The Mistaken Masterpiece by Michael D. Beil Read Free Book Online Page A

thinking about how I’m letting it go without a thought.
    “Can everybody make it today?” Margaret asks. “We owe him at least one favor. Maybe two.”
    We all nod. We are
so
ready for our next case.
    • • •
    Father Julian greets us at the door, and after we assure him that we’re in no hurry to get anywhere else, he invites us into a comfortable living room while he goes off to the kitchen to get us some sodas. All the furniture in the room looks like something from the set of a 1960s sitcom, but it’s all still like new. I guess that’s what you get when you don’t have kids running around the place. The TV is my personal favorite; it’s not just a TV—it looks like an actual piece of furniture with its real wood cabinet and carved legs. It even has one of those rabbit-ears antennas sitting on top of it. The thing should be in a museum.
    “Ah, I see you’re admiring our antique television,” Father Julian remarks. “It’s a classic. We’re thinking we might upgrade next year to color.”
    Leigh Ann’s head tilts slightly to the left, reminding me of the way Tillie looks when she’s trying hard to understand something I’m saying. “What do you mean?”
    Father Julian laughs out loud. “I forget how young you girls are. I’ll bet you’ve never seen a black-and-white television, have you?”
    Leigh Ann nods. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing. You’re serious—there’s no color at all, like old movies?”
    “Exactly. Everything looks like an old movie.” He turns it on, and we wait. “It takes a while to warm up,” he says, tapping his foot. “Like a few days. Okay, here we go. There’s channel two. And channel four. See?Black-and-white. And no remote control, but that’s not so bad. We only get four stations, so there’s not a lot of channel surfing going on anyway.”
    “No cable?” Becca says in disbelief.
    “Not yet, but in April we’re going for it, if only to be able to watch Yankees and Mets games. The priests here are split about evenly between the two teams—and then there’s Father Danahey. He’s from Boston.”
    ’Nuff said.
    After clicking the TV off, he sets a large cloth tote bag on the coffee table in front of us and starts to talk.
    “Okay, I’ll start with the basics, and then I can always add details later if you need them. But here’s the bottom line: I have a case for you girls.”
    Margaret smiles at me, then nods at Father Julian. “I thought you might.”
    “Is it something good?” Becca asks. “Don’t tell me someone’s cleaning the church after hours. I want something
juicy
.”
    “Hmmm. I think this qualifies. But before we get into all that, are you girls Yankees fans?”
    “Not me!” says Leigh Ann. “Mets all the way.”
    “She’s from Queens,” I explain. “But the rest of us are. Why?”
    “Well, you might be interested in this.” He stops, reaches into the tote bag, and pulls out something wrapped in tissue paper. When he unwraps it, we see it’s an old baseball in good shape—no scuff marks or dings—but the cover has definitely yellowed with age.
    “Are those autographs?” Margaret asks, leaning over the table for a closer look.
    “Yes, they are. The entire starting lineup for the 1928 Yankees. This one is Babe Ruth, and here’s Lou Gehrig. They’re all there.” He hands the ball to Rebecca to admire. “There’s just
one
little problem.”
    He takes another baseball from the bag and holds it up next to the first. It is the same dingy color and has the same signatures in exactly the same places.
    “Wow!” I say. “Are they both real?”
    Father Julian smiles. “I suppose that is a possibility, but as a reasonable man, I have to think that it is
highly
unlikely, to say the least.”
    “Where did they come from?” Margaret asks.
    “Ah, now that’s a good story. My great-uncle Phillip and his younger brother Oliver somehow managed to get two tickets for seats in the outfield for a World Series game.