Ripped From the Pages

“True.”

 

 

Then she frowned. “In fact, I’m trying to remember exactly what he did tell us. Maybe we all just assumed he’d purchased the land around that same time.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

 

I caught Derek watching me in the rearview mirror and grinned. He always had too good a time watching me spar with my mother.

 

He pulled into Mom’s driveway and came to a stop.

 

“I’d like to return to the caves tomorrow,” Mom said as she was climbing out of the car. “The space needs a spiritual cleansing.”

 

Normally I would’ve rolled my eyes and tried to discourage her, but seeing as how a murder had occurred in that small cave, and lord only knew what had happened in the larger one, I figured it might actually do some good if she went ahead and cleaned it up a little, spiritually speaking.

 

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

 

“I’ll take you both there,” Derek said. “The potential value of the treasure in those caves is phenomenal, and that much money can make people do crazy things. I think we’d be wise to follow the ‘safety in numbers’ adage for the time being.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mom said, beaming at him. “See you kids tomorrow.”

 

Once Mom was gone, I pounced on Derek. “Do you honestly think that sculpture might be a real Rodin?”

 

He glanced at me sideways before backing out of my parents’ driveway and pulling into the Quinlans’. “How dare you read my mind.”

 

“It wasn’t that hard,” I said, chuckling. “The expression on your face made it obvious.”

 

“It’s sad,” he lamented. “I used to be so mysterious. Inscrutable.”

 

I laughed. “You’re absolutely sphinxlike most of the time, but I suppose I’m getting used to you.”

 

“The Rodin connection makes sense, though, don’t you think?” Derek said as he unlocked the side door into the kitchen. “Trudy’s from a prominent French family that goes back several generations. They had a winery that was popular in the area. Who’s to say they didn’t commission a work by Rodin at some point?”

 

I was momentarily distracted as canine Maggie trundled over to greet us and feline Charlie pounced on my foot. As I washed out Maggie’s bowl and filled it with fresh water, I remembered what we were talking about. “It’s two works,” I said. “Remember the quail’s mate is on Trudy’s mantel?”

 

He stooped to pick up Charlie and nuzzled her soft neck. “Did you happen to see it when we were there?”

 

“No.” I smiled. “There was so much other stuff to see.”

 

“Isn’t that the truth? Her home is quite like a miniature museum in and of itself.”

 

“I agree. I’d like to visit her again to get a look at that other sculpture she was talking about.”

 

“Yes, let’s arrange that.” He took out his phone and punched in a quick note to himself.

 

I hung up my purse on a hook by the back door and sat down at the kitchen table with my phone. “No time like the present,” I said, and Googled Rodin sculptures. It brought me to the site of the Musée Rodin, and I scrolled through the photographs. I saw plenty of old men with their jowls and wrinkles, and beautiful women of all shapes and sizes. There were lovers embracing and angels avenging, but no charming little animals.

 

I reported my findings to Derek.

 

“It probably wasn’t sculpted by Rodin, but I’d be willing to guess that it’s from the same era. It’s a stunning piece.”

 

“I think so, too. And speaking of notable Frenchmen, I never would’ve guessed that Guru Bob was French, would you?”

 

“He’s so well dressed and speaks so formally, I always figured he was English.”

 

I laughed. “If only that weren’t true, I’d be able to say something rude.”

 

Derek leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms across his chest. “We British are exceedingly polite, as you well know.”

 

“And yet”—I glanced around—“I’ve been home for three minutes, and I don’t see my glass of wine anywhere.”

 

He slapped his forehead in mock dismay. “Butler’s night off, love. I’ll get right on it.”

 

My cell phone rang at that moment, and I glanced at the screen. I chuckled as I answered the call. “Hey, Mom. Long time no see.”

 

“Hello, sweetie,” she said, speaking quietly. “Can you and Derek come over right now? Robson is here and would like to talk to all of us together. It’s important.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

 

 

“I have been contacted by a number of media outlets,” Robson said as soon as we were all gathered in my parents’ large, comfortable living room. “They are asking for details and interviews.”

 

“They’ve already heard about the treasure in the cave?” I frowned, trying to figure out how the word got out. “That was fast.”

 

“No, gracious,” he said. “Not the treasure. They have only asked about the body that was found.”

 

Kate Carlisle's books