Signature of a Soul

by Riona Kelly

  They found a little café a short distance from the plaza that sold sandwiches along with a little fruit cup, so they sat at an outdoor table and ate. Lindy checked her GPS to locate the art district, which she was anxious to visit. However, right next to the plaza was the Lisbon Art Museum, and they couldn’t pass that up, could they?

  A little over two hours later, they left the museum and headed several blocks over to the main street of artists. Not quite like the sales street in Spain where you could find many little street shops, this one had a few galleries and some individual artists living in the area. The buildings were like many old city ones with three or four stories of apartments above the shops that rose over the narrow streets. It seemed very dark in the afternoon, even though several hours of light remained in the summer day.

  Lindy gazed at the graffiti on many of the storefronts, some of it artistic and some not. Some looked like protests or political statements, and some were just nasty. She watched Michelle’s eyes grow wider as they picked up their pace to a gallery just ahead. Michelle stayed close to her, and she felt that at any moment, her niece might actually reach for her hand like a little girl.

  She opened the gallery door, ushering Michelle in and pulling it closed behind her, then a sense of relief filled her. The scent of oil paints and a sweet wine reminded her of art studios in Paris. Inside, the store was small and somewhat cramped with three rows of three tables set up in the middle to make aisles. Canvases tilted back against easels along each row, and the walls around the room featured two rows of large paintings. A friendly-looking woman greeted them and invited them to look around with a wave of her hand.

  Giving her an acknowledging nod, Lindy went to the left side and began walking down the path between the end row of tables and the wall, taking time to look at each painting and assess the talent of the artist. She automatically glanced at the signature in the corner, looking for any that she might recognize, but all on that row were unknown to her. A large number of them were street scenes and tourist spots around Lisbon that were aimed at tourists. She doubted they sold many to foreigners in this area of town. Michelle tagged along behind her, reluctant to get separated in any way.

  She turned and ambled up the next row, eyes roaming from one row of easels to the other. She spotted one painting that was signed by a name that was clearly neither Spanish nor Portuguese, but other than that, the artists all seemed to come from this area. The last row yielded more of the same, and she didn’t see the signature she was looking to find. She thanked the woman in her not-so-good Portuguese, and they left the shop, continuing on down the road.

  Another shop came up on the right, and she looked in, then decided that the dark, Satanic-looking images were not what she had in mind and backed out of the entry, nearly bumping into Michelle. A little farther down, she spotted the street sign she was looking for then turned onto an even narrower street. Ahead of them, one of the buildings connected to another on the other side with an arch over the road that provided more living space to one or both of the residents. Just in front of that building, Lindy saw a hand-lettered sign that read De Sintra. She took a deep breath. Maybe they were about to get some answers.

  She turned to Michelle and said, “This is the studio of Pablo de Sintra. He should have a few paintings on display, but we need to be casual about this. Don’t ask any questions or make any comments while we’re in there. If a painting looks similar to Roberto’s, note it, but keep it to yourself until we leave.”

  “Do you think he’s copying Roberto’s work then?” Michelle asked in a low voice.

  “I think it’s one possibility. Just don’t give any indication that something isn’t right. If something is going on, something illegal, we don’t want anyone in this shop to know. Can you do that?”

  “Of course,” Michelle replied. “I’m an actress.”

  “Right,” Lindy drawled out and opened the door to the studio.

  Darker inside than she had expected, the walls bore a few paintings, and an easel with a partially completed work sat at the back of the room. A door at the back led to private quarters and the facilities. A middle-aged woman, sitting at a table to the right side, worked on embroidery and barely glanced up at them when they walked in. Three other floor easels sat along the left side of the room; each displayed a painting.

  Lindy gravitated that way and paused before the first painting. The style differed from Roberto’s and didn’t seem like de Sintra’s either. The overall images were not proportioned well, the colors a little muddy, and the strokes entirely wrong. It was not signed, but it didn’t strike her as a professional painting. Perhaps de Sintra held workshops.

  She moved to the next painting and examined it. Clearly a work in progress, the basic image was partially painted. It resembled one of those popular wine and painting parties where an instructor guided people through a simple design. Also not signed, she noted. As she moved to the next easel, Michelle touched her arm and pointed to a painting on the back wall.

  Lindy nodded, cast a cursory glance over the third amateur canvas, and moved toward the one Michelle had spotted. Her niece followed behind her as she came close to it. Yes, this one looked like Roberto’s work – and de Sintra’s. She lowered her eyes to the signature at the bottom and recognized it as the same as the one at Marchant’s house. She studied it, noticing a bit of a moist glisten in the paint. Painted recently, while the rest of the canvas was dry. So, presumably, de Sintra had signed it after the paint dried. Unusual. She studied the signature for a minute or so.

  She also noticed Michelle staring intently at the painting, studying every detail. She stepped away and addressed the woman at the table, asking in Spanish, “¿Es esta pintura de Señor de Sintra?”

  The woman raised her tired-looking brown eyes up long enough to glance at the canvas Lindy pointed to and said, “Si.”

