"Josie," he said, smiling, his eyes impervious, his manner stiff.

I stood up. "Thanks for coming, Barney. Especially on such short notice."

"My pleasure."

"Have a seat," I invited, gesturing to the guest chair, where, not long ago, Mrs. Cabot had sat while she waited to offer me the appraisal job.

"I found the Matisse," I said, jumping in.

"What Matisse?"

"It seems that Mr. Grant had three masterpieces, a Renoir, a Cezanne, and a Matisse."

I could see the change in Barney's eyes as his demeanor transitioned from professionally attentive to guarded and wary. He said, watching me closely, "You're kidding! Mr. Grant?"

I shrugged. "It's true. I've got the Matisse, and I'm offering it for sale. Knowing that you sometimes deal in fine art, I thought you might be interested."

"May I see it?"

"Certainly. Come this way."

I walked him into the area of the warehouse near the spiral staircase where we'd placed the cabinet, pulled out my key ring, and selected the right key. The unit stood about four feet tall. Two doors opened outward, revealing three deep shelves. It was empty except for the Matisse, laid flat.

Barney picked it up by the edges and looked at it. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"It would need to be authenticated," he said.

I thought of Dr. Snow, the expert Alverez had brought down from Dartmouth who had, in fact, authenticated the paintings. I wondered if Barney had ever used his services. "Of course," I said.

"a.s.suming it's what it appears to be, I might be interested." He continued to look at the painting. I had no sense of what he was thinking or feeling. "How much are you asking?"

"A quarter of a million."

"That much?" Barney asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

I reached for the canvas and slid it back into the cabinet, locked the door, pocketed the key ring, and gestured that Barney should precede me into the office.

"Research it yourself. You'll find that a quarter million is a bargain and a half."

"Not on the private market."

"Then say no." I shrugged. "That's my price."

After a long pause, Barney said, "I can hardly believe we're having this conversation, Josie."

I nodded. "I know."

"What about Mrs. Cabot?"

I shrugged, and, under the desk, out of sight, crossed my fingers. "The painting has blood on it. She knows it, and doesn't care. I do. Think of me as a variation of Robin Hood."

"How so?"

"I won't let the rich get richer from thievery."

"And yet, here you are-"

"I'm not rich, and I don't suppose you are either."

He snorted. "Hardly. People think we're all rich."

"They don't know our costs."

"Exactly."

"Still," I said, smiling, "it's a living."

He smiled back, but as he was about to comment, the phone rang, as arranged. Hattie, one of the police officers, was calling from upstairs.

"h.e.l.lo," I answered, "Prescott's. May I help you?"

Hattie, pretending to be Sasha, asked me if it was all right to come over and do some work.

"When?"

"In an hour."

I looked away from Barney, the better to maintain my part of the pretence. "Sure. That's not a problem. How long do you think you'll be here?"

Hattie faltered. "I don't know," she said.

"Okay," I responded to the nonexistent answer. "Ten or ten-thirty ? That's fine. I tell you what, I'll leave the alarm off tonight, okay? Tomorrow we can get Fred set up with a key and the code to the alarm."

"Okay," she said.

"See you in the morning!" I said brightly, and hung up. To Barney, I said, "Sorry about that."

"No problem," he said, his eyes remote and calculating. "I was about to leave anyway. I'll call you tomorrow, all right?" He stood up, and headed for the door.

"By noon, okay?"

"What happens at noon?" he asked.

"I find another buyer."

He looked at me, maybe to a.s.sess my veracity. I perceived agitation and anxiety in his demeanor, and it frightened me. I struggled to control an urge to back away from him, shifting my focus instead to watching as he evaluated his options and framed his response.

"Well, then," he said, "I'll do my best to get back to you by then."

We shook hands, and I watched as he drove away.

Alverez's plan had worked exactly as he'd expected. My work was done, and I felt the pressure subside.

I'd helped, it had been easy and straightforward, and it was over, so now I could relax.

I sensed, more than heard, Alverez approach. When I turned I saw that he was grinning. He reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

"Way to go, Josie," he said.

I smiled back. "It was pretty easy," I said.

Max came in, the worry lines gone. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Perfect," Alverez said. "Now, git. Both of you. Out of here."

It was a weird feeling to leave my warehouse in the hands of the police. I didn't know what Alverez expected would happen. He wouldn't say.

But a.s.suming that Barney would break in and try to steal the painting, well, it was frightening to think about, and while I was glad I wouldn't be there on-site, I knew that I'd be spending an anxious and sleepless night.

Max and I said our good-byes as I drove him to his car.

"I confess that I'm relieved our part is over," he said. "I don't think I'd make a very good spy."

