“Sleep tight.” Sonia shifted in her chair. No point in going to bed just yet. She wouldn’t sleep. She headed for the kitchen. Maybe baking brownies would calm her down. The simple task wouldn’t keep her up much longer. An hour later, she removed the pan from the oven. She cut a small wedge and carried it into her bedroom, ready to take out her prayer journal until dawn’s early light broke in the east. In the end, her prayer centered on a single image, Ty kneeling before the cross.
❧
“So now you have no idea who this Kent guy sold the pieces to?” Should I have spoken up earlier? Sonia didn’t get a moment alone with Ty until Sunday afternoon, when she caught a ride with him to the castle after church.
Ty’s hands gripped the steering wheel. “No. I asked, but he wouldn’t say. Offered me money instead.” He rubbed the smooth surface like his worry stone. “I didn’t take it, if you’re wondering.”
Sonia grabbed onto that ray of hope. First her paintings were stolen. Then she thought she had found them. Now they were lost again. She reminded herself that peace came from the Lord and not her circumstances. “What do you plan to do next?”
The tortured look on Ty’s face tore a hole in Sonia’s heart. “I don’t know. What can I do?”
“Tell Joe.” So far, hiding the truth had brought them nothing but pain and hardship.
“I would, if I thought it would make a difference. At least, I think I would.” Ty’s laugh sounded forced. “But what good would it do? The insurance company has already paid him. His store is thriving.” He shrugged. “It might help me if I confess, but I don’t see that it helps anyone else.”
“Oh, Ty. You still want to be the knight that rides in and saves the day, don’t you?”
Eleven
“Is saving the day like a knight of old such a terrible thing? I have an aunt who lives in a castle. My dream seems tame compared to that.” Ty parked the car in the castle drive.
Sonia didn’t open the door. “You’re trying to change yourself on the outside, but it won’t work that way. Only in Christ can you be that shining new man—a change that happens from the inside out.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you keep saying.” Ty shook his head. “But it’s not for me. Even if God could forgive me, I’ve hurt too many people.” He looked at Sonia, and she said a quick prayer. “What I want to do is to find out who has the stuff and try to get it back.”
His suggestion had merit. “Very well. I will help you look. For now.”
“Thank you.” Ty relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. “I want to make this right, if I can.” He looked at Sonia sideways. “When and where shall we meet to discuss our strategy?”
Good question. They couldn’t go to the church library every time they wanted a private conversation. She bit her bottom lip. “Joe will be gone on Thursday afternoon. That might be a good time.” She returned his gaze. “But if you don’t have some kind of lead by then, I’m going to tell Joe.” She thinned her lips into a smile. “Correction. You’re going to tell Joe, but I will go with you.”
He huffed out a breath. “Fair enough.” He scampered from his side of the car to open the passenger door and offered her his arm. “For now let’s celebrate the success of the concert with the others. That seems to be all anyone wants to talk about these days.”
“Absolutely.” Sonia accepted his arm, and they walked through the doorway together.
❧
Monday morning Ty was tempted to call in sick. He woke up feeling queasy, although he suspected no antibiotics could make him better. But as a temporary employee who barely kept up with the workload, he felt a responsibility to report to the office. At the end of a long day, Ty headed straight for the castle. He would spend the evening hunting down Kent’s contact. Since Aunt Nel had wireless Internet, he could check out the web in the privacy of his room.
Leaves once again lay scattered across the ground, and Ty had told Aunt Nel he would take care of the lawn. He groaned at the delay, but he refused to renege on his promise.
He chuckled. When had he become so responsible? Perhaps he was more worried about the questions his failure might raise. What were you doing all alone in your room all night, Ty? Oh, I was just looking for fences who handle stolen artwork, that’s all.
And suppose the predicted snow did fall? Frowning, he looked down the sweeping drive. Would Aunt Nel expect him to shovel the long driveway? Did she engage a service? Own a snowblower? He should find out.
