by Hillary Avis
“There’s another space just down the hall,” Ryan said. He led them to another room on the second floor. It overlooked the front drive and had probably once been a bedroom, but now it held a long table and eight chairs. “We have meetings in here sometimes. Eventually we may hold classes here. I’d love it if the museum was a place people could develop their own talents in addition to seeing work from other artists.”
His face grew more animated as he spoke, and Bethany couldn’t help smiling to herself. He has to make this place happen. His heart is really in it.
“You had questions for me?” Lucien asked. His voice was cool, all the heat and fluster from his studio gone. Charley nodded, but before she could get started, Ryan jumped in.
“Do you mind if I talk first? I need to go update Ernesto about all the work that needs to be done.” Charley nodded, so Ryan forged ahead. “I have bad news, Lucien. We have to restore the rest of the Peregrines by Saturday night.”
Lucien made a face like he’d smelled something rotten. “Why?”
“Never mind why. It just has to happen. Can you do it?” Ryan leaned on the table eagerly.
“No.”
“What if we brought in a team? Maybe some conservators from Boston or New York would freelance for a couple days if the price was right?”
“No. No. Even with a hundred conservators—it’s not a process you can rush. Each layer takes time to remove, restore, and cure. It can’t be done in two days.”
Ryan’s face fell, and Bethany’s heart fell along with it.
“Can you display them as they are?” she asked.
Lucien rubbed his beard. “A little more than half, I’d say. And I can finish a few more. But the rest are in various stages and can’t be rushed.”
Ryan swallowed. “That’s the end, then. My dad is going to kill the whole thing when he shows up on Saturday and half the museum is empty.”
Bethany walked around the table and put her arm around him. “I think it’s a blessing in disguise.”
Ryan shook his head. “How do you figure?”
“You didn’t want to fill the museum with old paintings anyway. This is a sign that you need to execute your vision to have a contemporary collection, too. Don’t try to restore the rest of the Peregrines—you need to get out there and find some new artists to feature instead. All your dad’s friends and investors will love it, and then he’ll see that you know what you’re doing.”
Ryan looked at her wonderingly. “You know, you may be right, Bethany. And it really is the only option at this point.”
Lucien snorted. “Are we done here?”
“Not quite.” Charley moved so she was between Lucien and the door. “Simon LaFontaine said you forged Bella’s signature on the sale papers for the estate. Is that true?”
Lucien paused for a moment and looked back and forth between Charley and Ryan. Finally he nodded. “Yes, I did.”
Ryan’s mouth dropped open. “What? Is the sale even legal?” He moaned. “This museum is totally doomed.”
His shoulders were tense beneath Bethany’s arm. She gave him what she hoped was a comforting squeeze, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“The sale was legal, don’t worry,” Charley said. “Even if Bella were still alive, her lawyers verified her signature, so if they say she signed it, she signed it. And since she died before the sale was finalized, her signature isn’t necessary to sell, anyway. The only question here is really whether or not Simon gets to keep her half of the money.”
“So I’m not in trouble for the forgery, then.” Lucien relaxed. “Well, it wasn’t my idea. Simon asked me to do it. If that’s all...?” He looked ready to skip out of the room.
“Not so fast,” Charley said. “I still want to know why you said yes when he asked you to commit fraud. Were you afraid you’d lose your job if you said no?”
“Yes, but not in the way you think. Simon hadn’t paid me in weeks. All off Bernard’s assets were tied up in the house and the Peregrines. I had to get another job if Simon didn’t sell to the Lazams, and I knew Bella would sign the papers if she’d been there, so I didn’t see the harm.” Lucien shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to mislead anyone—not really.”
Charley nodded and made a few notes. “You just happened to be good at copying her signature? So good, in fact, that her lawyers were sure it was hers?”
Lucien laughed. “Oh, that part was easy! Simon gave me the postcards he’d received from her while she was in Spain, and I used them as examples. I’m an excellent copyist—absorbing other artists’ styles is one of those skills you need as a conservator.”
