The Vanished, page 15
Chloe slipped behind her desk and settled in her chair. “I’ll start with Google.”
“And this is a good time to use one of the legal search engines. It’s all about finding the right case.” Once she found that, the rest would begin to unravel. It would still take effort, but the way forward would make sense. “I’ll be in my office.”
Chloe barely nodded as her fingers started flying across her keyboard. What she didn’t have in a law degree, she made up for as a logical and critical thinker.
Janae entered the conference room, quickly sliding all the chairs back up to the table and wiping it down before collecting the file. A minute later, she sat behind her desk and started with the first document. She frowned as she struggled to read what was printed on the photocopied page. After a minute she picked up her phone and dialed Carter. When he answered, she launched into her questions. “Have you had a chance to read the file?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you have it near you?”
There was a pause, and then he answered. “Got it now.”
“Can you look at the first couple of documents?”
Another pause then a whistle. “This looks like German.” A pause. “That’s right. Shaw said it was in German.”
“You don’t happen to be fluent?”
“Nope. Took French in college. Hasn’t done a lot for me and doesn’t help here.”
Janae flipped through the papers in the file. “I don’t see a translation, though I thought he mentioned one. Do you happen to have it?”
“No, and I don’t know that I’d trust his.”
“True, but it would give us a starting point while we got our own.” She rubbed her forehead. “This was supposed to help or at least give us some clarity. I’ll call him and ask for his translation while we work on our own.”
“Do you think Monroe has a German professor?”
“I don’t know, but I know someone who does. You know her too.”
“I do?”
“Margeaux Robbins. She’s on your board and teaches at Monroe.” Janae wished she’d had the thought first. “If there’s not a professor, there might be an exchange student who can at least help us get a basic understanding of what we’re looking at. Anything would be better than the nothing I’m getting right now.”
“Do you want me to reach out to her?”
“No, I can do that. We’ve been friends for years.” She wrote a note on the folder, and then chewed on the end of the pen as she considered what he could focus on. “How’s your hunt going? Maybe give me everything on the history of the painting and its painter. Does it have value?”
“It’s a Botticelli.”
“And?”
“He was an Italian master, but no it doesn’t have value on the level of the one included in the auction of Paul Allen’s estate collection.”
“What do you mean?”
“That collection sold for more than a billion dollars.”
“I can’t fathom that many zeroes.”
Carter snorted. “That makes two of us. But I’ll have to do some digging on Paula Modersohn-Becker. She’s not someone I’m very familiar with.”
“Me either, but I like the look.”
“She fits nicely with some of the other women artists from her time.” There was a murmur of voices. “I’d better go.”
“Before you do, have you updated Bill Yates yet?”
“Yes. He wasn’t thrilled or cooperative. He thinks I need to be protected from Stanley.” He sighed and she heard a rustle like his phone rubbed against his face. “We’ll have to be creative and not look for help from him.”
“He’s not the only board member.”
“But he is influential and has the institutional knowledge I’m missing. I’ve got to run.”
After the call ended, Janae gave herself a couple of minutes to consider what Carter had shared before she jotted a quick email to Margeaux asking for a German speaker at the college. Maybe there wasn’t one, but she’d bet Margeaux would find a way.
Why would Bill be unwilling to help protect the museum against a lawsuit?
She didn’t know enough yet to probe, but she made a note to dig deeper, then picked up the stack of paper and decided to try again. She didn’t need to understand every word to get the gist of the message. Then she’d try the new link and see if between the two she had enough to anticipate potential problems for the museum. If not, she’d find someone in DC who could help.
Chapter 19
Sunday, November 13
JANAE ROLLED UP HER SLEEVES and rubbed her arm across her forehead. She would think that by early November in the top floor of the carriage house, she’d be too cold to get much work done, but the way her mother directed her to move items about in ever-changing piles, she was hot enough to spontaneously combust. They’d made progress, but she hadn’t planned to spend another night out here until the call from Grandma asking for more help had her making the drive with Mom as the sky turned colors with the setting sun.
Frankly, after getting her downtown office ready, she was over cleaning. Another week on the horse farm wouldn’t be terrible. But if Grandma needed her, she’d show up and work.
“I hoped we’d reached the end.” Janae studied the piles all around the walls. Suitcases lined the far back wall with boxes stacked all around. It represented the detritus of a lifetime pushed everywhere there was a gap. “Guess not.”
“We’re closer than we used to be.” Mom’s cheeks had turned red as she dragged another suitcase from under one of the windows. “This room will make a wonderful escape for you after we clear it.” She gave the case another tug. “Too bad I can’t just roll this to the light. Mom thought suitcases made good storage, but this one’s heavy.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Do you wonder why your grandma’s so focused on cleaning this space now?”
“She’s ready for a roommate.”
“Maybe.” There was hesitation in the word. Mom placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the space, blinking hard the whole time as if that could hide her emotion. “I think we’ve made a dent.”
