looking at Tanya’s painting,” James said, “you must see my new Henry Pople map. It’s dated from London in 1733, and…”
His voice trailed off when Eduardo whistled. A magnifier appeared and Eduardo stepped closer. “Remarkable,” he murmured once more. “I see a trace of carnelian. Maybe a signature.” He glanced at James. “Can you spare the shop today?”
While some of James’s clients came by appointment, most didn’t, which meant he could close anytime he wished. “Why?”
“So you and Tanya can come to Weatherby’s. My restoration team can use infrared and other techniques to show what exists beneath what’s visible to our eyes.”
Tanya’s heart skipped a beat. “You think it might be valuable?”
Eduardo nodded. “I’m sure it’s a Stede O’Flannery.”
TANYA HAD NEVER heard of Stede O’Flannery, but everyone at Weatherby’s had. She glanced around the restoration room of the auction house, glancing up as Eduardo reentered the room, a file tucked beneath his arm.
“Congratulations. There’s no signature, but under the paint, our team found a stamp showing the receipt of sale to O’Flannery. He purchased the canvas, and the painting style is his, so we’ll be able to sell it as an authenticated masterpiece.”
Was he joking? This was every junk store shopper’s dream, and the kind of bargain-hunting adventure for which James and Eduardo lived. Izzie and Marlo were going to be green with envy. Suddenly guilt sliced through her. “But the proprietress of Finders Keepers. She’d never have sold it if she’d known…”
Eduardo shot Tanya a long-suffering glance that bespoke years of auction house training. “Finders Keepers. Isn’t that the name of her shop? Besides, every junk store owner has sold things undervalue. If rare finds didn’t happen occasionally, no one would ever go into secondhand shops. This is what drives their business, Tanya. After we announce your find, their industry will see a surge in business.” He glanced at James. “You haven’t trained this employee very well.”
James winked at Tanya. “We keep searching Tanya’s genetic code for the shark gene, but so far, we’ve yet to find it.”
Her mind was still catching up. “You mean this painting is worth something?”
“O’Flannery isn’t in a class with Vermeer or Rembrandt, if that’s what you mean. He’s somewhat unknown because a handful of collectors horde the works, but that will make it easier to sell.” Eduardo opened the file. “Most of his paintings came down through the Barrington family. A patroness, Lucinda, was thought to have been his lover, and he may have died, defending her honor. Rumor had it, the guy slept around with other women, too, and a sorceress put a curse on him. In order to break the curse, he needed to fall in love, but he never did.”
Tanya couldn’t believe any of this was happening. “Love?”
“Lust was more O’Flannery’s thing,” explained Eduardo. “He was quite the unsavory character. It’s said some of the people associated, not just with him, but with his paintings, went stark-raving mad.”
“Good reason to sell,” she managed.
He patted the file. “We’ll copy the background information for you. The main thing is that mystery surrounds the work, and that increases its value for us.”
“How much?” Tanya asked.
“The canvas isn’t in great shape, but it should be sold, as is. The buyer will want to oversee restoration and treatment.” Eduardo shrugged. “With some buzz, and auctioned in the right lot, I’d say you’re looking at the one-five range.”
Tanya gasped. “Fifteen thousand dollars?”
Eduardo’s lips lifted in a smile. “One-point-five million,” he said slowly. “Maybe two.”
She staggered backward, needing to sit. The only thing that had ever made her knees feel this weak was the gaze of the man in the painting. Somehow, her backside found a chair, and she sank into it. Two million? Had he really said that? She thought of her credit card balance and of her need to move, so James could renovate. Then she thought about the magnetic pull she experienced every time she looked at the man in the painting. He’d watched her work all week…watched her touch herself. She knew it was crazy, but it was as if they’d formed some sort of…well, relationship.
Eduardo was pushing a piece of paper in her direction. “If you’ll just sign here, Tanya,” he said, “we can accept possession of the painting now, photograph it for a catalog immediately and begin the process of selling it for you. Within a week, you’ll be a millionaire.”
“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “But…can you promise not to tell anyone about this?” When she heard her own voice, it seemed to come from a far-off place, as if someone else was speaking. “I…have to think,” she continued. “I can’t sell yet.”
Vaguely, she was aware she’d just turned down a sale that could generate two million dollars. That’s when she knew she’d joined ranks with those people associated with the painting who’d gone stark-raving mad. Still, there was something so very special about the work. She could feel it. And she simply couldn’t let it go.
2
AT A CAFÉ across the street from Treasured Maps, an elderly gentleman shrugged out of a polyester jacket, draped it over a chair, then rested a tour guide next to his espresso. He raised an old thirty-five millimeter camera to his eye, trying to look like a tourist. In reality, he knew every inch of Manhattan, including Twenty-Third Street in Chelsea and this view of Treasured Maps. Adjusting the lens, he snapped pictures as if the facade of Tanya Taylor’s building was of architectural interest.
And it was. The two-story brownstone had wide steps and curving scrolled handrails that met in a quaint gate. Both levels had floor-to-ceiling windows, decorated with autumnal wreaths, although the weather still felt more like summer. While lovely, the windows were covered with bars, and a computerized keypad on the front door was too complex to disarm. He hadn’t dared go inside the downstairs shop during shop hours, in case he was detected by surveillance equipment.
Tanya lived upstairs, and while she opened the blinds, presumably to get better light when she painted, he’d only glimpsed her. She had her own entrance, separate from that of the shop, reached by rickety steps attached to the building’s side. Probably, her interior door was equipped with formidable locks, too. Over the past few days, while staking her out, he’d thought he’d learn something about the place, or her, that would tell him how to break in. He supposed he could try to date her, but she didn’t go out for drinks much, and when she did, it was with girlfriends. Besides he was too old.
But he needed that painting. As far as he was concerned, it belonged to him. Yes, Tanya had an O’Flannery inside the shop, and not just any O’Flannery, but one he’d sought for years. He hoped she’d taken it upstairs to her apartment, but with his luck, she’d locked it in a safe with her boss’s precious maps.
“Of course she did,” he muttered. If she wasn’t going to protect it, she’d have left it in Weatherby’s. She knew what it was worth. But why had she refused to sell? Had she guessed it was…special? Worth more than Weatherby’s would ever ask?
He glanced