  “Es muy bonito. ¿Cuánto cuesta?” she asked. It’s beautiful. How much is it? She figured she might buy it for evidence if her hunch was right.

  “Desculpa. Já está vendido.” The woman shook her head. Already sold, Lindy interpreted the Portuguese.

  “That’s too bad. I really like it.” She smiled and turned her attention back to the paintings on the wall while the woman went back to her embroidery.

  Lindy stepped in front of Michelle, blocking the woman’s view of the painting and whispered to her niece to take a photo with her camera phone, no flash. Done, she moved to another canvas on the wall and checked the signature. Also by de Sintra and another with the same warm style, detailing, and colors so common in Roberto’s paintings. She looked at the signature area and thought she detected something unusual. The next painting was also one of de Sintra’s and followed along the same lines.

  She turned back again to the woman at the table. “¿Se venden estas dos imágenes también?” Are these sold also?

  Again, she raised her head and nodded.

  “¿Está el pintor en este estudio?” Lindy asked if the painter was in the shop.

  “Não. Ele estará amanhã. Volte.”

  Lindy puzzled over her reply for a moment before realizing what she’d said. Volte ... was that like vuelve? Return? “Oh, he’ll be in tomorrow,” she said as she connected. “Obrigado.” Thanks had been one of the first words she had learned in Portuguese. “Come on, Michelle. We’ll need to come back tomorrow to see the artist.”

  Glancing again at the painting on the back wall, Michelle paused a half minute more, then followed Lindy outside.

  As soon as they were away from the shop, Michelle grabbed her left arm and pulled her closer, then whispered, “That was Roberto’s painting!”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m positive. It’s the one stolen the other night. I watched him finish it.”

  “Don’t say anything else until we’re well away from here. You never know when the walls have ears in these narrow places.” Lindy kept her voice low and guided them back to the cross street leading to a tram st
op.

  She had been certain something shady was going on, but given this evidence, it seemed it was more than she had expected. De Sintra wasn’t copying paintings; he was buying them, changing the signatures, and selling them as his own. She wanted to check the dates on his first sales versus the dates Roberto started selling his private commission paintings, and she bet they would match up.

  Chapter 19

  “So, what do we do next?” Michelle asked her aunt as soon as they were back in their hotel room where, presumably, it was safe to discuss the situation. “Is this guy copying Roberto’s paintings or what?”

  Lindy dropped into the chair by the window and slipped off her walking shoes. “No, my dear. I think he’s stealing his paintings and putting his name on them. I can’t be sure, but a couple of things indicate it’s a possibility apart from the fact you recognized a painting he wouldn’t have had time or access to copy.”

  “The most recent one. But the other two you looked at seemed to be from the same artist.” Michelle stretched one leg out on the bed and leaned back into the pillows. “Would it be possible for him to duplicate his style? Why would he do it? What would be the value of copying an unknown street artist from Marbella?”

  “I don’t have all the answers, and Colin is checking out the hunch I have. He has a friend who is analyzing the actual strokes and paints on a canvas of Roberto’s and one of de Sintra’s. I think he will find they’re the same. An artist has a unique style with a brush, not just with the colors, form, lighting, and blending of the paint on the canvas. This combination can be duplicated by another artist to some extent, but no one can be one hundred percent the same. Combined together, these elements are the signature of a soul. A talented art expert can look at a painting by a master and tell you who painted it without ever seeing the name scratched on it.”

  Lindy held out her hand. “Let me see the photo you took. It may not be light enough to see well, but if I can get it enhanced, it might show what I think I saw.”

  “Which is?” Michelle asked as she handed over her phone.

  “Recent paint in the signature on the canvas. The rest of it was dry, but not that.” Lindy called up the image, studied it a few moments, enlarging it a little with her finger. “It’s pretty dark, but maybe...” She keyed in something, and Michelle heard the familiar beep as it connected to a line.

  Satisfied, Lindy handed it back to her, then picked up her phone and opened an incoming message. “I’m going to send it on to Colin. Why don’t you send it to Roberto and ask him if this is his missing canvas, just to verify it?”

  While Lindy mailed it to Colin, Michelle sent a quick note to Roberto telling him they’d spotted it today in Lisbon, and was it the same painting? She was pretty sure she’d hear back from him soon, but she decided to scurry down the hall to get ice and a couple of sodas from the machine.

  When she came back, she found Lindy had changed into a lounging dress and was rubbing cream on her aching feet. She glanced up and saw the drinks. “Thanks, sweetie. Although I might rather have had room service from the bar. I could use a good, stiff drink tonight.”

  “Want me to call for one?” Michelle set the ice bucket down and filled a glass, then poured soda into it for herself. She glanced at her phone and saw a text message had come in from Roberto. It was brief: Yes. Where is it?

  “Roberto confirms it was his. He wants to know where we found it. Shall I tell him?”

  “No, not yet. I don’t want him to get too upset about this until we know more. Once I have the whole story and talk to Colin, then we can decide what to do about it. I can’t go accusing a man of theft and illegally selling a painting as his own without more proof. I wonder if Marchant has any idea his painter from Sintra is a phony.”

