Back Story by Renee Pawlish Read Free Book Online

trying to find the rightful owners of countless art pieces stolen by the Nazis from museums and private owners during World War II. Even if someone was looking for the painting now, and they knew that Dewey had been searching for it back in 1955, why not just ask Brad or his father to look at Dewey’s case file? It didn’t make sense to steal the file. I supposed that if Milner had illegally sold the painting back in 1938, whoever owned it now could be worried that someone was still trying to find it and reclaim it, but that seemed unlikely. I shook my head, puzzled. The only thing I knew for certain was that the Halloways were still around. I was sure of this because my parents had attended some of their charity events.
    And what about the other two cases Dewey had been working on? The woman who was cheating on her husband was interesting, especially with the Mafia connection, but overall that was a bit run-of-the-mill. It didn’t seem like something that would be relevant today. Spouses cheated on each other all the time. Maybe not with a known gangster, but I had a hard time thinking that alone changed the situation.
    I thumbed through the journal. It looked like Dewey had followed up on Floyd Powell next, so I figured I’d start there myself and come back to Rachel Cohen later. Besides, Powell’s case had powerful people with possible Mafia connections and what appeared to be an insurance scam of multiple pieces of art. I rubbed a hand over my chin, wondering if this was a wild goose chase. All these things happened so long ago. Why did any of it matter now? I let out a breath slowly. Maybe it didn’t, but since Brad wanted to know, and he was footing the bill, I’d keep plugging away.
    I pulled out my cell phone and called Lorraine Fitzsimmons again, but still no answer. This time I left a message with my number, telling her that I needed some information on her grandfather. I was purposely vague because I didn’t want to scare her off before I had a chance to speak with her. Then I closed the journal, stuffed it and the files into the backpack, and headed to my car. My first stop was the Denver Public Library to see if I could find anything more on Dewey’s murder and on Floyd Powell and Felipe Moretti.
    ***
    Denver Public Library is at 13 th and Broadway, just a hop from where I was. The original building is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, and in 1995, a huge new addition in a postmodern style was added. I parked, paid the meter, and strolled into the main foyer, which has an abstract panorama designed to suggest the Rocky Mountains. I went to the Western History and Genealogy Department on the fifth floor, asked for some help, and was directed to the newspaper archives.
    But it was a fruitless visit. Although the library had microfilm copies of both The Denver Post and the now-defunct Rocky Mountain News , it wasn’t very helpful, and looking through the old newspapers was taking a long time. I found one small article on the death of a local private investigator with barely a mention of Dewey’s name, but no follow-up. Apparently his death wasn’t noteworthy. I wasn’t surprised. I also found a couple of articles that gave me no more information about Floyd Powell than what I already knew. As far as the papers were concerned, he was a nice, charitable guy, but that was it. I finally sat back in my chair and pondered my situation. I needed to find out more about all of these people, and I knew exactly who could help.
    ***
    “You caught me on a good day,” Cal said as I followed him into his home office. “I’ve just wrapped up with a client and I could do with a challenge.”
    My friend Cal is a computer whiz and a hacker, although he hates being called that. We’ve known each other since we were kids, when he’d had an unfortunate encounter with a bee and I’d brought him home to my mother for help. Cal was a fixture after that, and my mother loves him almost as much as she loves