“I’m well aware,” Erik replied in a dry tone, thinking back to all the high-profile fraud and theft cases he had handled when he put his art knowledge to work for Interpol. “Famous artwork is different from owning an expensive car or building a mansion. There might be other Tiffany windows, but there’s only one of any given type. Like paintings. There are other Picassos, but only oneGuernica.”
“I always thought the attraction was getting to display the famous art and show it off,” Ben remarked. “Kinda like ‘nah-nah-nah, I have this and you don’t.’”
Erik chuckled at Ben’s phrasing. “There’s definitely some of that, depending on the person. Some collectors want to show off their wealth and be admired, or spark jealousy. Or if they donate the money for a piece to be installed at a museum or church, they want credit for using their wealth for a good outcome.”
He sighed. “But there are others who cause problems. They want to possess the art, and they don’t want to share it with anyone, even letting people view it. They’re super rich and very paranoid, sometimes with good reason if they’re mobsters or corrupt politicians, or if they stole the piece.”
Ben looked puzzled. “So let me get this right—there are filthy rich guys out there who will drop a shit ton of money on a famous piece of art, then hide it so it’s never seen again?”
“There’s a long list of famous artwork that just disappeared,” Erik replied. “Stolen, destroyed in fires, or lost, like the pieces that went down with the Titanic. Odds are good that the ones that were stolen or just vanished without verified destruction are hidden away somewhere.”
“Which kept you busy, back in your old job,” Ben observed.
“We chased the leads we got on art theft; and had to authenticate paintings that mysteriously turned up and were actually frauds. But we didn’t have the staff to find them all. There’s a lot out there that probably won’t show up until old men die and their heirs get into a fight over the spoils,” Erik added.
“I can almost understand not sharing something that special with other people,” Ben mused. “But I’d still want to be able to go in my secret room and sit there and look at my stolen artwork. Something like the Commodore Wilson’s stained-glass dome isn’t doing anyone any good in a box. It would have to be installed so the light could go through. Right?”
“I imagine someone with enough money to buy it could arrange for a discreet installation that wouldn’t be visible from outside,” Erik said. “Like the Amber Room.”
“Haven’t heard about that one,” Ben admitted.
“Imagine a whole room paneled with amber in the Catherine Palace in St. Petersburg before World War II,” Erik replied. “It was disassembled by the Nazis, and no one’s seen it since. Some people think it was stored in a location that got bombed, but most of us in the business believe there’s an oligarch out there who has it hidden away.”
“Seems like that would be a hard secret to keep.”
“Some of the most notorious collectors are immortal,” Erik said, and saw the surprise register on Ben’s face.
“Think about it. They have money, connections, and plenty of time. They can assure their retainers’ loyalty. Some of them are actual connoisseurs, while I’ve always thought others want to be surrounded by things that remind them of their mortal life,” Erik added.
“I guess that makes sense,” Ben replied. “Although it certainly complicates recovering the items.”
“Definitely true.” Erik knew Ben had heard him in the throes of nightmares remembering the times his old job had nearly gotten him killed. Ben’s past as a cop and detective kept him up plenty of nights as well.
“How do you want to play this, assuming we actually get a lead on the whereabouts of the dome?” Ben asked.
Erik thought for a moment. “If the dome or the owner is still in Cape May, then we call in reinforcements, if necessary, and intervene. If it’s left the area, it’s no longer our problem. We can pass the word along to Cassidy, Sorren, and our other contacts, but I got out of chasing down stolen art for a reason.” He smiled and reached out to touch Ben’s cheek. “And you’ve given me another very good reason to stay safe.”
Ben pressed his lips to Erik’s for a kiss that made silent promises. “I’ll take a rain check on that.” his voice into a sexy growl.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Ben turned back to his screen. “I did find something else about the bunkers and the old military camp, and I wanted to bounce it off you.”
“Shoot,” Erik said.
“This was on one of the conspiracy boards, so factor that in,” Ben warned. Although they often got legitimate tips about supernatural goings-on from chat groups and legend tripper sources, sorting out the real information from the tall tales took time and knowledge.
“Sometimes those pay off,” Erik admitted. “Find something legit?”
“Maybe,” Ben replied. “I found a post about a soldier who was supposed to marry the love of his life, but he was killed in a munitions explosion.”
“Sounds possible, but not really our thing,” Erik said.
“The story also said that the explosion happened because someone targeted the base and bunker with bad magic,” Ben added. “As in, a dark witch attacked the military base and tried to blow it up.”
Erik frowned. “Why? What was in it for the witch? And how would the person telling the story know that?”
“All good questions,” Ben admitted. “I don’t have answers. But it raises a magical element that seems to fit with all the recent unusual ghost sightings. If the big storms are wreaking havoc with the energy, it’s probably juicing up the spirits. We’ve been lucky that so far; they’ve just been more visible. But what happens when the ghost is angry and wants revenge? That could cause some big problems.”
