Page 8 of Caper Crush
“You betcha,” one of them says. He’s wearing one of those ripped muscle shirts. My mother would think he’s my type. When I got back together with my last boyfriend, a rock musician, she asked me if I was dating him to piss her off and garner bad publicity for my stepdad. Granted, my mom’s condescending attitude toward Rex would make him play up his bad boy side.
They carefully pack up the two paintings. I can’t help clucking like some mother hen wrapping her children in warm clothes before they go out to play in the snow. Still, having four women spectators definitely makes them up their game.
I watch out our window as they load my pieces into the Art’s Moving Co. truck. Tessa screws the corkscrew into the bottle of champagne on the table. “Let’s toast it again!”
As she pops the cork and pours the champagne, my phone rings. It’s Uncle Tony again. I take one sip of the tart bubbly, savoring it, and pick up the call.
“The paintings are gone,” Uncle Tony says.
“Yes, they were just picked up,” I say.
“No, gone. Stolen.”
I haven’t heard him right. A buzzing fills my ears. “What paintings? What do you mean—stolen?”
“The Kimimoto andPlaying Around 1:30are gone. They’ve been stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“The police just left,” he says.
“The police?” I repeat, sinking into our nearest chair.
I can’t breathe.Stolen?Stolen?I hear a moan and realize it’s me.
My friends circle around me, their concerned faces crowding my vision.
“But how is that possible?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” His voice is anguished. “Maybe the party?”
“The party?” I screech. “But why would anyone steal them? And at the party?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” he says.
“I’ll be right over.” I hang up. “My painting was stolen.”
I bend over, clutching my stomach. And my head—it’s as if I’ve been hit with a brick. My friends are talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying … like I’m wrapped in cotton padding and can’t breathe or hear.
“Someone stolePlaying Around 1:30and the Kimimoto.” I can’t believe it. “I’ve gotta go.” I stand.
My friends stare at me, their eyes huge.
I’m shaking.Playing Aroundcan’t be gone. I need my keys and my phone. Not on the couch next to me. Not on the magnet key holder on the door. “Where did I put my keys? Where’s my phone? I can’t find them.” I scrunch up my eyes so I don’t bawl. “Where did I put them?”
“We’ll help you find them,” Tessa says. My friends scatter around the room to search.
I’m crying openly now.
“Just sit down.” Zelda puts her arm around me and leads me back to the couch. “We’ll find them.”
I sit and feel the keys poking in my pocket. “I’ve got my keys.” I hunch over.
I don’t know what I can do. But I’ve got to do something.Breathe.
Tessa holds up my phone. “Here it is. You put it down here by the windowsill.”
“Should we come?” Zelda asks.
