Chapter 40

"It's beautiful," Emily said, as she and Priscilla stood in front of Helen Frankenthaler's Warming the Wires, an abstract expressionist work from 1976 that was a hodge-podge of blues, pinks, reds, and grays, rendered in large, messy brushstrokes. The image created didn't look like anything, of course, but it was still striking, Emily conceded.

Abstract Expressionism wasn't her thing, and Frankenthaler in particular bored her, but Priscilla seemed enthralled by the work. Emily noted that the information card attached to the wall next to the painting stated that Warming the Wires was on loan to the museum from a private collection.

"Perhaps you should find out who the owner is," Emily said, "and see if they'll part with it for the right price."

Priscilla shook her head.

"The bitch won't budge," she stated.

"Oh, well…then she must be destroyed," Emily said jokingly, adding a lilting chuckle.

Priscilla looked at her.

"Do you think I ought to quietly buy up her company's stock until I have a majority share, seize control of the board, and then force her out?" She looked off to the side in a contemplative manner. "That's not a bad idea. I could use another shipping line…"

"I was joking!" Emily exclaimed. "Let the woman keep her painting! Buy a different one! Hell, you're rich enough…why don't you pay to have Helen Frankenthaler resurrected, and get her to paint you something else."

She wondered how Tom and his cronies in the surveillance van outside were viewing this conversation. They were probably swearing under their breath, wishing she would get on with it and encourage Priscilla to say something incriminating. The problem was the police still had no idea just who it was they were dealing with. Priscilla Kroyn may look like a runway model—tall, lithe, and devastatingly beautiful—but she had a James Bond-villain mind.

In any case, the detectives in the van—the male ones anyway—were probably still laughing their heads off at Priscilla's between your legs remark.

Still though, Emily figured she'd better at least make it seem as if she was willing to do the police's bidding…

"So, why are we here?" she asked Priscilla as they moved on from the Frankenthaler to the next painting in the exhibit.

"Don't you think this is romantic?" Priscilla asked.

"Romantic?" Emily said with a sigh, blushing at knowing the police were hearing this.

"Sure!" Priscilla insisted. "This art museum brought us together! In a weird way. In, like, a very weird way! Anyway…I figured that since you and I seem to be heading in the right direction in terms of a relationship, we should use today as the official launch of us. And what better place to do that in?"

Emily let out a dry laugh. She had to admit that in a fucked-up-Priscilla-Kroyn way, this was romantic.

She thought quickly. She needed to remind Priscilla of their deal: that the price of them being together was The Young Shepherdess. But she had to remind Priscilla of that deal without prompting Priscilla to say something stupid like, "I'll return the painting I stole immediately."

"Well…" Emily began, "it's like I told you the other night…this case is going to keep me very busy, and until I recover the painting, I just won't have much time for a relationship of any kind. Trust me, I want to explore what you and I can have, but what good would I be as a girlfriend if my focus is on getting The Young Shepherdess back?"

They moved on to yet another painting, this one by Lee Krasner, Jackson Pollock's widow, and another artist whose works Emily just never connected with.

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about The Young Shepherdess," Priscilla said.

"Why not?" Emily prodded.

"Because I think that whoever took it, realizes that sometimes owning something is not as fulfilling as craving it," Priscilla answered. "Obviously, I'm someone who loves art and owning art, but I suspect that whoever took the Shepherdess probably discovered that there are more important things to have in one's life. Therefore…knowing human nature as I do, I wouldn't be surprised if the painting turned up very soon." She shrugged. "But that's just a guess, and my lawyers would literally laugh if anyone—let's say the police department—were to suggest that it was an incriminating statement of any kind."

Emily was the one who wanted to laugh. She was certain Tom was fuming now.

She nodded slowly.

So far, so good…

She was certain it was one of the paintings at the station house. All that remained was for the experts she had contacted to determine which one. Meanwhile, the police had no reason to detain Priscilla. Their wire had failed. She was also positive that the police could not trace any of those canvases to Priscilla. The woman was too smart for that.

Priscilla checked her watch.

"You know what?" she began, "Let's go have lunch! I'm starving! I promised you pizza a while ago, and the place I'm thinking of is just on the other side of Sixth."

"Fabulous," Emily said. She was hungry. The only thing she didn't like about the idea was that the police were still going to be listening in on her conversation with Priscilla. What she wanted to do was get the wire off her. The microphone was part of a brooch she was wearing, a hideous thing that wasn't at all her style. Beneath her loose-fitting dress, the female surveillance tech had run the wire from the microphone down her chest, taping it into place just under her bra. It eventually connected to a transmitter taped to her right thigh.

She and Priscilla quickly made their way out of the museum, but as soon as they stepped into the warm air outside, Priscilla's phone rang.

Emily listened to the conversation while pretending not to listen to it…

"Yes?" Priscilla answered the call after extracting the device from her clutch purse. "When?...I see…Uh-huh…Well, it's damn inconvenient, but if it gets the deal done, it gets the deal done. Have Himari, Amélie, and Heidi meet me in the conference room. I'll be there in…give me ten minutes."

She ended the call and returned her attention back to Emily, who knew what was coming.

"I'm so sorry!" Priscilla said. She held up her phone. "Work. Raincheck on pizza?"

"No problem," Emily told her.

"Dinner tonight?" Priscilla went on. "My place? I'll have Gordon pick you up."

"Perfect," Emily said.

Priscilla leaned down—she had to in those heels—and gave Emily a quick peck on the lips, and then she started walking away, towards the Bentley Emily saw waiting near the fountain…

***

In the surveillance van, Tom held his hands out in exasperation.

"Did anyone see her steal a painting?" Tom asked.

The negative replies came back from the officers who had been watching Priscilla Kroyn in the museum.

"Did anyone see her put back a painting?" Tom then asked.

"I saw her wipe her nose with a tissue and then put the tissue in a trash can,"Sinclair reported.

"Unbelievable!" Tom exclaimed. "So, what…we got nothing?"

"She might be getting a cold…"Kalisz quipped.

Tom reached forward and switched off the feed from the officers' microphones. He'd had enough listening to those idiots. He did the same thing to the feed from Emily's wire. That hadn't yielded anything either. All they had heard was that Priscilla Kroyn's favorite place in San Diego was between Emily Bacon's legs, and that she believed the painting of the girl would be returned soon, along with a veiled threat about her team of velociraptors that she called lawyers. Hardly enough to press charges.

He looked at his companions in the van, both of whom shrugged.

"I told you it was just a romantic date," Bernie said.