“High stakes,” Skye said with a grin. “Just the way I like it. But how do I get into the supply closet? Aren’t they usually locked?”
“Yes, but I’ll make sure to get you a badge that will unlock it, and you can hide it behind whatever supplies are in there.” She turned to Lucia. “Do you think you could get a scan or picture from Blackwell’s badge? That would be the easiest way, but if not, I’ll find another.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lucia said, her voice tighter than she’d intended. Her phone sat heavy in her pocket, like it had absorbed the silence of the past few days. Penelope still hadn’t replied, even though Lucia’s response had been innocuous enough: playing dumb, acting excited but benign.
Yet, crickets.
Just as the meeting began to wrap up, Lucia’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and stared at the pop-up.
One of the flagged donor accounts had just triggered a notification—an email routed through the system she used to monitor all the fake identities tied to her forgeries.
She opened the email under the table, the bluish glow from the screen cutting through the room’s warm light.
Subject:Loan Request:SantiniBeach at Sunset
From:Tremaine Gallery
Body:The National Museum in D.C. is preparing an exhibit titledThe Hidden Collection: Art Rediscoveredand has inquired about a short-term loan of your donated Santini for inclusion. Please advise.
Her stomach clenched. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades.
Who was behind this exhibit? There was no way in hell the piece would hold up under such scrutiny.
They’d donated it years ago, before her work had fully matured. The Santini piece was good, but notthatgood.
Lucia bit her lower lip and slid her phone back into her pocket. Her heart thudded so hard she could feel its palpitations. Was this just a fluke? A coincidence? Maybe. But if it wasn’t…
She considered telling Francesca, but given the woman’s current state of paranoia, that might not be the smartest move. Lucia could handle it herself.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Skye murmured, suddenly close beside her.
Lucia tensed. “It’s nothing.”
Skye lifted a brow. “Hmm. You used to be a better liar. What happened?”
“I’m just tired.”
Leaning in, Skye whispered, “Don’t get your heart broken, Gracie. That never ends well.”
Lucia shifted back, bristling. “What would you know about that? You’d need to have one first.”
“Touché.”
When she left Francesca’s place, the sun was close to setting, casting the driveway in honeyed light and long shadows. Warm air carried the faint scent of jasmine. For a second, Lucia paused, taking in the orange-red spectacle on the horizon, her fingers itching for her paints and canvases. The urge to create something of her own instead of copying other people’s pieces rose, so strong, it almost made her dizzy.
With a sigh, she trod toward her car, the gravel crunching under her boots, her mind once more wandering back to the email and its implications. That loan request could mean exposure. Or maybe nothing. But it bothered her.
Then again, there was also Penelope. Why was she even worried about her silence? She was probably just busy or distracted. Maybe Lucia’s own sense of guilt made her see threads that weren’t even there.
Back home, she contemplated writing Penelope again or even calling her. But she didn’t want to seem desperate, so instead, she grabbed her laptop to research this new feature at the National Museum, and if there were any connections to the Meridian or Penelope.
The glow of the laptop lit the darkened kitchen; the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.
Penelope had started working at the Meridian about a year ago, and Montgomery took on her role a couple of months back, but the two of them had never worked together before.
Prior to the Meridian, Penelope had worked as the Associate Curator of European Art at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and her research had focused heavily on post-Renaissance oil techniques.
So yes, she could easily have contacts at the National Museum, even if nothing in this exhibit pointed directly at her.
