Shooting Gallery by Hailey Lind Read Free Book Online

can. But it’s not going to be easy. I’ll have to examine the mark under the magnifier to determine exactly what we’re dealing with here, then do some tests to assess the pigment adherence index and the media distillates. I’ll also need to analyze the canvas support integer, as well as the existing paint refraction, with a spectrum magnetometer. The last thing we want to do is to disturb the Master’s original pigments and media.”
    Frank looked mystified, which wasn’t surprising considering I had just spouted a whole bunch of hooey. If my original assessment was correct, then all that was necessary to remove the red mark was a careful application of low heat and wax-absorbent paper, a technique familiar to many a parent whose child had scribbled on the good linen tablecloth.
    â€œI’ll have to work on it in my studio, though,” I said. “Will it be safe there?”
    â€œLet me install some heavy-duty locks on the windows first. They’re too easy to break into at the moment,” he said as I avoided his eyes. “I’m also hiring a security guard, starting tomorrow. The painting should be safe enough so long as no one knows it’s in your studio. I’ll bring it upstairs in the morning. Will you be around?”
    â€œI’ll be here,” I said.
    Our eyes met and my pulse quickened at the fond expression on Frank’s face.
    â€œThank you, Annie. I can’t tell you what a relief this is. I discovered the damage three days ago and have been trying to get ahold of you ever since,” he said, carefully wrapping the Picasso in the packing material and securing the crate.
    â€œSorry about that. I thought you wanted the rent money.”
    â€œIn the future, if you fall short with the rent, come talk to me. I don’t know why you make me out to be such an ogre.” Throwing open the rear doors of the armored car, Frank climbed out and offered me a hand. I stumbled into him during my descent but otherwise managed to remain upright.
    â€œI wouldn’t say you’re an ogre, exactly,” I continued as we crossed the parking lot. “But you have to admit that you have occasional flashes of unexplained grouchiness.”
    â€œMy alleged grouchiness is most often attributable to certain unreasonable tenants,” he said as he held up my key ring and shook it so it jingled.
    â€œHow did you . . . ?”
    Frank raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re the only one with skills?”
    â€œWhy, Frank,” I purred, snatching the key ring and unlocking my truck. “I had no idea you were so talented.”
    â€œMy dear Annie,” he replied, closing the door as I started the engine. “You still have no idea.”
    Â 
    â€œThe single most important thing about stealing art is knowing where to find the art,” Frank lectured the next morning as I followed him up the stairs to my studio, stifling a yawn. “Ergo, it follows that if a thief can’t find it, a thief can’t steal it. Simple as that.”
    I knew from experience that foiling art theft was not that simple, ergo or otherwise, but kept my mouth shut. What Frank didn’t know about my past couldn’t hurt me.
    â€œWhere should we put it?” I asked, unlocking the door and ushering him inside. “Shouldn’t you invest in a safe or something?”
    â€œAll a safe does is announce, ‘The good stuff’s in here!’” he replied jovially. “No, the safest place for this baby is right over there with the rest of the junk.”
    The man was positively glowing, I thought as I disarmed the security system with the code he had given me downstairs. Where was the grumpy-pants landlord I knew and loved to provoke?
    â€œYou feeling okay, Frank?”
    â€œJust super,” he replied, rummaging around under one of the worktables. “Thanks for asking.”
    My spacious art studio took up one corner of the