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He had a point. “Okay, fine, it’s a theory, but where does it take us?”
“What if Cheryl discovered what Paul DiFanetti had done? What if she confronted him about it? I checked the date of the sale. It wasn’t long after that Cheryl went missing. And listening to Lori Dettweiler, I got the impression Cheryl wouldn’t have been happy if she thought something fraudulent was going on.”
Gary was sold. “We’ll go see Paul DiFanetti ASAP.” He went back to his saucepan and stirred its contents. “Can you move those boxes off the table, please? Dinner’s almost ready.” The pasta wasal dente—any more cooking and it would coalesce into a lump.
Then he realized Dan had fallen silent again.
“You’ve found something else, haven’t you?”
“One of these copies was for Senator Cain.”
Gary frowned. “We saw it. The Vermeer, remember?”
“No, not that one.” A moment later Dan appeared in the doorway. “This was a painting of John the Baptist, by Caravaggio.” He held his phone up to show Gary the image. “Which wasalsosold at auction after completion.”
Gary turned the heat off under both pans. “I think we need to pay the Senator another visit.”
“And Paul DiFanetti?”
Gary knew which visit took priority. “He’s at the top of the list. The Senator can wait. First thing tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find an address.”
“No, look now. I’ll put the dinner out.”
Gary rolled his eyes. “It’s seven thirty. This is not something I can do from home, okay? I’d need to check public records, the county clerk’s office, local assessors, to make sure we have every known address for him.Thenwe’d have to call and make an appointment to see him—ifhe’ll see us.”
The prospect of visiting a member of the DiFanetti family filled him with a small amount of trepidation.
What are we walking into?
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
GARY STAREDat the house on Cliff Road. “I’m starting to get a weird feeling about this.” Finding out Paul DiFanetti lived in Nantucket was one thing—Gary was getting used to all the coincidences involved with this case—but discovering he lived next door to the Brightmore family was one coincidence too many.
“I can’t really see Mr. Brightmore conversing over the fence with a guy who moves in DiFanetti’s circles, can you?” Dan offered. “My parents have never spoken once to one set of their neighbors, and they’ve lived in that house since before I was born.”
“Even if Roland Brightmore and Paul DiFanetti are a similar age?” Paul was seventy-four years old, and Bruno’s younger brother.
“It still doesn’t mean they’re best buddies.” He peered at Gary. “What are you thinking?”
“That Paul DiFanetti could possibly be the avenging angel Brightmore spoke of. Who better to bump off Cheryl than someone with DiFanetti’s connections?”
“Okay, maybe.” Dan touched his arm. “But we’re not going to learn anything standing out here on the street, are we? And hehasagreed to see us.” He stilled. “You’re nervous.”
“You bet I’m nervous. Because if even a quarter of the stuff I’ve heard about this family is true, this is someone I really don’t want to cross swords with.”
“Which is why you made sure Travers knew we were coming here.” Dan inclined his head toward the front door. “So let’s see what he can tell us.”
Gary took a deep breath and opened the white gate, only to be stopped by Dan’s hand on his arm.
“I don’t care who this man is,” Dan murmured. “He isn’t above the law, andyouare the law. So stir him up if you have to. We might learn more that way.”
Gary chuckled. “The first time I met you, I thought you were a nondescript kind of guy. I’m only now learning what remarkable camouflage you have.”
Dan smiled. “I’ve lived through two murder suspects trying to kill me. It does tend to make you think ‘Fuck it.’”
Gary liked this new Dan more and more.
They walked along the path to the house. The housekeeper welcomed them and then led them to the yard where Mr. DiFanetti sat on a couch on a deck, an open book in his lap, a Panama hat perched on his head, its brim providing shade. He seemed relaxed, an elderly man enjoying the sun, retirement. Someone’s grandfather or great-grandfather.
