Abe made to grab the painting from Lily’s hand, and she said quickly, whipping it behind her back, “Please let me keep it, Mr. Turkle. It really is beautiful. I’ll treasure it always.”
“Oh, hell, keep the stupid thing. I don’t want to fight you either. It’s obvious to me that you’re real tough. Hell, I might never get over being scared of you. All right, now. Let’s just get it over with. What do you want, Simon Russo? And who is the little gal here?”
“I’m just here to see which Sarah Elliott you’re working on now.”
Abe Turkle glanced back at his easel, and his face blotched red as he said, “Listen to me, Russo, I barely heard of the broad. You want to look?”
“Okay.” Simon smiled and walked toward Abe.
Abe held up a huge hand still stained with daubs of red, gold, and white paint. “You try it and I’ll break your head off at your neck. Even the little lady here won’t be able to hold me off.”
Simon stopped. “Okay. Since there were no paintings missing from the Eureka Art Museum, you must be having trouble working from photographs they brought to you. Which one is it? Maybe
“Go to hell, boyo.”
“Or maybe you had to stop with the Sarah Elliotts altogether now that they’re gone from the museum? So you’re doing something else now?”
“I’d break your head for you right this minute, right here, but not with my new stuff around. You want to come outside?”
“You were right about the lady,” Simon said. “She isn’t my wife. She’s Lily Savich, Sarah Elliott’s granddaughter. The eight paintings that were in the museum, including the four you’ve already copied, belong to her.”
“Are you finishing a fifth one, Mr. Turkle? If you are, it’s too bad because you won’t get paid for it. The real one is back in my possession so there won’t be any chance to switch it.”
Simon said, “Actually, I’m surprised you’re still here in residence since the paintings have flown the coop. They’re hoping they’ll get them back? No chance.
“To be honest, Abe, the real reason we’re here is that we want to know who commissioned you. Not the collector, but the local people who are paying you and keeping you here.”
“Yes,” Lily said. “Please, Mr. Turkle, tell us who set this up.”
Abe Turkle gave a big sigh. He looked at Lily and his fierce expression softened, just a bit. “Little gal, why don’t you marry me and then I could look at those paintings for the rest of my life. I swear I’d never forge anything again.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still married to Tennyson Frasier.”
“Not for long. I heard all about how you just walked out on him.”
“That’s right. But even so, the paintings belong in a museum, Mr. Turkle, not in a private collection somewhere, locked away, to be enjoyed by only one person.”
“They’re the ones with all the money. They call the shots.”
Simon said, “Abe, she’s divorcing Tennyson. She wants to fry that bastard’s butt, not yours. You’d do yourself a favor if you helped us.”
Abe said slowly, one eyebrow arched up a good inch, “You’ve got to be joking, boyo.”
Lily stepped forward and laid her hand on Abe Turkle’s massive shoulder. “We’re not joking. You could be in danger. Listen, Tennyson tried to kill me, and I wondered, Why now? Do you know? Did something happen to make him realize that I was a threat to him, before you’d finished copying all the paintings? Please, Mr. Turkle, tell us who hired you to copy my paintings. We’ll help you stay safe.”
“That really so? Your old man tried to kill you? I’m sorry about that, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. Both of you need to just get out of here now.”
He was standing with his legs spread, his big arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry you were almost killed, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“We know,” Simon said, “that this cottage is owned by the Frasiers. You’re staying here. It isn’t a stretch to figure it out.”
“I don’t have anything to say about that. Maybe when this is over, the little gal will share some lunch with me, I’ll marinate up some snails, then broil them. That’s the best, you know.”
Lily shook her head, then walked to the easel. Abe didn’t get in her way, didn’t try to block her. She stopped and sucked in her breath. On the easel was a magnificent painting nearly finished-it was Diego Velazquez’s
“It’s incredible. Please, Mr. Turkle, don’t let some collector take the original. Please.”
Abe shrugged. “I’m just painting that for the fun of it. I’m in between jobs right now. No, you don’t want to say that it’s because you took all the Sarah Elliott paintings away from the museum. Nah, don’t say that. There’s nothing going on here so I’m just having me some fun.”
Simon came around and looked at the nearly completed painting. “The original is in the National Gallery in London. I hope your compatriots elect to leave it there, Abe.”
“Like I said, this is just for fun. A guy’s got to keep practicing, you know what I mean? Look, I painted this from a series of photos. If I were in it for bucks, I wouldn’t have let her see it. I’d be in London, too.”
Lily couldn’t give up, not yet. “Won’t you just tell us the truth, Mr. Turkle? Tennyson Frasier married me only to get his hands on the paintings. Then he tried to kill me. Did he tell you that, Mr. Turkle? It’s possible that he murdered my child as well, I don’t know for sure. Please, we won’t involve you. Just tell us.”
Abe Turkle looked back and forth between the two of them. He slowly shook his head.
“I wish you hadn’t found me, Russo,” Abe Turkle said, shaking his big head. “I really wish you hadn’t.” He turned then and walked out the cottage door.
“Wait!” Lily started after him.
Simon grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back. “Let him go, Lily.”
They watched from the doorway as the big, black Kawasaki scattered rocks and dirt as it picked up speed. Then he was gone.
“We screwed up,” Simon said.
“I wish he’d stayed and fought me,” Lily said.
Simon looked down at her, remembering the image of her in a fighting position, with that painting in her right hand. He grinned. He lightly touched his hand to her hair. “You’re all blond and blue-eyed, you’re skinny as a post, your pants are hanging off your butt, and knowing you for just a short time, I know you’ve got more guts than brains. I swear to you, when I tell Savich how his little sister was ready to take on Abe Turkle, he’ll… No, better not tell him how I nearly got you into a fight. Well, shit.”
Lily punched him in the gut. “You jerk. I didn’t see you trying to do anything.”
Simon grunted, rubbed his palm over his belly, and grinned down at her. “I hope you didn’t pull anything loose when you hit me. Not in me, in you.”
“I might have, no thanks to you.”
She didn’t speak to him until they were back in the car and headed down to Hemlock Bay.
“We’re going to see Tennyson?”
“Nope, we’ve got other fish to fry.”
Washington, D.C.
The Hoover Building
Fifth Floor, The Criminal
Apprehension Unit
It was one o’clock in the afternoon. Empty sandwich wrappers were strewn on the conference table, leaving the vague smell of tuna fish with an overlay of roast beef, and at least a dozen soda cans stood empty. They’d just finished their daily update meeting. Savich’s second in charge, Ollie Hamish, said to the assembled agents around the CAU conference table, “I’m going to be going to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in the morning. Our research says that he not only took the real Wilbur’s name, he’s spent a lot of time in Wright’s hometown. Chances are, though, that he’s not going to Dayton, since everyone’s looking for him there, but to Kitty Hawk. I’ve gotten all the data over to Behavioral Sciences, to Jane Bitt. We’ll see what she’s got to add, but that’s it, so far.
