The Vanished, page 22
He stopped the thought.
No, the truck had followed him.
The moment it pulled into the parking lot, there was no other plausible explanation.
After ten minutes, his pulse had slowed, and he carefully eased from the slot.
He looped through Purcellville and back south to Kedgewick, never seeing a white pickup. He wished he’d caught a license plate or anything that would be helpful to the police, but what was the point of calling them? What could they do with his information that he’d been followed—maybe—by a truck?
Why would anyone follow him?
The question bothered him until he arrived at the Elliott.
Silence dominated the administrative wing, and he glanced at his watch with a frown. Where was Ariel?
He headed toward the kitchenette. “Ariel?”
The hall echoed his word back at him, the sound eerie.
A moan rose as he neared the small space, and he moved faster. A form was sprawled on the ground at the base of the refrigerator, and he hurried to her side. Ariel’s long hair covered her face, blood oozing from a gash on the back of her head. He brushed back her hair so he could see her face. “Hang in there.”
She moaned again, and he scrambled to pull his phone from his jacket pocket and dial 911. Then he waited next to her for the ambulance to arrive. Ariel didn’t fully regain consciousness, but he was grateful for every moan and shift that suggested she was with him.
When the paramedics rushed in and a police officer followed them, his relief was like the release of air from a balloon.
The officer approached him. “I’m Officer Joel Alston.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“The paramedics could tell you. What happened?”
“Not much to tell.” Carter explained the little he knew.
“Anyone who would want to hurt her?”
“I hope she slipped and hit her head.”
“Here?” The officer glanced around. “Probably not. Is anything missing?”
Carter swallowed hard. “I have no idea. I only made it this far.”
“Then let’s do a walk around. Be careful not to touch surfaces until we know what’s going on.”
“All right.” Carter wasn’t sure how that would help, if they were walking all over, but he wanted to make sure nothing had been disturbed. “It could take a while to assess every area.”
“Let’s focus on this wing right now.”
Carter moved across the hall to his office. What he saw froze him in place. It looked like someone had taken every piece of paper in the office and upended it. Even the books from his shelves were tossed around.
“I take it this isn’t normal.”
So the officer had the gift of understatement. “No.”
“What was the person looking for?”
Carter shook his head. “I have no idea.” He went to his desk and tried to remember what files had been on top but gave up. The storm of paper made it impossible to recall.
After Officer Alston asked a few more questions, he walked with Carter into the museum, where they took a quick tour of the galleries. All looked well until he reached the place where the Botticelli hung. The frame looked like someone had hacked at it but given up. Had Ariel somehow interrupted a robbery? She did tend to sing in the mornings.
“We’ll need to close the museum while we collect some evidence.” Officer Alston pulled out his phone.
“Whatever you need.” Carter stood in a daze as the officer stepped away to make the call.
Fast steps startled him, and he spun to find Stanley bolting toward him.
“Why didn’t you call? Tell me there was an issue?” The man skidded to a stop when his gaze landed on the painting, chest heaving as if he’d run a great distance. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Carter stared at the work, heartsick at the destruction. “Looks like someone tried to steal it but gave up. I’ll get a call in to our insurance company, once I confirm Ariel is okay.”
Stanley shook his head. “I’ll call the insurance.”
“No need. That’s part of my job.”
“You have bigger issues, like where the security was. I’ll make the call. What happened to Ariel?”
“Paramedics just took her to the hospital.” He loosened his tie, feeling like his lungs froze. “Someone—probably whoever did this—attacked her.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled for the security firm. “I’ve got work to do. If you could let the board know what happened, I’d appreciate it. Someone will have to talk to the media, and I’ll need help with that. We’ll also have to close this gallery while the police work.” His mind whirled as he walked away from Stanley.
Then he pivoted to take a few photos of the damage. Stanley stood close to the painting, almost nose to nose with the woman, both hands around the frame. “Stanley?”
The man startled. “I’ll call the board.” Then he spun on his heel and exited the gallery at a clip.
Carter stared after him, then returned to his phone and started making calls. He’d call the police back while leaving the board and insurance to Stanley.
When Janae stopped at Java Jane’s for a midmorning coffee, rumors swirled that something had happened at the Elliott, but when Carter didn’t answer his phone, she sent him a text. If he needed help, he knew how to reach her. She considered walking to the museum but didn’t want to overstep and insert herself into a situation that didn’t need her.
Early that afternoon, her phone rang, and without looking at the caller ID, Janae picked up her trilling cell and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Honey, I need you to come to Grandma’s.”
Janae pulled the phone from her ear and checked the time on it. “Now? It’s only 1:30.”
“I am well aware. Come here, please. Now.” There was no honey in that tone.
“Wait, Mom, why aren’t you at school?”
“Teacher in-service day, and I’m not a teacher.”
“Is Grandma okay?”
“She’s fine.”
