“The Warhol, it’s gone. It’s not there.”
Lawrence leaped up from his place and walked quickly out of the room. He took the stairs up to the first floor two at a time, before making his way along the landing and into the Jefferson room. He found a bare hook on the wall where the Warhol had once hung.
“When did you last see it?” he asked as Evelyn stared at the faint outline of where the picture had been.
“I can’t be sure. I’ve just got so used to it being there. But I do recall seeing it on the night of your party.” A long silence followed before she added, “I feel ashamed, Lawrence, because I think it could be my fault.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“I got a little drunk on the night of your party, and allowed someone to join me in my room.”
“Who?”
“Your friend Alex Karpenko.”
“Did he stay the night?”
“Certainly not. He’d left by the time I woke in the morning. I just didn’t think…”
“You never do,” said Lawrence. “But if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
“Perhaps I should try and contact him, and see if I can get the picture back?”
“That’s the last thing you should do. If anyone’s going to speak to Alex, it will be me.”
“Will you have to inform the police?”
“I don’t have any choice,” said Lawrence. “As you well know, the picture doesn’t belong to me, it’s part of our grandfather’s bequest, and as it’s worth a million, possibly more, I’ll have to report the theft to the police, as well as to the insurance company.”
“But he saved your life.”
“Yes, he did. So if he returns the painting immediately, perhaps I won’t press charges.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Evelyn. “He seemed such a nice guy.”
“You never can tell about anyone, can you?” said Lawrence.
* * *
That afternoon, Alex called Evelyn, and the phone was picked up by the butler, who told him Miss Lowell had left the house around eleven, and he couldn’t be sure when she would be returning. She didn’t call back, so Alex rang again in the evening. This time Lawrence answered the phone.
“What a wonderful party, Lawrence. You’re a great host, and I’m looking forward to seeing you and Evelyn tomorrow.”
“I didn’t know you were coming to Boston for the weekend.”
“Didn’t Evelyn tell you?”
“Evelyn left this morning for her home in the south of France, and I’m visiting my mother in Nantucket.”
“But we’d agreed that I should join you both for dinner on Friday evening, and go sailing on Saturday.” There was such a long silence, Alex thought the line must have gone dead. “Are you still there, Lawrence?”
“I apologize for asking you this, Alex, but when you left the house on Sunday morning, the butler said you were carrying a package under your arm.”
“A Warhol,” said Alex, without hesitation. “Somewhat reluctantly, I might add. But Evelyn insisted I take it as security.”
“Security for what?”
“I loaned her half a million to invest with Todd Halliday, who intends to back my company.”