Page 14 of The Collector's Temptation

Everard burst into laughter before confirming, “Oui, mademoiselle. Like the time when?—”

“Or,” I jumped in, “we could move on to why we’re here.”

The older man rolled his eyes, then winked at Kerrigan. “Of course, right this way,mademoiselle.”

His eyes tracked Kerrigan as she entered, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As I passed, Everard murmured just loud enough for me to catch, “Elle est magnifique, mon garçon. Tu es un homme chanceux.”

“Je sais,” I said simply, without looking back. I was well aware of how stunning she was and that I was a lucky man.

Kerrigan had walked into the exhibition hall and stood in front of the first gallery. It was a local art dealer who showcasedthree different artists, mostly focusing on an abstract realist painter from New York City.

“Wow,” Kerrigan breathed. “I love his work. It’s so colorful and richly textured.”

“The artist was originally from the Caribbean,” Everard told her as he moved to stand at her side. “Some of his work blends the themes and images of both New York and the country of his birth. I tend to lean toward more traditional art, but even I have been tempted by pieces that bring nostalgia by using cartoon and comic characters.”

“You?” I teased. “I can’t imagine seeing a $120,000 painting with a Peanuts character in it hanging on your wall.”

Everard raised an eyebrow at me, his expression affronted. But it didn’t last because we both knew I was right. “Tenté, mon garçon.”

At Kerrigan’s questioning look, he translated, “Tempted.”

She chuckled and moved on to the next gallery. Every stall was represented by different art dealers, auction houses, museums, etc. from all over the United States.

In order to entice as many patrons as possible, the prices ranged from one hundred dollars all the way up to half a million.

When we reached one of the larger galleries near the front entrance, Kerrigan stopped and stared. She looked as if she was trying to work out a puzzle, then it seemed to dawn on her. “This is Belladonna Gallery.”

“Très bien,” I praised.

Taking a few steps farther inside the stall, she scrutinized a painting that had been hung from the ceiling and was illuminated by the spotlight above. “Isn’t this supposed to be in a private collection? The Wallard family?”

I nodded. “They’ve decided to cull their collection.”

Everard snorted, and I shot him a warning glance, but it was too late. Kerrigan had noticed.

She lifted her brow as she looked at him, waiting for clarification.

To his credit, he didn’t bat an eye as he spouted an explanation. “More like their son owes a lot of money to…certain parties and are selling off their collection to pay their debt.”

She frowned. “Like the IRS?”

“More like a debt collector,” he replied with a mysterious smile.

Before she could question him further, I shot Everard another warning glare and jumped in with, “I managed to convince them to let us handle the sale of their pieces.”

I didn’t elucidate onhowI convinced them because it involved Mafia intimidation tactics.

“I wonder if that’s what happened with the Caravaggio they sold at the auction,” she mused. “Maybe the Mafia needed an infusion of cash, so they decided to sell some of their ill-gotten goods?”

Scratching my chin, I put on a thoughtful expression. “It seems more likely that someone stumbled across the painting at an estate sale or during the demolition of an old house.”

“It’s interesting that there was no reward for this particular piece.”

“Oh? How so?” I asked, keeping my tone easy and light.

“Well, with a painting likeThe Storm on the Sea of Galileeby Rembrandt, whoever found it wouldn’t have been able to auction it for almost thirty million. They would have had to take the ten-million-dollar reward. Assuming it wasn’t a fake.”

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