“Sounds difficult.”
“Meh,” she shrugged, sloshing the drink in the glass. “Being in this family has its advantages.” She motioned to the room. “And my father wasn’t wrong. Taking care of this legacy was the most important thing, and still is. It cost him his marriage to my mother, but he was right to protect what our family had built.”
“From what I’ve read, it was almost lost.” Adriana prodded but didn’t want to tear open a wound that would shut down their conversation. This woman was testing her patience, but the Spaniard had to work it carefully.
The host snorted derisively. “Yes. My uncle was mostly to blame for that. He talked my father into making some financial decisions that were less than scrupulous. Did what you read tell you that my father tried to talk my uncle out of it?”
Adriana shook her head.
“Father was a good businessman, just as his father before him. What my uncle did nearly ruined the family fortune. It cost my father his health, and he died before his time. My uncle did what I wish he’d done years before: put a noose around his neck.”
She took another sip while Adriana waited, and then she began again. “I was basically alone. I had to liquidate many of our unnecessary assets. Several works of art were auctioned off to pay my father’s considerable debts. I was able to raise enough money to keep this home, a few of the cars, and I have a little left over to get me started in my own ventures.”
“Which are what, exactly?”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
Adriana didn’t push the point.
“The Bellini you’re looking for was one of the paintings I sold — though not at auction for obvious reasons. Had it been taken to one of the houses, they would have surely requisitioned it under a claim that it was looted during the war.”
“Well, it was.”
The point wasn’t lost on either woman.
“Looted, rescued, when we’re talking about priceless art, the two are often the same. Besides, my father isn’t the one who took it. He bought it from the one who did.”
“Yes, Zaragova. I know all about that.”
“Which is how you ended up here, I’m sure.”
Adriana’s patience was getting razor thin. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you sold the painting, I need to know who you sold it to.”
Monique’s head rocked back as she laughed at the idea. “So you can what, go steal it and take it to this man who abducted your father? I don’t think that will go well for you. The person I sold it to is…how should I say, not one with whom you meddle.”
“Like you saw earlier, I can handle myself.” Her face looked like stone as she spoke.
“True. But this man is ruthless.”
So it’s a man. First slip.
Monique kept talking. “Besides, I don’t see what’s in it for me to help you.” She cocked her head to the side, and a strand of blonde hair snuck loose and dangled by her temple. She held the glass near her lips as if teasing the drink.
There it is. She wants something in exchange for information. Adriana had worried about that.
“What do you want?”
Monique’s lips parted. “Well, I’d love to have the Bellini back in my possession, but I suppose that’s out of the question.”
Obviously.
“But,” she continued, “I am willing to make that concession if you can bring me something to replace the void it left in my family’s gallery.”
Adriana had been concerned she would request something along those lines. “Like I said before, I’m on a tight schedule. There’s no way I can take on something else until after I get my father back.”
The host’s smile widened, causing her eyes to squint ever so slightly. “Oh, not to worry. This task won’t take you away from your little time line. Well, not much anyway.”
Adriana didn’t like the way the woman said the last sentence. It meant there was a catch to whatever she was getting at. Right now, she didn’t need any fine print. She waited patiently to hear what the request would be.
“The man I sold the painting to is a wretch, a scoundrel of the lowest kind. He’s the head of a major drug cartel in Mexico. His drugs flow into the United States and other countries across the world. Because of the corrupt Mexican government, no one will touch him. And anyone who tries ends up with his head cut off.”
Adriana definitely didn’t like where this was going. “I’m sorry, Monique, but I don’t do murder for hire. It’s not my thing.”
“Interesting. I’m sure you’ve killed before.”
“Only out of necessity.”
“Who’s saying this isn’t necessity? A drug lord’s life for your father’s?”
She made a good point,but Adriana couldn’t go down that path. Once she did, there was no coming back, and she knew it. On the other hand, once the fighting began, lethal measures were often the only way out.
Before she could answer, Monique spoke again. “I’m not asking you to kill this man, Adriana. I’m not in that business either. I was merely pointing out that people who meddle with his affairs end up dead.”
“What do you want me to do then?” Adriana asked, putting her elbows on her knees.
Monique’s smile reached its boundaries, and she paused a second before standing up. She twisted around, set her nearly empty glass on an end table, and walked over to a bookshelf on the other side of the room. She removed a thick, dusty hardcover and sauntered over to where Adriana sat watching.
She pulled another chair up close and eased into it. She propped the book on her legs and opened it to a marked page. “If you’re going to steal a painting, you may as well get something else while you’re there.”
Adriana gazed at the picture. “Wait a minute. That painting was stolen in 2002. No one has seen it since.”
“I know. It was taken from a museum here in Amsterdam in 2002. I searched for many years, desperately trying to find it.” Her voice trailed off.
Adriana studied the picture and the words below it. “You found it?”
Monique nodded, giving away the information her blank expression did not. “Yes. And the man that has it is the very same who has the Bellini you seek.”
The image in the book featured a small, round church with autumn leaves hanging from scraggly trees. A group of mourners was gathered out front; dressed in black and their heads bowed. The painting was Vincent van Gogh’s Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen.
“Are you certain?”
“Completely. I was in the man’s home as a guest. He likes to have various aristocrats from around the world visit his estate. I think it feeds his ego and makes him feel like more of a legitimate businessman rather than just a drug peddler.”
“And you went?” Adriana leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“One does what one must to survive. This particular individual doesn’t take no for an answer. Besides, he didn’t need to know the real reason I accepted his invitation.”
Then it all made sense. “You were doing reconnaissance.”
“Yes,” Monique said with a nod. She closed the book with a thunderous clap. “Unfortunately, I am not a master thief. I’ve been filtering through the ranks of the underworld to find someone who is capable of breaking into this man’s mansion and stealing the painting, but until now everyone I’ve vetted came up short.”
“What makes you think I can do it?”
Monique’s mouth curled slightly. “Because I’ve never heard of you. And if you are someone who does what you say you do, and you’ve managed to stay anonymous, you’re either very good or extremely bad. I’m willing to wager it is the former.”