He couldn’t complain though. He liked helping Aunt Nel. Who would have guessed? The son who rarely initiated a phone call to his own mother found pleasure in doing little things to help his aunt quite apart from any benefit to his master plan.
Between raking leaves, eating supper, and engaging in small talk with Aunt Nel, Ty didn’t make it to his room before the evening news came on at ten. HD television, another luxury that Nel provided in the anachronistic castle. Ty grinned to himself. Any modern monarchs who lived in castles would insist on the latest technology. He turned to The Weather Channel, hoping he might catch a prediction covering eastern Colorado rather than the Denver metropolitan area. While he waited, he booted up his computer. He rubbed his eyes and plugged in a coffeemaker that made two-cup servings. It was going to be a long night.
While the computer hummed to life, the weather forecaster predicted freezing temperatures with the possibility of snow flurries. Ty debated how best to attack the problem in front of him. Locating a thief had proved surprisingly easy. Ty contacted frat buddies who adhered to the same moral code he had—or lack thereof. Within days, he had located a friend of a friend who put him in touch with Kent.
Given the way things turned out, Ty wished he had examined Kent’s bona fides more closely. Maybe he would have discovered the man couldn’t be trusted, or perhaps there was no such thing as honor among thieves. He couldn’t worry about that now; today’s problem required his attention.
Ty considered his dilemma. Could the same friend of a friend direct him to the party he sought? Would he ask uncomfortable questions? Question his motives?
Ty stared at the computer screen and debated about googling pawnshops. He couldn’t imagine a neighborhood pawnbroker handling high-end art, but neither would any reputable art dealer deal in art with a questionable provenance. So he needed to locate someone willing to deal under the table. But how?
Perhaps he could pretend to be a buyer. Ty shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He’d had enough of pretense to last a lifetime.
And could he locate that person without going to Denver? Something he couldn’t do before his meeting with Sonia on Thursday. She wouldn’t accept another delay.
Ty thought back to his circle of so-called friends from college and the ones whose homes he had visited. Did any of them display pricey art on the walls?
He shook his head. He remembered a few collectors of European art, but no contemporary Western artists. For most of his friends, the United States ended with the Appalachian Mountains for all intents and purposes. Until he came out West, he had been the same way.
Something snagged his memory though, someone who might know a friend of a friend who could point him in the right direction. It was there, and then it wasn’t. He didn’t waste time trying to pull the memory back. Either he would remember or not. If he forced it, he’d only push the memory further away.
For now he checked out the few pawnshops that had web pages. Something there might point him in the right direction.
❧
Sonia had taken Monday off, as she often did. Between the hurried pace of concert preparation and her worries about Ty, she needed the break. She returned to the studio on Tuesday, concerned that the revelations of the weekend might force another artist’s block on her.
She arrived at the studio before Joe opened his store for business. Glancing at the folder holding her watercolors, she considered going through them. But no, that would only postpone the moment of truth. She set up her easel and went to the back room whe
re the canvas she had prepped awaited her. Leaving it in its wrapping, she carried it to the studio and placed it on the easel. After a prayer for courage, she removed the cover.
Pale golden light emanated from the skylight overhead and on the canvas, and Sonia’s mind filled with images of ducks in flight. Satisfied she had the shape and shades of the marsh vegetation fixed in her mind, she dabbed several shades of green on her palette.
She worked without stopping, painting each stalk of grass, creating layers over and under and around the swaying grass, until she completed the near side of the pond. She didn’t feel the passage of time until Joe knocked and came in, as he ordinarily did before he left for the day. Hastily she pulled the covering over the painting.
He smiled. “You don’t need to do that. I know better than to look. Do you need anything for your master’s class tonight?”
He always asked, and she always gave the same answer. “No. I’m all set. I’ll close up for a few minutes while I grab a salad at home.”
“If I didn’t know about that pumpkin cheesecake waiting for your class, I’d worry about you getting enough to eat.” He shook his head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll try to save you a piece.”
“Good. Make it two if you can. I’d like to share it with Michelle.”