Postcards from Spain? How did Bella LaFontaine send postcards from Europe when she was lying dead in a crypt on the estate?
Charley seemed to be having the same thought. “I need to see those postcards,” she said slowly.
“Of course, of course. May I?” Lucien motioned toward the door, and Charley stepped aside. He practically ran out and returned a few moments later with a half-dozen cards gripped in his hand. “Here they are—see?”
Charley tugged a clear plastic bag from her belt pouch and held it out so Lucien could drop the postcards inside. After sealing it, she turned it over to examine what was written on the cards. Bethany reluctantly left Ryan’s side so she could sneak a peek over Charley’s shoulder.
Charley read aloud from the top card. “Hot days and nights, but I’m enjoying the peace and quiet. Spain is beautiful. I wish Bernard were here to enjoy it with me. Love, Bella.” She looked up. “This can’t be genuine. As far as we know, Bella never left the United States.”
“There’s a Spanish postmark, though.” Bethany reached around Charley and pointed.
Charley looked at Lucien. “Did Simon fake these to make it look like Bella was abroad?”
“Well, if he did, he didn’t tell me.” Lucien shrugged. “I assume he thought they were real if he wanted me to copy them for the sale paperwork.”
“Hm.” Charley tucked the postcards into her jacket pocket. “I’ll have a handwriting expert compare these to other examples of Bella’s signature and see if they’re genuine.”
“Can I go now?” Lucien asked impatiently. He gestured to the door, where the faint sounds of tinkling glass were echoing down the hall. “Hear that racket? I want to make sure the construction goons aren’t destroying my studio.”
Charley nodded, and Lucien pushed past her.
“Luc!” Ryan called, and Lucien paused in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Get as many paintings ready as possible for Saturday, OK? They don’t have to be perfect, but I need all we have to pull this off. The museum depends on it.”
Lucien ducked his head in agreement and put his hand over his heart. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks.” Relief spread across Ryan’s face as he watched Lucien’s back recede down the hall.
“I should go find Ernesto,” he said apologetically to Bethany and Charley. “There’s so much to do in the next couple days!”
Bethany smiled as he gave a half wave and jogged out. To her surprise, Charley let out a huge sigh of disappointment.
“What is it? I thought you’d be happy to make progress on the case!”
“I can’t believe I have to go talk to Simon LaFontaine again! I just want to get this case closed and I can’t even clear the crime scene. I’m glad Kimmy is stuck at the restaurant so she can’t see the mess over here. I swear, there are twenty cops at the crime scene just standing around, waiting for me to figure this out.” She slumped down into one of the conference chairs and stared out the window.
In the distance, Bethany could see several police cars parked near the stone chapel and people milling around the building. If Kimmy visited the estate while that was going on, it would definitely send her over the edge. Better to have her moping at that Railway Café than freaking out over here.
“I know. I feel guilty dumping all the work at the café on her and Viv, but it’s the only way to ma
ke sure she doesn’t hear something about Bella’s murder.”
“It’s probably a good distraction for her, anyway. I mean, the less she thinks about the wedding, the better, right?” Charley looked over at her. “Speaking of which, did you figure out how to squeeze my whole family into the seating chart?”
Bethany nodded. She’d stayed up an extra hour last night figuring it out, but she’d found a solution. “It involves slightly smaller tables and people will have to get cozy, but it’ll work.”
“Maybe if the guests are too busy fighting with each other for space, they wont notice the seven-hundred acres of dirty glass.” Charley grinned wryly.
“We’ll find someone to clean the windows,” Bethany said reassuringly.
“The budget is a big fat zero, just so you know.”
Bethany nodded. “Even if I have to do it myself, it’s gonna happen.”
“I’ll make Milo help you.” Charley chuckled.
“Oh!” Bethany checked the clock on the wall. “I’m supposed to meet him soon—can you drive me back to town now?”
