6

Chris left shortly afterward. He said he needed to appease his wife. Rummaging for something to eat, Marion wondered what else was wrong. To this point, Chris’s wife hadn’t minded the time he spent with her.

Before leaving, Chris had put his finger on her own problem: the millions.

The market was anticipating just one thing: that Marion would sell. A collection like this came along only once every couple of decades. Manna for the birds of prey. Unfathomable works of art—and lots of them. Astonishing pieces that would be sold and resold for years.

There was nothing in the refrigerator but a few eggs and a bottle of milk.

Why would he give all that to her? Maybe Chris was right. Maybe he just didn’t have anyone else to give the collection to. End of story.

She opened the vegetable drawer. A limp carrot.

Except for Gaudin. He had to be brooding. He couldn’t possibly understand the will’s conditions—or fathom how he had gotten completely robbed. He had served the man for thirty years. He had indulged the man’s obsessions, his desires, and his craziness as if they were his own. He wouldn’t want her to sell. Would he be content to keep an eye on Marion until he learned her game plan? Or was he trying to hurt her? And did those three sculptures have something to do with it?

“He’s the one.” Marion almost yelled it. She couldn’t see anyone else in the picture with enough motive.

She slammed the refrigerator door. “Dammit, he tried to kill me!”

She felt her muscles tighten and bile rise. She paced the room, kicking a pile of books. Then she pulled out her phone. Maybe Chris was right, and there was some determination in her.

“What the hell were you thinking, trying to drown me? I’m not some plaything. Did you want to scare me? Or kill me?”

Marion’s hands were shaking. On the other end of the line, George Gaudin said nothing.

“You won’t admit it, will you? You’re just waiting to get your share. Do you honestly think I’m going to give up?”

“Mademoiselle, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Come on. Are you going to answer me or not? I’ve got friends in the police force.”

“I have nothing to say. I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to. There’s no point threatening me.”

“It would be quite convenient for you if I were out of the picture.”

“Everyone knows I’m attached to that collection. But you give me more credit than I deserve. I don’t decide whether people live or die.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that. You’re the only person who could be upset about the inheritance.”

“Listen, young lady, as much as you want to blame me for whatever happened to you, I didn’t lift a finger against you. That collection is my flesh and blood, my sweat and tears. I’ve sacrificed everything for it. I’ve spent so many years living without the company of others. If something happens to you, I won’t shed any tears. But I’m telling you this: messing with you would mess up my entire life’s work. And that’s not going to happen.”

“Is that it? You’ve got nothing else to offer in your defense?” Marion said, losing steam. “I don’t know—maybe an idea of someone else who’d be interested in eliminating me?”

“First you accuse me, and then you ask me to find the real culprit?” Gaudin was getting one up on her now, but something had softened in his voice. “Art aficionados all over the world were envious of that collection, and Magni had belittled so many experts and curators, any one of them could want to take their revenge. And any number of them would sell his soul in a minute to the highest bidder.”

There was a long silence.

“Can you tell me more about the sculptures?” Marion finally asked, kicking herself for sounding like a frightened little girl.

“Yes, the sculptures. If you insist. The first one Magni brought back was the Woman with Child. An astonishing work. This was the most valuable piece in his collection. But the figure disappeared almost immediately. Then, in rapid succession, two similar pieces showed up—the warrior and the jaguar. I remember them vividly. Such priceless objects were usually buried deep in royal tombs. Magni, of course, supplied no explanation. He was rarely in Paris during that period, but was spending most of his time in Latin America, leaving me in charge of the collection. It wasn’t until much later that I learned that the sculptures had been sold at auction.”