Mom’s short answers had Janae quickly pulling up her calendar to confirm she had no appointments until 4:00. “I can come for a bit.”
“See you soon.” Mom hung up before Janae could respond.
What could Mom have found that required Janae to drop everything and drive to Grandma’s this instant? Whatever it was, Mom’s insistence amped Janae’s concern.
When she pulled her hybrid into the driveway, Mom watched from the porch. Huh. That wasn’t typical. Janae grabbed her bag, and before she reached the cardinal-red front door, Mom had it opened, hugging her oversized cardigan tight around her.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Sure.” Janae noted a tightness around her mom’s eyes as well as a whiteness to her skin. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but Grandma found something.” Mom stepped back and then closed the door after Janae entered the small foyer. “I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but we found that painting in the suitcase, and I don’t know. It feels … off.” She pivoted and led the way to the kitchen.
The exposed stone walls and timbered ceiling usually made the space feel cozy, weak fall light filtering in from the single window. The wall of honeyed-wood cabinets created the galley feel of the kitchen that blended into the table and the large fireplace at the end of the room. Most days she relaxed into the space that held so many memories of meals and cookie decorating at the large table. Now her gaze froze on a small painting, about the size of a sheet of paper, that held the image of an old man staring straight at the viewer. The painting had the dark look of a Dutch master, with the stark background broken up by the man’s face and white cuffs and collar.
Janae’s heart skipped as her hand covered her mouth as she studied it. “Grandpa, what is going on?”
“Why did you say ‘Grandpa’?”
“If we found the first painting in his things, then I’m guessing this was too.”
Mom shook her head, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Grandma found this on a top shelf in the basement.”
Grandma huffed into the room. “I can speak for myself, Lisa.”
“I know you can, Mom.”
“This house doesn’t have a single closet thanks to when it was built, so there’s hidey-holes everywhere in the furniture. You know I’m too small to reach the top shelves in the basement, but I decided for some unknown reason today was a good day to sort through a couple. Guess I was inspired by all our work in the carriage house and then on the built-ins up here. Hasn’t been done since Grandpa died.” She swallowed hard and blinked a few times. “That’s what I found.” She gestured to the painting.
“Okay.” Janae studied it but didn’t reach for it. She felt oddly frozen in place, as if taking a single step could alter the future in ways she couldn’t anticipate, and she was the queen of what-ifs.
“Okay? That’s the best you’ve got?” Grandma sounded put out.
“Where exactly did you find it?”
“Shoved between some of Grandpa’s old work clothes in a box. I guess it was kind of like his books on the top shelf in the other room. If I left the books he loved to collect, they comforted me like he might walk back in the room to grab one at any time.”
“And that applies to his work clothes?” Janae shuddered at the thought of what they must have smelled like. “I hope the painting doesn’t smell like his clothes.”
“He had it in a big Ziploc, only fancier.”
At least he’d taken some steps to protect it.
“Why would Dad have something like that? And there of all places? On a shelf above your head?” Mom shook her head, arms crossed protectively in front of her.
“He was hiding it.” Janae knew it with certainty, but not why.
“What a thing to say.” Grandma’s eyes sparked. “I bet he got it as a gift for me and then died before he could give it.”
Mom nodded and kept looking at the painting as if waiting for the man to speak. “There’s something special about this one, and I think I know what.”
“Oh?” Something tickled at Janae’s mind, but she couldn’t quiet it enough to figure out what.
“It looks like a Rembrandt.”
Chapter 28
Tuesday, November 22
JANAE PULLED OUT HER PHONE and stepped closer to the table. “I’m going to take a few photos, and then I’d like to take this to my friend at the Elliott like the other painting. Carter should know whether Mom’s right.”
Grandma rubbed her hands up and down her cardigan sleeves. “It can’t be a Rembrandt. I’ve heard of him.”
Janae wanted to scream that everyone had, but part of her clung to the probability this was merely a good copy. People bought those all the time. The problem was that she didn’t know anyone who had a copied Rembrandt.
Rembrandt!
She pressed a hand against her stomach as it clenched against the thought.
Mom remained pale and swayed a bit. “Taking it to the Elliott is an excellent idea. I can’t imagine keeping it here until we know more. If it’s real, it’s priceless.” She swallowed hard, then pushed from the sink she’d collapsed against. “I’ll have a list of last-minute things for you to pick up at the store. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. Too close to Thanksgiving, and we’ll be stuck with canned green beans.” She wrinkled her nose and made a face at Grandma.
Some of the tension broke as Grandma chuckled. “There are worse things in the world than classic green bean casserole, Lisa.”
“Not when we can have fresh green beans with almonds and olive oil.”
Janae tuned out their banter, which had a note of forced cheerfulness, as she edged her phone around the painting to take photos. Then she used her blouse as a glove of sorts as she eased the painting over to get the back side like Carter had showed her. “Do you have a box I can put it in, Grandma?”
“Sure, honey.” Grandma came back a minute later with a white gift box. “Will this work?”
