What bothered Simon was Petry’s insistence on an accelerated timeline and the man’s total disregard of the art itself.
Whatever Petry’s intentions were, Simon knew they couldn’t be good. And while Simon might not have been a scrupulous art dealer, he had nothing but respect for the art itself. Which meant he very much wanted to know what Petry’s intentions were.
He called his PI friend, to see if he could find anything out, thinking that would ease the knot in his stomach. It didn’t.
There was one other thing he could do, a just-in-case measure. It would mean spending a bit of the cash Petry was paying him, but with the man paying him double now, the hit wouldn’t be as painful.
It took five rings before Rudy Morgan answered Simon’s call with a distracted, “Yeah?”
“Rudy? Simon Duchamp.”
“Simon, long time no talk. I was beginning to think you didn’t need me anymore.” Rudy was the best forger on the West Coast, possibly on the entire continent.
“Not true. I just haven’t had any jobs requiring your services, that’s all.”
“I take it that’s changed.”
“It has.”
“I’m listening.”
“Are you familiar with the American painter Matilda Stone?”
“Sure. Great eye. Beautiful work. New York City settings.”
“That’s the one. I’m in need of a few of her pieces.”
“How many is a few?”
“Three. Can you do them?”
“I can do her style, but it’ll depend on when you need them.”
“Friday, ten a.m.”
Rudy laughed.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Simon, you’ve always been a good customer, but I’m going to have to pass on this one.”
“I’ll pay a premium.”
“Good for you. That doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t even get one done in that time.”
“Here’s the thing. They don’t have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough to pass a quick look from someone who knows nothing about art.”
There was a beat of silence before Rudy said, “What are you playing at?”
“You know I can’t go into details about a client. But suffice it to say this one won’t even notice they aren’t original.”
“He might not figure it out right away, but at some point he would, wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t think so. But even if he does, he’ll never know you had anything to do with it.”
“What kind of a premium are we talking about?”
Simon smiled. “Twenty thousand.”
“All together? Or each?”
“Each.”
The line went quiet for several seconds as Rudy thought it through.
Finally, the forger said, “Drying’s going to be an issue.”
“You can use whatever method it takes to have them ready in time. As long as they look close enough to the originals, it doesn’t matter.”
If Simon determined he needed to use the forgeries, then on top of the million Petry was going to pay him, he could also sell the originals for more than he’d pay Rudy. He even had a buyer in mind. Thinking that way, sixty thousand for a few forgeries would be a good investment.
“You send me the info on the originals right away, and you got yourself a deal.”
“What would you say to having the originals to work from?”
“I would say that would be the most helpful thing you could do.”
“I’ll bring the first one to you tomorrow.”
“Someday, I want you to tell me what this is all about.”
“I will, and thank you, Rudy. I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter 24
Stone and Monica returned from a relaxing weekend in Taos to the Lees’ place at lunchtime. The only hiccups in their time away were Monica not yet hearing back from Tristan Williams, and Dino reporting that the Santa Fe police still considered Joshua Paskota’s death an accident.
Stone had several messages from Joan and spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with work.
When he finally finished, the sun was setting. He could hear Monica swimming laps outside, so he donned his swimsuit and went out to join her.
“I was beginning to think you’d never show up,” she said, after he dove in.
“Won’t happen again.”
“Promise?” she asked impishly.
He turned his attention to the sky. “My, what a lovely sunset.”
She splashed him. “I thought as much.”
In retaliation, he dove under, grabbed one of her feet, and pulled her down with him. They tussled playfully before resurfacing, their bodies tight to each other.
“This would be a lot more fun without bathing suits,” she said.
“I’m game if you are. As long as you don’t mind giving the Secret Service a show.”
“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”
They kissed with the passion of lovers who truly enjoyed each other’s company, then leaned their foreheads against each other.
Nearly out of breath, she whispered, “Maybe we should put on a show.”
“If you insist.”
As he moved to kiss her again, Martha appeared poolside. “Mr. Barrington, Miss Reyes, dinner is almost ready. Would you like it inside or out here?”
“Here?” Stone said to Monica.
“Please.”
“Outside,” he told Martha.
“Very good.” She retreated into the house.
Monica sighed. “It looks like we don’t have any time for—”
Stone slipped a hand under the back side of her bikini bottom. “Are you sure about that?”
As if it took every ounce of strength, she pushed him away and swam for the stairs.
They dined on a meal of chicken mole and grilled peppers paired with a bottle of Marian’s Vineyard Old Vine Zinfandel from California.
When they finished, Martha asked if they would like dessert.
“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” Monica said. “I haven’t had mole that good in years. It was just like my abuela’s.”
Martha smiled in pleasure.
“I agree with Monica,” Stone said. “Though I can’t comment on her grandmother’s version.”
Martha’s grin doubled. “May I take your plates?”
“Please.”
As she began gathering the dishes, a phone buzzed on one of the deck chairs.
“That’s me,” Monica said. She retrieved her phone and looked at the screen. “It’s Tristan Williams.” She accepted the call. “Hello?... Yes, this is she... Hi, Tristan. Thank you for calling me back.” She turned on the speaker and retook her seat.
The voice that came out of the phone was male and guarded. “What can I help you with?”
“I was given your number by someone who thought you could help me.”
“Who’s that?”
“Joshua Paskota.”
Silence on the other end, then, “He’s dead.”
“I’m aware. He was helping me with an investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
Monica eyed Stone before she responded, “I work for an insurance company, and am looking into several potential art thefts.”
They heard movement on the line and then three beeps.
“He hung up,” Monica said.
“Try him again.”
She did, but instead of ringing, she was sent straight to voicemail.
After the beep, she said, “This is Monica Reyes again. Please call me back. I really need to talk to you.” She hung up. “He must have turned off his phone. If he doesn’t return my call...”
“Wait here.” Stone went into the house and retrieved his phone. After retaking his seat, he said, “What’s Tristan’s number?”
Monica brought Tristan’s info up on her phone.
Stone called his friend Bob Cantor. Bob was a former NYPD officer who’d made a lucrative post-force career as a security technology expert and private investigator.