Dead Wrong by J. M. Griffin

chuckled.
    My gaze slid to his face and I gave him a derisive glance.
    â€œYou could start over there – if you don’t mind – Saint Doctor Giovanni Esposito,” I said.
    â€œHey, no name calling now.” He chuckled and headed toward the other end of the loft.
    We worked for an hour, grunting and groaning in dismay, at the mass of trash Livvy had acquired over the years. Gio’s silence didn’t hit me right away since I was engrossed in deciding what to do with a load of old photos stacked a plastic bin. I shuffled through them and smiled to see pictures of me and Gio at the age of ten. We were tall and gangly even then. I pulled the picture out of the bin and turned toward Giovanni.
    He held a tall frame, wrapped in brown paper, in his hands. I stood and wandered over. The glance Gio shot me, startled me and I gazed down at the wrapper.
    â€œWho is it addressed to?” I asked as he drew the package toward his chest.
    â€œYou’re not going to believe this, but it’s addressed to Jill. It has great uncle’s address in the corner. What’s it doing here, Vin?”
    â€œI haven’t any idea,” I said and then stepped closer, prying the package from his hands.
    My eyes swept over the two addresses and then I considered the shape the package was in. Dirty and dusty, the paper was worn on the edges and cardboard showed through. I tore the paper away and peeled the tape off the cardboard to see the painting within.
    Leaning it against the wall, Gio and I stepped back and stared at the masterpiece before us. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the real thing. Don’t ask me why or how, I just knew it. Maybe the fact that Great Uncle Nate’s return address was on the wrapping had figured into the equation somehow.
    â€œWhat do you think, Vin? Is it real?” he murmured.
    â€œYeah, I think so,” I mumbled as I peered at the signature on the painting. With a sharp breath, I leaned away from the piece.
    â€œWhat?” Gio asked.
    â€œIt’s real all right. Let’s wrap it up and stuff it back into the pile. We need to talk somewhere extremely private.”
    A sense of urgency settled over me and I hustled Giovanni out of the garage and down the street. We walked past the post office and headed toward the cemetery located at the end of a nearby lane. When we reached Livvy’s grave, I turned to Gio.
    â€œThe FBI is curious as to what is going on in your business. I’m not supposed to know this, but someone slipped and told me. It has something to do with stolen art and artifacts. I think you are the suspect here, not Jill.” I paced back and forth, my fingernails tapping the enamel on my teeth.
    â€œWhen did you find this out?” he asked, his face in a worried frown.
    â€œJust recently.” It was all I could say and even then I was torn over having to keep the secrets of who was what, and why.
    â€œYou need to tell me more than that.” Gio grabbed my arms and stared into my face.
    â€œSomeone I know works for the FBI and we were having a conversation. It was mentioned that a rumor concerning you and art theft was rambling around. I got upset and swore you’d never do anything like that. I was reassured it was only a rumor.” I ran my hands through my hair and flipped it off my face. Hoping he wouldn’t ask me anything more, I glanced away.
    â€œThen what?” he asked, his face tense.
    â€œThat’s all,” I assured him. Cripes, you want it in blood?
    His dark glance strayed to his watch and he turned toward the path, away from Livvy’s grave. “I have to go, the lecture starts in an hour.” He glanced back and then pulled me toward him, placing an arm around my shoulder.
    â€œVin, can you go visit Great Aunt Lena for me? Find out if she knows anything about this business, please?”
    The wheedling plea wasn’t lost on me. I knew sooner or later that I would succumb to