the three of them the son, Trevor, was at least the more reasonable and Mark was glad to find that he was the one who was in and talking with a representative for the auction house that would be handling the whole affair.
Trevor looked surprised to see him, but he managed not to make any sarcastic comment in front of the very attractive blonde lady who was holding a briefcase and clipboard. It was pretty clear from their body language that Trevor had been flirting with her and that she could care less.
Nice to see he didn’t get everything he wanted.
“Would you excuse me for just a minute?” he asked the woman who nodded while she continued to study her clipboard.
He gestured for Mark to follow him to the back of the store where the office was. Apparently he had no desire to discuss his father’s murder in front of the lady. That was fine with Mark.
They walked into the office but Trevor didn’t close the door. He leaned against the desk, arms folded across his chest in classic defensive posturing.
“Are you here because you finally figured out who killed my father?”
“We have a possible new lead,” Mark said.
Trevor’s eyes actually widened in surprise though the rest of his face remained carefully neutral. “What is it?”
“I’d rather not say at the moment, it’s probably nothing, another dead end, but it brought up a few questions I think I forgot to ask originally.”
“Go ahead.”
“I was going over my notes and I just needed to confirm a few things first. There wasn’t anything stolen from the store, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“So we have to assume it wasn’t an attempted burglary or art heist or anything like that.”
“It would stand to reason,” Trevor said.
“I believe that most sales happened just from people walking in the store, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Now, the paintings that were here when he died are the ones going up for auction, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“I got the auction catalogue, by the way, thanks for sending it.”
“I didn’t. It was probably one of my sisters.”
“Well, in that case, thank them for me.”
“I know very little about art, so you can just sum up for me what kind of works he had here in the store?”
“My father kept a variety on hand. He always said art was for all the people, not just the ones who could afford it. He sold some originals, a few by well-known artists and others by up-and-comers. Most of the art was lithographs and giclées, high-end reproductions, many with personal accents and touch-ups by the artists.
“What was the most expensive piece he had in the store?”
“I was just discussing it with the lady from the auction house. There’s an original Coleman valued at about sixty thousand.”
“Impressive.”
“It would have been more impressive if he had been actively trying to sell it. It was the one piece of art he kept for himself. It hung in this office until last week,” Trevor said.
“He must have loved being able to share art with the world through this store.”
Trevor shrugged. “He did his duty, selling art, carrying on the family business. But his passion was always in art restoration.”
“Restoration?” Mark asked, more sharply than he had intended to.
“Yes.”
“As in fixing damaged pieces?”
“Occasionally. Most of the time it amounts to little more than cleaning them to remove years of dirt or smoke.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
Trevor shrugged. “It really depends on how much damage and what type have been sustained. Why, Detective, do you have a piece that needs some work done on it?”
“Maybe,” Mark said. “My wife inherited a painting from an uncle and he was a heavy smoker.”
It was a lie, but he wasn’t about to tip his hand.
“I can give you the name of someone if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Mark said, forcing himself to smile. “You don’t do that kind of work?”
“No,” Trevor said, rolling
Trevor looked surprised to see him, but he managed not to make any sarcastic comment in front of the very attractive blonde lady who was holding a briefcase and clipboard. It was pretty clear from their body language that Trevor had been flirting with her and that she could care less.
Nice to see he didn’t get everything he wanted.
“Would you excuse me for just a minute?” he asked the woman who nodded while she continued to study her clipboard.
He gestured for Mark to follow him to the back of the store where the office was. Apparently he had no desire to discuss his father’s murder in front of the lady. That was fine with Mark.
They walked into the office but Trevor didn’t close the door. He leaned against the desk, arms folded across his chest in classic defensive posturing.
“Are you here because you finally figured out who killed my father?”
“We have a possible new lead,” Mark said.
Trevor’s eyes actually widened in surprise though the rest of his face remained carefully neutral. “What is it?”
“I’d rather not say at the moment, it’s probably nothing, another dead end, but it brought up a few questions I think I forgot to ask originally.”
“Go ahead.”
“I was going over my notes and I just needed to confirm a few things first. There wasn’t anything stolen from the store, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“So we have to assume it wasn’t an attempted burglary or art heist or anything like that.”
“It would stand to reason,” Trevor said.
“I believe that most sales happened just from people walking in the store, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Now, the paintings that were here when he died are the ones going up for auction, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“I got the auction catalogue, by the way, thanks for sending it.”
“I didn’t. It was probably one of my sisters.”
“Well, in that case, thank them for me.”
“I know very little about art, so you can just sum up for me what kind of works he had here in the store?”
“My father kept a variety on hand. He always said art was for all the people, not just the ones who could afford it. He sold some originals, a few by well-known artists and others by up-and-comers. Most of the art was lithographs and giclées, high-end reproductions, many with personal accents and touch-ups by the artists.
“What was the most expensive piece he had in the store?”
“I was just discussing it with the lady from the auction house. There’s an original Coleman valued at about sixty thousand.”
“Impressive.”
“It would have been more impressive if he had been actively trying to sell it. It was the one piece of art he kept for himself. It hung in this office until last week,” Trevor said.
“He must have loved being able to share art with the world through this store.”
Trevor shrugged. “He did his duty, selling art, carrying on the family business. But his passion was always in art restoration.”
“Restoration?” Mark asked, more sharply than he had intended to.
“Yes.”
“As in fixing damaged pieces?”
“Occasionally. Most of the time it amounts to little more than cleaning them to remove years of dirt or smoke.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
Trevor shrugged. “It really depends on how much damage and what type have been sustained. Why, Detective, do you have a piece that needs some work done on it?”
“Maybe,” Mark said. “My wife inherited a painting from an uncle and he was a heavy smoker.”
It was a lie, but he wasn’t about to tip his hand.
“I can give you the name of someone if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Mark said, forcing himself to smile. “You don’t do that kind of work?”
“No,” Trevor said, rolling
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