Janae mimicked her mom’s akimbo stance. “A very small one.”
“Minuscule.”
“Tiny.” She pointed at the next item because it was move forward or admit defeat. “So what’s in this one?”
“I don’t know.” Mom moved the suitcase to the lone open space in the room. “Let’s find out.”
The unzipping sound was loud in the silence. Each time they opened a new box or suitcase, Janae wondered what treasure they’d uncover. One carton might have photographs. The next box held baby clothes. And the one after that, books collected on travels. It was a cacophony of items from a life lived to the full. But each held a mystery that needed Grandma’s interpretation or it would remain unsolved.
Mom frowned as she opened the lid. “What’s this?”
“The question of the night.” Janae leaned closer. “Is that a uniform?”
“Army maybe.” Mom carefully lifted it from the case and set it to the side. “My dad served in the Army during World War II. Did he ever tell you about that time?”
“I vaguely remember a story or two. Unfortunately, I wasn’t really interested before he died.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He was a quiet man. A big teddy bear if you didn’t give up on him. It took persistence to get him to hug me.”
An old canteen and then some papers came out. At the bottom of the suitcase, a tissue-paper-wrapped item rested.
Janae wanted to rip the paper back but waited for Mom to move. “What do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” Something in Mom’s voice indicated hesitation to continue.
“I can open it.”
“No, that’s all right.” Mom reached into the suitcase and carefully unfolded the tissue paper from the item.
When she’d removed the last piece, they both stared in the suitcase.
Janae reached forward, then pulled her arms back. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A painting? Out here?” Mom looked around. “This is a terrible place to store an oil painting.”
Janae pulled out the small, plain frame and tilted the painting to better see the brushstrokes in the light. She squinted as she tried to make out the scrawled name in the left-hand corner. “Can you read that?”
Mom leaned closer, then shook her head. “We’ll have to try the main house where the light is better. Maybe Grandma can fill us in on what this is.”
“Good idea.” Janae studied it more closely.
They headed outside and then up the steps to the wide porch lining the front of the house.
Janae stood cradling the piece in her arms. It was not quite twelve inches wide and on the small side, but her arms felt the heaviness of a much larger weight.
Grandma met them at the front door, a cardigan wrapped around her frame. “What do you have there?”
“I’m not sure.” Janae carried it to the kitchen table where the overhead light gave her a better look at it. She sucked in a breath. “Mom? Grandma, does that say Brvegel?” She stumbled over the pronunciation of the odd word.
Grandma laughed, a sound that was rich and flowed from her. “Girl, I love you, but I don’t know what that means.”
Mom stepped closer and looked at the corner. “Bruegel? This could be old enough the v would represent a u.”
Janae’s heart stopped, then lurched into rhythm again. “Wasn’t there a famous painter with that name? It’s tickling at the back of my mind.”
“I don’t know.” Mom’s face scrunched as she studied the small painting of dogs in a window. “What is this?”
Janae felt a sheen of sweat at her temples. “This could be valuable.” Why had Grandpa tucked it under his old military uniform in a suitcase in storage? “I think we need help.”
“I think you’re right.” Mom shook her head. “Who do we ask?”
“You girls are overthinking. It’s a cute painting. Odd but cute.” Grandma shook her head, her grin spreading as she studied it. “The idea that it’s more than a silly painting of dogs is ridiculous. Your dad wouldn’t store something valuable in that catchall.”
Janae couldn’t shake the tingle at the back of her neck that indicated this was something more than they were seeing. She couldn’t say why, other than overanalyzing the situation thanks to her meetings with Carter and Mrs. Seeger, but she needed to scrape below the surface. “Looks like we have a mystery.” Janae stepped back and studied the painting with a bit of distance. “Grandma, are you sure you’ve never seen this?”
“Absolutely. I would remember something that silly, but …” She shrugged and then gestured at it. “I don’t know. Why would it be in a suitcase? Most of the stuff out there is just that. Stuff. Things I should have given away years ago, but never made the time to.”
That made sense. “How do we find out more about it?”
Mom frowned and shook her head. “I work with kids. I’m a speech therapist, not an art appraiser.”
“Maybe a museum curator could help.”
“No need to bother someone like that. Arnold wouldn’t store a valuable painting out there. Mice or some other vermin could have found and nibbled on it.” Grandma practically swooned. “We lived simple lives.”
Janae wondered what Carter Montgomery would make of this mystery. “Let me take it to the Elliott’s director. He can help us identify what this is, and he might enjoy the distraction.”
Monday, November 14
The first floor of the museum filled with a couple of busloads of middle school kids, and the noise level in the cavernous rooms exploded as their footsteps and laughter reverberated off the stone floor. This group was bused in from Purcellville, their seventh-grade art teachers exposing them to what art looked like in real life. While many had probably explored the halls of the National Gallery of Art an hour away, others would have never wandered the halls of a museum. The visit to the Elliott formed their first exposure to the wonders of seeing the actual paint strokes or chisel marks.
