The Artful Goddaughter Page 2

  “Fine by me,” I said. “Let’s go straight to the store.”

  * * *

  The phone call came about an hour later, just as we were about to grab some lunch.

  It was Sammy. “Change of plans. Seb poofed it.”

  “Aw gee, I’m sorry,” I said into my cell phone. “He didn’t look good when I saw him this morning.”

  No kidding. Dead is not a good look.

  “Miriam will call you about the arrangements. I got a shitload of stuff to do now. Can’t make the chicken coop. So let me explain.”

  He did. It wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  “Seb left me a painting?” This didn’t sound like bad news. I loved Seb’s original art and had told him so many times.

  “Yeah. Nice one too. Not his…usual style.”

  “Well, that’s nice. Something to remember him by. Do you have it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll drop it off at the store tomorrow. And sweetheart?”

  Now I was suspicious. “Yes?”

  “Seb was very fond of you. He was a good man. Remember that.”

  I clicked off wondering, What the poop?

  THREE

  The next day, I dressed in black for work, out of respect. Black pants and black scoop-neck sweater. I broke it up with a gold belt.

  Nico was with me in the jewelry store. Usually, Tiff did that shift, but it was half-off day at the tattoo parlor. Tiff didn’t like to miss a deal. So she got Nico to fill in for her.

  Nico was also dressed in black, but that wasn’t unusual. He often wore black. Right now he was leaning against the jewelry counter, paging through Brides Magazine.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to wear one of these baked-meringue wedding dresses, Gina. I’ll kill myself.”

  I smiled. “Never fear. I’m not much for Cinderella froufrou. I’m more of the Grecian goddess type.”

  “Ooooh. Are you going for the Pippa look?” He frowned and flipped more pages.

  “Huh?”

  “Sister of Kate, the future Queen of England, silly. Remember the slinky dress Pippa Middleton wore at the Royal Wedding?”

  “I’m too rounded for that, alas.” It was true. To my dismay (and to Pete’s delight), I was a Marilyn where it counted.

  “Too bad there wasn’t enough time to order a custom-made dress.”

  “No worries. Lainy is coming with me.” And so was Aunt Miriam, Aunt Pinky, Aunt Vera and most of the female population west of the Red Hill Expressway.

  I thought Nico was going to jump through the ceiling. “Tell me! New York? Milano? Are you picking it up in the States?”

  I smiled. “Nope. We live in this burg. It pays to do business locally, if you can.”

  Sammy walked in the door. He had something big and square under his arm.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How’s things?”

  I walked over and gave him a sideways hug.

  “Hi, Uncle Sammy.” Nico waved.

  “Is that from Seb?” I tried to grab the parcel from him.

  “Hold on, doll. It’s heavy.” He put it down on the glass counter.

  I attacked the brown paper wrapping.

  “Take it easy, Gina. It’s worth a lot.”

  I grinned. Maybe it was worth a lot to me, for sentimental reasons. But Seb wasn’t well known as an artist, for obvious reasons. His own work didn’t command a price.

  Underneath the brown paper was a painting about two by two and a half feet. The thing was framed in carved brown wood. It was a floating nude, with a bunch of other things in the sky. Quite colorful, with blues and greens.

  “It’s a Kugel copy.” I gazed at it in awe. “Oh my God, it’s the lady with the three—”

  “He really wanted you to have it, Gina. He was quite insistent upon that.”

  We all stared at it. Nico twisted his head sideways.

  “What’s a Kugel?” said Nico.

  “Kugel was from the same period as Chagall. A little later than Picasso,” I explained.

  Something hit me then. It didn’t make me feel good. “I’ve seen this before.”

  Sammy squirmed. His face twisted.

  “Recently,” I said, thinking hard. “And I don’t mean in Art History class.” That had been years ago, in university.

  “Not this one.” Sammy shook his head. “Even I haven’t seen this one before.”

  Now what did he mean by that?

  “I don’t know, Gina.” Nico still had his head tilted. “Were you thinking for the shop? The colors are right, but the three boobies might turn off clients.”

