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16

Lily didn’t think, just assumed a martial arts position that Dillon had shown her, the painting still clutched in her right hand.

She looked both ridiculous and defiant, and it stopped Abe Turkle in his tracks. He stared at her. “You want to fight me? You going to try to karate chop me with my own painting?”

She moved back and forth, flexed her arms, her fists. “I won’t hurt your bloody painting. Listen, pal, I don’t want to fight you, but I can probably take you. Yes, I can take you. You’re big but I’ll bet you’re slow. So go ahead, if you want, let’s just see how tough you are.”

“Lily, please don’t,” Simon said as he prepared to simply lift her beneath her armpits and move her behind him. To Simon’s surprise, Abe Turkle began shaking his head. He laughed, and then he laughed some more.

“Jesus, you’re something, little lady.”

Abe made to grab the painting from Lily’s hand, and she said quickly, whipping it behind her back, “Please let me keep it, Mr. Turkle. It really is beautiful. I’ll treasure it always.”

“Oh, hell, keep the stupid thing. I don’t want to fight you either. It’s obvious to me that you’re real tough. Hell, I might never get over being scared of you. All right, now. Let’s just get it over with. What do you want, Simon Russo? And who is the little gal here?”

“I’m just here to see which Sarah Elliott you’re working on now.”

Abe Turkle glanced back at his easel, and his face blotched red as he said, “Listen to me, Russo, I barely heard of the broad. You want to look?”

“Okay.” Simon smiled and walked toward Abe.

Abe held up a huge hand still stained with daubs of red, gold, and white paint. “You try it and I’ll break your head off at your neck. Even the little lady here won’t be able to hold me off.”

Simon stopped. “Okay. Since there were no paintings missing from the Eureka Art Museum, you must be having trouble working from photographs they brought to you. Which one is it? Maybe The Maiden Voyage or Wheat Field? If I were selecting the next one, it would be either of those two.”

“Go to hell, boyo.”

“Or maybe you had to stop with the Sarah Elliotts altogether now that they’re gone from the museum? So you’re doing something else now?”

“I’d break your head for you right this minute, right here, but not with my new stuff around. You want to come outside?”

“You were right about the lady,” Simon said. “She isn’t my wife. She’s Lily Savich, Sarah Elliott’s granddaughter. The eight paintings that were in the museum, including the four you’ve already copied, belong to her.”

“Are you finishing a fifth one, Mr. Turkle? If you are, it’s too bad because you won’t get paid for it. The real one is back in my possession so there won’t be any chance to switch it.”

Simon said, “Actually, I’m surprised you’re still here in residence since the paintings have flown the coop. They’re hoping they’ll get them back? No chance.

“To be honest, Abe, the real reason we’re here is that we want to know who commissioned you. Not the collector, but the local people who are paying you and keeping you here.”

“Yes,” Lily said. “Please, Mr. Turkle, tell us who set this up.”

Abe Turkle gave a big sigh. He looked at Lily and his fierce expression softened, just a bit. “Little gal, why don’t you marry me and then I could look at those paintings for the rest of my life. I swear I’d never forge anything again.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m still married to Tennyson Frasier.”

“Not for long. I heard all about how you just walked out on him.”

“That’s right. But even so, the paintings belong in a museum, Mr. Turkle, not in a private collection somewhere, locked away, to be enjoyed by only one person.”

“They’re the ones with all the money. They call the shots.”

Simon said, “Abe, she’s divorcing Tennyson. She wants to fry that bastard’s butt, not yours. You’d do yourself a favor if you helped us.”

Abe said slowly, one eyebrow arched up a good inch, “You’ve got to be joking, boyo.”

Lily stepped forward and laid her hand on Abe Turkle’s massive shoulder. “We’re not joking.