How many in all? How many had he planned?
She sat, put her boots up, and studied her board as her desk ’link held blue and some sort of creepy fluty music drifted out of it.
What was it about these two portraits that pulled at him? Not the people in them, no, she didn’t believe that. People were simply vehicles to him. And the two original models, dead for hundreds of years?
So the current models had to die, too, and by his hands—literally. Because… they couldn’t outlive the art.
His art lived; they died.
That rang for her.
What the originals represented, long gone. But the art lived on. It had to be the same for his work because…
“He’s a great artist, as yet undiscovered. Okay, okay.”
She pushed up, paced again.
“That’s who he is. They die, his art rises up and lives on. But why these two portraits?”
She stepped over to the board, studied them again.
“The light, the details. Details matter, and the light’s part of it. The confidence of the Boy, the quiet seduction of the Girl. Girl and Boy, does that matter?”
Before she could think that through, the assistant came on the ’link.
“Lieutenant Dallas?”
“Yes.”
Mid-twenties, Eve judged, a very pretty woman with ebony skin and quiet brown eyes. “I’m Mr. Triston’s assistant, Riley. I checked our records. I’m permitted to tell you, yes, threeBlue Boys and oneGirl with a Pearl Earringin the last year.”
“Can you tell me when ordered, when delivered?”
She glanced to the side, then lowering her voice, leaned in. “My dad’s a cop in Columbus. I can’t give you names. I’d lose my job. But I can tellyou one of theBlue Boys is a regular customer—along with his wife of a few decades. They orderedPinkieandBlue Boycostumes nearly a year ago for their annual costume ball in June.”
“Pinkie?”
“It’s another full-length portrait. Not the same artist and decades apart. But a youth in blue, a girl in pink.”
“Got it.”
“And the second one was for an actual boy. About thirteen. And the last one was shipped to Chicago last spring, for an art show.”
“Okay. How about the girl one?”
She glanced behind her again. “It didn’t have the matching skirt. This one was brown, and the scarves were a silk blend, not pure silk. But I was supposed to say yes anyway. I hope this helps.”
“It helps a lot. I appreciate it, Riley.”
“You’re welcome. Just don’t—”
“Not a word to your boss. Thanks again.”
Eve crossed the first New York venue off her list as she heard Peabody coming.
“Wanted to give you a quick update. That French place you talked to got orders of material on both portraits. More than the yardage for each. The person I talked to said that wasn’t unusual. And since I also found orders on those fabrics to one of the venues in Italy, another in London, and more, I have to say, not unusual.
“They’re beautiful fabrics, Dallas. Pricey extreme, but beautiful. And not just used in costumes.”
