Free What Evil Lurks in Monet's Pond: A by Sara M. Barton

where would we be at this
moment in our relationship?”
    “I’ll be in touch.” Ross stood up suddenly,
fake moustache and all, and exited the building without another
word. My heart popped out of my chest and chased after him.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t along for the ride. I was still the lump
sitting on the bench, wondering what I was going to do next.
    What could I do? I considered my options. I
could figure out how the paintings were stolen, but in order to do
that I’d need more information. I could figure out what was stolen
and why, but I would need more information. In fact, I would get
nowhere if I didn’t get it. What to do?
    “Ms. Carr,” said Matt Gromski, “how about we
have that conversation now?”
    If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the
years, it’s that when you want information, you’re more likely to
get it if your target thinks you’re the one doing the most giving.
People will claim up when they think you’re working them, but
they’ll spill the beans if they think you’re dishing the dirt. It’s
on the principle that buddies play fair, and if you show yourself
to be a buddy first and foremost, most folks want to join in.
    “Sure.” I put down my sketch pad on the
bench, so he could see what I had been drawing.
    “Nice.”
    “Thanks.” I gave him my full attention and a
warm smile. “What did you want to ask me?”
    “You said you didn’t recognize the man.”
    “Right.”
    “You’ve never seen him before?”
    “I don’t think so, Mr. Gromski.”
    “Lieutenant,” he corrected me.
    “Lieutenant.”
    “How do you explain that he had your business
card on him?”
    “My what?” I didn’t have to fake my surprise.
“How did he get that? And why would he have it?”
    “We were hoping you could tell us.”
    “Can I see the card? Sometimes, if I meet
people in the street or at an exhibit, I jot down things on the
back of the card, to remind myself about the conversation.”
    He pulled out his cell phone and opened up
his photo album. Passing it over to me, he waited for me to examine
the photo of the card. I could see it was in a bag, with an
evidence tag on it.
    “That’s odd. My name is spelled wrong.”
    “Is it?”
    “Maizie, with a ‘z’. I spell it with an ‘s’.
See?” I pulled a card out of my wallet and handed it to him. “And
look at the painting on the card.”
    “What about it?”
    “Wrong color paint tube.” Sure enough,
instead of alizarin crimson, it was cadmium red. “Why would someone
forge my business card? Why not just pick one up? And, here. See
that?”
    He leaned in closer as I put my finger on the
tiny figure of Gesso in the background. “What about it?”
    “It says ‘Jess’.”
    “So?”
    “My dog’s name is Gesso, which is used to
prime canvases. It’s spelled g-e-s-s-o. Whoever crafted this
business card knew some things about me, but not enough. What else
were you going to ask me?” Now I was really curious.
    “You ever show your work at the Lladro
Gallery in Madrid?”
    “No. I’m trying to exhibit at Jorge Juan in
March, but I haven’t heard back yet. The owner’s supposed to
contact me in a couple of days, and then I have to make the
arrangements to get everything over there. That means the paintings
have to be put in crates for shipping, inspected by
Customs....”
    “Any chance you have a doppelganger?”
    “My sister Nora and I don’t really look like
twins, if that’s what you’re getting at, Lieutenant. For one thing,
I’m three inches taller than she is. She takes after my mother’s
side of the family.”
    Matt Gromski gave me a little smile as he
listened to my answer. He jotted something down in his notebook
before responding.
    “This is out of our investigatory scope, Ms.
Carr. If there is some kind of international thing going on, we’ll
have to turn it over to the federal investigators.”
    As he said that, I suddenly put two and two
together. Ross wasn’t here, posing as an FBI man, just