Carter wanted to sink into the moment and form an idea of how the museum could expand its community offerings. Instead, the call he’d taken earlier continued to circulate through his mind. Jarod Shaw had promised the deadline in the demand letter wouldn’t move.
All well and good except for the need to conduct his own searches. Relying on the information provided by the opposing attorney wouldn’t be adequate since it would contain a bias leaning toward the heirs. But an independent and thorough search would take time he didn’t have.
He forced himself to focus on the here and now.
A few of the kids had slowed their steps and paused in front of different works, while others swirled around the edges of the room at a speed that suggested they didn’t really see anything. Still, they were here and that created the opportunity for discovery.
Several adults circulated among the kids, likely the parent volunteers.
Doris McGready, one of the docents, stepped next to him and ran fingers through her short gray hair as she eyed the students. “Wish I had their energy.”
Carter watched for stragglers in the group. “It would be nice. I’ve heard you get the school groups wrapped around your fingers quickly.”
“Those microphones and receivers you got us help immensely. It’s nice to not yell to be heard.” She straightened the edge of her navy blazer and grinned, turning her into a charming, older elf. “Let’s see if we can’t teach those young minds something fun.”
The next hour passed as Carter walked between Doris’s group and the other. Both women did an admirable job getting and keeping the middle schoolers’ attention as they wandered through different wings of the museum on the highlight tour.
Then the students were let loose to try their hand at drawing a copy of their favorite art piece. Carter couldn’t wait to see which one each child picked. It would give valuable insight into the items they should emphasize in the future with this demographic. Keeping art relevant and interesting, particularly the eclectic mix that one found in the various exhibits, formed a key part of his job.
Art told stories.
It had always done so, but the docents translated the foreign language into one others could appreciate. They tackled the key challenge of making each piece’s story interesting and understandable centuries or millennia after the artist gifted his or her talent to the world.
A young girl with heavy color around her eyes studied him from her seat.
“Can I help you?”
Her intensity didn’t waver as she considered him. “Why are you here?”
“I run the museum.”
“You spend your days here with old stuff?”
“Yep.”
“And you like that?” One eyebrow arched as if she questioned his sanity.
“I do.” He took a step closer but made sure she had ample space around her. “What caught your interest today?”
She shrugged but partially leaned over her notebook as if to conceal her work. “Not much.”
“You’d help me if you gave me your perspective.”
“How?”
“I need to know what you like and what you’d come back to see.”
“That’s easy.”
“Oh?”
“The little sculpture of the dancer.”
“The one by Degas?” It was one of the clear treasures in the collection. Small, but a valued gift from a patron.
“Think so.”
“Why that one?”
“She looks so alive. How’d he do that?”
“That is the question behind art. We know what we like when we see it. But how did one artist make that piece of metal come to life, when another could do the same thing and it wouldn’t feel animated?”
“Exactly. She could stand up and start dancing in the room and I’d join her.”
Carter grinned at the image. “That’s what drew me to working in a museum. I love art because there’s something special that happens when we interact with it.”
“Sure.” She looked down at her drawing and then frowned. “It’s not right.”
“May I?” He gestured to the edge of the bench near her. When she nodded, he sat on the edge, and then glanced over her shoulder. “You have a good start. Maybe draw around the spaces where nothing is. I had an art tutor once who told me that was the key to good art. Focus on what isn’t there, on the voids. That technique helps us see what is really there.” A man moved—someone who had caught his attention a couple of times. The man stayed on the periphery but always where Carter could see him. However, he never interacted with the students. “Good luck with your drawing.”
“Thanks.”
Carter stood and edged toward the man. A simple conversation would confirm he was overthinking the man’s quiet alertness. As Carter stepped across the room, the man met his gaze, and his eyes widened before he turned away. Then the man stepped into an alcove and disappeared.
Carter picked up his pace, dodging a group of giggling girls and between a gaggle of boys who watched the girls. When he reached the alcove, it was empty. He hurried past, but the adjoining room was empty as well.
Was it the same man he’d seen a couple of other times?
Or was Carter just paranoid?
He turned, examining his memory. First his sister, the strange envelope she’d left behind. Then all the questions about the paintings and Stanley’s strange reaction to the threat of lawsuit. No, his mind was alerting him to something.
Ariel appeared in the entrance to the gallery and waved him over.
Carter joined her in the doorway. Her bohemian outfit of flowing skirt and colorful T-shirt had reds and greens today, a reflection of the drawing she’d posted in the small kitchenette of a drooping Christmas tree with tired red ribbons decking its boughs.
“There’s an important call for you.”
“Take a message, Ariel.” He still wanted to search for the man, make sure he was gone.
“No, this one’s too important.”
“That sounds mysterious.”
“You have no idea.” At this statement her eyes widened, as if that should tell him something.