  I snapped my fingers. “I know! It’s hanging in the City Art Gallery. I noticed it the night I was there for that gala, when Tony got hit.” Hoo boy. That was so not a good night. Except for Pete. That’s when I got together with Pete.

  “Man, it’s a good copy,” I said, putting my face right up to the painting. “Seb sure was a master, God rest his soul.”

  “He left something for you too, Nico,” Sammy said.

  Sammy was looking funny. Almost as if he wasn’t sure how this would go down. My mind raced through the alternatives.

  “Not—”

  Nico gasped. “Pauly?”

  Sammy nodded.

  I groaned. “The insane parrot.”

  “Oh my God, Gina.” He clapped his hands together. “That is so awesome. My own parrot. Think of how it will go down in the shop.”

  Nico had just finished his interior-design diploma and was about to set up a design business in the store next to mine. The family was fronting him. I had no doubt the shop would serve a purpose additional to what Nico had in mind. But why disillusion the poor lad?

  “Insane parrot,” I reminded him. “And are you telling me you are going to design the entire store around the colors of that bonkers bird?”

  His brown eyes went wide. “A parrot motif! Brilliant, cuz. I was looking for a hook.”

  I just hoped Captain Hook wasn’t still looking for his bird.

  “The parrot is at the vet now. Luca will bring it over to your place when they release it.” Sammy looked at his Rolex. “Gotta run. So I’ll see you two at the visitation. Miriam will call with last-minute instructions.”

  “Sure.” I was still staring at the painting.

  “Wear black, Gina. You know Miriam’s fussy about that. Gotta respect the dead an’ all.”

  “I’ll wear black. Nico will help me pick something appropriate.”

  “I mean for the visitation and the funeral. She said to wear two different outfits.”

  Nico was all grins. “Are we going shopping? I know this new place in Oakville—”

  The door slammed shut.

  Something else was bothering me. I stared at the painting.

  “Nico, I don’t get it. I’ve been to Seb’s studio dozens of times, and I never saw this there.”

  Seb had lived at the studio. No, I mean, really. He had a one-bedroom apartment above the studio. It was in a converted space on James North.

  Not too long ago, that area of town was notoriously seedy. We used to call it the “scenic crack-house area” of Hamilton. This, of course, made the rent quite cheap.

  In the last decade, artists had moved in from Toronto and made the place trendy. The Hammer is just over one hour from Toronto, where the rents are sky-high.

  Seb’s studio actually predated the trendy phase. Probably it predated the hooker-and-crack-dealer phase.

  Nico tilted his head to the other side. “Maybe he didn’t think it was respectable, what with the three…”

  I shook my head. “Nah. He had lots of nudes hanging around. That isn’t it.”

  I was bothered, all right. I don’t like things that don’t make sense.

  “So you think he had this in hiding? Why?”

  Good question. Why would he hide a beautiful copy like this?

  My stomach lurched up to my throat. I put the painting on the counter. Then I went diving around the corner for my loupe.

  “Hold the painting under the
light, Nico. I want to check something.”

  Nico did as told. I trained my loupe on a certain spot.

  “Shit. It’s not there.” I said a few more bad words as I straightened.

  “What’s not there, Gina?” Nico carefully placed the painting face up on the counter.

  “Seb always put a little sign on his copies. A secret mark. He showed me years ago.”

  Nico caught my excitement. “Let me guess. You can’t find it? It isn’t there?”

  I shook my head, gulping down bile. “This painting is the real thing.”

  FOUR

  “So…that means the one in the art gallery…”

  “Is a fake. Crap.”

  We stood in silence for a moment.

  “How much would it be worth, Gina?”

  I sighed. “Not sure. Less than a Chagall, but probably still a lot. Why don’t you look it up while I take another look, to be sure?”

  Nico whipped out his smartphone.

  Click click click click.

  “Okay. Checking Wikipedia…no, here’s a Google link that looks good. It says the last Kugel sold for over a million.”