I laughed. "But you'd do a great job planning what the actual spies should do."

He smiled, and sighed deeply. "I guess," he acknowledged, stretching as best he could in the confined s.p.a.ce. "But you, I think you might have to change careers."

"Thanks," I said, pleased at the compliment. "I admit it-I think I have a knack for deception."

Max chuckled. "It doesn't sound good when you put it that way, does it?"

"No, not at all. Luckily, I'm my mother's daughter. Honest to the core."

He patted my shoulder as I pulled up behind his car. "Good. Talent or no talent, stay that way."

I nodded and tucked my hair behind my ears. "I promise." He opened the door and started to slide out. "Max?" I asked. He turned toward me. "What now? What do you think will happen?"

He paused, his hand gripping the doorframe. "I think Alverez will get him. What do you think?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. But I'm a little scared." I shivered. "To tell you the truth, I thought Barney looked a little bit like a cornered rat."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

As expected, I spent a restless night.

I slept some, I guessed, but the hours I stayed in bed were filled with upsetting and confusing dreams, and I awoke jittery and tense. Lying there, tired but unable to sleep, I thought about Alverez and wondered if his plan had worked, and if so, whether he was still questioning his suspect or whether he'd called it a night. I could picture him sitting in interrogation room two, struggling to stay awake, but I could also imagine that he was home, asleep, and it got me wondering what his home was like. Was it a rental, like mine? Was it furnished with heavy, masculine pieces, like an Adirondack lodge?

One thought led to another and at about 4:30 in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep, and went downstairs. Wrapped in my soft pink robe, I made coffee, and with a cup in hand, I curled up in the window seat in my kitchen and looked out over the meadow. I saw nothing. Thick clouds completely obscured the sky, and the darkness seemed absolute.

Determined to shift my focus from thinking to doing, I scrambled eggs, had a second cup of coffee, and just before 6:00, decided to go to work. Wearing black jeans and a cherry red sweater, I stepped outside in the dim light of another cloudy spring morning, took a deep breath of wintry-cold dawn air, and started the car. I shivered, chilled, as I used the small plastic sc.r.a.per to rid the windshield and side windows of h.o.a.rfrost.

Three miles down the road I glanced at my cell phone and realized that I'd missed a call. Punching b.u.t.tons, I saw that it had come from Alverez while I was in the shower. "d.a.m.n," I said aloud.

I pulled over to the side of the road and listened to the cryptic message. "Josie," Alverez said, sounding energized, "I'm sorry to call so early, but I'm going back into the interrogation room after grabbing a little sleep, and I don't know when I'll be able to talk next. I just wanted to thank you again, and to let you know that the plan worked. We got her."

I dialed back, but got his voice mail. "d.a.m.n," I said again. I didn't want to leave a message. I wanted to talk to him.

I called the station house. Whoever answered the phone said that Alverez wasn't available and couldn't venture a guess as to when he might be able to call me back. I hung up and tapped the steering wheel, frustrated and impatient for news. Impulsively, I called Max, and, after apologizing for disturbing him so early, I recapped Alverez's message and my failure to reach him.

"'Her'?" Max asked. "Are you certain he said 'her'?"

"Yes, absolutely. It sounds like he's arrested someone, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Or, at least, that he's got a suspect in custody," Max agreed. "Who do you think it is?"

"I haven't got a clue," I said. "I was a hundred percent sure it was Barney."

After a short pause, Max asked, "Didn't Barney tell you that Andi had hired him?"

"Andi!" I exclaimed. "That's right, he did tell me that. Wow! And Barney could have called Andi to tell her about the Matisse. But wait a second, Max. Even if he did so, and even if she decided to come steal it, there's no way she could have gotten here that quickly."

"What do you mean? It's only a ten-minute drive from the Sheraton. Isn't that where she and her mother are staying?"

"Mrs. Cabot told me she was going back to Chestnut Hill yesterday, and I a.s.sumed that Andi would go home to New York at the same time ... but you're right, it's strictly an a.s.sumption on my part. Maybe Andi did stay longer, to work with Barney, or to start the lawsuit to try and break her grandfather's will."

"If it was Andi that Alverez caught in your warehouse, think about what that means. It implies that she stole the Renoir and that she killed her grandfather. Stealing the Renoir, maybe. But killing her grandfather? That stretches credibility!"

"Not if she was all drugged up."

"True," he acknowledged, sounding sad.

Responding to his tone, I said, "It's so horrible to think about, isn't it?"

"More than horrible. Unnecessary, too, since she's due to inherit half of his estate."

"But I wonder if she knew it at the time? She wasn't close to her grandfather, that's for sure," I said.

"True. But still."

"Yeah. She's pretty volatile."