Free 02_Coyote in Provence by Dianne Harman Page A

me something about it?”
     “Yes. It’s by Guy Rose, a California artist. The galleries in this area specialize in landscape paintings, and although this is not one of our traditional landscapes, I thought the cliffs and the ocean were beautiful. I bought it several months ago. You see, many Parisian galleries send representatives to this area to buy art. I borrowed heavily to buy the painting and hoped that one of them would be interested. I thought I could make a large profit from it. Now I wonder if that was wise.”
    “How much are you asking for it?”
    “In US dollars it would be about $175,000. I know that sounds like a lot of money, but when I researched it I found very few of his paintings on the market. I decided on that price because it is low for a high quality Rose painting such as this one.”
    “I’d like to ask you something.” Jordan took the photograph of Pierre Yount out of his sling bag. “ Monsieur Thiers, is this the man who sold you the painting?”
    “Yes, that is him. I don’t know his name. He asked that the painting’s price be paid to an account in Avignon.  He said his family was selling some of their art because his father was in poor health.”
    “Did you notice if he had a tattoo on his arm?” Jordan asked.
    “Yes. It was a chef’s knife.  I was rather surprised that a man of his age would have such a tattoo. Younger men have them, but not men in their late 40’s or early 50’s.”
    Bingo. I don’t even have to ask him the age of the chef. I’m having another very good day.
    “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. May I take your business card and would you mind if I took a photograph of the painting?  I have a client who collects California Impressionists and he may be interested.”
    “Yes, here’s my card and please, take a photo of it and show it to your client. Several galleries in Paris have expressed interest, but so far none of them has made an offer.”
    “Again, thank you for your help,” Jordan said after he had taken several photos of the painting. He left the gallery and walked two blocks to where his car was parked.
    He drove the short distance to Valence, located three of the galleries he’d mapped out, and found his way to Pic le 7, a rare 3-star Michelin restaurant. He wasn’t disappointed. He’d eaten a light breakfast in anticipation of the meal, which was heavenly.
    Jordan feasted on pan bagnat, a type of open-faced sandwich. It was beautifully arranged with tomatoes, green beans, tuna, and sliced hard-boiled eggs tossed in a light vinaigrette dressing served on a toasted split sourdough roll, and covered with lightly fried anchovies. It was a feast for the eyes and the mouth. A glass of rosé wine and a tapenade made with olives from nearby groves completed the meal.
    Even though he was certain he couldn’t eat any more, he succumbed to the waiter’s dessert suggestion of a specialty of the region, gateau labully, an orange blossom scented brioche with pink pralines.
    He took the photograph of Monsieur Yount out of his sling bag. “ Monsieur ,” he asked the waiter, do you know this man? He is a chef.”
    “ Non , but if I may borrow the photograph, I will show it to Chef Binet.”
    “ Certainement .”
    A few minutes later he returned. “ Monsieur , Chef Binet says that the man in the photograph is Monsieur Yount, a chef he studied with at the Cordon Bleu. He says that he hasn’t seen him in years and has no idea where he is now. He hopes that helps.”
    “ Merci beaucoup . You’ve been most helpful. Please tell the chef I thank him very much for his information.”
    It was just after 2:00 p.m., the time the galleries re-opened from their lunch break. He got in his car and parked a few blocks from the next gallery he wanted to visit. He sat there for a few moments letting his lunch settle as he thought over what he’d found out about the mysterious Pierre Yount.
    I know he’s a chef. I know he’s sold stolen art to galleries in