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GARY PUThis empty coffee cup down, opened the folder, and sought Pete Raskin’s number.
“Why are you calling him?” Dan asked. “We don’t have any new information for him.”
“I’m hoping he’ll have information for us.” Gary dialed. “Mr. Raskin? Detective Mitchell here. I’m putting you on speaker.” He clicked the icon.
“Good morning. Have you learned anything new?”
“Kind of. I’m calling about Cheryl’s sideline.”
“Her portraits, you mean?”
“No, herothersideline.” Gary paused. “The one she didn’t want you to know about, but the way I see it, that was a long time ago, and you might be able to help us.”
“I think you’d better tell me what you’ve discovered.”
Gary told him about the copy of the Vermeer, and how the senator had said she’d produced three or four such copies. “What we don’t know is where she painted them. It obviously wasn’t at the cottage in Lenox.”
“I had no idea. So you mean she had another studio someplace?”
“We assume so, but we have no clue where it might be.”
“Well,Icertainly don’t. At least she never mentioned one.” He paused. “Wait a sec. One of her friends might know. Lori. I mentioned her, right? And I remembered her surname. Dettweiler. She’d be a good place to start.”
“Thank you, Mr. Raskin.” Gary glanced across to Dan’s desk, pleased to see him making a note.
“No, thankyou. You’re the ones trying to find Cheryl’s killer.” He disconnected.
Gary gazed at Dan, who was peering at his monitor. “We could have this all wrong, you know. Maybe therewasno second studio. She might have painted them in a friend’s guest room.”
Dan shook his head. “No, we’re on the right track, I’m sure of it. She wanted privacy for this. There has to be a studio somewhere.” Then he smiled. “Got her. Lori Dettweiler is the Collections Care Specialist at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.” He tapped his phone screen. “And now you have her number.”
Gary retrieved it and hit Call.
“Lori Dettweiler.”
“Ms. Dettweiler, I’m Detective Gary Mitchell. I’m investigating the death of Cheryl Somers, and I was hoping we could meet with you.”
He didn’t miss her gasp. “This isn’t a joke, is it?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Why would the police be investigating Cheryl’s death after all these years?”
“Because her father would like answers. And seeing as he says you were her friend, we thoughtyoumight want them too.”
Lori sighed. “Okay. Then call me Lori. I hate all that Ms. crap. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no new information about Cheryl that might be of any help.”
“We’re looking for her studio,” Gary informed her.
“In Lenox at her dad’s place? Surely he can’t still be working there. He ought to be retired by now.”
“He is, and no, not the Lenox one—the other one.”
Beats of silence.
“You know about that?” Lori spoke in a hushed tone.
“It was a hunch, which you just confirmed. Well, can you help us?”
