tell me so I can help.”
“Back in the early sixties, it was discovered that there was a set of three Benoit paintings in a quaint little museum in the Quarter. No one knew the value, not even the museum curator. A patron discovered them and he and the curator quietly called in an art expert to appraise them. But word got out and everyone wanted to own them. Or take them. The one on my parlor wall was hidden away, but someone stole the other two before the appraisal—and murdered the museum curator. Years later, after hearing the story, an associate of Theo’s bid on his behalf for the remaining Benoit at a private auction and paid a hefty price for it.
“Theo told me this story when he presented the painting to me. But no one has ever found the two missing paintings, so some think that was just a hoax to bring attention to the one I own. But if there are two more paintings out there, they now have an estimated worth of over a million dollars each.”
Gabriel did a low whistle. “So all three together...”
She let out a breath. “Could be worth close to three or four million at the least.” She did the hand-to-the-chin pose. “Theo often talked about finding the other two. He even described them, based on some research he’d found on some old catalog notes from the original museum. And now that I think about it, the smaller rendition found on the balcony fits one of the descriptions he told me about. That’s why it seemed so familiar.”
Gabriel was beginning to see the whole picture. “And if someone has the other two and wants the one here, they could make a pretty penny on resale alone. Or possibly, they don’t have any of the paintings, but think you have all three. Either way, if they get their hands on all three, they could become wealthy in a big way. They’d sell cheap, however, to stay under the radar. The price wouldn’t be in the millions, but they could quite possibly ask for an easy three-hundred K.”
“But I don’t have the other two.”
Gabriel put his hands on her arms. “No, but they might be after the one you do have in order to own the whole set. And they might be trying to scare you away long enough to get in here and take it.”
“Or kill me and do whatever they want with all the art I’ve collected for the fundraiser.”
“How many pieces are planned for the upcoming reception and silent auction?”
She tilted her head. “The Benoit—that’s the main attraction, but of course, it’s for display only. Two sculpture pieces worth several thousand dollars and one of Esther’s that has been rising in value since her notoriety with the Levi-Lafitte Diamond and two more smaller paintings—a Van Gogh sketch and one of a Tahitian landscape, both valued at a quarter of a million.”
“Where are they stored?”
She gave him a thoughtful look, as if she was sizing him up. “In a Mardi Gras Krewe warehouse over in Algiers. But no one except my immediate staff knows that. They will be transported to the auction venue on the day of the event.”
“Which is?”
“Two weeks from now.”
“And you obviously have an alarm system to protect these masterpieces?”
“Of course. We have one at the warehouse and one here. It’s very discreet, but we had that installed when we moved in, after Theo gave me the Benoit. He also brought over some of his own treasured pieces. Between that and the guards, and now the police, I should think the Benoit is safe here until we get ready to move it. The sensor will go off if anyone dares touch the painting.”
“Nothing is ever really safe, Princess. Not when it involves money.”
“Not even me?”
“Especially not even you. You might be more valuable than you realize.” Dead or alive, he thought to himself.
She tilted her head again. “I’m only as valuable as the next public appearance or fundraiser. And now apparently because of my penchant for fine art.”
He stared down at her, amazed at how calm she seemed. “I think you should call off the fundraiser gala.”
“No,” she said. “I won’t allow whoever this is to scare me away. I’ll tell Malcolm to put extra security at the warehouse and here. Making money on art is one thing, but leaving this city in need is not on my agenda.”
“Even if your life is threatened?”
“I have security, and if this is the case, they will be alert and ready. Malcolm will bring in more people at the actual event, of course.”
Gabriel didn’t want to add to her burden, but he had to ask. “And what if someone close to you is in on this? Most art crimes occur because of an inside informant, someone who helps the thieves, makes things easy for them.”
She shook her head, but Gabriel caught a hint of apprehension in her eyes. “The Benoit is still here, and if anyone touches it, alarms will go off everywhere. I’m safe for now. I trust my entire team.”
“But that man last night made it all the way to an upstairs balcony. And no one heard or saw him until he’d almost entered the house.”
“Deidre is a light sleeper, thankfully.”
“What woke her?”
“She said she heard a noise out on the balcony. I’m sure the authorities have grilled her thoroughly. The poor girl was scared and confused, but she can’t go back to bed until they clear out of her room.”
“And you can’t be safe here. You need to think about that.”
Her eyes took on that princess mode. “As I told you, the Benoit will be protected and so will I. I won’t run from these people. I intend to see this through.”
Gabriel wondered about that and the staunch determination in her eyes. He turned to see what Deidre was doing, but the woman, usually so bustling and hyper he could hear her coming a mile away, had slipped unnoticed out of the kitchen. “You need to be completely sure about that, Princess.”
* * *
An hour later, Lara stood staring up at the Benoit, her thoughts a jumble of confusion that made her appreciate the dream aspects of the painting. Or rather, the lost dream that seemed to hang like a veiled curtain over the smiling, dancing people in the center.
When would her life ever settle down to a routine that might bring her a bit of contentment and harmony? After the gala, she reminded herself, her nerves jingling their own warning. The Benoit was the draw. Or at least she was counting on that.
Her cell rang. “Hello?”
A deep breathing. Well, that was original.
“Hello?” she repeated.
The connection went cold. And so did her heart. Him again? Did he think he’d win her over by breathing into the phone?
“Another wrong number?”
She whirled to find Gabriel standing just inside the door.
“You startled me. I thought you were with Malcolm.”
“We
