The painted Chinese screen caught her eye. Behind it were mirrored closets, shelves, and cubbyholes, but she was too tired to investigate tonight.
By the time Ivy turned off the crystal lamp next to the antique walnut bed she slept in, she had a good idea about which pieces were safe to bring upstairs to furnish the bedrooms. In the morning, she would ask Arthur to come by the house and inspect the chandelier in the foyer. If she could get a good price for that, she could afford the new mattresses, linens, and pillows that every guestroom would need.
As she punched her pillow and snuggled under the thin blanket, she thought about Shelly and hoped her sister would be in better spirits in the morning. She sighed and stared at the ceiling. Maybe she owed her an apology.
As much as Ivy had once loved Jeremy, he hadn’t turned out to be the stellar catch either, even though he had been a good father to the girls. When he was around Sunny and Misty, he had spoiled them by lavishing them with shopping sprees while she was the one who was stuck with the mundane discipline when he left on his business trips to Florida or the west coast. Had she but known then what she knew now…
She wondered if she could ever forgive Jeremy his behavior and his flaws.
Or did it even matter now?
Dead tired but restless, she punched the pillow again, trying to make sense of the strange predicament in which she now found herself.
What she needed was a good night’s sleep. She blew out a breath of exasperation. Tomorrow was, indeed, another day.
Thank you, Scarlett O’Hara. She closed her eyes.
Ivy and Nan peered up at the sparkling chandelier in the foyer, while Arthur balanced on a ladder above them inspecting the vintage crystal. It was quite the statement piece, but to Ivy’s eye, it overwhelmed the area.
With a frown of doubt etched on her face, Nan asked, “Are you sure you want to let this go?”
“I’d like a more casual beach vibe,” Ivy said. “And I really need the money.”
“Gilt-bronze and rock crystal,” Arthur pronounced, his shaved head and half-glasses gleaming against the crystal. “Circa 1800, I’d say, and definitely Italian. This is a collector-quality piece and should go to auction at one of the large auction houses.”
“I don’t have time for that,” Ivy said.
Nan caught her husband’s eye. “What about you-know-who in Beverly Hills?”
Arthur looked perplexed for a moment before his eyes brightened. “Ah. That’s a distinct possibility.”
Nan turned to Ivy. “I have a friend who’s an interior designer to the stars, and she has a shop in Beverly Hills. One of her former clients—a mega superstar known for her over-the-top style—just bought a home that she wants to renovate. This might be perfect for her. It’s certainly large enough.”
“That would work,” Ivy said with hope.
Fumbling in her vintage designer handbag, Nan said, “Let’s find out.” She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, and tapped a text to her friend.
A knock sounded at the door behind them. When Ivy opened it, she was surprised to see Chief Clarkson. One of his officers had arrived at eight o’clock sharp this morning to take photographs. Having just put on a pot of coffee then, Ivy and Shelly quickly changed clothes and helped the officer unwrap each painting for her to photograph. Including the canvases in the flat files, they found more than a hundred paintings—a staggering number that Ivy still couldn’t believe. Each new discovery had touched her heart. And nearly all of them were museum quality.
“Afternoon, Ivy. Is now a convenient time to talk?” the chief asked, raising his eyes to Arthur, who was still perched on the ladder. “Hello Arthur, Nan,” he said, his deep voice booming in the empty room. “Always nice to see you two.”
Arthur descended the ladder to shake the chief’s hand. “How did that gift for the missus work out?”
“My wife loves antiques, so it was perfect. Thanks for your help.” Chief Clarkson turned back to Ivy. “There’s something we need to discuss. Is there a place we can speak?”
Clearly interested in why the police chief was visiting Ivy, Arthur nevertheless folded the ladder and nodded to his wife. “We’d better be off, Nan.”
“Oh, of course,” Nan said, her eyes wide with curiosity. “We’ll let you know if we hear back from you-know-who.”
“I sure appreciate it,” Ivy said and closed the door behind them.
Chief Clarkson was a barrel-chested man who looked like a former Marine. His tight, curly black hair was closely cropped. He towered above her, and Ivy hadn’t realized how tall he was when they were sitting in Bennett’s office. He ducked to avoid grazing the tip of the chandelier.
As soon as the door closed behind the Ainsworths, the chief began. “We transmitted the photographs to the FBI’s Art Crime Team. Two agents on the team are on their way.”
Ivy hadn’t expected such a rapid response, which made her all the more convinced that the paintings were indeed lost masterpieces. “That’s good news.”
“They’ll need a statement from you and others who were present.”
“Just my sister Shelly.”
“Good. You should expect the team of Cecile Dupont and Ari Steinberg tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Any problem with that?”
“No, of course not.” Only that her parents’ party was this weekend, and she’d hoped to go shopping in the afternoon.
After Chief Clarkson left, Ivy sat on the first step of the grand staircase and thought about the weekend ahead.
The more she thought of what her mother’s announcement might entail, the less festive she felt.
Earlier today, Carlotta had called Ivy to say that the family—and only the family—should be there an hour before other guests were due to arrive.
Once again, Carlotta had asked, “Are there any pieces of my jewelry that you would like?”
A chill crept over Ivy. “Mom, we discussed this when I was there. I’d like for you to continue enjoying your things.” She paused. “Why do you keep asking?”
“We’ll go
