Page 127 of Fresh Canvas
I giggled and clicked a second link.
It seemed Barbara was still working as a freelance curator, distributing her talents to museums all over the nation. Her nextcollection would be featured at a prestigious museum in New York.
I wasn’t surprised in the least. Barbara had a hunger for success unlike any other. With her help and connections, she’d make an excellent networking contact for my new career. I clicked on another video.
My mentor sat behind a shining grand piano, soft music flowing from her fingertips. I was stunned. I hadn’t known Barbara even played. The song ended as Barbara began talking about her newest philanthropic effort—a charity that educated the underprivileged through music.
That’s beautiful.
I replayed the video, fascinated by the notes blending seamlessly together. Toggling the video dimensions, I zoomed in on Barbara’s clever fingers. Their speed and agility was mesmerizing. I started to zoom out, then paused.
The lid of the grand piano she played on was anchored open, likely for acoustics. On the wall behind it, a sleek black frame hung slightly concealed. Between the edge of the frame and the open piano lid, an almost imperceptible water lily sat upon cerulean waters.
And though it was difficult to make out, the petals seemed to bepreciselythe shade of whipped butter.
thirty-six
AMANTHA
Unexpected tears burned in my horrified eyes.
“That’s my water lily,” I whispered.
I didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Barbara had been my idol. My mentor. She had picked up my rough-hewn skills and polished them. I owed my entire career to this woman.
Surely this was all coincidence. Barbara must own a convincing reproduction of the piece, that’s all. I chewed the inside of my cheek, mind racing.
But Barbara’s timeline alone was incriminating.
“Barbara hasn’t worked here in over two years.”
Two years. Roughly the same time Lake Attersee was archived. The timing of the software update. The date on the condition report. My trembling hand flew to my mouth. Barbarahadaccessed the storage rooms that week. I recalled seeing her name among the jumbled keycard logs.
Sure, Barbara had approached her career with a competitive nature. She wasn’t opposed to cutting corners, but did that make her a criminal? She was cutthroat, but did that make her a thief?
I thought about the lawsuit Barbara had been facing when Imet Ryan. Were her morals really that gray? Horror turned my mind in a new direction.
This video just exonerated Val.
I had thrown him under the bus with not a speck of evidence. Now, I wanted to beg the bus to reverse as I lay down behind it. I had jumped to conclusions and unleashed my inner demons, and for what? To yell at Ryan? To appease my bruised ego? Val didn’t deserve that.He deserved an apology.
Indecision warred between my morals and my pride. Although I had wished every night that Val would show up on my doorstep and beg for forgiveness, I hadn’t even been sure if I could give it. The same went for the apology I now owed him.
Not knowing what else to do, I took a screenshot of the pixelated water lily. Another lead, another subpar piece of evidence—if I could even call it that.
What was I supposed to do, call the police? I cringed at the insanity of it.
“Hi, Officer! My ex-boyfriend and I found a forged painting,and a botched robbery of another that was left in a closet! Oh, and I have blurry pictures to prove it!”
They would immediately swap my orange jumpsuit for a straight jacket.
I screwed my eyes shut in concentration.
Wouldn’t the police require a firmer piece of evidence before they got involved? Surely they wouldn’t start an investigation over a weak insinuation and a pixelated image.
I cracked my knuckles and placed my fingers on the keyboard.
“Don’t you worry, Felix,” I said.
