“The kind of thief who did just that. What are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to take the paintings down to the station and turn them over to the chief. He can reopen the investigation.”
“You’ll be part of that investigation,” she pointed out. “You’re in possession of the stolen paintings.”
“Maybe this time you can take the stand and testify against me. Think how great that would feel,” he said sarcastically. He released the blocks and rolled the paintings back up.
“Jason, that wouldn’t feel great.”
He gazed back at her, his face a cold, hard mask. Now he looked like the ruthless cop who’d taken the stand and testified against Derek. At the time, she’d thought it was ambition that had made him look so determined, but it wasn’t that then or now—it was pain. She’d hurt him with her doubts. But there was no way to take them back.
“Do you want to come with me to the station?” he asked.
“I’ll let you do that on your own,” she said quietly. She’d finally found the paintings, but she still didn’t know the truth.
Brianna awoke tired on Monday morning, exhausted from endless nightmarish questions that had plagued her dreams, her mind conjuring up every possible scenario for how the paintings could have ended up in Jason’s garage. None of them made sense.
Putting her focus on the present, she got Lucas dressed and out the door for his first day of preschool. He was so excited to be going to school with his best friend, Kyle, that he had no problem leaving her at the door of the classroom with a quick wave and a hug.
After dropping him off, she drove to the police station. Joe Silveira had called her earlier that morning, asking her to come in, and she wondered if Jason would be there, too. As she left her car, she zipped up her jacket, thankful she’d thrown on a heavier sweater. Storm clouds were brewing over the bay, and a cold wind was blowing through town. Change was definitely in the air—a big change for her.
She didn’t know how the paintings had gotten into Jason’s garage, but at least she had something new to work with.
Upon entering the station, she was surprised to see Wyatt Kane and the Markhams. They weren’t giving away much by their expressions, but Brianna could feel the barely suppressed excitement in the room. A few minutes later, they were ushered into a conference room. On the long rectangular table were the three paintings, unrolled and anchored by paperweights and books. Joe Silveira and Jason stood at either end of the table.
“Thanks for coming,” Joe said. “As I told each of you on the phone, these paintings were discovered late last night, and I want to make sure that they are, in fact, the paintings that were hanging in the museum five years ago.”
Wyatt, Gloria, and Steve crowded around the table. The three art experts studied the minute details of the paintings through magnifying glasses. Brianna found her gaze drifting away from the paintings to Jason. She couldn’t read his mood, except that he was tense and not interested in looking at her. Joe Silveira’s expression was guarded as well.
The minutes ticked by as Gloria, Steve, and Wyatt exchanged a few descriptive sentences about brushstrokes and paint thickness and other technical terms.
“Excellent,” Wyatt said finally, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. He stepped back from the paintings, and a silent look passed among the three of them. “Excellent copies,” Wyatt finished.
Jason started. “What are you talking about?”
“These are fakes,” Wyatt proclaimed.
“Very good fakes,” Steve Markham added.
“How can you be sure?” Brianna asked, shocked. “They look exactly like the photographs. The signature is the same.” She turned to Gloria, whose gaze was still focused on the pictures. “Gloria?”
The older woman nodded her head. “Wyatt is correct. These were painted by a talented forger, not by Victor Delgado.”
“Someone want to explain how you know that?” Joe cut in. “I thought we might have to do some forensic testing.”
“You suspected these were fakes?” Jason asked the chief.
“Let’s just say I was keeping an open mind.”
“This mark.” Wyatt pointed to a spot in the lower left-hand corner of the painting that depicted Eve’s last moments—the stormy sea, the ship breaking apart, her outstretched hands. “It’s the artist’s mark. He couldn’t allow himself to complete the painting without leaving some evidence of his own brilliance. That was his one and only mistake.”
Gloria sat down abruptly, her face pale. “It’s not possible,” she muttered.
“It’s obvious,” Steve told his wife.
“Not to me,” Brianna interrupted. “What are you all talking about?”
“This swirl of paint and this one,” Wyatt continued. “They’re not part of the original paintings. You have the photographs, yes?”
Joe opened the file on the table and pulled out the pictures.
Wyatt put one of the pictures next to the painting, then offered his magnifying glass to Joe.
There was a very faint difference, Brianna thought when she got her turn with the glass, although she still had doubts. “Are you sure it’s not just the texture of the oil compared with a photograph?”
“Absolutely sure,” Wyatt said.
There was something in his expression that she didn’t understand, a mixture of anger and . . . pride? Her heart sank. “You know who forged these paintings, don’t you?” She willed him not to say the name on the tip of her tongue, but her wish was in vain.
“Derek,” Wyatt said.
She couldn’t breathe for a second.
“This is Derek’s work?” Jason asked, stepping closer to the table. “He painted these fakes? And that mark is supposed to be his signature?”
“His initials, D and K,” Gloria mumbled, looking shattered.
“He practiced them on all of his art,” Steve added. “He wanted his signature to become part of the painting, so he worked hard to make the initials look like brushstrokes.”
