hurry to sell Market Day but stopped herself in time. The last thing she wanted right now was to arouse his suspicions.
“I’m too busy for this,” Lorry said impatiently. “It’s clear that you and I cannot do business together.” Without warning, he took the painting off the easel.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Grace asked, alarm rising in her voice.
“Taking back what’s mine.”
“I don’t think so.” She gripped the painting on both sides and held it firmly. “You signed a legal contract, and unless you let go of this painting right now, I’ll be forced to call the police.”
“Is everything all right here?” a calm voice said from the doorway.
Grace and Lorry turned at the same time. Matt Baxter stood in the doorway, blocking any possible exit. Grace held back a sigh of relief. She no longer had any doubt that the Arroyo had to be authenticated. The problem was, she didn’t think she alone could have kept Lorry from walking out with the painting.
Taking advantage of the dealer’s surprise, she gave one last tug to free the Arroyo from his grip. “It is now,” she replied. She put the Arroyo back on the easel. “I’ll let you know when I sell the painting, Mr. Lorry.”
Lorry didn’t answer. Instead, he assessed Matt for a few seconds as if he was considering taking him on. Matt just stood there, looking relaxed.
“I’ll be back,” Lorry said to Grace. Then, after one last dark look at Matt, he walked out.
“Charming fellow,” Matt commented after he’d left. “Friend of yours?”
“He’s an art dealer with whom Steven did business.”
“He looks more like a two-bit hood than an art dealer.”
Grace walked over to the desk, took a dust cloth and came back to wipe the frame where Lorry’s fingers had left a few smudges. “He was just angry.”
“Any particular reason?”
“He claims that his agreement was with Steven and now that Steven is dead, he refuses to work with me. He came to take his painting back and I wouldn’t let him.”
“What was he trying to do? Wrestle you for it?”
“Apparently.”
Matt walked over to the painting. “What’s wrong with the painting?”
Grace wasn’t ready to share her suspicion with a federal agent, especially one she had known less than twenty-four hours. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Its owner was hell-bent on taking it back. You were hell-bent on not letting him. It made me curious.”
“Victor Lorry and I had what you call a personality clash. Now that the matter has been settled, I feel a little silly.”
“Nothing that a good lunch won’t fix.”
“You’re right. Just let me go freshen up.”
Once in the back room, however, Grace didn’t touch up her lipstick, but unclipped her cell phone from her waistband and dialed a number in Boston.
At the fourth ring, Professor Fishburn’s answering machine picked up and the familiar voice instructed her to leave a brief message and a phone number. Trying to be both thorough and brief, Grace told her old friend what she suspected and asked if he would be willing to come to New Hope to put her mind at ease. She gave him her cell phone number and hung up, praying the professor wasn’t on a trip somewhere, hunting for rare art.
“So, what exactly does a curator do?”
Matt watched Grace wrap her hands around one of Lorraine’s hefty sandwiches and take a healthy bite.
“Well…” She chewed, swallowed and took a sip of her iced tea. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”
He laughed. “Give me one I’ll understand.”
“Okay.” She took another bite of her pastrami and melted cheese on rye. “As a general rule, curators plan and oversee the arrangement, cataloging and exhibition of various art collections. We also schedule lectures, workshops and fund-raisers. In a smaller museum, like the Griff, a curator might be called to perform a number of
“I’m too busy for this,” Lorry said impatiently. “It’s clear that you and I cannot do business together.” Without warning, he took the painting off the easel.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Grace asked, alarm rising in her voice.
“Taking back what’s mine.”
“I don’t think so.” She gripped the painting on both sides and held it firmly. “You signed a legal contract, and unless you let go of this painting right now, I’ll be forced to call the police.”
“Is everything all right here?” a calm voice said from the doorway.
Grace and Lorry turned at the same time. Matt Baxter stood in the doorway, blocking any possible exit. Grace held back a sigh of relief. She no longer had any doubt that the Arroyo had to be authenticated. The problem was, she didn’t think she alone could have kept Lorry from walking out with the painting.
Taking advantage of the dealer’s surprise, she gave one last tug to free the Arroyo from his grip. “It is now,” she replied. She put the Arroyo back on the easel. “I’ll let you know when I sell the painting, Mr. Lorry.”
Lorry didn’t answer. Instead, he assessed Matt for a few seconds as if he was considering taking him on. Matt just stood there, looking relaxed.
“I’ll be back,” Lorry said to Grace. Then, after one last dark look at Matt, he walked out.
“Charming fellow,” Matt commented after he’d left. “Friend of yours?”
“He’s an art dealer with whom Steven did business.”
“He looks more like a two-bit hood than an art dealer.”
Grace walked over to the desk, took a dust cloth and came back to wipe the frame where Lorry’s fingers had left a few smudges. “He was just angry.”
“Any particular reason?”
“He claims that his agreement was with Steven and now that Steven is dead, he refuses to work with me. He came to take his painting back and I wouldn’t let him.”
“What was he trying to do? Wrestle you for it?”
“Apparently.”
Matt walked over to the painting. “What’s wrong with the painting?”
Grace wasn’t ready to share her suspicion with a federal agent, especially one she had known less than twenty-four hours. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Its owner was hell-bent on taking it back. You were hell-bent on not letting him. It made me curious.”
“Victor Lorry and I had what you call a personality clash. Now that the matter has been settled, I feel a little silly.”
“Nothing that a good lunch won’t fix.”
“You’re right. Just let me go freshen up.”
Once in the back room, however, Grace didn’t touch up her lipstick, but unclipped her cell phone from her waistband and dialed a number in Boston.
At the fourth ring, Professor Fishburn’s answering machine picked up and the familiar voice instructed her to leave a brief message and a phone number. Trying to be both thorough and brief, Grace told her old friend what she suspected and asked if he would be willing to come to New Hope to put her mind at ease. She gave him her cell phone number and hung up, praying the professor wasn’t on a trip somewhere, hunting for rare art.
“So, what exactly does a curator do?”
Matt watched Grace wrap her hands around one of Lorraine’s hefty sandwiches and take a healthy bite.
“Well…” She chewed, swallowed and took a sip of her iced tea. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”
He laughed. “Give me one I’ll understand.”
“Okay.” She took another bite of her pastrami and melted cheese on rye. “As a general rule, curators plan and oversee the arrangement, cataloging and exhibition of various art collections. We also schedule lectures, workshops and fund-raisers. In a smaller museum, like the Griff, a curator might be called to perform a number of
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