“Yes,” said Simon, “I am. Keep the black velvet warm, Mr. Beezler.”
Savich said, “I’ll speak to the guys in the art fraud section, see what recommendations they have. The FBI doesn’t do full-blown stolen art investigations at this time, so our best bet is Simon finding out who acquired the paintings.”
Simon said, “First thing, I’ll do some digging around, hit up my informants to get verification on who our collector is, find the artist, and squeeze him. The instant our collector hears that I’m digging—and he’d hear about it real quick—he’ll react, either go to ground, hide the paintings, or maybe something else, but it won’t matter.”
“What do you mean ‘something else’?” Lily asked.
Savich gave him a frown, and Simon said quickly, shrugging, “Nothing, really. But since I plan to stir things up, I’ll be really careful who’s at my back. Oh yeah, Savich, I’m relieved you didn’t use the shippers that Mr. Monk wanted you to use.”
Savich said, “No, I used Bryerson. I know them and trust them. There’s no way Mr. Monk or Tennyson or any of the rest of them could know, at least for a while, where the paintings ended up. However, I will call Teddy Bryerson and have him let me know if he gets any calls about the paintings. Simon, do you think anyone will realize that these four paintings are fakes if they’re out in the open for all to see?”
“Sooner or later someone would notice and ask questions.”
Lily said to Mr. Beezler, “I can’t very well let a museum hang the four fakes. What do you think about hanging all of them here for a while, Mr. Beezler, and we can see what happens?”
“Yes, I will hang them,” said Raleigh, “with great pleasure.”
Lily said to Simon, “Do you really think you can get the paintings back?”
Simon Russo rubbed his hands together. His eyes were fierce, and he looked as eager as a boy with his first train set. “Oh, yes.”
She imagined him dressed all in black, even black camouflage paint on his face, swinging down a rope to hover above an alarmed floor.
Savich said, “Just one thing, Simon. When you find out who bought the paintings, I go with you.”
Sherlock blinked at her husband. “You mean that you, an FBI special agent, unit chief, want to go steal four paintings?”
“Steal back,” Savich said, giving her a kiss on her open mouth. “Bring home. Return to their rightful owner.”
Lily said, “I’ll be working with Mr. Russo to find the person who forged them and the name of the collector who bought them. And then we’ll have proof to nail Tennyson.”
“Oh no,” Savich said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Lily.”
“No way,” Sherlock said. “No way am I letting you out of my sight either. Sean wants his auntie to hang out with him for a while.”
Simon Russo looked at Lily Savich and slowly nodded. He knew to his bones that when this woman made up her mind, it would take more than an offering of a dozen chocolate cakes to change it. “Okay, you can work with me. But first you need to get yourself back to one-hundred-percent healthy.”
“I’ll be ready by Monday,” Lily said. She raised her hand, palm out, to her brother before he could get out his objection. “You guys have lots to worry about—this Tammy Tuttle person. She’s scary, Dillon. You’ve got to focus on catching her. This is nothing, in comparison, just some work to track these paintings, maybe talking to these artists. I know artists. I know what to say to them. It won’t be any big deal. I can tell Mr. Russo exactly how to do it.”
“Right,” said Simon.
Sherlock was pulling on a hank of curly hair, something, Savich knew, she did when she was stressed or worried. She said, “She’s right, Dillon, but that doesn’t mean I like it.” She sighed. “And it’s not just Tammy Tuttle. Oh well, I’ll just spit it out. Ollie phoned just before we left the house this morning.”
“He did?” Savich turned the full force of his personality on his wife, a dark brow raised. “And you didn’t see fit to mention it to me?”
“It’s Friday morning, Gabriella was at the dentist and running late; she’s our nanny,” Sherlock added to Simon. “Besides, you’d already told Ollie and Jimmy Maitland that you wouldn’t be in until late morning. I was going to tell you on the way in.”
“I know I don’t want to hear this, but out with it, Sherlock. I can take it.”