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She gaped. “Oh God, no. I wouldn’t do that. This is legit. He’s getting a little nervous about having something so valuable in his house, so he’s decided to have a copy done—acopy, mind you, unsigned—and move the original to someplace safe. That way he can still enjoy looking at it.”
“Cheryl, please. Breathe, honey.”
She chuckled. “The thing is I want a place to paint where Dad won’t see what I’m doing. This is going to take time, research. But I’d need a place with plenty of light, space”—she smiled—“and I thought of you.”
“Me?”
Cheryl nodded. “You’re selling your studio apartment, aren’t you? The one in that restored Catholic school in Jamaica Plain? You were telling me all about it last month.”
“Yes, I’m selling it.” Lori had found a better apartment more centrally located.
“Well, can I see it? Because if I like it, you could… rent it out to me?”
Monday, July 23, 2018
“I TAKEit she liked it,” Gary remarked.
Lori nodded. “It was the perfect space for her, a five-hundred-square-foot studio with a wall comprised entirely of windows. She took one look at it, and that was that. So instead of selling it, I agreed to rent it to her.”
“What did you do with the studio when she disappeared?”
“I did nothing for three months. I was convinced that any minute she would stroll into the museum, an easel under her arm. After that, I finally admitted something had to have happened to her. So….” She shrugged. “I rented it out.”
Gary stared at her, aghast. “But what about all her work? Her materials? Her things? What happened to them?” He hated to think what they might have lost in the way of evidence.
Lori tilted her head. “You think they might have proved useful?”
“Possibly. It doesn’t matter now. God knows where it all ended up.”
Lori smiled. “I can tell you exactly where it ended up.”
Dan grinned. “You kept it all.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t bear to throw any of it out. What if a miracle occurred and she turned up again? So I stored everything in the loft.” Her face fell. “When she turned out to be the body in the tunnel, I should have gotten rid of her stuff, but I couldn’t. All that talent thrown out with the trash? So it stayed in the loft. The tenants don’t have access, just me.” Then her smile returned. “And if it helps you find her killer, you’re welcome to all of it.”
“How much stuff are we talking about?” Gary had visions of renting a truck.
Lori counted off on her fingers. “There are canvases, paints, easels, a lot of books, camera equipment, lights, folders… oh, and a box of floppy disks.”
Gary stilled. “You just said something interesting.”
Judging by Dan’s gleaming eyes, he’d had the same thought.
Floppy disks meant one thing—information.
Chapter Fourteen
GARY TASTEDthe marinara sauce, added a little salt, and stirred it in. “You’re very quiet in there. What are you up to?” He put the lid on the saucepan and went into the living room.
Dan was seated at the dining table, on which Gary had placed the boxes they’d brought from Lori Dettweiler’s studio loft. Dan had already opened a couple of them. He glanced up as Gary approached.
“Are we allowed to have all this here? Aren’t there rules about chain of custody? Because this is all evidence, right?”
Gary hadn’t even considered that. “I’m not sure, with it being a cold case.” He’d check with Travers in the morning.
“There has to be something here that will help us.” Dan held up four floppy disks secured with an elastic band. “Like on these, maybe? Except where are we supposed to find a machine that can read them? In a museum?”
Gary laughed. “In the basement. I’ve got an old laptop with a floppy disk drive.”
