Stealing the Countess by David Housewright Read Free Book Online Page B

repeated it.
    *   *   *
    There were thirteen names on the list, along with the businesses they owned, nearly all of them tourist related. The president of the chamber operated an inn located on Highway 13 at the edge of town. I decided it was too far to walk, and I didn’t want to get the Mustang, so I skipped him and went to the vice president. Lauren Ternes owned an art gallery on Third Street near the Farmers Market. It was only a block and a half away according to my map.
    *   *   *
    Ternes Studio and Gallery sold watercolors, oil paintings, and original photographs, as well as some pottery and wood carvings—most of it Bayfield related, all of it provided by local artists, including the owner. I didn’t see anything I liked, but then I know very little about art. I ended up standing near the door while the plump, brightly dressed woman working the cash register dealt with a steady stream of customers. At first, she probably thought I had accompanied one of the women browsing the merchandise. Yet as customers came and went without me moving, her expression changed to one of overt curiosity. Eventually, she handed off the cash register to an associate and approached me.
    â€œCan I help you?” she asked.
    â€œLauren Ternes?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œVice president of the Bayfield Chamber of Commerce?”
    â€œYes.”
    I offered my hand and she shook it.
    â€œI’m McKenzie,” I said.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Mr. McKenzie?”
    â€œYou can help me find Paul Duclos’s four-million-dollar Stradivarius.”
    â€œI’m sorry…”
    â€œThe Stradivarius violin that was stolen—”
    â€œYes, yes, I know all about it.”
    â€œWell, then.”
    â€œWell, what? Do you think I had something to do with the theft?”
    â€œYou did help bring the Maestro to town.”
    â€œI did not. We have a person who plans and manages events for that.”
    â€œShe wasn’t in the office, so…”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œMcKenzie, I told you.”
    â€œAre you police?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBecause the police have been all over town asking questions. The FBI, too.”
    â€œI was hired by Duclos to arrange for the safe return of his violin. He’s even offering a reward, $250,000. No questions asked. I have a letter…”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with me?”
    â€œSince you’re the vice president, I thought you might be interested.”
    â€œWe have a quote on the city’s Web site— Making Bayfield the way we like has been the slow and loving task of 150 years. To destroy the Bayfield that we know can take but the careless act of a single day. Last Friday was that day. It’s been just awful for Bayfield; awful for any town that depends as much on tourism as we do.”
    â€œWho are you kidding? This isn’t food poisoning on a Carnival Cruise or a rash of drive-by shootings from rival drug cartels. It’s a high-profile art theft. It’s given the city more publicity than it’s ever had. I bet your historical society is already planning an exhibit.”
    â€œYou’re crazy.”
    â€œThere’s a town in Minnesota called Northfield. Every September thousands of people flock there to celebrate the day Jesse James tried to rob the place.”
    â€œIt’s not the same thing.”
    â€œSure it is. All your story needs is a happy ending.”
    â€œWhat kind of happy ending?”
    â€œHow ’bout the violin is recovered intact and restored to Paul Duclos, who promptly returns to his hometown to play a benefit concert? Do you think that might polish Bayfield’s apple?”
    Lauren’s expressive face held no secrets. I knew what she was going to say before she said it.
    â€œThat would certainly help, but I don’t know what I can do about it,” she said.
    â€œJust spread the