closet? Was the thief really that stupid? Or did they just suck at thieving altogether?
I pictured Amantha finding this only hours ago, and my stomach dropped. Had she touched it with her bare hands? If she had, and I turned the painting in to the authorities, it was only a matter of time until she’d be implicated.
Not on my watch.
No, I’d get to the bottom of this. For her. To marginally atone for even a fraction of the pain I’d caused her.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. It was going to be a very long night.
After removing the enormous rolls of toilet paper from the cardboard box, I placed them on the dusty shelf. Then I eased the priceless canvas inside, taking care not to jostle the edges. The Cormac Padraig seemed to be in rough shape, but I didn’t know how extensive the damage was, nor did I know what a murky closet could do over time. To do so, I’d need to cash in another favor with my authentication friend from college. Checking my watch, I groaned before making the call.
“Hey, man. So sorry to ask this on a Friday night, but I could really use your help.”
Two hours later, I said goodbye to my bewildered colleague and stepped back into the service elevator. Examining a battered masterpiece in my open office had felt too risky, despite it being well past midnight. So, I pressed the button for the sublevel and returned to the archives in silence.
Typing the date onto the glowing blue keypad, I reopened the door. The Cormac Padraig was still on the work table, just as we had left it.
No.I corrected myself. TheforgedCormac Padraig was still where we had left it.
Another forgery.
Even though it had seemed so real, I trusted my colleague. The guy had been top of our class in college, and the assortment of tests he had run left no doubt.
I ran a hand through my disheveled hair. I almost felt stupid for even being surprised.
Whoever was involved with Lake Attersee was undoubtedly involved with the Cormac Padraig. Because the chances oftwogroups of thieves working independently from each other and failing was too idiotic for my brain to comprehend.
