A couple of people peered through a front window and knocked on the pane. Ivy quickly drew the drapery.
“What’s going on?” Shelly stared at her wide-eyed.
“When I opened the door, a bunch of reporters and photographers charged me. They’re asking about the paintings.”
Outside, Ivy could hear the ruckus. Then, “I’m the mayor, let me through,” a voice bellowed. “It’s me, Bennett,” he called to her.
Ivy hurried to open the door.
Before she realized what was happening, Bennett squeezed inside and wrapped his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Although Ivy felt safe in his arms, she took a half step back. How easy it would be to fall under his protection. She had to stand on her own feet—now more than ever.
“I was just shocked. How’d they find out?”
“I don’t know,” Bennett said, shaking his head. “Did either of you say anything?”
“Not a word,” Shelly said with vehemence.
“Could anyone have overheard you talking? Maybe at the party last night?”
Ivy shot back, “We didn’t even tell our parents, even though we were dying to.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “And they’ll be here any minute. I was going to ask Chief Clarkson like you suggested, but that’s when I was ambushed. I asked them to come over for dinner, hoping that they can see the paintings. If not, we can go out for dinner.”
“No harm, no foul, right?” Shelly put a hand on her hip. “Now what?”
Before he could answer, another bang on the door erupted. The chief, along with agents Cecile and Ari, spilled inside. Behind them stood Carlotta and Sterling, thoroughly confused at the chaos.
“Do you know these people?” Chief Clarkson demanded.
“Hi, Mom and Dad,” Ivy said.
“Come in,” Ari said, closing the door after them. “How the hell did this happen? Which one of you called the media?”
“We have no idea,” Ivy said, slicing her hands out. “Don’t put this on us.”
Sterling’s deep voice boomed out. “Would someone tell us what’s going on? As their father, I’m deeply alarmed.”
“Dad, it’s okay.” Ivy quickly explained. “We found some paintings—stolen masterpieces—on the lower level, which had been bricked up for decades.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Carlotta asked.
“It all happened so quickly this week,” Ivy said. “We found it late one night, and the next day I spoke to Bennett and Chief Clarkson. We were sworn to secrecy, and the FBI came right away. But tonight, we wanted you to come and see the artwork before it leaves tomorrow.”
Ivy turned to the FBI agents. “I didn’t say anything to our parents before, but they’re here now. They’re in the arts, and it would mean so much to them. And to me.”
“I can vouch for them,” Bennett said.
“And I found this,” Ivy said, stretching out her hand with the palm-sized journal. “I believe this is Amelia’s journal, although there is only one entry. It might be helpful.”
Cecile took the journal and opened it. A moment later, she looked up. “They can stay,” she said, although she and Ari still wore serious expressions.
The entire group trooped downstairs. When Ivy snapped on the lights, her parents gasped.
“Are these real?” Carlotta asked.
“That’s what we wondered, too,” Ivy said. “In school, I studied the artwork that had been confiscated just before and during the Second World War, so I knew that many pieces had been stolen and were never found.” She didn’t need to tell them the entire story; they were familiar with it, too.
“How did they end up here?” Sterling asked as he watched Cecile unwrapping a painting for them to see.
“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Ivy said.
“We must be very gentle with these old works,” Cecile said. “But since you are an art lover, I think we can make an exception, no?”
“Your call,” Ari said.
Cecile glared at her colleague. “We owe this incredible find to Ivy and Shelly, who came forward with this discovery.”
Sterling shook Ari’s hand. “We’re privileged to view these paintings, thank you. And we’re awfully proud of our daughters right now. This will go no further, I assure you.”
When Cecile unveiled the first piece, Carlotta and Sterling gasped. “This is almost unfathomable,” Carlotta said.
“And these are real?” Sterling asked.
“We’re fairly certain,” Cecile said. “We’ll conduct tests to make sure.”
Ivy helped Cecile and Ari, and together they shared each framed print, as well as the canvases in the flat files. Her parents stared, awestruck, at the array before them.
Carlotta placed a hand over her heart. “Never would I have imagined these works here, just a few miles away from us. All these years. What had Mrs. Erickson been thinking to hide all these for so long? She was a well-known collector, a steward of modern art, and a benefactor of artists.” She swept her hand around the grouping. “Why would she have concealed these?”
“None of us can say, ma’am,” Cecile said. “But we hope to discover her reasons.”
“That journal entry indicates that she was holding the artwork for someone,” Ivy said. “She meant to return these pieces.” Ivy felt a strange kinship to Amelia and wanted her to be absolved of any wrongdoing. But could she? And would Amelia prove innocent or guilty?
Ivy and Shelly watched their parents, who were overcome with emotion, just as they were, at the astonishing discovery.
Suddenly, Cecile spun around with alarm. “Wait, some paintings are missing,” she cried. “A Klee, a Kandinsky. A Chagall…”
Acutely embarrassed, Ivy cleared her throat. “They’re all still here. I have a few upstairs in my bedroom. I just wanted to enjoy them tonight before they left.”
“That’s an artist for you,” Carlotta said, a smile tugging at her lips.
On Cecile’s insistence, they all went upstairs and crowded into Ivy’s bedroom. Hastily, Ivy shoved the dirty clothes she’d left on the floor into the linen basket.
“Ivy, you were right. It’s much better to view these paintings here,” Carlotta said. “In a room, surrounded by the living, as the artists intended.”
Cecile nodded. “The work is even more stunning here.”
“But it will be even better with proper light and placement,” Ivy said, catching
