Page 13 of Caper Crush
“I know,” I say. “I know.” A red balloon floats past the window. On the street, a boy points up, face scrunched. His mother leans down to hug him.
Shit.
“If you don’t havePlaying Around 1:30… Is this public yet?”
“I’m not announcing it, but the police will list it as stolen in the Art Loss Registry.” The red balloon disappears out of sight, blocked by the tall apartment buildings.
“I’ll call the gallery and let them know. We need to keep on their good side, so let’s at least give them some advance warning.” She sighs. “Call me back the minute you hear anything.”
I hunch over. It’s got to be psychosomatic, but my stomach is cramping up.
I hang up and run to the bathroom. I’d been hoping against hope that she would say I can still be in the show—that my two other paintings show enough contrast. But it’s really the transition piece that melds it all together.
I wash my hands, splash water on my face, and join the others in the dining room, which has now been transformed into a high-tech command center. Takashi has brought in laptops, and both he and William are staring at their screens and typing.
“I need that painting to be in the show,” I say. Takashi pats me on the back.
“I should call my mom too,” I say. “She can give John a heads-up if there is going to be press.”
I disappear into their back office to call my mom in private. The office is crowded. It’s got a single bed, a large desk, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with books about art and theater. How did the thief know the paintings were in the closet? Two computer monitors dominate the desk, and all sorts of computer equipment is underneath. A normal thief would have stolen the computer equipment if they wanted only money.
I take a deep breath and dial my mother’s number. She picks up on the first ring, and I relay the news.
“I told you to store it with us,” my mother says. “As soon as you got that exhibit, I said, ‘Store it with us. What if it gets damaged at Tony’s?’ Tony isn’t careful enough. He’s your father’s brother.”
Even now, she has to bring up my father. For someone who divorced my father a long time ago, she can never resist the opportunity to point out again what a mistake their marriage was.
“No one expected it to be stolen,” I say.
“Maybe you should have. It’s not as though the Vertex Art Exhibit hasn’t been advertised on the New York City subway,” she says. “I’ll let John know. Did you call Jade? What did she say?”
“That I can’t participate in the show without the painting.”
“Oh, Miranda,” she says. She actually sounds sympathetic—as if my mom hasn’t drilled into me since I was a child that I would never be successful as an artist. “I presume there’s no way you can just paint another one that will work?”
“No,” I say, scoffing. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Maybe it’s a sign that you need to seriously consider a viable career. You can still paint at night. Ask Takashi about a career in information security. That seems to have some flexibility.”
“Information security seems pretty intense because it’s twenty-four seven,” I say.
“All careers are twenty-four seven nowadays.” Her phone rings.
“I know. I just meant …” I sigh. I meant that I wouldn’t have time to paint then. I work at my art twenty-four seven as it is, but it’s best to agree with her. “I’ll ask Takashi if he knows of some part-time information security gigs.” At least they’d be better paid than waitressing and allow my mother to say I’m in information security instead of food delivery.
“That’s my other line. Call me back if you hear anything,” she says. “And we’ll see you at John’s fundraiser. Max’s parents are hosting, so you have to show up.” My stepfather John is now managing a nonprofit, so the picture-perfect family is no longer needed for press appearances—just fundraisers.
I plod back into the dining room. Takashi and William’s spreadsheet of suspects displays on their computer screens with various columns like Motive and Opportunity.
“I think it’s Vinnie,” Takashi says. “I never liked him.” He waves me to a third open laptop on the table.
“Why did you use him as the dealer for the sale then?” William asks.
“He sold a Kimimoto recently and knows a lot, but we only gave him a two-month exclusive because he’s too slick for me,” Takashi says. “He also said this Kimimoto is one of his favorites and he had an immediate buyer.”
“What about the catering company? They could have hidden the paintings in their carts.” I sit at the glass dining table. “I can’t see any of your friends stealing your painting. And stealing mine must have been a mistake. We should talk to them.”
William puts anXunder the Opportunity column for the catering company.
