скачать книгу бесплатно
“It looks exactly like it. How can he be so sure it’s the original?”
“Because I had it authenticated.” Neither of them had heard the owner come up the stairs to join them. Now the man stepped past them to take the painting off the wall and show them the back.
Laramie could see that it had a small card taped to the back. He realized how easy it would have been for the cat burglar to make the switch—including the authentication.
“You must be the man who thought you saw a burglar here last night,” Nelson said as he put the painting back on the wall. “I’m glad it was a false alarm.”
“Me, too,” Laramie said, still not sure he believed it.
“So what do you think of the house?” the man asked.
“I like it.”
“We’ll be looking at some others,” McKenzie said quickly. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“Only as long as it takes. So if you’re interested...”
“You’ll hear from us,” she said, motioning to Laramie that it was time to go. “I have several other houses for us to look at this morning,” she said once they were in the SUV heading off the mountain.
“Don’t bother. I want that one.”
She shot him a look. “But you haven’t even—”
“That’s the house. Find out what furniture stays. Also I want that painting.”
As they dropped over the rise, the house disappearing behind them, McKenzie hit her brakes and skidded to a stop in the middle of the narrow snow-packed road. “You want the painting?”
“I’m pretty sure he’ll part with it. If he’s selling the house, then he’s leaving Montana. His next wife won’t want any cowboy art in her house.”
McKenzie laughed. “You are definitely decisive once you make up your mind, but did you even look at the house or do you really just want the painting?”
He smiled over at her. “I want both. See what kind of deal you can get me, but don’t take no for an answer.”
She laughed and shook her head as she got the SUV going again. “You’re more like your brothers than I thought you were.”
She had no idea. “I think you’re right,” Laramie said. “It wasn’t my brothers who put that woman up to that stunt last night.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” she said.
“I think she really is a cat burglar.”
McKenzie shot him a look. “But she didn’t steal anything.”
He rubbed his jaw, surprised that he’d forgotten to shave. He’d been so anxious to confront Hayes this morning. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Why am I getting a bad feeling that you’re thinking of trying to catch this woman?”
He smiled over at her. He knew he could go to his brothers for help. Hayes was a private investigator and Austin, who’d been a deputy sheriff, now worked for Hayes at his investigative business.
But his cat burglar had made this personal. He wanted to catch her himself.
Chapter Three (#ulink_24873dff-ee5f-574a-8ec8-7129dd9316bb)
“I know Taylor West’s work well,” the art dealer said when Laramie called. “Who did you say gave you my name?”
“Local Realtor McKenzie Sheldon Cardwell. She said she’s worked with you before.”
“Oh, yes, McKenzie,” Herbert Darlington said. “You have a painting you’d like me to authenticate?”
“If you can.”
Darlington made an unpleasant sound. “If it is a true Taylor West work, I will be able to tell at once. When would you like me to take a look at it?”
“I’m parked outside your gallery right now.”
The gallery was in a narrow building along the main street of Bozeman. Laramie had driven the forty-five miles first thing that morning. He was anxious to know about the painting. Even more anxious to know about the woman who’d gotten away.
Golden light shone on the paintings on the old brick walls of the gallery as he entered. He looked for any by Taylor West and saw several of Native Americans as well as one of cowboys. This one, though, was a cattle drive filled with longhorns and cowboys driving the herd through a canyon. It looked so real he could almost smell the dust the cattle were kicking up.
“Bring it back here,” Darlington said motioning to a door at the back. The man was short and thick with thinning hair above a round red face. He wore a dark suit like an undertaker and sported a narrow black mustache above narrow thin lips.
Without another word, Darlington took the framed painting from him and moved over to a table. He snapped on a light, pulled on a pair of glasses and bent over the artwork.
“Where did you get this?” he asked after a moment.
“I picked it up from an unknown source.”
Darlington shot him a look over one shoulder before returning to the painting. “It’s quite good.”
“But it’s not a Taylor West.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Laramie waited impatiently as the man pulled out a magnifying glass and went over the entire painting again. So much for being able to tell at a glance.
After a few minutes, Darlington let out a sigh, took off his glasses, snapped off the light and turned. “It’s an original Taylor West.”
Laramie let out a laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. How was that possible? How did any of this make sense? It didn’t. “You’re sure?”
The art expert gave him a pained, insulted look. “I’m guessing you picked it up for a song.”
“Something like that.” He reached for the painting.
“So you’re interested in selling it,” Darlington said. “I suppose I could make you an offer.”
“It’s not for sale.” He reached again for the painting and this time the gallery owner handed it over, though reluctantly.
“I would be happy to authenticate it for you in writing,” the gallery owner said.
Laramie wondered if he’d authenticated the one now hanging in the house he hoped McKenzie was getting for him. “I’ll think about it.” The art dealer walked him toward the front door.
Just then a tall, thin older man with a shoulder-length mane of white-blond hair and a handlebar mustache came in on a gust of wind. He looked like something out of an Old West movie.
“Cody can verify what I’ve told you,” Darlington said.
Laramie eyed the man, wondering if he was also considered an art expert.
“Cody Kent is another of our Western artists,” the gallery owner said. Then he turned to Cody. “Mr. Cardwell brought in a Taylor West painting. He was questioning its authenticity.”
