“Lovely idea. Give me a moment.” Papers were shuffled, Virginia heard a drawer open and shut. “Mr. Lorette must have it on his desk. I’ll find it and call you back in a couple of days. Do you mind, dear?”
“No, of course not. Speak with you soon.”
As Virginia hung up the phone, Ruby placed a pile of letters on the table. “I swung by the apartment and picked up the mail for you.”
“Great. Thanks. How’s it looking?” The repairs to the apartment were only slightly behind schedule, and while Virginia would miss Finn, she was ready to be back in her home.
Except for one reason.
“It’s looking good.” Ruby glanced her way before grabbing a soda from the refrigerator. “What’s wrong?”
Virginia sorted through the mail, her heart pounding. She’d received one threatening note a week since the first one. There it was. Her name and address scribbled on the envelope. No point opening it. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Where are Xavier and Finn?”
“They headed off to brunch in Chelsea.”
“But what’s up with you?”
“I’m cool.”
Ruby laughed. “Look at you, trying to be hip. It’s cute.”
“Groovy? Should I have said groovy?”
“Please don’t.” Ruby had a silly grin on her face. “You’ll ruin it for the rest of us.” She twisted the top off her Dr Pepper and took a swig. “Who were you talking to?”
Until now, Virginia had been reluctant to discuss the watercolor with anyone else, figuring she’d wait until she had good news, or at least a great story. But unburdening her anxiety about the watercolor was tempting. Besides, Ruby should know what was going on.
Virginia explained how she’d found the painting at the art school, that it had slipped behind a cabinet and that she’d recognized the image from an auction house catalog. “Hold on, let me show you.”
She grabbed the catalog and opened it to the correct page.
“This blue one?” asked Ruby. “It’s breathtaking.”
“Right. I think what I found might be an early study for that painting, and if so, it could be really valuable.” She described her meeting with the curator at the Art Students League, followed by the one with the Lorettes, before elaborating on the complicated provenance. “What it all boils down to is that it might actually be by a woman named Clara Darden.”
Ruby let out a low whistle. “You’ve been doing a lot of detective work.”
“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew more.”
“These Lorette folks, they said they’d get it appraised?” Ruby cocked her head.
“They did. But then the holiday happened, and they’re old and he’s sick. Hey, maybe we can stop by and bring some chicken soup or something?”
“Let’s do it. I’m a mess of nerves with the exhibit tonight. It’d be nice to get out of here and do a good deed.”
After stopping at a deli for a quart of soup, they headed off to the Lorettes’. Virginia didn’t mention the mugging, but she kept an eagle eye out for her assailant. The day was brisk but sunny and the sidewalks busy, which helped calm her nerves.
“Have you seen Libby lately?” Virginia asked. If there were scandalous rumors flying around about Virginia’s new job, Libby—Betsy’s daughter—would have been sure to share them with Ruby.
“Nah, I haven’t seen Libby in ages. She’s hanging with a different crowd. They’re always talking about stuff that I don’t care about.”
“I feel the same way about Betsy these days.”
Ruby’s eyes widened, clearly shocked by her mother’s honesty. “Do you miss her? It’s not like you have a lot of friends, Mom.”
“True. My life is smaller than it was before. But it’s richer, in a lot of ways.”
“Not literally richer, though,” Ruby teased.
“Don’t I know it. Wait. There they are.”
The front door of the town house opened, and Mrs. Lorette stepped out, followed by Mr. Lorette, who turned to lock the door behind him. The two stepped gingerly onto the sidewalk.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lorette!” Virginia’s voice came out unnaturally bright, like a bad actor in a soap opera. “What a surprise.”
“Virginia.” Mrs. Lorette took a tissue out of her sleeve and sniffed into it.
“This is my daughter, Ruby, who I’ve been telling all about you.” She turned to Mr. Lorette. “I understand you’ve been unwell.”
“Right. I have.”
She could have sworn he hunched over slightly, as if exaggerating his frailty. Mrs. Lorette put her arm through his, and they exchanged nervous glances.
“Well, we brought you some soup.” She held it out, and Mrs. Lorette took the bag but made no move to return to the house.
“Thank you.”
“I know you’ve been going through a lot lately, and I figured I’d get that name and number from you and take over the investigation again. So you don’t have to be bothered.”
“Name and number?” Mr. Lorette looked at his wife, confused. Or was he faking it?
“The art expert, dear. For that watercolor from the art school.” She smiled at Virginia, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“We should have some news by now, I would think.” Virginia took out a pad of paper and a pencil from her handbag. “What was that name again?”
Mrs. Lorette threw Virginia a sharp look. “I’m getting the distinct impression you don’t trust us. First off, let me tell you a little about how the art world works: very slowly. You want something done correctly, you give it to an expert and you wait.”
For a moment, Mrs. Lorette’s withering reply left her chastised. She glanced over at Ruby, who gave an imperceptible shake of her head. Virginia wasn’t imagining things. The woman’s defensiveness was uncalled for. Suspicious. “We’d like the phone number as well, please.”
Mr. Lorette regarded them both. “How dare you speak to us like that? We try to help you, and you turn on us? Not very kind, I must say.”
Neither Virginia nor Ruby spoke. The silence dragged on.
“Fine. Samson Coutan. Works at the MoMA. I don’t know the number offhand, but I’m sure the switchboard will connect you. If you ask politely.”
Virginia’s mind whipsawed with uncertainty. What if Mr. Lorette was right, that these things just took time, and she’d alienated the two people who had offered to help her? But she hadn’t done anything but offer to assist them with the painting she’d discovered in the first place, and her heart raced at the thought of the painting being lost to her forever, after she’d only just rescued it from its hiding place.
Virginia and Ruby hightailed it out of there. In the subway, on the way home, Virginia leaned into her daughter. “They seemed so nice when I first met them. But after how they acted when I was trying to help, I think I’m being played.”
“I got the same vibe. How much did the curator say the watercolor might be worth?”
“A hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
Ruby whistled. “That’s a ton of money.”
“This probably sounds strange, but the painting means more to me than that. What if I never get it back? This Mr. Coutan has no idea who I am; we’ve never spoken on the phone or met. I guess I’ll dash over there during my lunch hour and hope for the best.”
“Don’t give up hope just yet,” offered Ruby. “Monday’s my day off. If you like, I’ll go to the MoMA first thing and track down the mysterious Mr. Coutan.”
No doubt her daughter would have a better chance of getting through to him. He’d smell the desperation on Virginia right off, especially if she was in a rush. “Would you?”
“I’d be happy to be your partner in crime.”
Later that evening, Virginia stood in the corner of one of the Carlyle’s private meeting rooms, where tasteful striped curtains and matching valences added a dash of color in a sea of creams and light browns. Ruby held court in the center of the room, where she belonged, flanked by two classmates from the Institute of Photography, the three of them giggling with delight. Finn and Xavier had outdone themselves, even convincing the manager of the hotel to throw in some champagne and a cheese platter for the exhibition of Ruby’s Grand Central photos, which stood on simple wood easels arranged in a horseshoe pattern around the room. The two men were obviously in their element, surrounded by fabulous New Yorkers wearing leopard print and leisure suits, and Virginia was more than happy to take a back seat and watch the circus from afar.