can’t figure why he would be out on that old fire escape in the middle of the night.” Shaking her head at Milo’s apparent foolishness, Bibi went off to take her shower.
I have to see the still life again, Rachel thought. Before the artist takes it away, as he did the seascape. Before he changes it. She had to see the staircase image again before the painting was doctored up and delivered to her as a “gift.”
She jumped from the bed and darted to the closet. Slipping into a pair of jeans and a bright green T-shirt, she pushed her feet into sandals, ran a brush through her hair, grabbed her purse, and hurried from the room.
She raced across the relatively deserted campus, not even bothering to say hello to the few people she saw.
When she reached the art building, out of breath, and praying the still life would not be gone from the wall behind the pedestal, Rachel yanked the heavy wooden door open.
It was dim and cool inside, but not empty. Rudy Samms, armed with a duster and a yellow can of furniture polish, was working at a huge desk in the middle of the lobby.
“What are you doing here?” he called as she made a dash for the corner where the still life had been hanging.
She ignored him, focusing her eyes on the wall just ahead of her. When she was close enough, she breathed a sigh of relief. The painting was still there, in the same spot. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched.
She’d arrived in time.
No, not quite. Because when she looked more closely at the painting, she realized with a sudden surge of fury that it had indeed been touched. Touched up, she corrected mentally. The stairs and the flailing legs were gone. It was as if they’d never been there. The entire vase was now thickly layered with nothing but dove-gray swirls and brushstrokes.
She whirled and hurried over to Rudy. She knew he’d been watching her, but now he was pretending to concentrate industriously on his dusting. “Who’s been in here this morning?” Rachel demanded.
“No one. Just me.” He looked up lazily. “Why?”
“Are you sure? What time did you get here?”
“Seven. I’m always in early. No one gets here before me. Of course,” he aimed a sly glance at her, “someone could have come into the lobby while I was upstairs, cleaning up the studios.” He shook his head. “Have to be awfully careful up there, not to damage any of the precious ‘works of art,’” he added sarcastically.
“You think someone came in while you were upstairs?” Rachel pressed sharply.
“I didn’t say that. I said, someone might have. I can’t be in two places at the same time, now can I? So,” he shrugged as if to dismiss the matter, “who knows? Why? Something wrong?”
She wasn’t going to learn anything from him.
Rachel turned away. She had planned to take the painting with her when she left, take it to the police and show them the stairs and the falling legs hidden within the work. But there was no point now. All they would see was a vase filled with blue and lavender and mauve flowers.
She turned back to Rudy. “How do you get upstairs?”
He shot her a contemptuous look. “How do you think, Rachel? You either walk up the stairs or take the elevator, the same way you would in any other building on campus.”
“I meant,” she said coldly, “where is the staircase?”
He waved a hand toward the rear of the lobby.
“Are the rooms up there open? Unlocked, I mean?”
He nodded.
“I promised Aidan I’d come and take a look at his masks,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Then why were you looking at that still life?”
And why are you so suspicious? she almost said. But she knew she needed him, so she said instead, “Aidan has a couple of masks on that wall, too, Rudy. Listen, I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor? I’m busy.”
Rachel said pleasantly, “If anyone comes in and goes anywhere near that still life in the corner, would you come up and get me? I’ll be in one of the
I have to see the still life again, Rachel thought. Before the artist takes it away, as he did the seascape. Before he changes it. She had to see the staircase image again before the painting was doctored up and delivered to her as a “gift.”
She jumped from the bed and darted to the closet. Slipping into a pair of jeans and a bright green T-shirt, she pushed her feet into sandals, ran a brush through her hair, grabbed her purse, and hurried from the room.
She raced across the relatively deserted campus, not even bothering to say hello to the few people she saw.
When she reached the art building, out of breath, and praying the still life would not be gone from the wall behind the pedestal, Rachel yanked the heavy wooden door open.
It was dim and cool inside, but not empty. Rudy Samms, armed with a duster and a yellow can of furniture polish, was working at a huge desk in the middle of the lobby.
“What are you doing here?” he called as she made a dash for the corner where the still life had been hanging.
She ignored him, focusing her eyes on the wall just ahead of her. When she was close enough, she breathed a sigh of relief. The painting was still there, in the same spot. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched.
She’d arrived in time.
No, not quite. Because when she looked more closely at the painting, she realized with a sudden surge of fury that it had indeed been touched. Touched up, she corrected mentally. The stairs and the flailing legs were gone. It was as if they’d never been there. The entire vase was now thickly layered with nothing but dove-gray swirls and brushstrokes.
She whirled and hurried over to Rudy. She knew he’d been watching her, but now he was pretending to concentrate industriously on his dusting. “Who’s been in here this morning?” Rachel demanded.
“No one. Just me.” He looked up lazily. “Why?”
“Are you sure? What time did you get here?”
“Seven. I’m always in early. No one gets here before me. Of course,” he aimed a sly glance at her, “someone could have come into the lobby while I was upstairs, cleaning up the studios.” He shook his head. “Have to be awfully careful up there, not to damage any of the precious ‘works of art,’” he added sarcastically.
“You think someone came in while you were upstairs?” Rachel pressed sharply.
“I didn’t say that. I said, someone might have. I can’t be in two places at the same time, now can I? So,” he shrugged as if to dismiss the matter, “who knows? Why? Something wrong?”
She wasn’t going to learn anything from him.
Rachel turned away. She had planned to take the painting with her when she left, take it to the police and show them the stairs and the falling legs hidden within the work. But there was no point now. All they would see was a vase filled with blue and lavender and mauve flowers.
She turned back to Rudy. “How do you get upstairs?”
He shot her a contemptuous look. “How do you think, Rachel? You either walk up the stairs or take the elevator, the same way you would in any other building on campus.”
“I meant,” she said coldly, “where is the staircase?”
He waved a hand toward the rear of the lobby.
“Are the rooms up there open? Unlocked, I mean?”
He nodded.
“I promised Aidan I’d come and take a look at his masks,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Then why were you looking at that still life?”
And why are you so suspicious? she almost said. But she knew she needed him, so she said instead, “Aidan has a couple of masks on that wall, too, Rudy. Listen, I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor? I’m busy.”
Rachel said pleasantly, “If anyone comes in and goes anywhere near that still life in the corner, would you come up and get me? I’ll be in one of the
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