“You said he wasn’t a good artist,” Brianna told Wyatt. “Now you’re telling me that Derek was able to paint The Three Faces of Eve to such perfection that the only thing separating the fakes from the real paintings are his own carefully crafted initials? How is that possible?”
“Derek was very good at copying. It was originality that escaped him,” Wyatt said bitingly. “He couldn’t produce anything on his own. He could only take what was great and replicate it. He was just a hack.”
Brianna turned to Joe. “What do you think?”
“We need to have a thorough appraisal conducted by an independent party,” Joe replied.
“Where did you find the paintings?” Gloria asked the chief.
“I’m not at liberty to say at the moment.”
Was he protecting Jason, or did he not want to compromise the investigation?
Brianna thought about Derek’s final words to her—that he hadn’t stolen the paintings but wasn’t completely innocent, either. Had he been referring to the fact that he’d produced copies of the paintings?
“Why would Derek have done this?” she asked aloud. “Why would he have made these fakes?”
For a moment, no one answered, and then Wyatt said, “Derek must have meant to switch the forgeries with the originals, so that no one would realize they were missing—at least, not right away.”
“When the security guard interrupted him, he didn’t have time to make the switch,” Steve added.
“There’s no other possible explanation?” Brianna asked. “There’s no one else besides Derek who could have taken the paintings?” She’d been defending Derek for so long it was difficult to stop. But even if Derek hadn’t stolen the paintings himself, he’d known someone wanted them. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have painted the fakes.
“Derek wanted to prove something to you, Wyatt,” Gloria said wearily. “He wanted you to know these were his, that he was better than you thought. If he hadn’t tried to show you that
, these copies would have been perfect, and you would never have known.”
“They would still have been copies,” Wyatt said harshly. “A true artist creates his own art, something that’s real, something that matters. He doesn’t knock off someone else’s work.”
Brianna could only imagine how Derek must have felt to know that his grandfather thought so little of him. But what she couldn’t imagine was Derek working so diligently on forgeries. He would have had to have been painting them during the time they’d been together, yet he’d never spoken of it. She’d never seen any trace of paint at his town house. He’d done it all in secret.
What else had he done in secret?
Anger ran through her, blinding her with impotent rage. Seeing the pity in the others’ eyes made her even more furious. She ran from the room. How stupid she was to have put her trust, her love, her loyalty in a man who’d been as phony as his paintings.
SEVENTEEN
Jason wanted to go after Brianna, but he was too stunned to move. He’d truly believed the paintings were the originals.
As Joe ushered Wyatt and the Markhams out of the room, Jason moved around the table to take another look at the art. The paintings were beautiful—the colors, the detail, the light. Derek had been brilliant.
Had he created the fakes to get back at his grandfather? Was that the master plan—steal the paintings his grandfather loved the most and replace them with fakes? Derek would have loved having that kind of secret. He would have finally gotten the best of his grandfather. Knowing about the blood tie between the Kanes and Victor Delgado would have made his revenge even sweeter.
Joe returned to the room. “I have some personal business to attend to, but I’ll be back this afternoon. I’ve asked Betty to set up an independent appraisal.”
“You don’t trust Wyatt Kane or the Markhams?” Jason asked.
“Do you?” Joe countered. “I don’t think our skilled forger could have made fakes this good without some help.”
“I agree. Derek would have needed time and access to the paintings. They were kept in the Markham Gallery for several weeks before the official donation to the museum.”
“And all three of our art experts knew about Derek’s talent. Who else would have had that knowledge?”
“Possibly Katherine Markham. She works at the gallery—hell, maybe all of the local artists knew Derek’s skill in that area. He was a big part of the art scene, growing up here. I questioned a lot of people during the investigation, but forgery was never a consideration.” Jason shook his head, anger and disappointment in himself leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “I didn’t ask the right questions. I might have solved part of the crime but not all of it. And there’s a chance now that Derek really didn’t take the paintings. He could have been set up by someone else to take the fall, just like he said.”
“Before you drown in guilt,” Joe said sharply, “let’s not forget the forgeries. Your old pal was in the thick of this, even if he didn’t do it by himself.”
“Right.” Jason gave himself a mental shake. Whatever Derek had done, he’d done it with his eyes open.
“So let’s find out who he was working with. Start with Wyatt Kane and the Markhams.”
“There’s a possibility Wyatt Kane actually shares a bloodline with Victor Delgado. Brianna found some letters in Derek’s things that weren’t definitive but suggested a connection. I was going to follow up that angle, but then the paintings appeared.”
“In your house,” Joe said. “You’re in the thick of this, too, Marlow. Let’s get some answers.”
“I thought you wanted me off this case.”
“Since these are fakes and you’re no longer in possession of stolen property, you’re back on and, I’m assuming, highly motivated. Check with me before you make any big moves.” Joe paused in the doorway. “If one of our three art experts was part of a double-cross with Derek, then the other two might already be figuring that out. Someone might make a move. You’ve got to get there first.”
“I will,” Jason promised, but he had no idea how he would do that. He gazed at the paintings for a long minute, his mind racing through what he now knew.