“It’s a deal.” In fact, Sonia had taken to making double batches of whatever she brought to class—one for her students and another for the various members of the Knight clan who wandered through from time to time, always eager to sample one of her creations. Joe left, and she ran home for a quick bite to eat.
The master’s class made for a long day, but she looked forward to the gathering. Most of her students in Denver chose to make the weekly commute to Ulysses, and they often stayed late into the night for coffee and a chat.
The late nights were well worth it. The participants came from Denver’s burgeoning art community, more her peers than her students. But she took pleasure in passing on what she had learned, even when that included her struggles. They had supported her through her recent struggles, and she had shared the watercolor series with them. Next week, maybe, she’d have something to show them on the larger canvas. Or not. She didn’t know when she’d be ready to show that to anyone else.
Sonia was eating a chef’s salad when her first student arrived—Lydia Costillo, one of her oldest friends. Generally as mild-mannered as Sonia was flamboyant, tonight Lydia shimmered with excitement as she burst into the room. “Brr, it’s cold out there.” She hung her coat on one of the pegs along the wall where the children’s art was stored.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and took the seat across from Sonia. “I couldn’t wait to get here tonight. I’m so excited for you. I almost called but decided nah, you were probably busy.”
Sonia tilted her head, trying to guess what had her friend so excited. “I didn’t think you knew about the concert.”
“Concert? What concert?” Lydia shook her short brown curls. “I’m talking about your painting. I saw Light Shining through Darkness hanging at a very prestigious address yesterday when I went there trying to sell one of my pieces. No luck.”
Sonia blinked. “You saw my painting? Where?”
“Oh, come on, Sonia, you don’t have to be shy with me.” Lydia patted her arm. “It’s me. Your God came through for you big-time.” She buried her nose in her cup. “You must have known the police had found it when we were here last week. I’m surprised you didn’t tell us—me at least—about it.” Shadows darkened her gray eyes.
“But Lydia.” Sonia stood and circled the room before turning around and glaring at her friend, who deserved better. She softened her stance, but her hands fiddled with the broach that kept her scarf in place around her shoulders. “I didn’t know about it. As far as I’m aware, no one has solved the crime.”
Confusion clouded Lydia’s eyes “But then how. . .when. . .did Mr. Big Bucks Jones acquire it?” The patron she mentioned was well-known in Denver and beyond, his nickname earned by his generous support of the arts. “That doesn’t make sense.” The man had earned a reputation for acumen and honesty. “He was so pleased to have an original, Sonia.” Lydia blinked several times as if she could clear up the confusion.
Sonia clicked her tongue. “So he shouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me.” She leveled her gaze at Lydia. “Please don’t mention this to anyone else, okay?”
“If you say so.” The conversation ended when the door opened and two more students came in.
Tonight Sonia’s pleasure in the master’s class flagged. Her attention wandered so far from her students that she wondered if she should refund their money. Paying for classes plus driving the hundred-plus miles each way represented a serious investment, and she regretted giving less than 100 percent.
Maybe they sensed her distracted manner, because the normally lively after-class discussion lagged. One by one, they made their excuses due to cold and snow flurries—more expected in Denver than here in Ulysses—and took their leave.
Lydia lingered after the others. “Man, Sonia, I feel terrible about what happened. Like maybe I should report it to the police or something.”
“Don’t do that.” What a mess that would create. “I’ll talk to Mr. Jones myself. After all, we don’t want to upset one of our best customers, do we?” She managed a laugh. “And I’d like to get a look at the painting, to make sure it’s really mine.” She sighed. “Although I’m sure you’re right.”
“If you say so.” Lydia reached for her coat. “Well, I’d better get going down the road with the others. Please let me know what happens, won’t you? I feel kind of responsible.”
Sonia hugged her friend, another acquaintance so close to coming to know the Lord and yet still so far. “I’ll tell you when I can. I appreciate your friendship.” When Lydia left, Sonia sagged against the table. She fought the urge to call Ty with the news. Why trouble him until she was certain? He couldn’t take the day off to go to Denver tomorrow, but she could. She’d hunt down the man who was so happy to have an original and do some snooping of her own.
