“Or a famous Monet,” says Jane, “or a Van Gogh or Michelangelo’s David. Maybe they even steal it for fun.”
“Exactly,” he says. “But in real life, the smart, professional art thief steals a lesser work, less famous, by a lesser master. Preferably a piece nobody’s ever heard of, by an artist nobody knows, worth forty thousand dollars instead of forty million dollars. Something that doesn’t have a well-documented past, so that it can be reintroduced back into the market without raising suspicions, and sold to someone who has no idea it’s stolen.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”
“When a famous masterpiece is stolen,” Colin says, “like the Van Dyke or the Vermeer that makes front-page news, there’s little hope of finding a collector who’ll buy it. That picture usually ends up being passed from one criminal to another as collateral in the drug trade.”
“Really?” says Jane, startled.
“Really.”
“But, do drug traffickers care about art?”
“They care about cash alternatives,” Colin says matter-of-factly.
“I don’t understand what that means,” she says.
Colin smiles. Jane senses he’s enjoying being the one in the know. “Money laundering is a tricky business,” he says. “It’s harder and harder for criminals to move cash around without getting caught. But art is easy to move, and when it’s stolen, it’s all over the news how much it’s worth. Very convenient for me, if I’ve got a famous, stolen Rubens and want to trade it for a lot of drugs. Or if I need a loan to buy the drugs, but my lender requires collateral. A famous picture makes great collateral.”
“Do you think you’ve explained it in enough detail, Colin?” says Lucy sweetly, her nose still buried in her book. “Perhaps you’d like to take Jane on a field trip?”
“You’re the one who should do that, cuz,” says Colin. “It’s your world, not mine.” He cocks a significant eyebrow at Jane. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says, “but sometimes Lucy has to go undercover into the drug world.”
“Voluntarily?” Jane says, staring at Lucy, who calmly reads her book, looking, for all the world, like someone who belongs in an armchair crocheting doilies and eating crumpets. She’s wearing pearls again this morning, around her neck and in her ears.
“Mm-hm,” says Colin. “Often, the only way to recover a masterpiece is to set up a sting.”
“You do that?” Jane says to Lucy. “What do you pose as? A drug dealer? What do you wear?”
“Colin,” says Lucy, putting her book down and fixing her cousin with quiet eyes. “I’m going to invoke my position as family badass and tell you it’s time to shut up now.”
“But, Lucy,” Jane says, “does this mean that last night at dinner, when you said you couldn’t picture the Panzavecchias getting involved in organized crime, you knew what you were talking about? Like, from experience?”
“Yes,” says Colin, looking upon his cousin with amusement. “Lucy knows what she’s talking about. She’s met some of those people.”
“Colin,” says Lucy. Her voice is a warning.
“Well, I don’t see any reason not to believe it,” Phoebe puts in. “If Lucy poses as drug dealers and executes undercover stings, why shouldn’t Giuseppe owe money to mobsters?”
“Sure,” says Lucy, frustrated and sarcastic. “Why not.”
“Lucy recently managed to intercept a stolen Rubens,” Colin says pleasantly, “in the Poconos. She traded a big pile of heroin for it and, once she had the Rubens in hand, called in the FBI, who arrested all the bad guys. It was a great triumph. Then some random carjacker stopped her and stole the Rubens before she could pass it on to the FBI. Very embarrassing. It’s made her a bit touchy. Has Ravi met you yet?” Colin asks Jane, transitioning subjects abruptly. “He’s going to like you.”
“What? Why should Ravi like me?” Jane responds, confused, then suddenly mortified, remembering that Lucy is Ravi’s girlfriend and Ravi is sleeping, shirtless, on her sofa.
“Oh, he likes variety,” says Colin.
“Variety!” says Jane as Lucy claps her mouth shut and sits there looking startled and stung. Why is Colin taking digs at Lucy?
“I’m sure Ravi will barely notice me,” says Jane. “I’m nobody.”
“We’ll see,” says Colin.
Lucy rises to her feet, closes one hand around her book and the other around her phone, and stalks from the room.
“Why did you do that?” asks Jane.
“Do what?” asks Colin.
“Try to make your cousin jealous of me.”
“It’s family stuff,” he says with a benevolent expression. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, but don’t use me as one of your weapons.”
“Good girl,” says Phoebe crisply, nodding at Jane, surprising Jane so much that she can only stare back.
“I can see I’m being ganged up on,” says Colin. “Where’s Philip this morning, Phoebe?”
“Philip was called out in the night,” says Phoebe, a crease of worry appearing in the center of her forehead.
Jane’s eyes are riveted to Phoebe’s face. “Out?” she says. “Out where?”
“For his work,” Phoebe says.
“What did he do, swim to the mainland?” Jane asks.
“Philip knows how to operate a boat. The Thrashes have lots of boats. It happens. He’s a medical doctor.”
“Oh,” says Jane, picturing Philip Okada again with latex gloves on his hands. “His germophobia must make his job difficult,” she adds, fishing.
Phoebe blinks. “His germophobia,” she repeats.
“Yes,” Jane says. “He mentioned his germophobia.”
“It’s a recent development,” says Phoebe.
“Since when?” says Colin. “I didn’t know he was germophobic.”
“It’s not unusual for medical doctors,” says Phoebe. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“What kind of doctor is he?” asks Jane.
“A GP,” says Phoebe.
“I see,” says Jane. “Doesn’t that mean general practitioner?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason,” says Jane. “I’m just sorry there isn’t another doctor who can fill in for him while he’s on vacation. I mean, it’d be one thing if he were the only doctor in the world who could attach someone’s brain back to their spinal cord, but lots of people are GPs.”
“My husband is very devoted to his patients,” says Phoebe. “Are you belittling his work?”
“Oh, Phoebe,” says Colin. “I’m sure she wasn’t. Have you eaten enough? Here. Have some fruit.”
“I’m sorry,” says a new voice, speaking with a mild accent Jane can’t particularly place.
They all turn to stare at the East Asian man with salt-and-pepper hair who’s stepped in from the kitchen and stopped just inside the doors. “I forget the way to the receiving hall,” he says, clutching a bucket to his chest. Jane assumes he’s one of the seasonal staff, cleaning for the gala.
“It’s that way,” says Colin, pointing to an exit at the other end of the room. “Pass into the ballroom, then choose the second doorway on the left.”
“Thank you,” says the man. He disappears through the exit.
At that moment, the door to the kitchen swings open to reveal Mrs. Vanders, who pointedly locks eyes with Phoebe.
“Well then,” says Phoebe. “I’ve finished my breakfast.”
She crosses the room with loud claps from her high-heeled boots and takes the same exit the cleaner took.
Mrs. Vanders stays in the kitchen doorway and directs another impenetrable expression at Jane. Then she swings away.
Kiran never showed up for breakfast at all. Colin is being insensitive to Lucy. Phoebe is lying about her husband and almost seemed as if she intentionally followed that cleaner. Jasper’s got nothing on these people.
Jane finishes her breakfast. Then she goes straight through the adjoining door into the kitchen. It’s time to ask Mrs. Vanders what’s behind that stare.
*
But Mrs. Vanders is gone.