Zander vanished in search of their librarian and additional microfilm. When he returned, they threaded new reels into their projectors.
What they didn’t know about Frank seemed as large to Britt as a tidal wave. What they did know seemed as small as a seashell.
They had no way of knowing whether the shooting had occurred near Seattle. It could’ve happened anywhere in the United States or even the world, for that matter. They didn’t know if the shooting would factor into a big news story or no news story or a small news story about something as minor as a disagreement at a bar between two men backing opposing sports teams.
She skimmed another article, then went in search of the next. Nora deserved an extra dark chocolate cashew truffle the next time Britt saw her, because Britt couldn’t understand how her sister did a job this detailed, slow, and painstaking on a daily basis.
Britt sort of wanted to poke her strained eyeballs out with forks.
Half an hour later, Britt’s ears perked up at Zander’s sharp intake of breath. “Did you find something?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he replied slowly.
She swiveled toward him.
“I’m looking at a story about the art that was stolen from the Pascal Museum,” he said.
“When was that?”
“July 5, 1985. Do you know anything about the heist?”
“It definitely rings a bell. Did a shooting happen in conjunction with it? If so, I don’t remember that part at all.”
“One sec.” Tendons bunched and flexed at the hinge of Zander’sjaw. She watched his profile intently as he read the article. He’d found something. She could tell by his posture.
Her heart began to pick up speed.
“At three a.m. on July fifth, three robbers broke into the Pascal.” Zander’s concentration remained on the screen. “They loosened bolts at the rear of the property and removed an entire window from its frame. They succeeded at disabling the security cameras but didn’t disable the alarm because the alarm had a fail-safe they’d been unaware of. The three paintings they took were three of the most valuable the museum possessed.Girl Before a Doorby Pablo Picasso,The Pianistby Marc Chagall, andYoung Woman at Restby Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Because they took three pieces of art, the heist is often referred to as the Triple Play.”
“Go on.”
“The alarm alerted the security guard on site, but the robbers were so fast that they’d exited the building by the time he was able to locate them. He saw them running down an alleyway behind the museum. He pulled his gun and was able to get off a few shots as they climbed into a dark gray Audi. The license plate on the rear fender of the Audi was covered. The security guard didn’t know whether he’d succeeded in shooting anyone. Nor was he able to give good descriptions of the robbers because they were all dressed in black with ski masks over their faces.”
“Okay, so I’m fascinated by the art heist angle,” Britt said. “However, it’s really unlikely that any of this relates to Frank because we don’t even know whether or not anyone was shot.”
Zander moved his focus to her. In the distance, she heard the gurgle of a quiet conversation, the distantbingof an elevator. “Aunt Carolyn used to work at the Pascal,” he said. “That’s where she and Frank met.”
The tiny hairs along Britt’s arms lifted. She peered at Zander while struggling inwardly to comprehend. “I don’t think I ever knew how they met.” The Pascal Museum was housed in a mansion that had once been the residence of the wealthy Pascal family. In the late seventies, when the matriarch and patriarch died, theirchildren turned the house into a gallery filled with their parents’ art collection and the pieces they themselves had acquired. The Pascal had received a mention in every “Ten Things Not to Miss in Seattle” article Britt had ever read.
“When Carolyn was in her early twenties, she gave tours of the Pascal and worked at their ticket counter and helped behind the scenes with events,” Zander told her.
“What brought Frank to the Pascal?”
“He had a job doing construction in the city at the time.” His forehead quirked. “At least, hetoldCarolyn he had a job doing construction. He came to the gallery because he loved the art.”
“At least,” Britt said, “hetoldCarolyn he loved the art. Did he display a lot of admiration for art when you knew him?”
“No, not that I can remember.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Let’s imagine for a minute that Frank didn’t visit the Pascal because he loved the art. Let’s imagine he visited because he was casing the museum in order to plan a heist.”
Britt nodded. “A heist would have given him motivation to move from Chicago to Seattle. Once he moved here he would have needed to spend time, maybe months, planning the robbery.”
“So he visits the Pascal often to study its collection, its security, the entry points, the layout.”
“And in the process, he gets to know the woman who works at the ticket counter,” Britt supplied. “It turns out that she’s extraordinarily pretty and friendly.”
“He and his accomplices proceed to rob the museum. They get away with three paintings, one for each of them. However, the security guard fires at them as they’re getting away, and Frank is hit in the leg.”
Britt rubbed her palms together slowly while she thought. “Where would Frank have gone for medical treatment? I mean, he couldn’t very well show up wearing black at a local hospital with a gunshot wound in his leg. The police would have been all over him.”
