The Lost Artist by Gail Lukasik

Author:Gail Lukasik
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2012-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After seven hours of driving south on Interstate 57 past endless stretches of prairie and farmland, I reached the exit for Anna just as the sun was sliding toward the horizon, a big orange shimmering ball full of molten heat. About an hour south of Chicago, I'd stopped glancing at my rearview mirror.

If someone were tailing me, I'd spot him. There were few cars on the interstate, and the land stretched toward the horizon uninterrupted, except for the occasional farm, rest stop or oddity, like the corrugated-metal cross outside of Effingham that had to be four stories high.

As I turned onto Campground Road, I checked my car's temp gauge: ninety-nine degrees. From my one bathroom break near Marion, where the humidity was like a wall I had to walk through, I knew the humidity was probably worse here.

The road curved right, and I slowed my car as I passed the Campground Cemetery. The fallen oak tree had been removed, reminding me of the mental list of people I wanted to talk to, and Lawrence Grey was at the top of that list. What did he know about Emily Braun's empty grave? From the university's Web site, I'd discovered that he was teaching a summer class on Midwestern Earthquakes and the New Madrid Seismic Zone, and his office hours were: Monday nine to eleven A.M.

Turning left on Old Cutoff, my heart started to race. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wasn't sure how I was going to handle Alex Hague, the suspected thief. There'd been no proof that he'd stolen the statue, though it had never been recovered. But he'd been the person restoring it. And he'd resigned from the museum's restoration department, which was like an admission of guilt.

Yet Karen had hired him. “He'll understand what I'm about to do,” she'd written in her journal. “Whether he stole the head or not, he'll be on my side.”

Just ahead I saw the farmhouse rising against the fading sky like an ancient ship tossed on a dark green sea. Alex's rental car was parked in front and next to it stood another car. As I neared the house, I recognized the car. It was Dan Yeager's. What's he doing here?

Okay, maybe he's showing a potential buyer the house. Best to wait until they're done. I wasn't in the mood to answer a lot of buyer questions. I parked across the road from the house under the shade of a large maple tree, let the window down and shut the engine off.

All the windows in the farmhouse were open and the sound of raised voices wafted across the road, which made me doubt my theory of a house showing. But what could Alex and Dan be arguing about?

Suddenly Dan swung the front door open with such force, it crashed against the side of the house with a loud bang. He hurried down the front steps toward his car, with Alex right behind him.

“You'd better get control of yourself,” Alex shouted at him.

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