The Case of the Forgotten Fragonard by Marilyn Baron

Author:Marilyn Baron [Baron, Marilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy mystery; Italian villas; Stolen Nazi Art; Rome; Florence; Marilyn Baron; Romance
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2022-12-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Rule Number Seven: If You Get a Premonition About the Provenance of a Painting, Don’t Brush It Off.

~Massimo Domingo’s Pocket Guide to Stolen Art Theft Recovery—Volume 3.

After the women took turns showering, they towel dried their hair.

“Apparently, dilapidated warehouses don’t come equipped with hair dryers or decent towels,” Alessandra said.

“It isn’t every day that you need hair dryers for kidnapped women,” Hadley retorted. “Could these towels be any more threadbare? Talk about high thread count. These towels are no thread count. And that shower, with the hanging lightbulb and the mildewed shower curtain? It reminds me of Psycho.”

“I don’t know this Psycho.”

“You’re better off not knowing. I’d be surprised if there weren’t cameras in that poor excuse for a bathroom, or remnants of blood on the drain.”

“True. At least they picked up some decent food. Hard to screw up Italian in Italy.”

“Thank the Lord. I was starving. I would have eaten anything, but this food is great. Too bad there’s no wine.”

“At least we have water. And the bread is great. Better than typical prison food.”

“Hadley, I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry I got you into this mess. I’m also glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would do if I was here alone.”

“We’ll be fine,” Hadley said, trying to sound like she meant it.

“Sono esausto,” said Alessandra, eyelids drooping.

“I’m tired too, but we’ve got to find out what’s in this art log or diary while we have some privacy. Someone in the villa kept a diary, and they hid it in the one painting that wasn’t removed after the sale. These diary entries could be dangerous if they implicate the conte’s parents and grandparents. I’ll stay up and start reading.”

“Thanks.” Alessandra dropped back onto her cot, spread a thin blanket over her body, and fell into a deep sleep.

****

May 1945

Roma, Italy

History of The Heartbreak

The Allegrettis saved my life. Despite who they were and where their political loyalties lie, they took me in as a favor to my parents. The contessa and my mother had gone to school in Switzerland at a time when it wasn’t inconvenient to befriend a Jew. And the conte had done business with my father’s bank. When my parents were finally convinced they needed to leave Berlin, it was too late for them to get out. They couldn’t obtain the proper documents. The Germans made them jump through hoops and then they changed the rules. And Jews were fair game. Eventually, my father had to quit the bank and sell all his holdings, his property, and all the contents within to a high-ranking Nazi official at a huge loss. The officials promised that if they did, my parents would be free to leave. But broken promises were a way of life in the Third Reich.

I didn’t want to leave my parents, but they assured me that if I went to stay with their friends in Rome, the Allegrettis, they would soon follow. Of course, that’s not what happened. The contessa

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