The Artful Goddaughter (2 page)

“Want me to come over for dinner?”

I grinned. “Are you putting yourself on the menu?”

He laughed. God, I loved how he laughed.

“I was thinking the other way around. Shall I bring Chinese takeout?”

I gulped. What was it about that country today?

“Sure,” I said. “And don't forget the fortune cookies.” I needed to hear some good news.

TWO

I
may have mentioned this before, but someday I am going to write a book. It will be called
Burglary for Dummies
and will have all sorts of helpful hints in it, like “Don't risk your butt for a fake.”

My family is very into fakes. Me, not so much anymore. That would be because my ratface cousin Carmine tried to pull one over on me a while back. It's not nice to switch real gems with fakes in your cousin's store. All sorts of people get upset, especially certain family members. They may even try to arrange for you to get shot while cleaning your rifle…but I digress.

Okay, here's the family position regarding fakes. Does anybody really get hurt? So your Picasso is not by Picasso. It's still just as pretty, right? So why the big deal?

I don't necessarily agree with this, by the way. I'm merely relaying the family opinion.

Sammy called at ten the next morning. “Got bad news, sweetheart. Your great-uncle Seb had a massive heart attack last night. He's alive, but it doesn't look good.”

“Aw, gee. That's awful. I'm so sorry.” I was too. Great-Uncle Seb was a loner. He had a reputation for pulling really bad practical jokes. So not everyone liked him.

But I was fond of him. He was an artist. A really good artist. So good he could do Picasso better than Picasso, if you get my drift. “How did it happen?”

“He got this new model at the studio. I think that had something to do with it.”

“How? She gave him a hard time?” That didn't sound likely. Seb was a weird little guy but totally harmless.

“Nah. I think it was more she dropped her robe, and he dropped from too much appreciation.”

A coitus coronary? That sucked. “Poor guy,” I murmured.

“I told him not to do nudes anymore. Not safe for a schmuck over seventy.”

Bugger. Of all the rotten luck.

“So is he at St. Mary's?” I would go right over there, of course.

“Yeah, but there's something else.”

I groaned. There was always something else. “Spill it,” I said.

“I think you better hear this from the horse,” he said. “Meet me at the chicken coop at five. And bring Nico.”

“Okay. We'll visit the hospital first.”

“Good for you, sweetheart. He'll like that.”

We rang off.

First I called Tiff to manage the jewelry store for me. Tiff is my Goth-inspired shop assistant and Nico's little sister. Both of them are my cousins. Then I picked Nico up at his cute little condo on Caroline.

Nico is tall and thin. His shock-blond hair is definitely out of a bottle. But he's a sharp cookie, with a surprisingly checkered past. Mainly break and enters, with a chaser of car theft. Never been caught. I love him to pieces.

He's gone clean, sort of. If you don't count the pile of burglaries we did together last month to get back those fake gemstones. The
Steeltown Star
called them the Lone Rearranger burglaries. But that's another story, and I prefer not to count those particular B & Es.

Nico is what you might call metro-sexual. That is, he doesn't exactly fit in with the lunch-box mentality of Hamilton, fondly called The Hammer. Maybe it's the eyeliner he's taken to wearing lately.

Today, he had dressed for the occasion. I mean, really.

“I didn't think black was appropriate since he isn't dead yet,” Nico said, slipping into the passenger seat. “So I figured to cheer him up.”

I looked over. Burgundy jeans with a wild pink, green and yellow shirt.

“Wait a sec—are those parrots?”

Nico grinned. “Do I rock the great-uncle or what?”

I moaned and shifted into Drive.

St. Mary's Hospital is right across the street from La Paloma, that posh Italian bistro on James. My uncle Vito owns it. It is also the family hangout.

I parked behind the restaurant. We planned to stop in there after visiting Seb.

The hospital itself is huge. It dates back to the time of cholera epidemics. My godfather is a major donor. There is even a wing named after him.

The behemoth of a building takes up an entire city block in the heart of downtown. Many wings have been added over the decades. The labyrinth of hallways is diabolical. The Emerg department specializes in gunshot and knife wounds. I had been there many times, to visit relatives.

