Without A Clue by Pamela Wilder

 
    Title Page
     
    Pamela Wilder @2015 Copyright. All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of Pamela Wilder. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
     
    Chapter one
    Art galleries made Aden Bourne itch.
    Once upon a time he’d liked them. His dad had taught him the importance of art, taking him to all the major museums in Boston by the time he was twelve. Those experiences had given him a real appreciation for the art world, which he’d held onto until just a few weeks ago, when Diane had broken things off with him.
    Ah, Diane, with her mile high heels and her vanilla and honeysuckle scent. He’d really been a sucker for her—
    “Did you hear me, Mr. Bourne?"
    Aden glanced at his latest client, who owned a rather famous gallery on Newberry Street. She didn’t look like a sleek, uber-fashionable gallery owner, like Diane. Mrs. Riley resembled his Nana Bourne. Maybe Betty White.
    “Missing painting. Must be discreet. No one can know it’s gone. I got it.” Distraction was a bad thing for a private investigator, and God knew women were a distraction for Aden. Maybe he just needed to swear off them for a bit. Women.
    “Yes. Whoever took it also made off with the authentication we had, the list of provenance. That means they can sell it at any auction as if they actually owned the painting.”
    Aden frowned. Okay, now he was paying attention. “Was this provenance kept in the same place as the painting?”
    “No.” She clasped her hands together on top of her desk, the knuckles going white. “That’s what’s so disturbing about all this. Any documentation is kept in the office, locked in a filing cabinet, or in the safe, depending on how important the piece is. This piece is… important.”
    “Okay.” Aden tapped notes into his phone, a habit his dad would have abhorred. His old man had been a cop, and a damned good one, but he’d believed in notebooks and pens, not technology. “Can you tell me why?”
    “This is a rare and unique work. Girard Ledeux won an Annenberg Fund stipend three years ago. This work is from three years before he got his stipend, which, sadly, changed his art irreparably. This early work has a raw, visceral feel to it, evoking pain. Lovely and brutal. Collectors are willing to pay close to tAll Rights reserved under International
    and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of Pamela Wilder. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. This