  A million. Great-Uncle Seb had left me a hot painting that might be worth over a million? “I think my heart is going to stop,” I said.

  “Thing is, you have to keep it hidden, don’t you? Or sell it on the black market?”

  Visions of prison cells danced in my head.

  “Of course, if you really don’t want the problem, you could always burn it.”

  “Oh God, I couldn’t do that,” I said. “It’s a real Kugel! Burning it would be a sin against humanity. I’d go to hell.”

  Like I wasn’t already going there. I tried not to think about that.

  Nico shrugged. “Then I really don’t see that you have any choice. You just hide the thing away.”

  I had to agree. But I couldn’t stop wondering, How did the fake get there in the first place?

  “So what do you think happened, Nico? You think the one in the art gallery was painted by Seb? And somebody made a switch way back?”

  He frowned. “Probably somebody donated the Kugel to the gallery. And maybe they had Seb paint a fake before the presentation. To replace it in their home. Maybe he made two copies.”

  “And then the fake ended up in the gallery instead of the real one. How he managed that, I don’t know.”

  “’Cept he was really good, right? Maybe he couldn’t part with the real. Or maybe he just wanted to see if he could fool the experts.”

  I threw myself down in a client chair and groaned. “That sounds more like it. Most of his work was for private clients. He’d get a kick out of seeing his work in the gallery.”

  My cell started chiming “Shut Up and Drive.” It was Sammy.

  “There’s been a new development. I’ve been talking to Paulo about the will.”

  My cousin Paulo is now a hotshot lawyer.

  “Seb left you some money too. Real stuff, in the bank,” he said.

  “He did?” I was touched. Money was nice. Even better than a painting. I could actually use money. I wouldn’t even have to hide it.

  “Thing is, there’s a catch.”

  I stiffened. There was always a catch in this family. WHY did there always have to be a catch?

  Sammy continued. “It’s about the painting. Odd as it may seem, the old guy was developing a conscience. You wouldn’t think it to look at him.”

  Now I was on my feet. “Oh no. Not the painting. Not—”

  “Paulo says there’s a line on the brown paper on the back of the picture. Slit it. Look for an envelope or something. That should explain it.”

  The phone went dead.

  “CRAP,” I hollered. I reached for the painting and turned it over.

  “What was that all about?” Nico asked.

  I waved my right hand at him. “Hand me your knife.”

  I knew he would have one. All the men in our family carry folding knives. Some are bigger than others.

  He opened it and handed it to me. I carefully slit the brown paper backing along the line. Then I handed the knife back to him.

  “What are you doing?” Nico said, flicking the knife closed.

  My two fingers just barely fit in the slit without ripping it. They grasped a single piece of paper.

  “Seb left me a message.” I carefully pulled out my fingers with the paper sandwiched between them.

  My hand trembled. With a sick feeling, I flipped over the paper. The note was addressed to me. I read it out loud.

  Dear Gina,

  If you’re reading this, I’ve already gone to that big social club in the sky.

  I’ve left you my estate, with a condition. I need you to do something for me.

  Put this painting back where it belongs. It’s been bugging me. I promised Father O’Shaughnessy I would make it right.

  You’ll know what to do. You’re the one with the brains.

  When the painting is back, tell Paulo and Sammy. Then the money is yours.

  I’m betting on you.

  Love you, sweetheart. Take care of Nico and Tiffany.

  Seb

  The paper fell from my hand and drifted to the floor.

  “Cool,” was all Nico said. “His last practical joke.”

  I stared at the pretty blue walls of the shop. I tried to focus on the stunning Murano glass sculptures on the shelves behind the counter.

  Nothing worked to calm me down. So I picked up the phone and called Paulo. He answered on first ring.

  I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “How much is Seb’s estate worth?” I said.

  Paulo sighed. “Figured it would be you. Close to two mil, including the property.”

  Sweat gathered on my forehead.

  “That son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  “You said it,” Paulo said. He sounded amused. “Usually, you have to count your fingers after shaking hands with our relatives. But with Seb, you had to watch your back. Gotta run. See you and the Lone Rearranger at the visitation.”

