Page 9 of The Scarab's Game

What did that have to do with?—

Wait.Does he think you’re sleeping with Dante for this job?I straightened my spine. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have work to finish for the De Rosas.”

“He’s a handsome man. Wealthy.” He leaned on the worktable, ignoring my subtle attempt at asking him to leave. “As is his father.”

A few streaks of gray laced the hair at his temples. Paired with the faint lines around his eyes, he was likely in his forties. At his age, he should have known better than to accuse a woman of sleeping her way into a job. They were paying well, but certainly notthatwell.

“They’re my clients. I hadn’t noticed.” Total lie, but it had nothing to do with the job.

He nodded slowly, scanning the painting. “I meant no offense.”

“Of course not.” I kept my hand on the sheet of paper, just in case. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“Be sure you do your best.” He headed for the door. “Massimo has promised we’ll see a healthy profit from the sale.”

Jackass.

Once I was alone again, I grabbed a loupe from under the worktable and examined the damaged area. If I’d done everything right, the dirt should have lifted, leaving the paint alone. But a tiny section had lifted all the way to the canvas. This wasn’t right.

I removed my protective gear before grabbing my phone from my purse. I dialed Aunt Penny’s number as I crossed to the farthest corner of the small room. She’d know what to do.

“Jenny Girl,” she said in her breezy tone. “How’s Monte Carlo?”

“Good.” Weird. “But I need some advice.”

“You’re a talented?—”

“Not like that.” I didn’t need my ego stroked or my confidence bolstered. I spoke quickly—too quickly?—summarizing the steps I’d taken with the painting and my results. “I know I’m overreacting, but…” I stared at the open doorway, cupping my hand over my mouth to ensure no one else heard me. “How could I have gotten it so wrong?”

She clucked her tongue in the way she did when she was thinking. “Have you spoken with the De Rosas about this?”

“No, should I?”

“You have a mismatch between an expert’s notes and your experience. The first thing you need to do is figure out which one is wrong.”

Wrong? “His notes wouldn’t be.”

“In that case, the painting may be.” Was she saying what I thought she was saying? Did she think it could be a fake? “You don’t have much time available, so I’ll put you in touch with a conservator I met at a conference earlier this year. He has a lot of experience with fakes and forgeries, and his wife is also an art crime investigator. They’ll be able to advise you on the quickest way to figure it out.”

I stared at the sliver of canvas I’d revealed with the acetone.Should I leave? Tell them I’ll be back tomorrow? What if Penny’s contact calls me back right away? Should I wait and see what he says?“What do I do in the meantime?”

“Do what I’ve been teaching you. Do your own experiments. Inspect the paint—is it genuinely oil? Does it feel like it’s been on the canvas for two hundred years? Are the polymers cross-linked yet? Does the craquelure look right? Take notes on everything.”

Another deep breath. I didn’t know what two-hundred-year-old craquelure looked like on a John Constable painting. And it wasn’t like Monaco was large enough that I could find a museum with other pieces to compare. Maybe in Nice? Or the Internet.

“You can do this, Jenn. I wouldn’t have agreed to the project if I didn’t think you could.”

So much for a simple cleaning.

Chapter 5

Emmett

The De Rosa Gallerysat at the base of a seven-story terrace house, a five-minute walk from the Hôtel de Paris. My research indicated the gallery took up three stories, while apartments filled the space above. Directly across the street, a shorter building housed a coffee shop and a stamp collectors’ store on the bottom floor.

I was alone today with a straightforward goal: Enter the gallery and inquire if Massimo was there. If yes, ask to speak with him and determine whether he’d sell me the scarab. If not, find out if I could purchase it legally.

Our client, a wealthy patron of the museum from which the scarab had been stolen was offering a five-million euro reward for its return. Minus expenses and profit margin, we had four million to negotiate with.

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