Free The Mistaken Masterpiece by Michael D. Beil Page A

suited to this kind of work than mine.”
    Margaret takes the loupe from him and zeroes in on the bookcase. “I think I can make out some of the titles. Looks like Father Julian’s great-grandfather was a serious reader. There’s Plato and Socrates, and
The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
. Ah, here’s some more modern stuff on the lower shelf. There’s a Hemingway, and a couple of Faulkners.”
    “You know, this really is a fascinating problem,” Malcolm says, scratching his chin. “And, I fear, more difficult than I first thought. Not a typical archaeological problem at all.”
    “That doesn’t sound encouraging,” Leigh Ann says.
    “Let me explain,” Malcolm says, peering over his glasses at us. “Archaeologists are always trying to determine the age of things—bones, pieces of pottery, parchment, statues, you name it. But it’s usually a matter of
approximately
what year, or even what century, the thing came from. From a more modern perspective, photographs are generally fairly simple to date—to a certain degree. With just a quick glance at these pictures, most people could guess the time frame of the vast majority within fifteen or twenty years. A closer look—like the one we’re taking right now—can narrow it down considerably.For instance, let’s consider that copy of Ernest Hemingway’s
The Old Man and the Sea
. I happen to know that it was published in 1952, so we now know
this
picture was taken in 1952
or later.
”
    “But … that’s great news, isn’t it?” I ask. “As long as it’s before 1961, it proves what we need it to prove, right?”
    “Not really,” Malcolm says. “It’s the ‘or later’ part that complicates things. In pointing out the copy of the Hemingway book, all we did was prove the picture couldn’t have been taken
before
1952. But it could have been taken yesterday for all we know.”
    It takes a second, but the logic finally sinks into my chlorine-soaked brain. “Ohhhh. Now I see.”
    “But now for the bad news. This particular picture, I’m sorry to say, was definitely taken after 1963.”
    “How do you know that?” Margaret asks.
    “Do you see this window? Now look closely at the car out in the driveway. I am a hundred percent positive that those are the grille and headlights of a 1964 Ford Thunderbird. The new models would have come out in September or October 1963—a couple of years too late to be useful to you.”
    “So what can we do?” Leigh Ann asks.
    Malcolm rubs his chin a little more, then smooths out his mustache with his fingers. “Well, here’s what I would do: go through these pictures and find every single one that shows either the painting or the spot on the wall where it was hung—even the ones that were obviouslytaken much earlier or much later than 1961. You never know how they might come in handy. Then put those sharp red blazers on and get down to some serious detective work.”
    “What kinds of things should we be looking for?” Becca asks.
    “At this point, anything. Everything. Combinations of things,” Malcolm says. “Clothing. Hairstyles. A pen sitting on the desk. A calendar. A pack of matches. A record album. You know what those are, right? It’s what we had in the days before CDs and iPods.”
    “We know what records are,” I say, slightly insulted. “Vinyl. They’re back in style.”
    “Ah, forgive me. I momentarily forgot that I am also dealing with famous musicians.”
    Malcolm and Elizabeth are probably the Blazers’ biggest fans; they’ve been to every one of our shows, and Elizabeth lets us practice in her basement a couple of times a week after school.
    Margaret holds up the loupe. “Can we borrow this? I think I’m starting to get some ideas about where we go from here.”
    “You definitely have your work cut out for you,” Malcolm says. “But if the way you handled all the twists and turns in those extravaganzas with the ring and the violin is any indication, the Red Blazer Girls