“My—”
“I know,” Millicent said. “It’s gorgeous.”
Eli turned to her. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and opened it again. “She told you that this was a copy? Celeste? Your mother?”
Millicent nodded her head.
Archie moved in closer to peer at the paint strokes. “I did some research on paintings for a book that Robin Spencer wrote involving an art thief. There’s a particular style that Renoir had, plus the age of the canvas.” She looked over at Eli, who swallowed.
“Ms. Taylor, this painting is not a copy,” the investigator announced. “If I had a reputation, I’d stake it on it.”
“But—”
“This is the Renoir that was stolen from the National Museum of Art.”
“Now wait a minute—” Patterson interjected.
“But if Le Chat stole this and those other paintings,” Millicent asked, “why did he leave them with my mother?”
“Does anyone know what Le Chat looked like?” Mac asked.
“Celeste said in her autobiography that he was tall, dark hair, slender athletic build with captivating blue eyes,” Catherine said.
“Like my father,” Millicent said. “Mom told me more than once that he was very much like my father, which was why she fell in love with him.”
“Like your father who had died suddenly—the love of her life,” Mac said.
“My father was the love of Mom’s life. That’s why she never remarried.”
Mac asked Eli, “Did you ever lay eyes on Le Chat, or at least get his real name?”
After a moment of thought, Eli shook his head.
“But everyone saw Celeste,” Mac said with a grin. “She was an actress, a dancer, which means she was athletic. She had all the connections to get in and out of where these paintings and jewels were kept.”
“Plus, these thefts were back in an era when no one would suspect a woman of being a cat burglar,” Archie said.
“Exactly,” Mac agreed. “Notice that these thefts began after Celeste had retired from the business, after getting married and having a child. Suddenly, she was forced out of retirement by her husband’s sudden death. She was probably older than her competition.”
“She talked about that in her autobiography,” Catherine said.
“But being the mistress of a legendary cat burglar put her in the limelight both as a celebrity and actress,” Mac said. “Not only that, but it helped her to put aside a nest-egg to pass on to her daughter.”
“What are you saying?” Millicent asked in a breathy voice.
“Celeste Taylor was an actress. An artist. She created a fictional mysterious Frenchman who everyone would be looking for, and knew that she was attached to. They’d be looking for him while she—”
“Pulled the heists,” Archie said.
“Celeste Taylor was Le Chat,” Mac said with a laugh. “They were one and the same.”
“But she described Le Chat and their international romance in detail in her autobiography,” Catherine objected with disappointment in her tone.
“And no one ever lies in their autobiographies,” Ben said with a chuckled.
Millicent let out a breath. “Mom could have done that. In the high society circles she mingled with, the right whisper in the right ear about her affair with this mysterious Frenchman, word would have spread like wildfire about him being Le Chat.”
“Which put her on the A-list for the biggest galas to give her access to the expensive jewels and artwork,” Archie said.
“Which was exactly what happened,” Eli said. “This high society starlet made a boob out of everyone—including me.”
“What Celeste didn’t count on was a lawyer who would syphon money from her accounts in her later years,” Mac said, “forcing her daughter to hold an auction to sell off her treasures that she had preserved specifically for her.”
“Now don’t you be hurling accusations,” Patterson said. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”
Archie held up her computer tablet. “I’ve been doing a little checking into your finances while
“I know,” Millicent said. “It’s gorgeous.”
Eli turned to her. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and opened it again. “She told you that this was a copy? Celeste? Your mother?”
Millicent nodded her head.
Archie moved in closer to peer at the paint strokes. “I did some research on paintings for a book that Robin Spencer wrote involving an art thief. There’s a particular style that Renoir had, plus the age of the canvas.” She looked over at Eli, who swallowed.
“Ms. Taylor, this painting is not a copy,” the investigator announced. “If I had a reputation, I’d stake it on it.”
“But—”
“This is the Renoir that was stolen from the National Museum of Art.”
“Now wait a minute—” Patterson interjected.
“But if Le Chat stole this and those other paintings,” Millicent asked, “why did he leave them with my mother?”
“Does anyone know what Le Chat looked like?” Mac asked.
“Celeste said in her autobiography that he was tall, dark hair, slender athletic build with captivating blue eyes,” Catherine said.
“Like my father,” Millicent said. “Mom told me more than once that he was very much like my father, which was why she fell in love with him.”
“Like your father who had died suddenly—the love of her life,” Mac said.
“My father was the love of Mom’s life. That’s why she never remarried.”
Mac asked Eli, “Did you ever lay eyes on Le Chat, or at least get his real name?”
After a moment of thought, Eli shook his head.
“But everyone saw Celeste,” Mac said with a grin. “She was an actress, a dancer, which means she was athletic. She had all the connections to get in and out of where these paintings and jewels were kept.”
“Plus, these thefts were back in an era when no one would suspect a woman of being a cat burglar,” Archie said.
“Exactly,” Mac agreed. “Notice that these thefts began after Celeste had retired from the business, after getting married and having a child. Suddenly, she was forced out of retirement by her husband’s sudden death. She was probably older than her competition.”
“She talked about that in her autobiography,” Catherine said.
“But being the mistress of a legendary cat burglar put her in the limelight both as a celebrity and actress,” Mac said. “Not only that, but it helped her to put aside a nest-egg to pass on to her daughter.”
“What are you saying?” Millicent asked in a breathy voice.
“Celeste Taylor was an actress. An artist. She created a fictional mysterious Frenchman who everyone would be looking for, and knew that she was attached to. They’d be looking for him while she—”
“Pulled the heists,” Archie said.
“Celeste Taylor was Le Chat,” Mac said with a laugh. “They were one and the same.”
“But she described Le Chat and their international romance in detail in her autobiography,” Catherine objected with disappointment in her tone.
“And no one ever lies in their autobiographies,” Ben said with a chuckled.
Millicent let out a breath. “Mom could have done that. In the high society circles she mingled with, the right whisper in the right ear about her affair with this mysterious Frenchman, word would have spread like wildfire about him being Le Chat.”
“Which put her on the A-list for the biggest galas to give her access to the expensive jewels and artwork,” Archie said.
“Which was exactly what happened,” Eli said. “This high society starlet made a boob out of everyone—including me.”
“What Celeste didn’t count on was a lawyer who would syphon money from her accounts in her later years,” Mac said, “forcing her daughter to hold an auction to sell off her treasures that she had preserved specifically for her.”
“Now don’t you be hurling accusations,” Patterson said. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”
Archie held up her computer tablet. “I’ve been doing a little checking into your finances while
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