Great-Uncle Seb was in the
ICU
, hooked up to a bunch of lines. He didn't seem to be awake. All sorts of machines were beeping around him. They wouldn't stop.

We walked into the room no problem. The nurses must have been on their coffee break.

“Should we wake him?” Nico asked.

I shook my head. “Let's just wait awhile and see if he opens his eyes.”

Poor fellow looked awfully thin and gray…sort of…dead. That was it. He actually looked dead.

Rats. I'd seen dead bodies before (don't ask). This great-uncle was ex.

“Um…Gina?” Nico touched Seb's hand with his fingers. He pulled back his hand in a hurry. “Maybe we should leave.”

“Yup,” I said with a shake to my voice. “Poor guy needs his beauty sleep.”

We tiptoed out of the room and down the hall to the elevator.

As soon as we hit the great outdoors, we speed-walked to the corner. Okay, we ran like freaked-out idiots.

Nico didn't speak until we were behind the restaurant.

“Poor Seb. Should we have stayed?”

I was feeling guilty too. “Probably we didn't need to leave. I mean, he did die of natural causes.”

“We reacted on instinct,” Nico said, nodding. “The way we were taught. Maybe he would be proud.”

Rule number one in the Gallo-Ricci family is never be caught in the same room as a dead body. Except at a funeral.

“I'm not feeling like stopping at La Paloma. Do you mind?” Nico had clearly had enough of family for one morning.

“Fine by me,” I said. “Let's go straight to the store.”

* * *

The phone call came about an hour later, just as we were about to grab some lunch.

It was Sammy. “Change of plans. Seb poofed it.”

“Aw gee, I'm sorry,” I said into my cell phone. “He didn't look good when I saw him this morning.”

No kidding. Dead is not a good look.

“Miriam will call you about the arrangements. I got a shitload of stuff to do now. Can't make the chicken coop. So let me explain.”

He did. It wasn't as bad as I thought.

“Seb left me a painting?” This didn't sound like bad news. I loved Seb's original art and had told him so many times.

“Yeah. Nice one too. Not his…usual style.”

“Well, that's nice. Something to remember him by. Do you have it?”

“Yeah. I'll drop it off at the store tomorrow. And sweetheart?”

Now I was suspicious. “Yes?”

“Seb was very fond of you. He was a good man. Remember that.”

I clicked off wondering, What the poop?

THREE

T
he next day, I dressed in black for work, out of respect. Black pants and black scoop-neck sweater. I broke it up with a gold belt.

Nico was with me in the jewelry store. Usually, Tiff did that shift, but it was half-off day at the tattoo parlor. Tiff didn't like to miss a deal. So she got Nico to fill in for her.

Nico was also dressed in black, but that wasn't unusual. He often wore black. Right now he was leaning against the jewelry counter, paging through
Brides Magazine
.

“Tell me you aren't going to wear one of these baked-meringue wedding dresses, Gina. I'll kill myself.”

I smiled. “Never fear. I'm not much for Cinderella froufrou. I'm more of the Grecian goddess type.”

“Ooooh. Are you going for the Pippa look?” He frowned and flipped more pages.

“Huh?”

“Sister of Kate, the future Queen of England, silly. Remember the slinky dress Pippa Middleton wore at the Royal Wedding?”

“I'm too rounded for that, alas.” It was true. To my dismay (and to Pete's delight), I was a Marilyn where it counted.

“Too bad there wasn't enough time to order a custom-made dress.”

“No worries. Lainy is coming with me.” And so was Aunt Miriam, Aunt Pinky, Aunt Vera and most of the female population west of the Red Hill Expressway.

I thought Nico was going to jump through the ceiling. “Tell me! New York? Milano? Are you picking it up in the States?”

I smiled. “Nope. We live in this burg. It pays to do business locally, if you can.”

Sammy walked in the door. He had something big and square under his arm.

“Hey, sweetheart. How's things?”

I walked over and gave him a sideways hug.

“Hi, Uncle Sammy.” Nico waved.

“Is that from Seb?” I tried to grab the parcel from him.