Janae slid the frame inside and then put the top on. “Perfect.” She blew out a breath. “I’m going to take this in now.” She gave her grandma a quick hug. “Is it okay if I start bringing some things over this week? With Thanksgiving, I thought it would be a good time to move.”
“Sure. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.”
Mom crossed her arms protectively over her stomach. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
“I know, but I don’t mean watch out for deer this time.”
Janae nodded. “This feels big.”
“It does. Tell Carter I want to meet him soon. Thank him for his help with these paintings.”
“I will.” The drive passed quickly, yet she felt the burden of traveling with the painting. She considered stopping for coffee but quickly abandoned the idea. She wasn’t sure her stomach could handle the caffeine, and she knew she couldn’t leave the painting in her car even for a minute. What if that was the one time someone decided to break in? She’d be sick.
Instead, she pulled into the visitor lot at the Elliott and hurried up the stairs to the entrance, but the door was locked. A note flapped in the breeze, held in place by two pieces of tape, alerting visitors to the fact the museum was closed for the day.
A news van pulled up while she considered what to do. The passenger door opened, and a woman with perfect hair and bright lips popped out. “Are you with the museum?”
Janae stepped back. There was no way she wanted anything to do with the media, not with what she carried. “No.”
“Sure?”
“Just visiting.” Janae turned and started walking away.
What a terrible, never-ending, awful day. Officer Alston hadn’t been thrilled to come back and seemed to think the second trip was Carter’s fault. And a team had been at the museum for hours. The whole time Carter expected to hear from the insurance company but hadn’t, which baffled him. Surely they would have reached out to get more information after Stanley contacted them. Damage like this would usually have an adjuster out quickly. It could launch an audit and more, which sounded like a nightmare but might be necessary. He had an injured employee, a trashed office, and a damaged painting.
None of that should have happened.
Margeaux Robbins had called to make sure he was okay and to see where Ariel was, but the other board members hadn’t reached out. Carter had handled the details alone, leaving him no choice but to close the museum.
He had to get security figured out, then clean things up and get the painting secured.
His phone rang and he almost ignored it, but picked up when he didn’t recognize the number. Maybe this was finally the insurance company.
“Carter, this is Archibald. What do you need?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard there was a mess at the museum this morning, and now you’ve got the media outside your doors. What do you need?”
“Other than the media to leave us alone?”
“Yes, because I don’t think anyone can work that miracle.”
“I’m not sure.” Carter sighed and pressed his fingers at the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.
“Quite all right. Let me know if anything comes up that I can help with. You’re not alone, young man.”
“Thank you.” After the call ended, Carter sat at his desk a moment. Media at the door? Maybe leaving was his best option. No, he had to figure out what happened with the security. Someone broke in to the museum. At least a break-in felt preferable to the idea it wasn’t.
While the museum didn’t have overnight on-site security, it did have cameras and alarms. He couldn’t imagine the cost of adding overnight security, but maybe that was next. Had the museum flirted with danger by not having it?
Tension pounded at his temples.
This morning said it had.
He placed a call to the security company and explained what had happened. The owner promised to send someone over with the footage. “Can you scan it first to see what you can find? I don’t need to watch all of it myself to prove there’s a problem if there is. I just need to know what you see.”
“On it. Are you ready to consider nighttime security?”
“I wanted to request a proposal.”
“I can send the one we put together six months ago. It wasn’t cheap, but considering your collection, it seemed reasonable.”
“Would you mind resending the proposal? I haven’t seen it. Can you give me a ballpark of the charge?”
The man quoted a price that wasn’t as high as Carter would have anticipated. “Why didn’t the museum move forward?”
“I don’t know. Stanley refused, and the other director quit. He was concerned something like today would happen. Even if I had someone actively watching your feeds at the time of the attack, it would take too long for us to arrive to stop harm. Our office is in Leesburg.”
“That’s at least fifteen minutes.”
“If we were breaking every speed limit. And in that time a smash-and-grab has happened, and the thieves disappeared.”
“Email me the proposal. I think we have proof it’s necessary now.”
After the call ended, Carter stood and walked to the office entryway. Why would Stanley say no to security—especially when the director said it was necessary?
Irreplaceable items filled museums, which were habitually underinsured and understaffed, but this bordered on negligence. He’d ask for clarification and press into the why.
A light knock on the door pulled his head up. Janae stood there, blonde hair blowing in the breeze, carrying a small box. She shivered, and he headed to the door to open it.
“Janae?”
“Hi, Carter. Hurry.” She pushed past him. “Close the door before the media come around the side.”
“I think they’ve given up.” But he pulled the door tight because he knew she was right, and he didn’t have it in him to dodge the press. “Why are you here?”
“Is it okay that I came? I can leave because I hear it’s been crazy.” But she seemed rooted in place.
“That’s an understatement.” He noted the box she clutched. “What do you have?”