Charley made a face. “I need to talk to my guys, first.” She nodded toward the window and the police presence beyond. “Maybe forty-five minutes?”
Bethany nodded. “I’ll just text Milo and let him know I’ll be late.”
“I can take you,” Ryan said from the doorway. He was leaning on the frame, slightly out of breath after what Bethany guessed was a sprint up the stairs. “I’m heading into town to meet with an art dealer I know. He usually has a pretty good collection of contemporary art, so I’m hoping he has something for me.”
Charley looked relieved. “Perfect. That gives me time here before I meet with Simon, hopefully for the last time, and drop the postcards with the handwriting expert. Fingers crossed, we’ll have the crime scene tape down by the end of the day.”
“Fingers crossed,” Bethany echoed. “Good luck.”
Chapter 17
RYAN SEEMED TO VIBRATE as he started up his car and drove slowly down the driveway toward the road, drumming on the steering wheel and fidgeting in the driver’s seat. In a way, Bethany was glad he was distracted so he didn’t think too much about the fact that he was driving her to what was essentially a date with another guy.
“You seem excited,” she said. “I’m excited for you, too. I hope your art dealer friend has what you’re looking for.”
“Nervous, actually,” he admitted. “I don’t know how my dad is going to react to all this. I know the museum is my last chance. He’s like ‘fine, you want to be part of the art world? Let’s see if you really mean it or if you’re just using art as an excuse to be lazy.’”
“What? You’re not lazy! You work constantly down at the homeless shelter.”
Ryan chuckled. “My dad thinks anything that doesn’t make money is recreation.”
They had just passed the stables when Ryan slammed on the brakes and pulled over.
“What’s going on?” Bethany asked, confused at the sudden change in plans.
“Did you see that?” Ryan craned his neck and looked toward the stables in the rearview mirror.
“See what?”
“Ernesto. It looked like he was digging a hole behind the stables—I just caught a glimpse as we went by.”
“He’s probably just planting something.”
“Behind the stables? When I just gave him a laundry list of things to do inside the main house? I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”
Ryan pushed open the door and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. As he started toward the stable building, Bethany groaned.
Of course, now I’m going to be late to meet Milo. She shot him a quick apology via text and said she was running late, then hustled after Ryan.
He held a finger to his lips as she caught up, and she slowed her steps. They gingerly rounded the back corner of the stables. Sure enough, Ryan had been right—Ernesto was there with a shovel, tamping down the earth over something that he’d buried near the foundation. He still hadn’t noticed they were approaching.
“Is he planting something?” Bethany whispered to Ryan.
Ryan shook his head. “You don’t plant anything that close to a foundation,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m sorry I’m making you late for your date.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I told him I’d be a bit late. It’s just wedding stuff.”
Ryan nodded as they neared Ernesto and raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, man!”
Ernesto jerked his head up in surprise, and raised his shovel in return.
“What’re you up to?” Ryan asked casually.
“What does it look like?” Ernesto pointed to the ground where the earth was disturbed. “Digging.”
Ryan crossed his arms. “Can I ask why, when I just told you all of the urgent work to be completed inside?”
“Well, some things can’t wait.” Ernesto held eye contact with Ryan, daring him to ask.
“Like what?”
Ernesto bristled. “Planting bulbs for spring.”
What a terrible excuse. Bethany laughed in spite of herself.
“What’s so funny?” Ernesto glared at her.
“You’re planting bulbs behind the stables? Who’s going to see them?”
“Trying out a new variety,” he said sourly, leaning the shovel against the back of the building. “It’s my job to do things like this.”
“Please get back to the main house,” Ryan said, a frown etching sharp lines into his face. “I told you, this is urgent. If the work isn’t done by Saturday night, my father will make sure we all lose our jobs.”
“Fair enough.” Ernesto shrugged and turned to go.
Why is Ryan letting Ernesto off so easy, when he’s clearly lying about what he was doing?
