The Price of Inheritance by Karin Tanabe

Author:Karin Tanabe
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Atria Books

CHAPTER 10

On Monday morning I called William and told him I was going to be a couple of hours late.

“Playing hooky with your new boyfriend? I don’t blame you,” he said. “But you know I’ll make you work late.”

“I know. And you should. I’ll stay as late as you want me to.”

It was 8 A.M. and I now didn’t need to be at the store until one. I put on the most nondescript outfit I could come up with—light blue jeans and a black cotton crewneck sweater with a gray peacoat—and got in my car. I pulled my hair back, wishing the color was a little less memorable. I hadn’t washed it in two days and had added a few dabs of gel to try to darken the roots. I fixed my rearview mirror and started driving west on 138, over two bridges toward Ten Rod Road. When the road curved through a state park, I looked out at the cool, placid lake but put my eyes back on the road in time to see the sign for Hartford.

I had spoken to an operator at the art school on Sunday and told her I was a student who needed to finish a project with Hannah Lloyd. Hannah, she informed me, was not there on Sundays but would be firing pieces all day on Monday. I thanked her, declined to leave a message, and deleted the number from the memory on my phone.

The Hartford Art School was on the southern side of the university’s campus, near the Hartford Golf Club. I first checked in on the main campus, showed them an old Christie’s ID, and said I was there to do research. The bored student attendant gave me a visitor’s pass that I was supposed to wear, but I dropped it in my bag as backup in case anyone asked. I got back in my car and drove to the Art School. I was ready to be nervous. When you’re nervous all the time, you know which situations will bring on that flush of adrenaline, but it didn’t happen. I walked into the Art School calmly and asked at reception for Hannah Lloyd.

“She’s in the pottery studio,” a pretty girl said. She had a pleasant accent that I couldn’t place. “Do you know where that is?” she asked. I told her I did and headed to the second floor. I had studied a map of the campus the night before and knew exactly where to turn. I took five steps to the right when I got up the stairs, passing a few students holding blank canvases, and then through a double set of doors. The pottery studio was supposed to be the first door on my left, which it was. When I walked in, there was a woman at a desk in messy clothes, but she looked too young to be Hannah. I had no idea what Hannah looked like, but I knew she was old enough to work at a university.

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