“Really?” Cody tilted his head to look at the painting in Laramie’s hand as Darlington explained to him that while this was a one-of-a-kind piece, apparently there was another one owned by another collector.
That definitely got the man’s attention. “So you’re saying one of them is a forgery?”
“I’d stake my reputation that this is the original,” Darlington said, puffing himself up. “Do you agree?”
Laramie handed the man the artwork and watched him as he inspected it. He noticed that the man’s hands seemed to tremble as he stared at it.
The artist handed it back. “Sure looks like the real thing to me.” Cody Kent’s gaze met his. “Where did you get it?”
“Just picked it up recently,” Laramie said. He took it back from the older man. “Glad to hear you both agree it is an authentic Taylor West.”
As he headed for the door, Darlington followed. “Well, if you decide to get rid of it...”
Laramie shook his head but then stopped just short of the door to ask, “How much would you say it’s worth?” He noticed that Cody Kent had moved to one of the paintings on display only yards from them, clearly listening to the conversation.
Darlington seemed to give a price more thought than was necessary since he’d just offered to buy it. “I could give you...thirty,” he said, keeping his voice down.
“Thirty?”
“Thirty thousand,” Darlington said. “It would be more but it’s an older piece. His work has improved over the years.”
Was that right? Laramie smiled to himself. From what he’d seen online last night, artists’ older work appeared to have more value—especially if the artist was now dead. Taylor West was still kicking, apparently, but Laramie suspected the painting must be worth a lot more that what he was being offered.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep it,” he said as he tucked it under his arm. “It has...sentimental value.”
* * *
SID PUT ON clean jeans and a sweater to go to the grocery store. Often she went in her paint-streaked pants and shirts. Anyone who paid any attention was aware that she painted since she spent most Saturdays at the local craft show selling her wares.
Not her paintings, but haphazardly done Montana scenes on everything from old metal saw blades and antique milk cans to ancient tractor parts and windmill blades. Amazingly, her crafts sold well, which proved to her that most people didn’t know the difference between good art and bad.
But today she wanted to fly under the radar. No reason to call attention to herself as an artist. It might be too risky if the man from last night was still in town. She knew she was being silly. He’d probably completely forgotten about her.
She assumed he would have gone to the marshal last night with a story about her robbing that house. Since the painting wouldn’t be missing, she wasn’t worried.
Her only regret was losing the painting. She needed it. Which meant she had to get it back. Or taking all these chances would have been for nothing.
Where was the painting now? She’d learned at a young age to make friends where needed. Now she picked up the phone and called her friend who worked at the marshal’s office as she drove to the grocery store.
After the usual pleasantries, she said, “So what’s new down there?” Dispatcher Tara Kirkwood loved her job because she got to know everything that was going on—and she loved to share it.
“Counterfeit bills keep turning up,” Tara said, keeping her voice down although the office was small and she was probably the only person down there right then. The marshal and detectives were probably out.
She and Tara had established long ago that anything Tara told her wouldn’t go any further—and it never had. “The marshal is chasing one right now that was passed at the Corral Bar.”
“No more cat burglar sightings?” she asked after listening to what Tara knew about the counterfeit bills.
“Actually, before Hud left, he said his wife’s cousin who is in town caught the cat burglar last night.” She laughed. “According to him, the burglar turned out to be a her.”
“No kidding? So is she locked up down there?”
“Naw, she got away.” Tara laughed again. “Hud got a chuckle out of it since apparently there was no crime and his cousin-in-law was quite taken with the woman.”
Sid laughed even though this was not what she wanted to hear. The marshal’s cousin-in-law? Just her luck. Not to mention “quite taken with her”? Really? She thought of the kiss. It might have been a mistake since she’d had a hard time forgetting about it, as well.
“What’s the guy’s name?” she asked.
“Laramie Cardwell.”
Cardwell? Anyone who lived in the Gallatin Canyon knew that name. The Cardwell Ranch was one of the first established in the canyon. But she’d never heard of a Laramie Cardwell before.
“You said he was in town. So he’s not from here?” she asked even though she knew his accent was way too Southern.
“His father is Angus Cardwell. Apparently his mother got a divorce years ago and took her five sons to live in Texas. Laramie’s up here from Houston. He and his brothers own that new place, Texas Boys Barbecue.”
“Huh.”
“Have you tried it yet?” Tara asked.
“No. I’ve been meaning to, though,” she said, realizing it was true.
“It’s really good.”
“So did the so-called cat burglar get away with anything?” she had to ask. “You said no crime was committed?”
“Laramie found a painting, but it wasn’t stolen from the house. I overheard Hud say Laramie is hanging on to it. Kind of like a souvenir.”
Sid mouthed a silent oath. She’d reached Meadow Village and the grocery store. “So now it’s hanging at Cardwell Ranch,” she joked.
“More than likely at his new house,” Tara said.
“His new house?”
The dispatcher dropped her voice even further. “The house that he caught her allegedly robbing? He’s buying it.”
Sid pulled into a parking spot in front of the store. Tara was always a wealth of information. “Now that is a coincidence,” she said. “So apparently he’s staying.”
“At least for the holidays I would think. You really should try their barbecue. It is so good.”
