What Evil Lurks in Monet's Pond: A by Barton Sara M

Author:Barton, Sara M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fbi, cia, artist, organized crime, monet, isabella stewart gardner museum, cassatt, art heist, courbet pissarro, east haddam ct
Publisher: Sara M. Barton

Chapter Eight --

“And this is because?”

“Because you and I don’t work any more.”

“Since when?” he demanded.

“Since you got chained to a desk in plain sight.”

“What am I missing?” Ross looked straight ahead, at the mausoleum. That’s how I knew he was paying attention to me. He’s a sidewinder.

“When was the last time we really spent any time together?”

Four months ago, we had a weekend in the Blue Mountains. We hiked to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It took five hours to hike in, five hours to hike out, and in between, we danced all around the subject of what to do with us as a couple. Every time I broached the subject, he changed it.

“This isn’t really a good time to be discussing this, babe.”

“Well, it wasn’t a good time when we went to the mountains, so there you go.”

“Maisie, why do you think I came all the way from DC? Can we please focus on that?”

“No. I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Because?”

“Because my cousin’s son announced that I am listed in the WikiLeaks files as a spy. Because my cousin’s husband recently moved out after more than two decades of marriage and she’s convinced he’s gay. And because I think our relationship is in the crapper and I’m mad as hell about that.”

“Those are three different things,” Ross pointed out, his eyes on the glass roof.

“Are they? I don’t think so. I think they’re all connected. I think someone reached out to Bowie because we’re related. I think someone got to Marty because Alberta is my cousin. And I think you have been slowly withdrawing from our relationship, all because of that stupid WikiLeaks situation.”

Ross heaved a deep sigh, and as he exhaled, I understood that I had hit the mark. My family had become a target because some weasels decided they knew what was best and took matters into their own hands, regardless of the cost. Finally, after he scratched his forehead, he spoke. Ross only does that scratching thing when he’s nervous.

“I’d like to leave this for now, Maise. We have much bigger fish to fry.”

“Do we?” My words were clipped. I was still angry.

“The dead guy you found, he’s an artist.”

“Why is that CIA business? Why is the art heist CIA business?”

“Because we still don’t know who stole the artwork or if it’s part of a game to draw you out into the open.”

Now I got it. This is why Ross was posing as an FBI agent from Washington on the Tattinger Museum theft. This is why the CIA wanted me to investigate. So they could watch. Maybe that’s why I knew I was under observation in the woods.

“I just have one question,” I informed him. “And I would like an honest answer or no answer at all. If this WikiLeaks thing had never happened, where would we be at this moment in our relationship?”

“I’ll be in touch.” Ross stood up suddenly, fake moustache and all, and exited the building without another word. My heart popped out of my chest and chased after him.

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