“Well, your statement is correct, except you'll need to remove the word ‘also’.”
Paige reworded her phrasing. “This was... painted by Silas Wheeler.”
Lambert nodded. “That is correct.”
“Now I'm confused.” Paige walked over to the painting from the gallery, looked at it closely and returned to the new one from Great Falls. “This one was painted by Silas Wheeler.”
“Yes, it was.”
“But the painting we sent down from Clive's gallery was by Silas Wheeler.”
Lambert shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”
Paige's spirits plummeted. Clive was depending on the piece having value. He was counting on it, so he could start rebuilding the café.
“This is not good news,” Paige sighed. Jake draped an arm around her, and she leaned against him for support.
“On the contrary, it's quite good news.” Lambert appeared proud of himself. Paige and Jake mirrored each other's perplexed expressions.
“Let me explain.” Lambert walked back over to the piece from the gallery. “I did some research on Silas Wheeler. Not the nicest guy, from what I've read, by the way. He was a student of Charles Russell, as you already know. He never gained much attention for his work. He believed himself to be as great a painter as Russell, but he wasn't. Wheeler's paintings never brought much money, nor did they bring the painter much respect. It didn't help that no one liked him. But the bottom line was, he just didn't have the talent.”
“But you got that painting from the museum in Great Falls.” Paige pointed back to the second painting. “And you say Silas Wheeler painted it. I'm trying to put this together.”
Paige alternated glances between the paintings. “Clive said he got his painting from the basement of the building that is...I mean, was...the café. And that building was once Silas Wheeler’s studio. He also signed Clive’s painting.”
Lambert nodded. “Yes, he signed this one and that one from Great Falls.”
“So maybe they are both his, after all.”
“One would think so, by the signatures, which were, indeed, both Wheeler’s. But this is where the infrared photo tells a different story. The underdrawings on the one from your friend's gallery are quite different from those on the actual Wheeler painting.”
Paige paused before speaking. “Clive said Wheeler's earlier paintings were poor quality, but improved later in his life. Improved dramatically, in fact.”
“Yes, I can see by comparing these two that they did.” Lambert laughed. “And there's a good reason for that, which we now know from the infrared analysis.”
“Which is?” Both Paige and Jake asked the question at the same time.
“It's because, quite simply, he didn't paint them. He signed the later paintings, but someone else painted them.”
“So you're saying he passed off someone else's paintings as his own?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying.”
“Then who painted this one?” Paige indicated Clive's painting.
Lambert shrugged. “Someone very talented. But who? I have no idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Paige leaned against the back of the booth and watched Jake order a glass of Chardonnay for her and a draft beer for himself. The waitress set two cocktail napkins on the table, fringe swinging forward from the hem of her cropped, denim vest as she did so. Dangling silver earrings in the shape of cowboy hats mimicked the motion of the fringe. Paige watched the twenty-something server walk away from the table. The dining room’s décor was extravagant.
“So this is the Irma Hotel,” Paige said.
Jake nodded. “That it is, built in 1902 by Buffalo Bill. He called it 'just the sweetest hotel that ever was.' Named it after his youngest daughter. And a fine place it is, too.” Jake took a swig of his beer and looked around the room, clearly proud.
Paige took in the high, tin ceiling, the expansive sea of dining tables and, finally, the massive cherry wood bar that ran the length of the far wall.
“I've never seen a bar like that.”
Jake laughed. “And you can bet you never will, at least not anywhere else. That was a gift from Queen Victoria to Buffalo Bill. That bar traveled all the way from England, no small feat in those days.”
“I can't even imagine. How would you even get something like that over here?” Paige couldn't take her eyes off the intricate carving and rich tone of the wood.
“Slowly, I figure,” Jake said. “First it had to travel by steamer, to get it across the Atlantic, then by railroad, which would get it to Montana, and then by horse-drawn carriage the rest of the way down here to Cody,”
“Why would she give him a gift like that? What was the connection?”
“That's easier to answer. Buffalo Bill's western show, known as ‘Buffalo Bill's Wild West,’ toured Europe for years. His first overseas performances were in Great Britain, including one or more command performances for the queen.”
Paige sipped her wine and nodded – a combination of movements that turned out to be less than graceful. Jake pressed his fingers against his mouth to cover his smirk.
Jake glanced at his watch and changed the subject. “How about something to eat? Best buffet in town is right here.”
“He's got that right,” the fringe-toting waitress chipped in. She overheard Jake’s comment while she finished up an order at the booth behind theirs. “Prime rib, buffalo stew, baked ham, mashed potatoes...”
“Salad?” Paige managed a meek whisper.
“Yep, that too,” the server said. “I'll put you guys down for two buffets. Help yourselves and just holler if you need another round of drinks.”
Over generous plates of food, Paige and Jake settled back into conversation, but switched gears. They’d set aside discussing the meeting with Professor Lambert while they absorbed the history and ambience of the Irma, but now their questions returned.
“I don't know what to think about Lambert's conclusions.” Jake was frowning and Paige wasn't sure if it was because he was concerned about the art or just frustrated with an attempt to negotiate the best ratio of horseradish to prime rib.
