I nodded casually, but my mind was whirring. If they’d taken the painting down, it was no doubt in storage somewhere beneath the museum. I wasn’t some kind of cat burglar with the skills to break into the vault of The Metropolitan Art Gallery, but maybe I didn’t have to.
I had something more powerful than thievery on my side.
“When will Child with a Dove be back on display?” I asked, affecting wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. It was a look Aida had perfected over her life and I hoped after years of witnessing its powers, I could pull it off too.
“It’s scheduled to be rehung after our Christmas closure,” the woman replied after checking her screen again.
“I don’t suppose there’s a way to see it now?” I asked with my most Aida-like smile. “My father was actually the one who donated the painting to the museum.”
“Oh.” Her eyes lit with interest. “You’re one of the Constantine children?”
My smile widened even farther, cutting painfully into my cheeks. I extended my hand the way I’d seen Caroline do, with cool civility and a touch of condescension. “I am. Dad actually bought the painting for my twelfth birthday.”
“Awe,” she gushed. “That is incredibly sweet. I can’t imagine my dad buying me anything more than a pair of socks for my birthday.”
I laughed with her then shrugged. “Some of us are just born lucky, I guess. Is there any way you could help me? He passed away five years ago and we just celebrated the anniversary. I suppose with Christmas and everything, I’m feeling a little melancholy and nostalgic. It would mean a lot to me…and my family.”
The dark-haired woman stepped closer as she made a soft clucking noise with her tongue. “Let’s see what we can do, shall we? Mr. Klemm is our floor manager today, why don’t we find him?”
I beamed at her. “That would be perfect.”
“A Constantine, you say?” Mr. Klemm asked me with a severe frown on his heavily wrinkled features. “May I see a form of identification, please?”
My heart wedged itself at the base of my throat, thudding so strongly I felt I might throw up all over Mr. Klemm’s sensible loafers. Somehow, I managed to hand over my driver’s licence.
“I use a different last name,” I attempted to explain even though I knew I’d be hauled out of their on my ass for attempting to impersonate one of the most famous families in the city. “But my father is Lane Constantine.”
Mr. Klemm’s small eyes were nearly lost in the folds of skin hanging under his bushy brows, but he managed to pin me with them after glancing at my ID. Without saying a word, he started to tap on the keyboard of his computer. We were in a cramped office on the main floor we’d reached through a maze of corridors and the little room smelled of dust and pickled vegetables.
My knee juddered under the desk with nerves I couldn’t begin to squash. I felt so close to something, to knowing what Lane had clearly always intended me to know.
“I see,” Mr. Klemm said after a long moment, his jowls quavering as he picked up an old landline phone and punched in a number. When he raised it to his lips, he covered the speaker with a hand so I couldn’t hear his low murmur into the receiver.
With my luck, he was probably calling the police. I’d have to use my one phone call to contact Tiernan and he’d be livid as hell I’d gone off searching for answers without him.
“Ms. Bianca Belcante,” Mr. Klemm snapped in a way that made me wonder if I’d missed his first few attempts at garnering my attention. “Child with a Dove is currently in our restoration section with the head of department. I informed her that you wished to see the painting and she has offered to allow you access. If you’d like to follow me, I can hand you over into her supervision.”
Sweat broke out on my brow as my heart set to racing. “Yes, please, Mr. Klemm. That would be amazing.”
He peered at me again with flat-lined lips but nodded and proceeded to usher me from the office.
I followed him deeper into the hive of the museum, giddiness eating at the edges of my excitement and anxiety. I’d always been fascinated by one of the most famous museums in the world and dreamed that one day I might work The Sherman Fairchild Paintings Conservation Center so to see it now was an incredible experience.
Mr. Klemm stopped at door, glanced over his shoulder at me, then entered something into a keypad before opening it.
It took me a moment to follow, because I could glimpse the light pouring in through the glass walls and massive oil paintings propped on easels at the center of the room.