Derek had forged the paintings. That was clear, but what else? Had he broken into the museum, assaulted the security guard, and stolen the originals? If he had done that, why hadn’t he inserted the fakes in their place? No time?
Or had something else happened? Had someone gotten there before him?
Was it possible Derek didn’t know who had set him up? Or had one of his friends stabbed him in the back—the same friend who had let him sit in a prison cell for five years? That didn’t sound like friendship, more like revenge.
Maybe he’d finally come up with the right question: Who would have wanted Derek to suffer?
The paintings were fakes. Her husband was a forger. The thoughts filled Brianna’s head as she drove home.
Derek had to have known the paintings were going to be stolen from the museum, either by himself or by someone else. He wouldn’t have made copies for any other reason than that they would be used in a cover-up or passed along as the real thing. That was why he’d said he wasn’t completely innocent. Why hadn’t he taken his partner down with him? Because he was protecting her and Lucas? Or was he protecting himself ? Had he remained quiet because he had other secrets to keep?
Nausea rolled through her stomach. What else could he possibly have been hiding?
She was almost sorry they’d found the forgeries. If they were still hidden away, she wouldn’t be facing new and disturbing revelations about her husband. But her eyes were finally all the way open. She would get the truth, and she would face it. She would protect Lucas as much as she could.
The Kanes were another story. The news of the forgeries would spread across Angel’s Bay like wildfire, and she had to tell them before someone else did. Only one thing worried her more than telling them about the fake paintings: the idea that they might already know. She didn’t think she could handle learning that they’d lied to her, too.
She glanced at her watch as she pulled up in front of the Kanes’ house. Lucas would be at preschool for another hour, thank goodness. By then, maybe she could get a handle on what needed to happen next.
Rick was in the driveway, checking the oil in his car. He gave her a friendly wave, but his smile dimmed as she marched across the lawn.
“What’s wrong, Brianna?” He wiped his hands on a rag.
“I need to speak to you and Nancy.”
“It’s not Lucas, is it?”
“No, it’s Derek. It’s always Derek, isn’t it?” she asked somewhat wearily.
“Nancy is in the house.”
“Good, because I can’t do this twice.” She followed him up the steps and into the kitchen, where Nancy was making cookies. The room was warm and smelled like chocolate. Nancy had a peaceful, happy expression on her face; that wouldn’t last long.
“Hi, Brianna,” she said happily. “I’m making Lucas his favorite cookies for his first day of school. I hope he’ll like them.” She stopped abruptly, taking in the mood in the room. “Oh, dear. Something has happened.”
“Brianna has some news about Derek,” Rick said.
Nancy turned her gaze on Brianna, waiting and obviously worrying.
Brianna wasn’t quite sure where to start. The Kanes were innocent victims, too. At least, she hoped they were; she loved them so much. But their total devotion to Derek had never been a secret. They’d wanted their boy to have everything. How far would they have gone to ensure that?
“Brianna, please, whatever you have to say, say it,” Nancy implored. “I’m imagining the worst.”
“What would that even be?” she asked helplessly.
“You’re right. The worst happened when Derek died,” Nancy replied. “So whatever this is can’t be that bad.”
“Last night, I thought I found the paintings, The Three Faces of Eve,” she said, the words finally getting past her lips.
Nancy’s gasp of surprise seemed genuine. She reached out a hand to the kitchen counter to steady herself. Rick moved next to her and took her hand in his.
“But this morning, Wyatt and the Markhams said the paintings were expert forgeries,” Brianna continued. “They said that Derek painted them, that he’d left his signature.”
“I don’t understand,” Rick said in confusion. “There are fake paintings now?”
“Yes, but they were so cleverly done they could have passed as the originals if Derek hadn’t decided to leave his mark on them.”
“You can’t believe anything Wyatt says,” Nancy interjected. “He was jealous of Derek’s talent. He couldn’t bear that his grandson was a better artist than him.” She shot her husband a quick glance. “I’m sorry, Rick. I know he’s your father, but it’s true.”
Rick’s jaw tightened. “I still don’t understand why Derek would paint fakes.”
“To swap them for the originals during the robbery,” Brianna explained. “Everyone seems to think that Derek was interrupted before he could do so.” She paused for a moment, taking in their mystified expressions. “Derek wouldn’t have made the copies if he didn’t plan to use them.”
“He could have just done it for fun. He liked to copy art. He was good at it,” Nancy said. “What’s the harm?”
“It’s fraud,” Rick said flatly.
“Only if you try to sell them,” Nancy said. “Brianna, you’re not losing faith in Derek, are you?”
Nancy’s words cut to the core and made Brianna’s heart ache, because she wasn’t losing faith—she’d already lost it.
“He never told me anything about his art, Nancy. He never showed me that part of his life. Yet, I know now that Derek had to have painted those fakes when we were together.” She took a breath. “He had a secret life that he didn’t share with me.”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to judge him. When he was a small boy, he wouldn’t show me his art, either. He’d get embarrassed and hide it away.”
“Stop making excuses for him,” Rick said sharply. “Let the girl talk. What else, Brianna? There’s more, isn’t there?”
In Shelter Cove (Angel's Bay) Page 23