Sonia left a message for Joe not to expect her on Wednesday morning and that she didn’t know when she would return. As long as she was in the city, she’d buy a few supplies Joe didn’t carry in stock. Maybe she could stop by the facility where she had put her things in storage. No. When she left in September, a thundercloud had taken up permanent residence in her spirit. She didn’t want to risk rekindling the nightmare.
In spite of the late night, she awoke early in the morning, and she timed her drive to avoid the morning rush hour. She called Mr. Jones, introducing herself and requesting an appointment before she left. While she drove west, she counted the mile markers and pondered her approach to her painting’s new owner. She couldn’t exactly ask, “Who sold you the painting?” He’d expect her to know. Could she imply more than one dealer had handled it?
Sonia battled her conscience. She didn’t have to lie outright. She’d be speaking nothing more than the truth if she said she didn’t know which dealer had handled the sale.
Denver traffic slowed her down a couple of miles after passing the exit to the airport. Mr. Jones wouldn’t believe her. He would expect the dealer to have confirmed the sale with Sonia before closing the deal.
Her phone buzzed, and she wondered if Mr. Jones had returned her call. Before she hit the Mousetrap, where the east-west interstate crossed the north-south corridor, she pulled off the highway and found a parking lot before opening her phone.
Mr. Jones had indeed called and left a message. “Miss Oliveira, how delightful to hear from you. Mr. Cipoletti indicated you were a shy sort, although I dearly wanted to meet you. Yes, please do come by my house.” He gave the address. “I shall be home any time after one.”
And just like that, Sonia knew the answer: Tony Cipoletti, a flashy new dealer, had set up business in LoDo, lower downtown Denver where a lot of galleries operated, a couple of years ago. He had appeared on
the Denver scene shortly after Joe left the city for Ulysses. She didn’t especially like him; he treated the artists themselves like contestants on a game show. However, a lot of buyers loved him, and he had built a loyal clientele. No whisper of scandal had attached to his enterprise as far as Sonia knew.
So Mr. Cipoletti had told Mr. Jones that Sonia was shy? She looked at her apparel for the day—a fairly conservative outfit, suited to the nature of the day’s business. But she still chose her trademark colors: a silky gold blouse tucked into cinnamon-brown slacks over Italian leather boots—the footwear a rare indulgence for her. What impression would she make on the collector? She touched the opal earrings in her ears. After she checked her makeup in her compact mirror, she reapplied lipstick. Two hours remained until one—enough time to pick up the supplies she needed and get a bite to eat.
❧
“You saw your painting? In this guy’s house?” Ty couldn’t believe his ears. Sonia had spilled the news as soon as he picked her up for dinner before choir rehearsal on Thursday night.
Sonia nodded. “I didn’t tell him anything was wrong. I’m not sure what the right thing is to do.”
Conflicting emotions raced through Ty. Relief surged because Sonia now knew what had happened to her painting. Worry intruded when he wondered whether or not all the rest of the merchandise had already been sold.
“I know who sold it.” Sonia’s eyes sparkled.
“Tony Cipoletti would be my guess.”
Twelve
Ty allowed himself a satisfied smile when his answer surprised Sonia.
“How did you find out?” Concern darkened her eyes. She could never hide her feelings as long as anyone could see her face. Her eyes said more than her words did.
“You gave me an ultimatum, remember?”
“I remember.” Her voice was soft and low. “But I didn’t think you could pull it off.”
“I wasn’t sure, not until you confirmed my guess.” He found himself shy about explaining. The old-boy network that engaged in business by any means, both fair and foul, didn’t reflect well on him. He chuckled inwardly. He had lost the right to worry about that when he engaged Kent to rob Joe’s store. “I knew a guy in college. Old money. Always had an eye for art. When I was at his house for an alumni event, I commented on some truly remarkable pieces hanging on his walls.” He shrugged. “He gave me a wink and a nod and said I’d be surprised what I could manage if I didn’t worry too much about legal niceties.”
Knight Music Page 10