“Valerie is meeting up with us later,” I explained. “She fell asleep during the movie.” I decided not to mention that she’d shown up late, looking bedraggled, before going practically comatose.
“Which is totally fine because this little wonder isprecious.” Savilla sighed, nuzzling against Oliver’s bald head for at least the fifth time that night.
“He certainly is,” Aunt DeeDee agreed, before putting her hands together and turning back to face everyone. “Well, welcome, everyone. I’ll pour a few more glasses of prosecco, and we have plenty of designs ready for your perusal. All on the house, of course.”
As Bella’s eyes roamed the room, for the first time that evening she didn’t act as if she was completely bored by this town. In fact, all three of the Texas ladies seemed intrigued, their eyes lighting up as they noticed the art hanging along the wall. Though they weren’t for sale, Aunt DeeDee had hung them to enhance the store’s ambiance.
Charlotte’s hand waved toward the frames as she asked DeeDee, “Who painted these?”
Aunt DeeDee followed the gesture to the three Impressionist images of our majestic Blue Ridge Mountains outlined in mottled grays, purples, and ivories.
“These were painted by a resident at our Aubergine Art Collective years ago,” Aunt DeeDee answered. “Her name was Anna Perry. She won our town’s annual Rose Palace Pageant in 1926. Eventually, she moved here in the 1960s and became a full-fledged citizen of Aubergine for the last couple decades of her life.” She smiled. “And she actually mentored me before I competed in the pageant.”
“And won,” I noted, proud of my aunt in ways I hadn’t known to be before this past year.
“The Collective allows Aubergine businesses to rent them out for display,” Aunt DeeDee clarified. “So the artwork can be admired rather than languishing in a store room.”
“Hmmm,” Bella mused, moving closer to the paintings to study the brushstrokes. “An Impressionist-style painting, though well past the official period.”
“Post-Impressionist, but just barely,” Charlotte remarked.
Too knowledgeable for a ranching family, I thought, beforecatching myself. Of course rural living didn’t equate to stupidity or a lack of culture. I should have known that better than anyone.
Still, something about their interest nagged at me, though I couldn’t have verbalized why. I continued to watch Bella absorb the painting, and something about this cozy space and the people milling about the room made me think of a weekend train trip Charlie and I had taken up to Boston from New York.
We’d visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, holding hands as we walked through the gallery displays, which felt more like rooms at an Italian villa than a museum. Afterward, I’d read all about the 1990 heist in which thirteen paintings had been stolen. There was still a $10 million-dollar reward to anyone who could provide substantial clues as to the whereabouts of the artwork.
I had no idea why such a thought had come to mind, except that there was something hungry in the looks of the three Texan women as they stood admiring the paintings—rather than the shiny jewelry only a few yards away.
“I must say that I’m impressed to find such quality pieces here.” Charlotte looked around as if she couldn’t believe where she was standing.
I caught Aunt DeeDee’s eye and gave her a look that said I was annoyed by not only Charlotte’s condescending tone but by the way she was distracting us from where our focus should be—on Lacy.
Aunt DeeDee gave the slightest shake of her head as if to tell me to be polite.
Though I wasn’t willing to be nice, I was willing to engage them. “Have you ever heard of the Gardner heist? I believe Impressionist paintings were stolen from that museum.”
Charlotte’s eye caught mine for a split second before she looked back at the painting, as if she either couldn’t tear her gaze away or she didn’t want to meet mine.
“I have heard of it,” Myrtis offered, stepping forward as if she was afraid of being left out of the conversation. “There have been at least nine other thefts of Impressionist works in recent years,all across the world. In fact, more than five hundred million dollars’ worth of paintings were taken from Amsterdam in 1991, just a year after the Gardner heist. That time the thieves just took them off the wall in broad daylight.” Myrtis simpered, as though pleased with her own recall. “Except they loaded them into a getaway car with a flat tire. They were caught within the hour.”
Aunt DeeDee chuckled at the story. “Perhaps thieving is best left to those with more reliable vehicles.”
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow as if she wasn’t sure whether or not Aunt DeeDee was joking.
“The most recent was a Monet in 2012 from a museum in the Netherlands,” Myrtis continued eagerly. “When the thieves were caught and questioned, one eventually admitted that his mother had burned it in their kitchen oven to get rid of the evidence.”
Charlotte touched Myrtis’s arm. “That’s enough.”
Her cousin’s face immediately fell, and I noticed that Bella was keeping a watchful eye on both of the women.
“Well, I’m pretty sure we don’t have many art heists in our little hamlet,” Aunt DeeDee said with a soft laugh as she extended a hand toward the jewelry, obviously hoping the three women would take the cue and begin selecting items they’d like to take home with them.
“Oh no. I’m sure no one would want to steal something quite so”—Bella wrinkled her nose as if she found the paintings somehow distasteful—“colloquially charming.” She reached out and patted my aunt’s arm, and I had the sudden urge to grab Bella’s petite frame and toss her across the room. She continued in a simpering tone. “Works like these are best left here, where they can be experiencedby the local community.”
The last two words were said with such contempt that Bella might as well have been calling us ignorant imbeciles. I thought of Patty Swanson’s vague threat about Bella moving to Aubergine, and I was now certain that idea was total crap. There was no way Bella Rivera would deign to move into our community—not even for Anton, the apparent love of her life.
“And I’m sure we will continue to enjoy them for years to come,” I said, trying to keep the vitriol from my tone. “Now, why don’t we join the others and pick out one or two pieces of jewelry for each of you to take home?”