Paige speared a forkful of greens and responded. “I'm as confused as you are. I thought having the painting appraised would make things more clear. Instead it seems we have a whole new dilemma.”
“Lambert said he'd dig a little deeper and see if he could find something out. Maybe he'll identify the real painter.”
Paige sighed. “I don't know if that will do any good, at this point. The painting must date back to the same time period that Silas was alive, since the signature is his. So it's likely this new mystery painter is dead.”
“Probably true,” Jake agreed. “But that doesn't lessen the value. Maybe Lambert's search will turn up other pieces by the same painter. They could analyze other paintings that Silas signed now that the infrared test has shown at least one is someone else's work.”
“It would make sense that there were more, then.” Paige paused and set her fork down. “If there are, and the quality is as outstanding as Lambert made it sound, Clive could be looking at some decent money.”
“Maybe,” Jake said. “Or Silas may have just found a painting that was similar to his style and decided to put his name on it. Don't get your hopes up. This could just be a fluke.”
Paige sighed. “You don’t think this painting of Clive’s is worth anything.”
“I didn’t say that.” Jake set his fork down, too, and reached across the table to squeeze Paige’s hand. “I just don't want you to be disappointed if this turns out to be no more than a conceited, mediocre artist's prank.”
Jake returned to the buffet for another serving. Paige took advantage of the break in conversation to check her cell phone. There were two messages, one from Clive and the other from the New York office. Clive's was short, just asking if she'd found anything out about the painting. The other was even shorter – Susan, asking Paige to call in an update.
An update
? That would take some sorting out to put together. The meeting with Lambert had thrown a new twist into the painting puzzle, not that Susan was aware of her side step into the world of western art. And the sapphire article still needed more work. More focus on Paige's part, to be specific.
Jake slid back into the booth with another slab of prime rib, a baked potato and a side of green beans. He took a look at his plate, stalled before picking up his knife and fork and gave Paige a sheepish grin.
“My grandmother would have said my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” he muttered.
“You don't have to finish it all.”
“Pretty doubtful I will. Especially with apple cobbler up there, just waiting.”
Paige's eyes lit up. “Now I could go for a few bites of that. I knew there was a reason I stuck to the salad bar.” After a quick trip to the buffet, she was back in the booth with a diminutive serving of the homemade dessert.
“You shouldn't drive all the way back to Timberton tonight, you know.” Jake's expression was half-flirtatious and half-serious.
“I was thinking about that,” Paige said. “I'd be back in Timberton by midnight, but I'll admit I'm starting to feel the day catch up to me.” She took a bite of cobbler, closing her eyes to appreciate the sweet, baked apples and flaky cinnamon-ginger crust. The waitress passed by briefly, refilling water glasses and dropping a check down on the table. Jake tossed a credit card on it and held up his hand, signaling for Paige not to argue about paying the bill.
“There's lodging back near the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. I saw it when I drove in. Or they may have rooms here.” Paige looked around appreciatively at the historical building. “Probably old-fashioned and full of character.”
“I have a better idea.” Jake had mischief in his eyes.
“And what would that be?” Paige tried to play it casual, but felt a flush creep up her neck.
“Let me make a phone call. I have connections here, you know.”
“Well, I should think so,” Paige laughed. “You lived here most of your life, right?”
“Yep. Just about my whole life, until I moved to Jackson.”
Jake set his fork down and pushed his plate away in surrender. “That apple cobbler's gonna have to wait for another time.” He pulled his cell phone out, indicated the door while motioning for Paige to relax, and headed outside to make a call. Within a few minutes he was back in the booth.
“That was quick,” Paige pointed out.
“Just checking with an old family friend who has a guest ranch outside of town. Said he's got rooms open and to come on out.”
“Well, this is your territory, so I'll go with whatever you suggest.” Again Paige felt her neck grow warm.
“It's about ten miles outside of town. We could ride out there together or you could follow me.”
“I'd rather not leave the rental car here in town,” Paige said.
“Just follow me out there, then. It's pretty much a straight shot. Most of it is even paved.” Jake grinned.
“Most of it?” Paige raised her eyebrows, concerned.
Jake laughed. “This is country, my dear big city girl. But only the last mile is unpaved. You'll be fine. We'll just slow down on that final stretch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Despite her experiences of nighttime in Timberton, Paige was shocked at the pitch-blackness that surrounded her as soon as she hit the outskirts of Cody. If she hadn’t been following Jake's truck, she would have crawled along at a snail's pace. It was like driving through a dark tunnel. A faint, dotted line ran down the middle of the road. Aside from that, there was nothing. She could have been driving between tall mountains, or the land beyond the road could have dropped off into a deep canyon. There was no way to tell.
Miles passed by as she followed Jake's taillights. Each unexpected bump in the road sent a shiver up her spine. Periodically her headlights allowed a glimpse of a bush near the edge of the road or a tree limb perched above. Fearful for the area’s wildlife, she braked often, accelerating afterwards to keep up with Jake. Consciously, she knew she wasn't far from town and had a trusty guide in front of her. But the dark, visual unknown unsettled her.
