The black sign that hung outside of Friedrich Mueller’s shop was highlighted in gold lettering that read Mueller’s Antiques. Adriana took a look around the city street, still worried someone might be watching. Cars sped by and pedestrians busily walked the sidewalks, all part of a normal morning in the city. She didn’t, however, notice anything out of the ordinary.
She pulled open the door and entered the shop. The air inside was toasty warm compared to the chill out on the sidewalk. She loosened her jacket slightly as she walked through the foyer of the shop. The little store was filled with an odd and seemingly random collection of paintings, sculptures, memorabilia, and other knickknacks. On a wall to her left, prints of concert flyers hung over a shelf containing hundreds of vinyl records. As she made her way around, she saw shelves full of old books, even what she surmised were first editions. The room had a musty smell to it, which added to the historic feel of the shop.
“Can I help you?” a masculine voice startled her.
She turned to see an odd, little man with thinning, combed-over gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a black vest and tie over a white, long-sleeved shirt. He appeared to be in his sixties but something told her that he was much older.
“Jallo,” she greeted him pleasantly. “I was told to see a man here by the name of Friedrich Mueller.”
He smiled. “I am Friedrich Mueller. You must be Martin’s friend, Adriana Villa.”
She nodded and extended a hand, which he shook vigorously
“I think it is time for me to take a break for a few minutes,” he said and made his way to the front of the store. He flipped a sign around that she assumed said he was out to lunch.
Friedrich motioned for her to follow and led the way to the back of his shop through a thick, steel door. The room they had entered housed a table and several shelves stacked with old guns, army helmets, and other random military items. A pair of old floor-lamps were the only illumination in the room, casting an eerie glow from one end to the other. The things that most caught her attention were the badges and small flags with the familiar swastika on them.
Located at the back wall, just beneath a small, barred window, sat a gray filing cabinet.
Friedrich motioned for her to sit down at the table in the middle of the room. After he took a seat opposite of her he spoke. “So, Martin tells me you are looking for some artwork you believe was stolen by the Nazis. Correct?”
She nodded. “Yes, Herr Mueller. I’m wondering if you can help me find it.”
“As I am sure you well know, there have been many treasure hunters who have searched for such things with little or no success.” He finished the statement by crossing his arms.
“I am. But this piece is different. I am looking for a specific painting that was stolen.”
She pulled the old photograph from her jacket pocket and slid it across the table. He raised an eyebrow and reached out to pick up the picture. Instantly, his eyes grew large. He stood up and walked over to a shelf and picked up a magnifying glass. For a few seconds, he inspected the photograph closely then returned the tool.
“So, he said as he stepped back over to the table. You are looking for the lost Van Gogh.” He chuckled and sat back down in his chair. “I have heard of this painting, though I have never had anyone ask me about it. Well, until yesterday.”
She became suddenly alert. “Someone asked about it yesterday? Who?”
He held out his hands. “I don’t know who he was. He came in late in the afternoon, asked me a few questions about the painting and then left.”
“What do you know about it?” Adriana pressed. Concern had washed over her face. If the man that had been watching her yesterday knew about the painting, it seemed she was going to have some competition. Even though he was dead, she knew others were probably lurking. Her mind drifted to the mystery shooter who’d killed her assailant.
Friedrich shrugged. “It was known as The Tree. Apparently, it was one of the last paintings Van Gogh created before he died.”
“Have you heard anything about where it might have been taken when it was stolen?”
He laughed again. “I have heard all of the same rumors that you have heard: booby trapped caves in the mountains, hidden vaults, all kinds of wild stories abound with legends of Nazi gold and stolen relics. I haven’t seen any of them turn out to be true yet. But this one is different.”
His thought lingered for a moment. “What do you mean, different?” she asked and leaned forward.
After a few more seconds, he spoke. His tone was just above a whisper. “Several years ago, I was asked to appraise some pieces for a local businessman by the name of Holger Foyt. Herr Foyt is extremely wealthy. He owns a mansion in the nearby mountain town of Schirke.
“While at the home, I was given a the privilege of seeing nearly the entire collection of art and old antiques that the Foyt family had collected through the centuries. While I was documenting my findings, I noticed one particular piece that had been carelessly stacked with a dozen or so others in a storage room.”
Friedrich tapped the photograph with his finger. “It was this painting.”
Her eyes widened. “You have seen this in person?”
He nodded. “When the man came by yesterday and asked me if I knew anything about the missing Van Gogh, I did not know which painting he was talking about. But now, having seen this photo and analyzed the signature on it, I am certain that is the painting you seek.”
“How did you not recognize the painting’s creator when you were there?” she seemed dubious.
Friedrich shrugged. “Herr Foyt did not ask me to appraise his paintings. In fact, he made it a point to let me know they were of little value to him. So, at the time, I thought nothing of it. But I have seen Van Gogh’s work before. And this is, most certainly, one of his.”
She started to stand up. “Where is this Foyt’s home?”
He held up a hand. “Miss Villa, you cannot just stroll up to Holger Foyt’s home and ask to see his collection of artwork. He is an extremely powerful man. To be honest, I felt very uncomfortable even doing the task he asked me to do.”
“Why is that?”
There was a pensive silence before Friedrich spoke.
“Because, Holger’s father was a Nazi General.”
Villa raised an eyebrow at the revelation.
He spoke up before she could ask. “I don’t know for sure if Holger holds the beliefs of his father. He has lived most of his life out of the public view so it is hard to say. But he did inherit a great deal of money when his father died. It was
money the old man had made during the war. Since then, Holger has built a small empire with a few companies he established, all legitimate businesses.”
“How can I get into his home?” Adriana was direct with the question.
He laughed loudly. “You want to steal from Holger Foyt?” He wagged his finger over the table. “This is not a good idea. There is much security around the estate. And while he may or may not be a Nazi, people who try to steal from him are dealt with ruthlessly. That much he did inherit from his father.”
“I need that painting,” she said. Determination filled her eyes.
Friedrich’s eyelids narrowed. “Why that one? Surely there are other pieces of artwork around the world that could be easily bought or more easily stolen than this one.”
“I am no thief,” she corrected. “Taking something that was stolen to begin with is not stealing.”
“Interesting justification, Ms. Villa.”
She didn’t appreciate the condescending tone but she understood. “Can you get me into the mansion?”
He shook his head. “That is one thing that I am afraid I cannot do. I have only been there one time and that was years ago. I wouldn’t even know how to tell you to sneak in even if that was a possibility.”