Page 43 of In Plain Sight

“What powers it—steam?”

He snorted. “It’s only ten years old. I’ll bring it up, and you can check them out—afterwe’ve eaten.”

“Couldn’t you go get it now? That way I could make a start.”

It was the first time Dan had attempted puppy-dog eyes, and that was all it took for Gary to realize there was no way he’d ever win an argument again if Dan continued to employ such a powerful weapon.

Gary narrowed his gaze. “Okay, but I’m putting you in charge of the sauce.”

Dan smirked. “What’s it going to do—try and escape?”

Gary headed down to the communal basement. The landlord had constructed a series of lockable closets, one for each apartment, to be used for storage. It didn’t take Gary long to locate the laptop.

You’d better still work, he thought as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Dan was in the kitchen. He grinned. “You were right. By the time I came in here, the sauce had already pushed the lid off and was slurping its way across the countertop, heading for the window. I had to beat it into submission with a spoon.” His gaze alighted on Gary’s empty hands. “Couldn’t you find it?”

“Relax. It’s firing itself up as we speak. Except that might take a little time.”

“I’ll leave you to the sauce.” Dan dashed past him into the living room.

Gary shook his head and went back to following Nina’s recipe for meatballs in marinara. He’d never made them before, and the addition of parmesan to the mixture of ground beef, herbs, and crushed garlic had been a surprise. They’d tasted delicious when she cooked them, however, which was why he’d asked for the recipe.

They’d better taste as good as hers.He’d made sixty-four meatballs.

“Hey, it works,” Dan hollered from the dining table.

“Good.” Gary poured a little olive oil into the frying pan, then added ten meatballs, shaking the pan to coat them in the hot fat.

“Cheryl must have been a very organized person,” Dan called out after five minutes of silence.

“What makes you say that?” Gary inquired, pushing the meatballs around the pan to seal them before he dropped them into the saucepan.

“Each disk is for one work. It contains notes, photos of the original, close-up photos…. Plus there’s a folder with a photo of the finished piece, and a document containing the title of the original, the artist, date of completion of the copy, name of the purchaser, and the price charged.” He whistled. “Wow. The senator wasn’t kidding when he said it was a more lucrative sideline than portraits.”

When he fell silent, the hairs stood up on the back of Gary’s neck. “What have you found?”

“One of the buyers. It’s a name I’m starting to recognize.”

Gary put the lid back on and turned the heat down, then joined Dan at the table. “DiFanetti?” Dan nodded. “Which one? Gianni? Bruno?”

“Neither. This is a Paul DiFanetti.” Dan stared at him. “Just how big is this family?”

“We’ll look him up.” Dan grabbed his phone, and Gary gave him a hard stare. “I didn’t meannow. Dinnertime, remember?”

Dan peered at the phone. “I’m not looking for him. Just a hunch.” His thumbs slid over the screen. After a minute he looked up with a triumphant smile. “A painting of the same title sold in 1992 for thirty-six thousand dollars.”

“So?”

Dan bit his lip. “Look, it’s only a theory, but… what if he kept the original and sold the copy, claiming it was the real thing?”

“Didn’t Senator Cain say all her copies were unsigned?”

Dan nodded. “So let’s say he gets someone to forge the artist’s signature, then passes off the copy as the real thing.”

“Surely the buyer would have had the painting checked by experts before he bought it.”

Dan’s eyes glittered. “And of course no art expert wouldeveraccept a bribe to declare something to be the genuine article. There’s another theory. What if the expert got to see the original, and once the sale had gone through, it was swapped for the copy?”

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