CHAPTER SIX

      THURSDAY THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Chelsea was discussing the merits of a Keith Hamilton sculpture with a couple when she heard the gallery’s front door chime. Turning, she saw Mr. Anderson hurrying through the front foyer.

      “Chelsea! This is outrageous!” he called to her the minute he stepped into the showroom.

      Excusing herself, she left the couple she’d been with and hurried to Mr. Anderson. He hastened toward her, too, waving a document.

      “This has never happened to me in all the years I’ve been collecting!” His face was flushed, and his nostrils flared with each rapid breath he took. “As soon as I got this, I drove straight here from Boston.”

      Worried more about the fact that he seemed to be hyperventilating than what her potential new clients might think, Chelsea touched his arm placatingly. “Please calm down, Mr. Anderson. Why don’t we go into the office? You can explain to me what happened. Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to fix it.”

      He let out a loud harrumphing sound.

      Chelsea apologized to the couple she’d been with as she led Mr. Anderson past them, and signaled to Deborah to take over.

      She got him seated in the sales office, but he declined refreshments.

      “Please tell me what’s wrong,” Chelsea said.

      “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He flapped the papers at her. “You sold me a forgery!”

      Chelsea was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

      “Here,” he said and thrust the papers at her. “Have a look at that. I had the Babineux authenticated myself, as I always do, and as my insurance company requires. And that!” he said, motioning at the document. “That’s what I got back. You tell me how this could’ve happened!”

      Chelsea quickly scanned the document and felt the blood drain from her face. “This...this can’t be right. There has to be a mistake.”

      Mr. Anderson’s jaw jutted out. “Murphy & McGuire is one of the most reputable art authentication and valuation companies in the nation. Their people have never been wrong for me before. If there’s a mistake, it’s on your end.”

      “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. “I’d like to get Mr. Hadley.”

      “Go on. Go get him.”

      She left the document on the table and rushed out. As she reached Mr. Hadley’s office, Joel grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”

      “Yes. No. I have to get Mr. Hadley.”

      Joel’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m not sure.” She shrugged out of his grasp. “I’ll tell you later.”

      Fortunately, Mr. Hadley was in his office. She explained what had happened and remembered to pull the file with their copies of the authentication and appraisal reports. When they entered the sales office, Chelsea let Mr. Hadley take the lead.

      “I’m terribly sorry about this,” he said, his British accent more distinct than usual. “I can’t imagine how it might have happened, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, please bring the painting back. We’ll have it reauthenticated and I will in good faith refund the full purchase price until we sort everything out.”

      Mr. Anderson’s color was returning to normal and his voice didn’t sound quite as shrill. “That’ll be fine. I’ll have the painting brought in tomorrow. I’ve spent enough of my time traveling back and forth from Boston.”

      “I understand. Why don’t I make it easier for you and arrange to have it picked up?”

      “That would be appreciated.”

      Mr. Hadley’s solicitousness and offer of transport seemed to appease Mr. Anderson, at least temporarily. The two men shook hands, neither paying much attention to Chelsea. She felt it was deliberate and wondered why this had become her fault, when she didn’t have any responsibility for acquisition, valuation or authentication.

      She stayed back and waited until Mr. Hadley had seen Mr. Anderson out. When he came back, Joel and Tina were both with him. Mr. Hadley’s brow was furrowed, his mouth a thin, straight line.

      “Can anyone venture a guess as to how this could’ve happened?” he demanded.

      Joel seemed to know what he was talking about, but Tina looked perplexed. Chelsea gave a brief overview of the situation. Tina grabbed the file folder from the table and leafed through it. “Ridley’s did the authentication. They’re one of the most respected houses in the state. They wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

      “Well, someone did. Anderson used Murphy & McGuire. It’s equally unlikely that they’d make such an enormous error. If this leaks out, especially before we get to the bottom of it, our reputation will take a huge hit.” Mr. Hadley turned to Joel. “I’ll need you to prepare for a media onslaught.” At Joel’s nod, he continued. “I’m going to have to tell your grandmother about this. I’d much rather she hears it from me than other sources—like the press.”

      Joel raised his hands. “I have to agree. She won’t be pleased, I can tell you that. You know as well as I do that the gallery is her passion, and she cares deeply about it. This gallery is everything to her.”

      “Other than you,” Chelsea added softly.

      Joel shifted his gaze to her. “Yes. Thank you.”

      * * *

      MR. HADLEY DECIDED it would be best to deliver news of this import to Mrs. Sinclair in person. Joel went off somewhere shortly after their meeting, and Tina was arranging for the top authentication expert in New York State to have a look at the Babineux.

      Chelsea and Deborah were covering the showroom. Not that there was a lot of walk-in traffic. Frankly, Chelsea wanted to go home. A headache was beginning to pound behind her temples and she was facing the possibility of losing a substantial commission. A commission she’d already spent on her car for the much-needed maintenance work.

      As the front-door chime sounded, she sincerely hoped Deborah would take the customer. With the mood she was in, it was highly unlikely she’d be able to make a sale, anyway. When she saw Detective Sam Eldridge, her heart did a little skip. She glanced at Deborah, who was already sashaying over to greet Sam.

      Chelsea felt an unexpected and unreasonable pang of jealousy as she watched Deborah turn on the charm for Sam. She really couldn’t blame Deborah, since a man’s looks were a priority for her, and Sam had them in spades. But she didn’t have to hang around and watch this, she thought, and turned to go.

      “Chelsea!” She heard Sam call her name. “Do you have a minute?”

      She swung around and saw the mildly annoyed expression Deborah gave her. “Yes. Certainly.” She walked back toward Sam.

      “Is there somewhere private we could talk?”

      “Sure. The sales office.”

      Sam glanced over at it. “Somewhere without glass walls?” he asked.

      It had been a long day, and the throbbing behind her temples was intensifying. “Can we—”

      “Let me buy you a coffee,” he interrupted. She was about to refuse, but before she had a chance, he added, “official police business.”

      It must’ve been loud enough for Deborah to hear. With a satisfied smirk, she tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and walked back to the office area.

      “All right.