To steady her nerves, she reviewed the information she'd gathered since arriving in Timberton. The residents of the old mining town seemed unconnected at first glance. Yet the longer she stayed and the better she got to know them, the more their individual stories intertwined. Perhaps they simply shared a common geography and long-time residency. But it seemed like more.
Clive owned the sapphire gallery, yet also owned the building where Moonglow had been located. Silas Wheeler had used that building as a studio, but had lived in the hotel, now run by Betty. Wheeler’s studio later became the café, run by Mist, also an artist. Clive’s painting, found in the café basement, was supposedly by Wheeler, but now appeared to be another artist’s work. It all formed a complicated web. One thing was clear: Timberton held more secrets than met the eye.
Paige's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden jolt as her tires hit the first few feet of unpaved road. Had she been paying attention to driving, she might have seen the change in the road's surface coming. Instead, she gasped in surprise, hit the brakes and felt the car skid a few yards before coming to a stop. Jake’s brake lights grew brighter as he slowed down. It was reassuring to know he wasn’t leaving her behind. She took a deep, calming breath, regrouped and stepped on the accelerator. As she resumed her driving, Jake did the same.
The jarring sound of loose gravel hitting the bottom of her car, combined with the surrounding darkness, proved nerve-racking. The mile of unpaved road felt like five miles. She was relieved to finally spy a dull glow of lights up ahead off to the right. As she expected, Jake’s truck veered in that direction. She followed him, and the lights grew brighter, eventually establishing themselves as the window lights of an old ranch house. She pulled up alongside Jake's truck as he parked, turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car.
“This is Jeb Barkley's place,” Jake said. “He grew up with my father, been an old family friend for as long as I can remember. He runs this property as a guest ranch. Makes a pretty good living off of it during the summer months. Right now it's darn quiet.”
Paige stretched her arms over her head, glad to be out of the confines of the vehicle. “I saw a sign back where we turned off the road, but couldn't read it.”
“That's the ranch sign, says Circle B Ranch. He keeps the light off during the off-season. Not that anyone's likely to be way out here to find it by chance.”
“That's for sure,” Paige mumbled. The night was so black even the road they'd driven in on seemed to have disappeared.
Jake pulled a duffle bag out of his truck and let the door swing shut, sending an echo out into the void. “C'mon, I'll introduce you to Jeb. He'll give us a quick tour and leave us be. He's probably happily curled up by the fireplace with a good book right now.”
After the drive down from Timberton, the session with Lambert and the meal at The Irma, a good book in front of a fire sounded appealing to Paige. But, then again, there was Jake. A quick wisp of air escaped her lips. The two of them had managed to end up together at a remote ranch with the night stretching ahead.
“Cold?” Jake threw out the question casually, knowing that Paige would say she was fine, whether she was or not.
“No, just taking everything in.” Paige pulled her overnight bag from the trunk of the rental car, dropped the lid to close it and followed that with a sharp, electronic beep.
The sound drew an immediate burst of laughter from Jake. “Paige, did I just hear you lock the car?” Paige smiled in the dark, but didn't respond.
“We don't allow the coyotes out here to have drivers' licenses, you know. And a bison would need a bigger car than a Hyundai Accent.”
Paige accepted the teasing. “Go ahead, make fun of me. A habit is a habit, that's all.” She paused before adopting a feigned tone of seriousness and adding, “After all,
you have those jackalopes out here, and one of them would easily fit behind the wheel.”
“Catching up on your western folklore, I see.” Jake ran his hand across the small of Paige's back and gently motioned her toward the front door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The main house of the Circle B Ranch was breathtaking, like something straight out of a western design magazine. As Jake predicted, Jeb Barkley was sitting in front of the fireplace, a book nestled between his hands. A handsome man in his mid-60s, his rugged, western demeanor hinted he could impress the ladies, on or off a horse.
Paige was so impressed with the room, she could barely focus on saying hello to their host. The vaulted pine ceiling easily rose thirty feet into the air. One sole, multi-layered antler chandelier hovered halfway between the wooden flooring and ceiling peak. Complementary antler sconces were scattered on the walls in just enough places to give the room a warm glow without over-lighting it. Clusters of soft, leather furniture formed subsets of social spaces. Paige could imagine vacationing family members playing cards in one section while other guests lounged with glasses of wine in another. Yet smaller areas offered quiet places for readers to sink into good books. A well-stocked bookcase rested against one wall.
The windows were impressive, as well, soaring high above the comfortable room. Even with nothing but black night beyond them, Paige could sense the open land and big sky outside.
“Nice surprise, Jake. About time you came back to Cody and paid your old friends a visit.” Jeb stood up, set his book aside and extended a sturdy handshake to Jake before turning to Paige.
“And who do we have here?” Jeb raised his eyebrows and offered Paige his most welcoming smile.
“Paige MacKenzie, meet Jeb Barkley. And watch out for him, he's a genuine sweet-talkin' cowboy.” Jake and Jeb exchanged joking arm punches. Paige shook her head, amused at the male shenanigans.
Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set Page 31