Page 91 of This is a Kissing Book

Meanwhile, Maxine glares at me disapprovingly, shaking her head as if to say she’s going to report me to my father for spending his money frivolously. She has a point.

When the gavel falls, he’s won. Iva looks smugly satisfied, like she orchestrated an elaborate act of revenge. I never told her about Lincoln’s lost love letters, but they mean something to me. Jules too.

It must be plain to see and I’m not sorry about that.

As we leave the auction room, I try to memorize every detail of the painting I can recall. The way the light hit the building in the background. The figure seated inside. The positioning of the elements that could be part of a “map,” as my mother mentioned in her journal.

“We could steal it,” I say quietly as we walk toward the car.

Jules frowns. “We’re likely already wanted in at least one state.”

“Speaking of which, while you were getting pampered today, I returned the painting.”

“You what?” She freezes on the cobblestone path. “How? You can’t just walk into a gallery and rearrange the wall art.”

“Remember, I told you I have fans. They created a distraction.” I wink.

She gapes, dumbstruck.

“True story. But the real question is, how did you create such a great facsimile? I was seriously planning to run a background check on you, but I figured I should ask directly first. That was impressive work,” I say with a laugh.

She joins me in the waiting car, but her expression turns guarded. “The secret isn’t that I have exceptional art skills. I printed a high-quality version of the original and then painted over it.”

“Paint by numbers style?”

“Exactly. It’s an old trick …” She trails off.

“That you learned where exactly?”

“From someone who is no longer with us but wouldn’t like me spilling his secrets.”

I think about her father, the medical bills, and the way she sometimes gets a distant look in her eyes when family comes up. I can’t help but wonder what else she’s capable of fabricating. Her interest in me, maybe? Because mine is very real.

“So what next? We didn’t get the painting,” Jules says as we return the way we came.

Our one lead slipped through my fingers like sand. “I’m sure that was it. I’ll have you back to Chicago before the clock strikes twelve.”

“Or else the airplane will turn back into a pumpkin?”

My grin is irrepressible. “You were dazzling in there, Cinderella, and look, you didn’t lose a single glass slipper.”

“I thought it was Buttercup.”

“If you wish.”

Cheeks rosy, she turns toward me sharply. “Glass. The glass building in the second panel was made of glass, depicting a future where even buildings made of glass would remain standing. It was a post-war ideal.”

I nod, recalling it distinctly and wishing we’d at least been able to get a photograph.

“There was a figure seated inside. Mary,” she breathes.

“Mary Todd,” I add, accounting for what we already know.

Jules nods vaguely in agreement but seems deep in thought. “I can only assume, but I think I’ve seen that glass building before. Well, not actually, but an image of one like it.”

“You mentioned.” I’m already pulling out my phone to search.

Jules practically bounces in her seat as if she now recalls the details. “The World’s Fair. Major cities were competing for the honor to host the four hundredth anniversary celebration of Columbus’s arrival in the New World. Ultimately, Chicago won.”