“Hold on, doll. It's heavy.” He put it down on the glass counter.

I attacked the brown paper wrapping.

“Take it easy, Gina. It's worth a lot.”

I grinned. Maybe it was worth a lot to me, for sentimental reasons. But Seb wasn't well known as an artist, for obvious reasons. His own work didn't command a price.

Underneath the brown paper was a painting about two by two and a half feet. The thing was framed in carved brown wood. It was a floating nude, with a bunch of other things in the sky. Quite colorful, with blues and greens.

“It's a Kugel copy.” I gazed at it in awe. “Oh my God, it's the lady with the three—”

“He really wanted you to have it, Gina. He was quite insistent upon that.”

We all stared at it. Nico twisted his head sideways.

“What's a Kugel?” said Nico.

“Kugel was from the same period as Chagall. A little later than Picasso,” I explained.

Something hit me then. It didn't make me feel good. “I've seen this before.”

Sammy squirmed. His face twisted.

“Recently,” I said, thinking hard. “And I don't mean in Art History class.” That had been years ago, in university.

“Not this one.” Sammy shook his head. “Even I haven't seen this one before.”

Now what did he mean by that?

“I don't know, Gina.” Nico still had his head tilted. “Were you thinking for the shop? The colors are right, but the three boobies might turn off clients.”

I snapped my fingers. “I know! It's hanging in the City Art Gallery. I noticed it the night I was there for that gala, when Tony got hit.” Hoo boy. That was so not a good night. Except for Pete. That's when I got together with Pete.

“Man, it's a good copy,” I said, putting my face right up to the painting. “Seb sure was a master, God rest his soul.”

“He left something for you too, Nico,” Sammy said.

Sammy was looking funny. Almost as if he wasn't sure how this would go down. My mind raced through the alternatives.

“Not—”

Nico gasped. “Pauly?”

Sammy nodded.

I groaned. “The insane parrot.”

“Oh my God, Gina.” He clapped his hands together. “That is so awesome. My own parrot. Think of how it will go down in the shop.”

Nico had just finished his interior-design diploma and was about to set up a design business in the store next to mine. The family was fronting him. I had no doubt the shop would serve a purpose additional to what Nico had in mind. But why disillusion the poor lad?

“
Insane
parrot,” I reminded him. “And are you telling me you are going to design the entire store around the colors of that bonkers bird?”

His brown eyes went wide. “A parrot motif! Brilliant, cuz. I was looking for a hook.”

I just hoped Captain Hook wasn't still looking for his bird.

“The parrot is at the vet now. Luca will bring it over to your place when they release it.” Sammy looked at his Rolex. “Gotta run. So I'll see you two at the visitation. Miriam will call with last-minute instructions.”

“Sure.” I was still staring at the painting.

“Wear black, Gina. You know Miriam's fussy about that. Gotta respect the dead an' all.”

“I'll wear black. Nico will help me pick something appropriate.”

“I mean for the visitation and the funeral. She said to wear two different outfits.”

Nico was all grins. “Are we going shopping? I know this new place in Oakville—”

The door slammed shut.

Something else was bothering me. I stared at the painting.

“Nico, I don't get it. I've been to Seb's studio dozens of times, and I never saw this there.”

Seb had lived at the studio. No, I mean,
really
. He had a one-bedroom apartment above the studio. It was in a converted space on James North.

Not too long ago, that area of town was notoriously seedy. We used to call it the “scenic crack-house area” of Hamilton. This, of course, made the rent quite cheap.

In the last decade, artists had moved in from Toronto and made the place trendy. The Hammer is just over one hour from Toronto, where the rents are sky-high.

Seb's studio actually predated the trendy phase. Probably it predated the hooker-and-crack-dealer phase.

Nico tilted his head to the other side. “Maybe he didn't think it was respectable, what with the three…”

I shook my head. “Nah. He had lots of nudes hanging around. That isn't it.”

I was bothered, all right. I don't like things that don't make sense.

“So you think he had this in hiding? Why?”

Good question. Why would he hide a beautiful copy like this?

My stomach lurched up to my throat. I put the painting on the counter. Then I went diving around the corner for my loupe.