Page 85 of Canvas of Lies
“I promise,” I whispered. I kissed her forehead and pulled her back into my arms. Over the top of her head, I nodded to the officers. “I promise, Kat. It’s all over now.”
Epilogue
Nico: Six Months Later
Ifonlyherfathercould see this,I thought, grinning at the view from the front door of The Castle.
My silly nickname for Kat’s childhood home had become ingrained in our minds, even though she didn’t quite agree that she’d always been the princess, nor that she was now its queen. She liked to envision herself more as the rebellious witch who dismantled the wicked king’s domain piece by piece to return that wealth to the people of the kingdom.
I wasn’t sure what role that gave me, but if it meant being at Kat’s side through it all, I was one hundred percent committed.
Early spring sunlight glinted through the trees, giving the entire property a golden hue that suited my cheery mood. Today, the gates stood wide open, folding tables lined the driveway, and furniture dotted the expansive yard. Classic rock floatedfrom a portable speaker near the house, mingling with the soft sounds of conversation and the occasional exclamation over an exciting find. I couldn’t bite back a broad smile when I watched a small group of kids go running from one side of the yard to the other, ducking behind trees and under tables.
If hide and seek had set the course of our lives, it seemed fitting that it should be part of this momentous day, as well.
Thanks to Kat, the staff had been taken care of with extremely generous severance packages, the house had been listed for sale right at market value, and several charities had been earmarked to receive hefty donations from the estate. The proceeds of today’s yard sale, along with any items remaining at the end of the day, would go to Kat’s favorite charity organization, Path of Hope.
In the end, neither of us resented the final manipulations her father had thrown our way. We were able to do a world of good with her inheritance, as well as my own. I blew out a slow, happy sigh as I set off down the stairs and headed into the fray.
After finally convincing Kat to take a much-needed vacation—for pleasure, this time—we’d returned to Avignon and spent two glorious weeks relaxing and playing tourist. I’d even managed to smooth Uncle Philippe’s ruffled feathers after we decided to book a hotel suite instead of staying with the family. It had been well worth the effort, and we were already planning to return again later that summer for Jérôme’s wedding.
While we were there, we managed to remove the SD card without breaking the frame of the painting. We’d discussed theoptions—destroy it, see what was on it, leave it hidden in the painting forever.
Kat’s unrelenting curiosity won out.
Using a secure laptop, we opened the enclosed file and found an audio recording of a conversation between Aidan Willoughby and none other than Lucien Lavigne.
Eyes wide, we stared at one another as the two men spoke, discussing an arrangement they’d made for Willoughby to ensure the disappearance of certain key witnesses in a case brought against Lavigne in exchange for a hundred million dollars in blood diamonds.
“If Lavigne had found this, we would be dead,” Kat whispered. “What do we do with it?”
In the end, it had traveled back home with us—then been anonymously delivered to Detective Hanson to pass along to law enforcement who might be able to use it to bring Lavigne down. After that, we pretended Lucien Lavigne didn’t exist.
Out of sight, out of mind.
It was Uncle Philippe who had talked me into taking the original painting back home with us, encouraging me to donate it to the museum’s permanent collection, where Kat and I could see it whenever we wished. And, he’d added with a wink, where our children would be able to visit their ancestor someday.
With the entire family backing the suggestion, I’d finally agreed.
The forgery, in turn, had been sent to Philippe, for its sentimental value. Now Céleste Bicardeau couldkeep watch over both the French and American branches of the family. The original painting had been authenticated by the museum and displayed there for the past two months, alongside a pair of other exquisite landscapes by Hugo Clément.
When I looked over toward Kat several minutes later, I found her crouched down next to a dark-haired little girl who’d taken a liking to one of her old porcelain dolls. She nodded solemnly as she listened to the child, then reached back onto the table to hand over a small box of clothes for the doll. The little girl’s expression brightened into blinding luminescence as she clutched the box in one hand and the doll in the other to run toward her mother with her treasures.
Our gazes locked across a stretch of lawn and I offered a jaunty salute. Kat blew me a kiss before turning to talk to another family who’d approached the table of toys. I watched for several minutes longer, enjoying the animated way she conversed with complete strangers, until a familiar figure came strolling toward me from the direction of the driveway.
“Detective Hanson. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. I shook the hand she offered before sticking my own back in my pocket.
A wide grin split her face. “Oh, just stopped by to see what trouble you two were getting up to these days. Seems you’re just full of good works lately, huh?”
I offered a benign smile. “Seems we are,” I agreed. “It’s the least we could do.”
While Hanson stood beside me, we watched Katherine Willoughby charm a young couple into buying a hand-carved wooden cradle. “I heard the damnedest story through the grapevine the other day,” the detective mused, rocking on her heels.
“Oh?”
“An old friend of mine works for Interpol. Guess they made a pretty high profile arrest based on an anonymous tip, but she told me there was a tale going around about this guy raving about getting screwed on the purchase of a Clément about six months ago. Seems the money was returned to his account just after he opened the package to find one of those velvet Elvis Presley paintings inside. Imagine that, huh?”
Through no small amount of effort, I managed to keep my features carefully blank. “Truly bizarre, when you think about it. You don’t strike me as one for gossip, Detective.”
