Bennett tapped his pen on the desk. Finally, he said, “The property was sold ‘as is’ with all its contents. Like the Chevrolet in the garage.”
Ivy watched his little movements. “If those paintings are real, they never would have been sold with the house. They’re too valuable. They belong in museums. Besides, if those paintings are real, they should have a provenance, or ownership history, that can be traced. I want to turn them over so they can be properly investigated.”
“This is way beyond our police force, but we’ll start there.” Bennett picked up the phone on the desk and tapped a button. “Chief Clarkson, I have someone in my office who needs to speak to you about an urgent matter.” He said a few more words, then hung up. “He’ll be right over.”
Ivy expelled a breath. Most likely, she was turning over a fortune, but she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t.
Chapter 16
“CHIEF CLARKSON, MEET Ivy Marin.” Bennett introduced the police chief and gestured to a table in his office where they could all sit. Since she’d come to him about the paintings, he had new respect for her. Not everyone would have reported such a find.
Because of this, he felt protective of Ivy, though he knew she could certainly take care of herself. No, he would be like this with any Summer Beach resident, he told himself. And she had been his client, too.
“Pleased to meet you,” Chief Clarkson said. “The mayor tells me you don’t agree with what your husband planned to do with Las Brisas.”
“That’s right,” Ivy said. “Word sure gets around here.”
“You have no idea,” Bennett said. “Mrs. Marin—”
“Call me Ivy, please.”
“Ivy has encountered an unusual situation,” Bennett said. “As her real estate agent, I was completely unaware of it as well.”
“And just what is this situation?”
Ivy leaned forward and clasped her hands on the table. “We discovered a lower level in the house that had been concealed. It’s full of antiques—and art.”
Chief Clarkson flipped open a small notepad. “And who discovered this?”
Ivy relayed the story about the four of them and how they’d stumbled across the bricked-up entry to the lower level. “I had a good look at everything this morning.”
“And what did you find that’s concerning you?”
She drew a breath. “Paintings—masterpieces, I believe. Maybe stolen, maybe forgeries.”
“Mrs. Erickson was a known art collector. Maybe she stored them and forgot about them.”
“I don’t see how anyone could forget about these.”
“So what makes you think they could be stolen? Or forged?”
Bennett cut in. “Ivy is an art expert. A fine painter and historian, right?”
When Ivy nodded, Bennett noticed she sat up a little straighter. He caught himself musing about what type of artist she was, and his gaze fell to her hands. Her nails were neat and short, though her fingers were delicate and tapered. He could just imagine…
“Did you recognize any paintings?” the chief asked.
“I recognized the artists’ style.” She told the chief about thousands of paintings and other art pieces that the Nazi leader had confiscated in an attempt to censor art, and how these were sold, destroyed, or hidden. “Even today, discoveries are still being made. Some museums in Germany have acquired found works—from their rightful owners—and have them on display again. Their modern art collections were ravaged, too. And those of private collectors and artists.”
The chief made another note on his notepad. “Based on what you’ve told me, we’re going to need to take photographs. Front and back.”
“And you’ll share those with other law enforcement agencies, right?” Ivy asked. “Can you contact the FBI? See, while I was living in Boston, I followed the theft of paintings at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and the FBI’s investigation of the case.”
The chief was studying Ivy as she spoke. “Do you think these might be related?”
“I don’t think so,” Ivy said. “The wallpaper covering the brick wall is much older than that case, and it looks like it’s been painted quite a few times. But I’m certain the FBI’s Art Crime Team needs to be on this case. These paintings might be valuable.”
Chief Clarkson slid a finger around his collar as he considered this. “It’s possible the paintings are copies.”
“I’m no expert on forgeries,” Ivy allowed, though her eyes flashed with conviction. “But the paintings are of exceptional quality. And if they’re forgeries, they should not be in circulation.”
“You have a point.” Chief Clarkson made a note and underlined it. “I’ll send an officer to photograph the paintings, and I’ll make sure to forward those to the FBI.”
Ivy sighed in relief and smiled at Bennett. He was glad that Chief Clarkson was taking her claim seriously.
“Will you put the art in storage?” Ivy asked.
“She’s right to be concerned about safety,” Bennett added.
“At this time,” the chief said with measured words. “Those are just paintings you found in the basement of a house you own. Until we get a hit that they might be stolen property, there’s no reason for us to confiscate them. I would, however, suggest that you keep the area secured.”
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Ivy said.
“If there’s anything else you need, call my office.” Chief Clarkson slid a card toward Ivy and got up. “I’ll go to work on this right away.”
After the police chief left, Bennett offered to walk Ivy to her car. He didn’t want to alarm her, but he wondered if she realized the impact this discovery could have on Summer Beach. A high profile murder case had occurred in a beach community a few miles south of Summer Beach, and the media had swarmed the area for months. Residents had grown weary of the spectacle, and tourists avoided the area. Even today, that community was still
