Yikes, what if something happened to the thing. Sam double-checked the clasp.
“The shoes,” he announced. “I seem to remember that you wear a nine.”
“How do you—?” Never mind. She rummaged in a drawer and came up with hosiery in a new package. No way were her legs in shape to go bare. She re-checked the expensive watch clasp and put her plain-jane digital one into her new jewelry box.
“What time are we meeting this woman?” Sam sat at her dresser, stroking the lumpy surface of the box. It warmed her chilled fingers.
He stared at the back of his wrist. “In fifteen minutes. Not to worry, my dear. The wealthy are always fashionably late. If we’re there by ten she won’t worry. In fact, let her worry. She thinks we’re going to spend a shitload of money this morning.”
“So I have time to drop off a platter of brownies at the bookstore?”
“Absolutely. Now let’s decide about your makeup.” He walked over to stand behind Sam and looked at her face in the mirror. “Girl, I don’t know what you’ve been doing but your skin is absolutely radiant. Is that new deputy sheriff making your eyes sparkle like that?”
“No. there is no
She didn’t want to admit that she’d scarcely thought of Beau in the last twelve hours, with everything else on her mind. And she certainly didn’t tell Rupert that only an hour ago she’d felt hopeless over her looks. He was right. The woman staring back at her now was a younger, slimmer version of herself. Glowing. He picked up her hairbrush and with a couple of deft flips, got the shaggy strands to behave perfectly.
Sam stared at the little wooden box and swore that the colored stones were more brilliant than she’d ever seen them.
They finally got away from Taos at nine-fifteen, Rupert driving them in his Land Rover. Ivan, at Mysterious Happenings, had stared at Sam, clearly unsure what to make of the changes. She brushed it off by saying that they were on their way to a masquerade. He knew Rupert well enough that he probably believed it.
By the time they waltzed into Carolyn Hildebrant’s small gallery at eleven o’clock, Rupert had coached Sam sufficiently to set her nerves to rest—let him do most of the talking; if Hildebrandt wanted Sam’s opinion on anything, just say ‘it’s a very interesting piece’ or ‘I’m considering it.’
“Mrs. Knightly,” the art rep gushed.
Knightly? Where did—? Sam glanced at Rupert who gave a tiny shrug. What else had he left out of his briefing? She smiled coolly at Hildebrandt, as she imagined someone named Mrs. Knightly would do.
“I understand you are interested in the work of Pierre Cantone,” Hildebrandt said, leading them to a secondary room where she offered tea and some exquisitely decorated cookies. Sam looked them over and swiped a couple of decorating ideas from them.
The room was a combination of a private viewing space and study. Deep leather wing chairs faced a wall where one painting at a time could be displayed. Whatever currently hung there was covered at the moment by drapes. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books on art, botany and nature, along with small but pricey objects. One statue of a sleek cat polished to a gleaming black finish caught Sam’s eye.
“. . . such a shock, wasn’t it?” She realized that Ms. Hildebrandt had asked her a question. Somehow, she didn’t think ‘interesting’ or ‘considering’ were the right answer.
Rupert stepped in. “Yes, the art world lost a great man with the passing of Cantone.”
Sam nodded, turning her mouth downward and biting her lip a little.
“Of course, his work immediately tripled in value,” Hildebrandt said. “We’ve placed two pieces with Sotheby’s and another privately, just in the last week.”
Quick work. Sam wondered exactly when Carolyn Hildebrandt had become aware of Cantone’s demise. Certainly before the discovery of the grave last Tuesday.
“I wasn’t aware that there were any Cantones that weren’t already in private hands,” Rupert said. “I wonder who is offering theirs for sale.”
“Well, of course I can’t give details. But there are family members.”
Sam soaked all this up while feigning interest in another piece on the shelves, a crystal globe with a miniature flower garden of glass inside. Family members. Rupert had uncovered only the one sister.
“Ah, Sophie’s young son,” Rupert said, with just the right amount of sorrow in his voice. If she hadn’t known better, Sam might have believed that he was best of friends with the mother and her offspring. Hildebrandt fell for it.
“Yes. Hobart. I understand that was a family name on the Killington side of the family.”
“It was,” Rupert said. His acting was better than Sam ever imagined. “What’s Bart up to these days?”
“Actually, he’s recently moved here to Santa Fe. He’ll be stopping by here later.”
“And he is the seller.”
A slight nod. “Well, I know you must be eager to see the piece.” Ms. Hildebrandt stepped to the side and pulled a hidden cord. The drapes slid back to reveal a painting about eighteen inches wide, framed in a dark wood that brought out the deep colors in the pastoral scene. Sam immediately recognized the style.
Rupert actually gasped. He recovered quickly, though. “They never fail to impress, do they?”
Hildebrandt looked at Sam.
“Interesting piece.”
Rupert gave her a look. Maybe she should have gushed a little more, but she
“You have an excellent eye,” Carolyn Hildebrandt said. “It truly is one of Cantone’s more interesting pieces.” She walked over to it and Sam sent Rupert a ‘ha-ha’ look behind her back. “Note the use of cadmium red right here. No other artist of his time would have thought of such a move. It just pulls the eye to that particular section of the tree, doesn’t it?”
“Brilliant,” Sam said, picking up a new word for her art vocabulary.
The art dealer smiled at her. “It truly was a brilliant move on his part. The very thing that turned Cantone into a legend.”
Sam nodded as if she had a clue.
“This piece will go to New York on Thursday unless I have a buyer for it here in New Mexico.”
Sam stared at the painting for what seemed like the right amount of time. “I’m considering it. Very seriously.”
Rupert stepped in. “Mrs. Knightly is only in town on business for two days. We’ll have a decision for you soon.”
He turned to Sam. “My dear, shall we?”
She took his arm and nodded to the dealer. Out on the sidewalk he raised her fingertips and kissed them. “Well done, Sam.”
They walked to the lot where he’d parked and it was all she could do not to kick up her heels. She’d pulled off her first acting job.
“So, we know we’re looking for Hobart Killington, but I’m guessing he’s not going to have a listed phone number,” she said, once they’d settled into the car.
“True, but did you catch Carolyn’s comment that Bart would be coming to the gallery this afternoon?”
“But she clearly didn’t intend that we meet Hobart, and we don’t even know what he looks like.”
He pulled a laptop computer from the backseat. “We will pretty soon.”
They parked outside a cafe that boasted free wi-fi and within five minutes had found a web page for one of the major auction houses, recently updated with a photo showing the nephew who had re-introduced the great Cantone’s work to the world. Bart Killington could pass for any age from twenty to forty. Based on her previous research Sam guessed that he must be in his mid-thirties. A high forehead, dark brows, thin face with a prominent nose. He wore his dark hair combed straight back, a trim dark goatee, a tuxedo.
“The only problem is, talking to him without the nosy art dealer right there,” Rupert said.
Sam had been thinking about what to say when they got the chance to speak with the nephew. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to see him in his element, at home. She had some suspicions that