  Michelle nodded, wondering the same thing herself. How could he just accept all those paintings were done by this artist who suddenly appeared on the scene? She needed to talk to Roberto without her aunt around. She took a sip of her drink, then dug into her purse as if she was looking for something.

  “Oh darn it, I seem to have used the last of my lip balm. I’m going to go down to the gift shop before it closes to get another tube. Do you want anything, Aunt Lindy?” She hopped to her feet as she asked.

  “No, I’m fine... On second thought. If they have one of those little bottles of wine, then pick up one of those. I think you’re legal in Portugal. If not, then I’ll call for room service.”

  “White?” Michelle asked, waited for the nod, then went out the door.

  Once she was in the lobby, Michelle went to one of the nooks set up with matching loveseats facing each other, pulled out her phone, and called Roberto. She wanted to talk to him directly, not just texting. A smile touched her lips as he answered.

  After a few moments of greetings and saying how much they missed each other, she got down to business. “Listen, I think my aunt suspects something illegal with the paintings. I can’t tell you everything. She doesn’t want to go into detail until she knows more, but I wanted you to know something weird is definitely going on.”

  “It has to be my painting, Michelle. You saw it. You recognized it, yes?”

  “Of course, I did. I watched you paint it. I have no doubt about it, and I told my aunt as much. She said Colin is doing some checking for her.”

  “I have to come there,” he said, his voice dropping into something determined and serious.

  “Wait a bit. When we know something, I’ll call you, then you can come.”

  “All right... Carita, I miss seeing you. Today, I started a painting with you in the garden. It will be amazing.” His voice softened as he said this, and her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.

  “I can’t wait to see it.” Even as she said it, she wondered if she’d get the opportunity. She sucked in a breath. “Talk to you as soon as I know more. Miss you too.”

  She ended the call and hurried to the shop to get the lip balm and wine. While she was at it, she grabbed a package of cookies and an English movie magazine with Kit Harrington on the cover.

  Chapter 20

  As soon as Michelle had left the room, Lindy pulled out her tablet and began making notes, looking up timelines, and piecing the puzzle together. She felt certain de Sintra bought Roberto’s paintings either through a middleman or through Arturo. Since Arturo shipped the paintings rather than delivering them in person, she was pretty sure he’d never met either de Sintra or the middleman.

  Once the painter had the canvas, he removed Roberto’s signature, touched up the painting there, and signed his own name larger than Roberto’s so any flaws from the process would be obscured by the new signature. She’d wondered why he signed with such a large flourish, and now she knew.

  Figuring no one would ever connect his work with an obscure street artist in a tourist city, he could market the paintings as his own without anyone suspecting. Certainly not the likes of Marchant, who was a dealer, but no expert. With this much figured out, she placed a call to a friend in New York. She glanced at the time and felt certain she could catch Stephanie at work.

  When she picked up, Lindy greeted her with the usual banter, gave her a quick rundown on where she was, and what she was doing, then got to the meat of the call, explaining the situation with Roberto. “Here’s the deal, Stephie. I believe there’s fraud being committed on the part of de Sintra. Can you find out everything you can about him? I can get basic information on the internet, but I know you have other sources. His work is being marketed through a gallery in Paris owned by Alain Marchant, who also wants to market some of my works.”

  “Of course, I can look into it. I’ll get back to you when I have something, but it may not be until the morning. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, fine. I don’t know what I can do about this from here, but if I can prove anything, then I can take it to the police in Spain or maybe here in Portugal.”

  “This might even be an Interpol case,” Stephanie said. “Is there a separate Euro police for
ce these days?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it any thought before now,” Lindy laughed, then she heard Michelle at the door. “Thanks for doing this. I’ll let you go now.” She ended the call as soon as Michelle stepped through the door.

  “Was that Colin?” her niece asked.

  “What?” She glanced at the phone, still in her hand. “No, I was checking on something. I see you got the wine and some other things.”

  “Yes, they have English magazines, and I thought I’d see who and what was hot in film in the UK. Starts out with a pretty good cover.” She flashed the front of the magazine toward Lindy, then let out an exasperated sigh when Lindy didn’t recognize the actor. “I forgot. No Game of Thrones background, so you wouldn’t know Jon Snow.”

  Lindy shrugged her shoulders. Was he an actor in the show? Maybe she should pay more attention to the television trends.

  Michelle dropped her ‘zine on the bed as she handed the wine to Lindy. She held up the rolled bag of Galletas Maria cookies. “I also bought cookies, crunchy ones. They look pretty good. I think they’re like shortbread.”

  “They’d go better with cocoa than wine,” Lindy said. “Why don’t we go for dinner, and you can save those for dessert?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Did you talk to Roberto?” Lindy asked and watched as Michelle’s hand hesitated a moment before she set the cookies down.

  “Yes, just a couple of minutes. I thought it would be better than texting, and it was. He’s positive the painting is his. He’s hopping mad about it. He said he wanted to come here, but I told him to wait until we had more information.”