The nagging issue was her dad.
He’d moved to a high-rise independent living complex near the Country Club. He groused about the food, but the ratio of widows to widowers was favorable. Whenever she saw him, he had a new periwinkled goddess on his arm. His refrigerator was filled with casseroles and pies, but her relationship with him had changed. Since that awful night in Dave’s shack, the distance between them had become a gulf.
She grabbed her backpack and took the stairs to the European & American gallery on her way to the elevator. The gallery was deserted. At Seven, she paused. Eden before the storm greeted her like an old friend. But the man in the brimmed hat would not make it home. And what about the painting itself?
Forged paintings were pariahs. They were banished to deep storage, the lowest circle of museum hell. Did she want that for Seven? If it was alive, did it matter who painted it? Elena said art was a matter of perception. But could a lie ever be beautiful?
You can’t make a fraud authentic by reframing it.
Were all frauds really the same? Lily thought of her dad climbing into the drain pipe so she could save Paul. She hit the speed dial on her cell.
“Dad? What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
Acknowledgments
I am deeply indebted to Mark Chimsky and Janette Macdonald for editing A Perfect Eye. Great thanks also to Susan Brienza, Jan Prince, David Miller, Meg Miller, Mara Miller, Honey Goldberg, Julie Hutchinson, and the writers at BONI for their wisdom and support.
About the Author
Stephanie Kane is a lawyer and award-winning crime novelist. She lives in Denver with her husband and two black cats. For more information, please visit www.writerkane.com.
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