“Wait a minute!” Bethany grabbed the shovel. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth. I don’t think you are.”
She stepped on it and levered up the loosened dirt where Ernesto had tamped it down. It only took a few more bites of the shovel to uncover what Bethany was looking for. Something gold glinted from the earth. She picked it up triumphantly and held it out.
Ryan took it from her and examined it. “A watch? Why were you burying a watch?”
“Not just a watch,” Bethany said. “That’s Bernard LaFontaine’s watch. I saw it in the family photo in Simon’s apartment. I bet you, if you look at the back, it’s a triangle shape.” She turned to Ernesto. “How did you get it? I know Bernard died with it on, because the shape of it was pressed into his skin. Did you steal it from the crypt?”
Ernesto slumped against the building’s stone wall, his cheeks pale. He passed his hand over his face and when he dropped it again, tears were leaking from his eyes. “It’s not Bernard’s,” he choked out. “It’s Bella’s. She had a matching one. They got them on their honeymoon in Switzerland. She gave it to me for safekeeping before...”
Before you killed her?
“She died?” Bethany finished. She looked over her shoulder. Would Charley or one of the other cops by the chapel hear her if she yelled for help?
Probably not.
Ernesto shook his head, overcome with emotion.
“Before she left for the convent,” Ryan guessed.
He shook his head again. “She wasn’t going to a convent.”
“But she had a plane ticket to Spain,” Bethany said, edging backward. Maybe Charley would notice they hadn’t left the estate yet and come arrest Ernesto.
Ernesto nodded. “Yes, but she wasn’t going to stay in the convent. We couldn’t spend a year apart. We were in love. So she went to Europe, and I was going to follow in a few months. She gave me the watch to sell so I could buy a ticket to join her.” He choked on the last few words.
“But what about the inheritance?” Bethany asked, hoping to buy more time. “She was just going to give that up for you?”
Ernesto shook his head heavily. “No, that’s why I had to wait until she se
nt word. She thought it would be too suspicious if we left at the same time. But she never told me to come, so I didn’t.”
“You didn’t worry?” Ryan asked. “I’d worry if I didn’t hear from someone I loved for that long.” His eyes darted to Bethany and away again.
“I worried.” Ernesto swallowed hard. “But I figured she found someone new. What do I have to offer? Nothing, really. I couldn’t blame her for following her heart.”
“Wouldn’t she have told you if she chose someone else?” Bethany asked, careful not to look at Ryan as she spoke.
I really, really need to stop agonizing over this decision and just follow my heart, don’t I?
“Not necessarily. She followed the plan. Simon booked her a ticket to Spain, but Bella sold a painting so she could buy a ticket to Italy instead. She planned to contact me when she was sure Simon believed she was in the convent. But I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left for the airport. And now I’ll never see her again.” Pain blazed in Ernesto’s eyes. “I have nothing left. I don’t know what to do without her. How can I go on living when she’s dead?”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ryan murmured. “It must be horrible knowing she was right here all along.”
Or maybe he really couldn’t live without her and killed her when he realized he would lose her. Maybe Bella planned to leave Ernesto behind and stay celibate to honor Bernard’s memory. Bella had said as much in the postcards—she missed Bernard and wanted to share Spain with him.
The postcards—they were postmarked from Spain. Bella had gone there. Maybe Ernesto had lured her back somehow and then killed her when she refused to be with him.
“How do you explain the postcards?” Bethany asked. “Simon received postcards from Spain. If Bella never went to Spain, how did she send him postcards?”
Ernesto twisted his hands, his expression miserable. “Bella wrote them in advance. I sent a package of them to an old friend of mine who lives in Spain with the agreement that he’d mail one each month. I would have stopped him if I’d known that—” He stopped, apparently unable to say the words. “But I didn’t know. I’ve agonized over that since she was found. Maybe she would have been found sooner if the postcards hadn’t arrived.” His eyes welled up and he furiously brushed away the tears.