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My alarm was set early enough that I could get in my morning routine and tail Ricky Stephens from home to work. Yet a phone call woke me ten minutes before that. I answered groggily, but no one spoke. When the phone rang again, I realized it was my burner still in my purse. I stumbled from bed and got it before it went to message. The caller ID listed Alden Whitt’s number.
“Alden,” I answered. “Glad this isn’t Skype. I have a hideous case of bed head.”
“Bed head I hope to soon witness myself.”
“Smooth talker. Can you make morning breath seem romantic?” I asked.
He chuckled. “There are limits to my abilities.”
“Why the call at the crack of an obscene hour?”
By the sound of his voice, I could imagine his face aglow, a wide smile in place. “That object of art I spoke of...”
“Yes?”
“It goes on the market tomorrow afternoon,” Whitt said.
“You’re taking bids?”
“Of course.”
“You said my employer would have first dibs,” I made sure my voice carried the right amount of annoyance.
“And I have made that arrangement. If your Mr. X pays a premium well above the starting black-market bid, then he may purchase the piece outright tomorrow morning.”
I nearly cooed, “Thank you, Alden. Who will be managing the sale?”
“If we come to terms, I’ve arranged it all so that I’ll take delivery of the piece and turn it over directly to you, at which time you will pay me.”
“I’m excited already, and I don’t even know what it is.”
“If you’re excited now, expect a near-orgasmic thrill, Meg. This piece is a heretofore-unknown sketch by two masters working in collaboration.”
And there it is. I was well onto solving one of the most interesting cases in my short PI career. “I’m intrigued.”
“Admittedly, its value lies more in its historical importance than its medium, which happens to be ink on linen.”
“Ink on linen? I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing,” I said, figuring lack of enthusiasm would go a long way in reinforcing my cover.
Whitt laughed. “Would you change your opinion if the sketch was made by both Picasso and Dali?”
I did a silent slow count to five so he would think he’d rendered me speechless. “Picasso and Dali?”
“Ah, I’ve regained your interest.”
“Hell, yes. Give me some details.”
“The two masters sat at a small café and collaborated on a sketch of a dancer on a linen napkin, which they both signed. A piece unknown in the art world.”
“And it’s been authenticated?”
“Yes, and though I wasn’t involved, I know the expert who looked it over. I’m satisfied it’s the real deal. And with our arrangement, if Mr. X is doubtful, he can give it back for a full refund.”
Alden had unknowingly done me a favor by authenticating it through his experts, but still, I’d suggest Shari do the same, when I got it back, but with a bona fide appraiser. “Okay, here’s the big question: how much to buy the piece outright?”
“The starting bid will be five hundred thousand dollars, with confidence that it will fetch at least a million and a quarter. However, if you can meet me tomorrow morning with a million dollars with an added ten percent finder’s fee for me, then the sketch goes to your employer.”
I whistled at the price. “Oh, sorry. Hope I didn’t rupture your eardrums.” Stolen art is sold at a percentage of its potential value on the legal market. A million for a sketch would be extremely high were it not for the collaborative nature of the piece. Yeah, it’s not like I really planned to buy it, but I needed to barter to make it sound real. “I tell you what, Alden—since I like you, my employer will pay six hundred and fifty thousand, and a ten percent finder’s fee.”
Whitt was quiet a moment. “Shouldn’t you check with your employer first?”
“Alden”—I put ice in my voice—“you spoke with my employer and have his guarantee that I have the authority for these negotiations.”
“Very well, Meg. And since I like you, I feel confident that I can arrange for the sketch from Mr. Picasso and Mr. Dali for three quarters of a million, plus my seventy-five-thousand-dollar fee.”
I went quiet again, making it seem as if I were considering his offer. Finally, I said, “With that finder’s fee, I hope our celebration will be lavish.”
“So it’s a deal, then?”
“Yes, Alden, it’s a deal, an expensive deal. But I’m sure my employer—”
“Mr. X.”
I laughed. “Yes, Mr. X, will agree.”
“Here’s some good news for you, Meg. As things are, it will work out for us to conduct our business in San Marco.”
“Sounds good. As I’m sure you’ll have some security nearby, I will as well. But as it is our first buy, and I’ll have so much money, I’d like the deal to take place somewhere public,” I told him.
“Fine with me, though I hope our festivities afterward will be a little more private.”
“I was thinking that after I deliver the sketch to Mr. X, and you handle your financial affairs, we meet for an early dinner, and then we’ll see what happens from there.”
“Lovely. Do you have any suggestions for where to make the sale?” Whitt asked.
“Most definitely. Do you bowl, Alden?”