Page 64 of Forging Caine

Lucy was of Chinese descent and her travel-vlogging parents had adopted her as a baby. Despite being a numbers and data whiz, she was also a free spirit. “I’d been traveling with my parents for as long as I can remember. Living out of a suitcaseismy roots.”

That made some sense. Still, she’d weaseled her way into my life and the thought of her not being there was… was… not good.Everyone leaves, Sam.No, they don’t.“We should focus on this mystery letter.”

The hum of her keystrokes resumed. “I like working with you, Sam.”

Same.

“Never the same thing twice, you know?”

Hold on. What if itwasthe same thing? What if it wasfrom Fiori and had something to do with the painting Jason was bringing us? I strode to the window to stare at the sheets. This was the same as Dad’s letter. The more I stared, the more I got lost in the trees instead of seeing the forest. I ran a finger over the scan—we’d obviously picked up some dust when we made it, as there were additional markings that didn’t fit with the rest.

Lucy’s bubbles popped over and over. Voices floated up from downstairs. The music returned to classical.

And still I stared.

Was it dust?

I shifted to the onionskins, closing in so tight the lines blurred. The stray marks were almost visible. Untaping the top sheet, I flipped it up to look at the next one, and the next, and the next. Each of them had extra dashes and dots near the word Fell. “I think whoever made this messed up. The sheets got out of alignment as they were finishing it.”

Fell was only part of the last word.

I spun to discuss it with Lucy, but she was chewing furiously and put up a finger for me to pause before her fingers increased in speed on her keyboard. “One sec. Chatting.”

Antonio’s voice came from the main floor, “Frank, can you help? It’s heavier than I expected.”

Something lurched inside my stomach, like the moment when Antonio got down on one knee. Not the nerves or anxiety I usually felt. Not the numb fingertips. It was more like the first time I found a foothold on El Capitan. I was all of two feet off the ground, but the overwhelming surge of excitement and wonder for what I was about to do overcame me.

I loved a good puzzle, especially a good art puzzle. Usually that meant insurance claims, but over the last year, the puzzles also brought a ridiculous amount of danger.

But no one was in danger now. In this moment, with Antonio downstairs and Lucy working by my side, everything felt… what?

“Indigo Lake’s website—” Lucy’s words snapped me back to the moment.

What had just happened?

“They’ve got a chat function and someone in the store responded right away. No one working there today knows about the letter, although they’ve all heard of Ferraro’s.” She hit several more keys. “The conservators, not the investigators. No one’s heard of them.”

I took the scanned version off the window and twisted it ninety degrees. “I tried a visual search on a few art databases based on the sketch in the letter, but it wasn’t complete enough for any hits. The squiggles have to be water, but what does the hand mean?”

“Pointing to something?”

“No. It’s just open like it’s holding something.”

“They’re asking if they can forward one of their clients to Ferraro’s.” Lucy giggled at her laptop, apparently still engrossed in her online chat.

Was the hand dropping the water? Is that why they were on either side of the painting? Or was it a sketch showing placement?

“They have an old painting they suspect might be a looted piece from World War II.”

“There are databases for things like that.” Hell, the hand could be an Egyptian hieroglyph, for all I knew. But the way it was cut off, with the bent wrist, maybe it was a stand or a display for something? Maybe it was another painting?

“I guess this client was saying—”

“Lucy, one mystery at a time.”

“Sure, boss. I’ll give them the address.”

My head rolled forward and I fought to hold in the sigh. Dom hadn’t hired anyone to work here yet. Sending more investigations his way wouldn’t help.

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