  The phone went dead.

  I glanced over at Nico, aka the Lone Rearranger. He was looking expectant.

  “Hold on a sec,” I muttered.

  Something was bothering me. This wasn’t the whole story, I was sure. Seb was trickier than that. I punched Sammy’s number again.

  “What happens if I don’t do the job?”

  “The whole wad goes to someone else. That is, if they manage to get the job done.”

  “WHO?”

  He told me.

  Very bad words came out of my mouth. More very bad words.

  “Why? Why would he do that to me?”

  “Seb had great faith in your brains, sugar. And he really wanted to put things right. He may have thought you would be a little reluctant to take on another job. So he provided an incentive.”

  I swore again. “One he knew would work, the son of a bitch.”

  “Hey. Watch the language, Gina. Ol’ Seb is dead now, poor stiff.”

  “Yeah, and if he wasn’t dead now, he soon would be. I’d be up for murder, not just theft.”

  “So you’ll do it?” Sammy said.

  My mind was whirling like a tornado. Was I going to let Carmine and Joey and Bertoni scoop my inheritance? Those losers? Joey and Bertoni had made my life hell in what Pete likes to call The Great Shoe Fiasco. Carmine had damn near ruined my reputation last month in the Lone Rearranger burglaries.

  I would eat bugs before letting them get a single penny.

  “I’ll do it,” I mumbled and hung up.

  I’d break into the art gallery and do the deed or die trying. I’d break into freaking Fort Knox if it meant stopping Carmine from getting a cent of that boodle.

  When I told Nico, he cluck-clucked. Then he tried to belay my doubts.

  “Do you really think the cops care about stolen art? I read something about that once. Or maybe I saw it on television. Cops don’t want to spend their time retrieving trinkets for rich
guys who can afford to buy anything they want. They’d much rather track down murderers and rapists. I think it’s quite noble of them, really.”

  “Of course you do,” I said. “I’ll remind you of that when they throw us in the slammer.”

  Nico chortled. “You’re so funny, Gina.”

  More to the point, I was seriously nuts.

  FIVE

  The next morning, I had a lot of paperwork to do. I needed to get real work done before I could start to think about this latest development. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. So I stayed at home in my condo while Tiff managed the store.

  Aunt Miriam was the first to call. “The visitation for family is Friday night. Public visitation is Saturday. You don’t have to go to that. We’re holding back the funeral until Monday, so all the out-of-towners can fly in for it.”

  I swallowed. “The Sicilian connection?” We only saw them at funerals.

  “Make sure you wear black.” She hung up to continue the phone chain.

  Around noon, my cell rang again. I answered without looking at the number.

  “It’s Pete.” He didn’t sound happy.

  “Hi. Do you want to meet me for—?”

  “Stop talking, Gina. Just listen.” His voice was cold. “I’m at the police station. You’re my one call.”

  Crap. “What the—?”

  “Get your lawyer cousin over here. I’m going to need him.”

  Breathe, Gina! Breathe.

  “What’s the charge?” I said.

  “Passing counterfeit money.”

  Crap, crap, crap. I started to hyperventilate.

  I phoned Paulo. He answered in one ring.

  Paulo would get him off, I had no qualms about that. The money looked old. He could have got it anywhere.

  While I was waiting, I phoned Sammy on the burner phone.

  “I’m off the grid,” I said in almost a hiss. “Pete got busted passing the phonies.”

  “Heard about it,” Sammy said. “Don’t sweat it, Gina. We’re moving it out of The Hammer.”

  I was storming. “Pete thinks I’ve gone straight!” Could this be more screwed up?

  Silence. “Sweetheart, he ain’t that dumb.”

  I hung up the phone. No, that’s a lie. I threw it across the room.

  Paulo got him out in less than an hour. They both arrived at my condo, looking grim. On Paulo, that’s an unusual expression because he prides himself on looking drop-dead gorgeous. On Pete, it was more usual. At least, where my family was concerned.